Mex USbans The New Beginning Tavern

And of old it was not darksome, but full of light and splendour, as is still remembered in our songs.
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Mex Usbans The New Beginning Tavern
As you open the door of the tavern, you notice a staircase going down to the tavern floor. There are few large wooden Barrels not only for decorative means, but they are filled with the finest of dwarven ales. There are a number of tables spread throughout the floor with candles to give a good and cozy atmosphere. There is a fireplace, which is always burning to welcome weary travelers and the dwarven miners to take the time to warm up and enjoy some food and fine ale.
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When you walk into the tavern at the end of the tavern floor you can see the bar where a friendly face (Mognar) is ready to welcome you and take your order. Mognar is also always ready to lend his ear an eager to learn more about the visitors. Mognar is also someone who enjoys telling stories so if you would like to hear something feel free to ask.
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On the menu you can find the following items:
Salted Porc
A chunck of bread
Meal soup (peas, bacon, sauccage) served with some bread
Mognar’s finest ale (a strong blond ale with touch of citrus)
Dwarven Stout (a strong dark beer with a somewhat sweet touch)
Mede (the alcoholic beverage based on honey)

Tavern rules: have fun, please stay in character (PC or NPC), I will try to have a look at least every 24h to be able to respond to your questions when you enter and order stuff so we can try to have a good RP in this tavern

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Pall opened the door and stuck his head in. “Is this place open for business?” Not hearing an answer he entered anyway and sat at the table closest to the bar. “I say again, is this tavern open for business? Is there anyone even here?” With so many places either closed or being only open for take-out getting something to eat lately had become something of a chore. He took out his pipe, loaded it with some Old Toby, lit it and settled back to see if anyone would come take his order.

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Mognar heard that someone had entered the tavern. This person was asking if the place was open for business. Mognar quickly moved from the kitchen area to the tavern and noticed the guest had taken place close to the bar. "Hi there noble traveller, Mognar Firebeard at your service. he said politely. "What does your hart desire?
Drinking ale and smoking pipeweed!

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*fleeting about doing her usual flighty feats of folly.. ShEru began to peruse the Halls of Khazad-dum.. while climbing about the rocks.. she saw a familiar sign... however.. one small problem..*
USbans? US-bans??? :evil:
ShEru stormed in to speak to the management... Flickering her way towards the bar she was easily and quickly distracted by a familiar pointy hat
@Pallador!! What is that you are having? Where's @Ult with that ale of his? This candle could use a real stiff drink!
"No food, no rest for ShEru... ShEru's a sneak."

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Ult stands for the door, but the door does seem a bit small, so he had to bown down trying to get through the door. He leands with his arm on a nearby dwarf, but slips away and falls over. The only thing he can catch to keep balanced a bit is the beard of the dwarf. But he misses and pulls at the tunic of the Dwarf and notices something. He let go of his hand immediately and hit the floor with the face and murmurs tothe Dwarf: "Sorry mylady...I coudln't tell by the beard. Don't report me!".With his hair dishevelled, his hat without the "pointy'now, with scratches and blood on his lips he crawls to @Pallador and @ShEru and asks"How in frigging Mordor's sake did you get in through that door?"

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@Ult ! Ult! Hey! Where's the Old Grishnak?? Um.. I mean.. Hello Old Friend!! How are you! Have a seat, rest your injured head!

*ShEru grabs the water pitcher from the table and pours it on Ult. She then takes the sleeve of Ult's robe and wipes the blood from his face.*

You're looking a little rough there.. did you not pay attention in spell class when the shrinkingyourselftofitintodwarfdoors mantra was taught? Here, I'll remind you.. "I am tall, and that's not short. I will never be short, and that's not tall. There's no dwarf I'd want to be, but I'll pretend and see."
"No food, no rest for ShEru... ShEru's a sneak."

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Puts a finger against his ...bloody lips and whispers to @ShEru : "I couldn't get that keg of Old Grishak through the door. It's outside. I mean I lost everything in gambling to those passing Umbarans, and some of my old tricks are gone with them. But hey look at it from the good side. I have now several holy goats, a grandmother from one of those Umbarans, and she can cook like hell, and even a sort of potion they said works against some unknown Mordorian virus. They said I have to drink it or inject it. What do you think?"

