For All the Things
As alarming as the latter thought was, you decided to take your chances with the ale. A few hearty swigs later, and feeling sufficiently warm, you leaned back and took in your surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so you returned to your tankard and downed the rest of it. Suddenly, you got an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, which slowly rose to your chest as though the ale were bewitched to become living butterflies once consumed.
You rose from your chair, and stumbled towards the door to leave. The reddened faces of the other patrons were just a blur to you as they turned your way, your eyes focused on the exit. Seemingly miles away, you thought you heard Saralee's voice chiding Noralyn, the middle Nolland daughter, about her latest ale experiment. You briefly turned, ready to question the contents of your tankard, when something bumped into you from behind, launching you into a table occupied by two old women who started shrieking obscenities.
While apologizing profusely, a large hand gripped your shoulder and you found yourself being guided back to your seat by what at first glance seemed to be an unkempt dwarf. After gaining your bearings, you took a closer look at the man, who was indeed a dwarf, but under his ragged overcoat, you could see clothing made of silk, high quality and still well-kept. Scattered and interwoven throughout his lengthy red beard were beads of gold, and a blue bandana wrapped around his head was the bed for a tattered black tricorn hat.
The man examined your empty tankard with a frown. "A pity's that. Ah well, we can get right down ter business then, can't we? I 'eard ye were a great marksman, prob'ly one o' the best in this li'l dale. I need yer 'elp to guide an' protect me as I make my way down ter the mouth o' the Daenin Ri'er. An' bef're ye says no, I can promise ye a pile o' riches fer yer trouble. Whadda ye say, lad?"