For All the Things
Saralee, whether she was joking or not, gave you an ill feeling in the pit of your stomach. After taking a few sips, you frown and push the tankard back.
"Oi, is that fer me? A generous one, ye are, haha!" Startled, you jerk back and nearly fall out of your chair. Large rough hands, weathered with age and hard work, lunged forward and gripped your shoulders to steady you. "Easy now, we don't need ter be causin' a ruckus." After making sure you had your balance, the stranger released his grip on you and sat down at the table opposite you. He took your tankard of ale and (much to your disbelief) quaffed the entire thing without even pausing for breath. Judging by his stout build and short stature, as well as his lengthy red beard, this man was a dwarf. Probably an important one, as closer examination revealed beads of gold woven in braids found randomly throughout his facial hair. Beneath a long dirty overcoat were clothes made with elegant design and the finest silk. Wrapped around his forehead was a bandana of deep blue, and to top him off, a tattered black leather tricorn sat upon his head like a crown.
"Now ye listen up, 'cause I got a proposition fer ye. I 'eard ye were one o' the best marksmen in this li'l dale. Accompany me and myself ter the mouth o' the Daenin Ri'er. There's bound ter be wolves, bears, an' all manner o' unpleasant folk on the way. When we get there, I can reward ye with a pile o' plenty. Whadda ye say, lad?"