Ult spits away the blood and then adds: "And now the Grishnak Ale. Does that spell of yours work as well on getting kegs inside or will one of the big Eru's up in the sky start to delete me?" And where is @Pallador. Is he asleep?"

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*Pall woke from his drunken stupor to notice two friends had entered the tavern. There was his old friend Ultchuk and with him was the cutest little candle-spirit he had ever seen. He stretched, yawned and then walked over where the two were sitting.*. Ult old friend! Please introduce me to this lovely young spirit. Then he saw that it was the spirit of his friend, ShEru! Clapping his hands he exclaimed* “ShEru, it is so good to see you! Tell me though, when do you plan to take a more permanent form? The flame of your spirit is most attractive but the glow is hard on my old eyes!

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Dis paused at the door of the pub debating if a night of jollification was worth the headache in the morning. She had dressed in a green tunic and breeches and wore her best boots. Her snow white hair had been combed until it shone like satin. She had put her silky beard into a bunch of little braids. What the heck, play now pay later, right? She pushed the door open, entered, and surveyed the room. While she was standing there, a Wizard (Ult) stooped down down to get his height through the dwarf sized door. He leaned his arm on her shoulder, but it slipped off of her hair. From there it got all awkward and he ended up busting his lip on the floor. He crawled away with a murmured apology while she stared after him. Wizards were a clumsy lot, weren't they. She wouldn't give all the Mithril in Khazaddum to be that tall. She sniffed. Doesn't know a girl dwarf when he sees one.

Being rather a nosy sort, she sat within earshot of the two wizards and the glowy thing. "Soup and Stout!" she fairly shouted at the barkeep(Mognar). She leaned towards the whispering party trying to decipher what they were talking about.
The Dwarf formerly known as Mahal.

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Mognar noticed some more wizards entering the tavern, but none seemed to pay any attention to him ready to take the order. He noticed a female dwarf (Dis) entering the tavern. As she sat down at a table near the rowdy party of wizards, she half shouted her order. "One soup and Stout coming up" he replied in a normal tone as he returned towards the kitchen. He there grabbed a bowl to put the soup in took a piece of bread, placed this on a tray and went to the bar. Her he poured a large tankard with the dwarven stout and brought it to the table. "Here you are, enjoy the drink and meal, and if there is anything else I can bring you give me a shout" he said putting the tray on the table.
Mognar then turned back towards the table of the wizards. "Have you all decided on what you would like to eat or drink, or shall I leave you some more time to decide? he asked waiting for a reply.
Drinking ale and smoking pipeweed!

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Pall heard a growl and realized that it was his stomach. He realized that he was famished, and more than a little thirsty. “I say there, my good dwarf, could I have a large mug of your stout and a bowl of that soup that smells so good?

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He has been dreading it, honestly. He knows he hasn't left in the best of circumstances and his return will not be appreciated by most, but Balfur knows he will have to do this anyway. He takes a deep breath and sighs as he pushes open the door to the pub. It is not like he has not been drinking. Just not at home. The thought fills him with a strange melange of emotions he just would not know how to describe. Melancholy, perhaps? No, it goes deeper than that. For a moment he reaches depths he has not touched since the first steps he took in Khazad Dum. Khazad Dum, it echoes through him. Delving too deep are we? a familiar voice erupts in his mind. He disregards it. He has learned to do that a long time ago. Still, he is a little shaken. As he sees his trembling hand, he realises it is maybe more than a little. Is it really wise, sinking pints in your face until your skin starts to stink? Maybe he should not have come, he thinks. It might be, of course. Still he steels himself and pushes the door further. The first thing he notices is the lack of sound. Maybe a bit of murmurs, but not much more. There are steps down to the pubfloor proper. Good, now he has time to recollect himself. Yet the quietude disturbs him. Pubs should be roaring with sounds, not places where ghosts fester.

