For All the Things
"You knocked me over, didn't you, back there? That's hardly what one would call a great first impression." As you scolded him, the dwarf grinned sheepishly, his left hand playing absently with a gold bead embedded within a small braid in his beard.
"Aye, t'was me. Didn't want ye ter slip out o' my reach, so ter speak." Suddenly you noticed his right hand was gripping something concealed inside his overcoat. Your face must have given away your trepidation, because the dwarf deftly pulled out the object and sat it on the table: a small yet plump satchel, just barely open enough to reveal several rolled up parchments inside. "Easy now, this is jus' a precaution, ye see."
You didn't quite see, and were about to say so, when Anna, the youngest of the Nolland girls, approached your table with a tankard of ale in each hand. With her fiery red locks and tiny stature, you briefly entertained the thought that she might be part dwarf herself. "This round is on the house, boys. Enjoy!" She smiled and turned to leave, though you noticed her gaze lingering on the dwarf.
"Ah, that's service. Don't ye mind if I do..." With a mighty gulp, the dwarf downed the entirety of the tankard and set it back down, wiped his mouth with the arm of his dirty overcoat, and belched, while you looked on, astonished. "Now, where were we? Ah, right." Nimbly, he stuck his hand into the satchel and pulled out a corked bottle of ink like liquid shadow, a pile of parchments, and an ornate golden pen, engraved with strange markings you couldn't quite make out.
"...Who are you?" you asked as the dwarf stuck the end of his pen in his mouth and began to ruffle through the parchments. After finding the least yellowed, tattered parchment of the bunch, he uncorked the ink, removed the pen from his mouth, and began to write in elegant flowing calligraphy with penmanship contrary to his appearance and manner.
"The name," he said without looking up from his writing, "is Barunlad Firebeard. Ah, but ye can, an' should, call me Bourbon. 'Ere we go." He blew gently on the parchment to dry the ink, then slid it over to your side of the table whilst grabbing your untouched tankard in one swift movement.
Eyeing the drinking dwarf reproachfully, you pick up and examine the parchment, a contract for five-hundred gold pieces to safely escort Bourbon to the Tawny Inn, located at the mouth of the Daenin River. "Is this necessary? What will you do if I decline?"
With a twinkle in his eyes and a cheeky grin, he passed you the pen, which upon closer inspection was engraved with dwarven runes, an alphabet you had never been very familiar with. "Would ye really pass up this opportunity, lad? It's just a bit o' adventure fer more than a bit o' gold."
"I could use some excitement, I guess."
Hand the pen back to its owner.