Doring was watching through the bushes whn suddenly, he was ambushed by a Drow wielding a bow. On instinct, he drew the commissioned sword that was in its sheath on his hip. He pointed the silver blade at his attacker to force her to keep her distance; which was rather useless. She did have a bow after all. That was when she began to question the Dwarf. This Drow was clearly crazy, talking about this forest as if it was hers. Doring lowered his blade as she lowered her bow, but he still kept a tight grip on it, ready to use it should the need arise.<br/><br/>"I am Doring, a smith. I am on a journey to deliver this blade to one of my clients. So no, i'm not with those people. By the gods, I have no clue who they even are." He narrowed his eyes. "And who are you? By the tits of my ancestors, you have some nerve threatening me!" Doring's shock had worn off and now he was back to his normal self. "I am the greatest smith to walk this sodding world! I am the Berserker that single-handidly warded off one hundred and one bandits from a town!" These stories were of course not one hundred percent true. He was a talented smith, but he was nowhere near the best. And he did ward off bandits from attacking a town, but it was more like twenty and he failed to mention that he had the entire town guard backing him up. "I could smite you from this world in an instant, little Drow! Give me a reason not to!" He tightened his grip on his sword, but some reasonable part of him deep... deep... DEEP down inside forced him to amend his previous statements.<br/><br/>"Ungh, I mean..." He sheathed his sword. "I had some help with those bandits. And, um, i'm not going to smite you. Forget I said that. I haven't had my midnight ale yet. When I haven't had my midnight ale I can get a little cranky." He paused. "Same for my morning beer. And my late morning wine. And my mead with lunch. And my afternoon beer. And my evening mead. And my mead with dinner. And my wine before bed..." He stopped. "Speaking of..." He took off his pack and looked around in it, finally pulling out a large glass bottle. He took the cap off and took a long, drawn out swig."Let's start over. I am Doring Firehand. Weapon and Armorsmith of Methodin. At your service." He bowed, then addressed the group. "You all look incredibly out of your element here." He stepped out of the bushes. "What business do you have in a place like this?" He stroked his beard.