There was a half-elf he encountered on his travels who had shown him what a good inn or pub should look like. As Balfur descends the stairs he sees all these signs. A warm smile comes to his face, leaving all those nasty thoughts behind him at the door. And he dwells on them no longer, because there are better things to be thinking of. As he descends the stairwell, the old fumes rise up to meet him. He smiles broadly; it is as if it has never changed. Then again, certain smells do not leave you. Certain smells just linger in the back of your experiency. Waiting for a moment to be released from their unreal prison, right into reality. Balfur's smile grows into a grin. It is good to return home, after all.

There are a couple of wizards at one table, together with some sort of candle creature. Balfur has seen those before, they were rare in his days in this realm, but not entirely unknown. He thinks he recognises @Ult from a pub in Isengard long ago. Did those wizards not brew a fine pint of Old Grishnak? Balfur has few memories of the days he actually roved through Middle Earth. Still he winks at the the former pub owner and his companions @Pallador and @ShEru. and turns to the bar. Another blast from the past! It's @Dis! He has not interacted with her for probably for decades, yet Balfur feels yet again like a young dwarfling entering the throne room. To him she will always be a ruler and therefore the dwarf gives her a low bow. "Even after all these years, it seems you are still a queen to me, Dis. I hope all is well with you."

As he turns to order he is surprised to see @Mognar Firebeard behind the bar. His mouth is agape, but he does not do anything other than spreading his arms wide open. "Mognar! he exclaims, How are you doing, my boy.... I mean, how is it going, my son! It has been such a very long time since I last saw you! Tell me, how are you doing in this wondrous realm?!" It may not be the most formal of approaches or greetings, but this is family and Balfur was never one for tradition. "Are you running this pub by yourself?" he asks. "Shouldn't you have some helpers? Back in the day there were loads of helpers! Should I help you? Father and son running a pub together? What do you say?" The ash blonde dwarf pauses for a moment, awaiting his son's answer. Yet he cannot resist to add. "Also, I would like some Orc Bite, please."
For a moment he hesitates.

The he pulls out a very drizzled and defeated menu from times gone by. "In fact, he starts, Could you maybe tell me, which of these we are currently missing?" He hands the tavern owner a slip of what might have been paper, on which is written:
Orc Bite
Dungeon's Doom
The Pippy
The Sandbrow Ale
Dead Fellowship Ale
The Red Nightmare Ale
Telperion Mist
The Lokust Lake Drink

and two smudges, with drinks one would not be able to retrace
.
Some think to be strong is to be hard like stone. Others know to be strong is to endure like stone.

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Sigga threw her head from side to side, eliciting a loud crack on each side. Rolling her shoulders, she let out a deep sigh before making her way down the stairs. "Blimey..what a day.." she mumbled as she squinted slightly to see who was about, before heading straight to the bar.

"Mognar my boy! Hit me up with some mead, will ya!?" She yelled before even reaching the bar. Sitting on a stool next to the only person at the bar, she turned to him and eyed him for a long time, completely oblivious to the fact that she was rudely staring, though not recalling if she had seen him before.

"And who are you?" She asked bluntly, lifting one eyebrow that was as grey as her braided hair, her eyes twinkling mischieviously.

Before the man next to her could even have a chance of answering, she turned back towards Mognar. "Hurry up boy, I am not getting any younger. And throw in some of that delicious stew of yours too, please! It's been a heck of a day at the infirmary today." Giving Mognar a wink, she turned back to the man and gave him a look that almost said: well?

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Almost immediatly after he has asked his question to his son a newcomer appears. Oh, a challenger. Balfur shakes his head, trying to free his mind from these invading thoughts. A deep sigh follows and for a bit he just stares at the list in front of him. A lot of old, deep memories resurface. Most of them good, some of them marvelous, nearly all of them quite forgotten. He feels his age for a bit, then he quickly drops two copper pieces on the bar and draughts himself a drink. He flashes an apologetic grin at Mognar, "Sorry son, could not wait. I am rather thirsty after all this roving." Yet he doesn't drink from his tankard. Instead, he just nurses it.

The dwarf sits down next to him. Balfur feels the glee rise at the back of his mind. They want it, can you not see. We must, I must... The thoughts drifts away and the ash blonde dwarf lets it go. Instead of losing himself in thought, he turns to the woman next to him. She seems old. Old and... direct.
"And who are you" Balfur cannot help but grin. Especially when he notices the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Oh, he knows this song and dance, but he no longer is the wide-eyed beardling he was when he first entered these halls he would call his home. "I once annoyed a king of men for a whole evening, just because he did not know my name. Then again, those manlings are quite fickle, ever-changing even." The dwarf sits up a little straighter and brings his fist to his chest. "My name is Balfur. I would say 'at your service', but you seem to be more in need of the service of my boy Mognar. Also, I never really liked the formality of the formula. It, however, does not mean I am not pleased to meet you. I overheard you mention working at the infirmary. May I ask which clan that is again? Long I have been away from home and my memory is no longer as strong as the eternal mountain." He pauses to take a swig from the drink in front of him. "What's your name?" he asks her.

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Sigga's eyes widened slightly at his admittance of witholding his name, her face neither showing if she was amused by it or not. Instead of interupting him, she let him finish, though her face did show surprise at hearing that the dwarf was none other than Mognar's father. "Well I'll be darned!" Chuckling loudly, she slapped Balfur on the back. "Mother must have been a redhead then I gather!?" Grinning she gave Balfur a wink before turning briefly to Mognar who placed the mead and stew in front of her. "Thanks laddie! Smells delicious!"

Leaning in she shovelled a couple of spoonfuls into her mouth and chewed her food for a while before swallowing, sighing at the taste. "Just like my mother used to make it! Like a dead horse lathered in mud!" Smirking she gave Balfur another wink, before diving back into the food, though finally answered his questions between spoonfuls that were aided into her mouth by the crusty bread, without a single drop of it spilling onto her chin.

"Sigga and yes, if you can call it work and not babysitting! I swear these beardlings are not made like they used to!" She shook her head as she downed half the mug of mead. "And how can you not remember the clans? The Mojaks of course.." She gave him an odd look, before returning to the rest of her stew, polishing it off with another couple of spoonfuls before wiping the bowl with the last chunk of bread. "Oh that was good.. your boy can sure cook, I will give him that!"

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Skarphéðinn

You know what this day was missing? Beer. Beer, meat, and some friends. Skarphéðinn was on his way home when the signage caught his eyes. The Tavern? Well why not? He hadn’t been here in what felt like ages. In fact, it had been so long since he had been to the tavern that he couldn’t remember the last time he had been there. This was something that needed to be remedied immediately! Luckily the stout, honey bearded had nothing planned for the evening and quickly decided to check out the Tavern.

He burst through the doors with an excited exuberance (being careful of course not to damage the tavern itself in his eagerness). The place already seemed to be bustling with activity. The smells alone made him want to weep. He could smell meats roasting in the kitchens, he could smell at least eleven different varieties of beer, he could smell breads baking in ovens. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

He coughed and shook himself. Don’t be so embarrassing! Anyone looking at you now would think you’re a vagrant come to rob them. He adjusted his collar, inhaled the wonderful scents once more and strode on in.

The place was bustling. He nimbly, as much as he bulk could be called nimble, dodged out of the way of a few servers and sat down at the bar with a great contented sigh. “Ah, it’s been a long time since I’ve been back here. I love what you’ve done with the place,” he said to the dwarf behind the bar (Balfur). He then leaned in conspiratorially, looking from side to side as if he were about to be caught, “You wouldn’t happen to have some Red Nightmare Ale on tap would you? I can’t tell you how long I’ve had a thirsting for it.”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Ah, the friendly backslap! Balfur has missed these and he exaggerates the impact of the slap and dips his moustache deep in his mug of Orc Bite. Making some spluttering sounds he looks back at the old dwarf. "To be honest, I don't fully remember. I think the whole affair was an adoptive thing, my first wife had a penchant for adopting, the old barrelmaker looks to see if Mognar is close and whispers: "strays." Now that he has stopped to think about it, that makes much more sense. He is pretty sure an elf and a dwarf would have a full blooded dwarf as progeny. "Anyway, Balfur beams "he followed his old da's carreer!" But he is not sure whether the other has heard him, because she is now wolfing down some stew. As Mognar seems busy elsewhere and his collocutor is eating, the old barrel lord takes it upon him to take the smudged beerlist with him and move behind the bar to check which ones are in stock still.

He does not get halfway through the list before he is interrupted again, though. Another figure has appeared at the bar and mistakes him for the bar tender. "Oh I'm not... I could not... Ah, what the heck! Red Nightmare you said? Let's quench that thirst, right!" Quickly, the former clan leader downs his own drink and uses his mug to start tasting from the huge vats that adorn the wall behind the bar. "You know," he says a little louder and slurring slightly more than he intended "It would have helped if you had marked these, Mognar! Though this one is particularly good!" and he points at the barrel containing Mognar's Finest Ale. Maybe he should have eaten something before starting this impromptu beer tasting. After four casks, he finds the beer he is looking for and fills a new pint with it, handing it over to Skarphéðinn. "There you go! Enjoy, but don't go to sleep too soon after drinking this. It leads to some... less than pleasant dreams."

Sigga introduces herself in between a couple of mouthfuls of stew and immediatly complains about the state of youngsters nowadays. Balfur smiles his teeth bare: he certainly remembers when those things were being said of him. Generations change, but the remarks remain the same. He shakes his head as she does not comprehend him forgetting the clans. "Mojaks... that sounds about right. I have been away for a long time and my mind has occupied itself with more... urgent matters than the clans of a home I thought lost." He is silent for a moment, lost in memories of strange and distant lands. "Still, healers are good. And needed," he smiles "even more than tavern lords. Any gory tales?" He looks around at his new position behind the bar. It feels right. It feels like home. He hopes his son does not mind it.

OOC @Winddancer & @Frostbite: sorry for not replying any sooner. Was gone with the family for a couple of days.
Some think to be strong is to be hard like stone. Others know to be strong is to endure like stone.

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Sigga paid the dwarf no mind as he moved from the seat next to her to go and stand behind the bar. Nor did she pay any attention to the newcomer. Truth be told, not much would have gotten her attention while she ate. It was a well known fact that no one disturbed her while she had her dinner. And if you wanted to make sure she was not in a foul mood when you did disturb her, you would make sure it was after she had drunk her beverage of choice.

Pushing the empty bowl away, she pulled the mead towards her and downed it all in one go. "Oh that is so good.." She let out a burp, though had enough manners to cover her mouth as she did so. Looking around for Mognar, she finally realised that Balfur was now behind the bar. "Get me another will ya?" Grinning she pushed the empty mug towards him and then dug into her pocket to pay for what she had eaten and drunk and slapped the coin onto the bar loudly.

"Gory tales? HA!" Laughing loudly she turned on Skarphéðinn and slapped the dwarf's arm with the back of her hand. "Did you hear that!? Asking me if I have any gory stories to tel!?" Grabbing the mead as soon as it was offered, she downed that in one go as well. "Ahhh. So good.." Looking back at Skarphéðinn, her brows suddenly furrowed. "And who the heck are you!?"

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Skarphéðinn

A deep, long draught of the Red Nightmare and Skarphéðinn’s senses were tingling. Oh that was good! The wonderful, warm, golden glow of a good mug of beer was washing over him now. This one was interesting, there was a note of something spicy and dangerous, this was not the kind of beer to drink with a bowl of stew, even a Dwarf’s legendary constitution would falter there. But speaking of stew… the woman next to him had what smelled like a delicious cacophony of savory flavors. He could taste the heat from where he was sitting. The bowl fairly glowed.

Before he could ask the bar tender for a bowl of the glorious looking stew (yes he’d forgotten the warning he’d given to himself about eating stew and drinking Red Nightmare) the conversation immediately turned to the topic of gory stories. Skarphéðinn had several of them, none of them real of course, but before he could begin to form a response the woman struck him! Okay it wasn’t really a strike, it was more a hard slap on the arm, the kind reserved for friends. Did he know this woman? He searched her features for a moment but nothing about them jumped out at him.

Apparently nothing about him was remarkable either. She seemed as oblivious to his identity as he was to hers. He took another long draught of the fiery beer, wiped his mouth with the end of his shirt sleeve, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Skarphéðinn Njálsson, at your service. And who, might I ask, do I have the pleasure of sitting next to and hearing gory tales from?”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Before Sigga could answer, she felt an all too familiar arm grip around her shoulders and she let out a loud cackled laugh. Turning her head to look between her and Skarphéðinn she tilted it to allow for the kiss that promptly was delivered. "You really don't want to get her started on her "gory" tales, they are more like than not going to be about piles.." the younger redheaded female said before taking a moment to look at the male dwarf that she held around the shoulders just like she held her grandmother's, her head in between theirs. "And who are you?"

"Ravna! You sure are a sight for sore eyes! Ravna this is Skarphéðinn." Twisting towards Balfur, she waved him over and then pointed back towards the tall dwarf behind her. "Get her one of your strongest drinks will ya!?" Sigga slapped another coin down on the counter between them and then turned back to Skarphéðinn. "Don't listen to my granddaughter, I also have tales about toe rot!" Another loud laugh filled the room as she slapped the table. Ravna rolled her eyes as if she had heard that one before and slid onto a stool next to her grandmother, slouching slightly to not make it so obvious how much taller than her she was. Lifting the drink Balfur set before her, she looked at Skarphéðinn and said "Skål then Skarphéðinn, pleased to meet you."

With sly smile she nodded her head towards him and then downed the drink in one go, thumping her chest after and giving a loud burp. "That stuff is likely to give one hair on the chest" she said her voice only slightly strained from the strength of the drink. Thunking the mug done hard, she shoved it towards Balfur for a refill, only spilling it slightly as she pulled the refilled mug back towards her. "So, what are you two old biddies up to? Other than talking about toe rot that is.."

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Drifa walked into the pub looking for a good meal and a mug of ale; or two or three. She needed something to wash out the dust that seemed to have found a new home in the base of her throat. Her usually cup of tea was not cutting it. Ever since she took on the task of cleaning the Ankixogs cave, she had been sneezing and wheezing persistently from the dust . It was time to take a break from it all.

There was a melting pot of folk in the pub tonight. She didn't recognized anyone save the dwarf Balfur that she had met in the day. He seemed to be in the midst of a conversation and, Drifa needed something to sooth her throat before she could join in.

She walked up to the bar and bowed low to the barkeep (Mognar Firebeard), then glanced at the menu that was up on the wall.
"Greetings! Drifa at your service! Could I please have," -cough- cough- "pardon me, dust in my throat. May I please have a bowl of soup with bread and a Dwarven Stout? And can you keep my tab open? Thank you!"

She bowed once more then turned to find a seat, calling over her shoulder to the barkeep as she walked away.
"I really like what you have done with the place! Nice and clean and dust free!"
The world was fair in Durin's Day

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Hethu

She stood out. Of course she did, having had to duck under the lintel built for and by dwarves. She hated standing out. Far better to blend in with the crowd and go about her business, unnoticed. But it was either be noticed or stay out in the evening chill, which grew more biting with each passing week. And so, still cloaked and hooded, the tall woman made her way down the staircase and into the tavern. The large room was warm and well-lit: an altogether welcoming sight.

Hethu walked directly to the bar. Again, she stood out as it was cut for dwarves, not those who stood tall among mortal men. She badly needed a drink and something to eat. Traveling north as she was, she stopped rarely to eat and even less frequently in taverns with good ale and hearty food and chatty company. Heavy bag by her side, she leaned low over the bar and called out her order. "A mug of mede and some soup, if you please. And I'll take some extra bread."

She turned to survey the room while she waited for her food. A small evening crowd had gathered, some leaning over mugs and bowls to chat, others laughing at some joke or other. The vaguest of smirks flitted across her face in the shadows beneath her hood before she threw it back to reveal long, dark hair. She turned and smiled gratefully when her order was up; with a wave of thanks to the bartender for her food and drink, she carried her meal over to an empty table.

She placed her bowl and mug on the table, unslung her bag from her shoulder, and sank gratefully into the low seat. It had been at least a week since Hethu had enjoyed these creature comforts. At a nearby table sat a dwarf (Drifa). "Good evening," she called above the low hum of talk in the tavern. Her voice was light and silvery, her face open and warm. "Care for some company? I've been long on the road and could do with hearing the news from this part of the world."
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

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Skarphéðinn

“Hey there, what!” Skarphéðinn shouted from his seat at the bar. He’d dozed off and, true to the name, the alcohol he drank gave him terrifying visions of falling down a mine shaft into utter darkness and oblivion. He tumbled, the stool beneath him going forward while his body went backward. He fell with a yelp and a loud WHOMP. Stars flashed before his wide, suddenly unseeing eyes. “What… in the… who and… huh?”

Embarrassed and disoriented, the dwarf looked around and dusted himself off. His tailbone was screaming at him but otherwise he seemed unhurt. He took a moment to reorient himself. How long had he been asleep? He rubbed his eyes. There were at least three new faces that had appeared out of the ether (Ravna, Drifa, and Hethu). Skarphéðinn took a deep breath and sat himself back on the stool.

“I… ah, I’m sorry about that. I think I’m much more tired than I thought,” he rubbed his eyes again for emphasis. “My sincerest apologies to you all. I think a round of coffee for everyone is in order! At least for me. I’m Skarphéðinn. I must have fallen asleep as you all came in. Terribly rude of me, I hope you can call accept a mug of coffee as recompense for the unintended slight.”

He looked at his half empty mug of Red Nightmare and laughed suddenly. “Whoever the hell named that wasn’t bloody joking! That stuff’ll give you damned whillies and no mistake!” He pushed the mug to the side, then stopped, looked at the mug again and shrugged. “Though, I suppose…” before he could stop himself and reconsider, the large brunette dwarf picked the mug up and quaffed the remaining contents in a single mouthful. “Never waste good ale.”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Khazad Elder
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Drifa noticed a tall figure entering the pub. She assumed that it was a human, although, the hood could be concealing more than just shadowing the stranger's face. Strangers come and go. One may never truly know what is hidden beneath their masks.
Turning back to her ale, she took a long swallow then settled back into her chair with a content sigh. One's need to relax - from dust and mop, from dawn to dusk - must be satisfied . The thought of dusting reminded her of the Ankixogs halls and her plans to erect a new tent. The tent was symbolic and reminded Ankixogs of their wandering ways. She had been to the Oracle. Her question had been asked.
"Anyhow, my question is, should I go with a this new fangled outrageous material or, stay with a simple pale, neutral, yellow beige with green undertones? I do not want to appear gaudy, you know?
But the Oracle had not responded to her question. She sat in the biting air atop the slopes of Zirakzigil waiting but to no avail. And so with icy fingers and toes, she had made her way home. That was weeks ago now. As she sat nursing her flagon of ale and ponder over tent colors, a pleasant sounding voice chimed into her thoughts. She turned to see a spill of dark hair, alike to the dark depths of the Mirrormere; and a face to match the beauty of the stars. Oh to be young again.
Looking up at the tall women (Hethu), who enquired if her presence was welcomed, Drifa smiled and said. "Your presence at my table will make it, and me the envy of the pub! Please join me!"
Rising from her seat she bowed low. "Drifa at your service!" Then pulling a chair out for the women, she continued. "Please have...." But before she could finish her greeting, a loud yelp followed by a dull, heavy sound of a tailbone hitting the ground, rang through the pub. She looked over towards the bar and saw a brown-haired dwarf (Skarphéðinn) getting to his feet in what appeared to be a confused state. He then began to brush himself off calling out to the pub in general.
" Terribly rude of me, I hope you can call accept a mug of coffee as recompense for the unintended slight."
Turning to the tall women, Drifa grinned. "I'll warrant he will be back into his mugs before long. Free coffee sounds good. Shall we?"

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