A set of scruffy eyebrows crunched from effort. The wiffy, puffy hair of the brow crunched together formed like a second set of mustache in the wide, thick forehead of a very concentrated dwarf. His forehead was like a miniature explanation from him: thick, wide, and rather short, framed by fluffy, scruffy and thick hair.<br/>Two beady bright eyes were fixed in his calloused, rough (and whatnot stubby) palms. He recalculated, re-evaluated, recalculated once more and came in a conclusion: he was definitely not happy in the quality of the copper coin he had received as change. "This is a sacrilege.", his mustache-of-a-brow wobbled in the rhythm of the mustache veiling his upper lip. He was the kind of a dwarf whose mouth was seemed as a mystery: it was presumably a hole somewhere beneath all the beard.<br/><br/>The two dots beneath his thick brow darted at the intoxicated blabberer sitting at the far other end of the round table. Each time Pelgir heard his slurring slips spew out something that sounded valuable, he couldn't help but to check if something valuable had indeed appeared from the boasters mouth. He surely had a big enough mouth for someone whom should be nested in the warm safety of mother's arm.<br/>Humans left home way too early, Pelgir had always said. Most of the issues in the human domain were a direct causality from sending kids into the cold world way too young. Men in that age couldn't appreciate the precious little things right beneath their noses, but always had their eyes in the horizon, dreaming from way bigger treasures. Only the ripe and old enough to be blessed with wisdom could appreciate the small miracles beneath their feet.<br/>Men had their heads in clouds and eyes in the horizon, blinded by the speed of their short lives.<br/>Peilr knew the other side of the coin as well: men accused that dwarves had their battered noses beneath their two legs and could never appreciate a proper view. And that, if you asked Peilr from, was a<em>point of view</em>question, and wittily added, that men didn't understand the<em>scale</em>of things.<br/><br/>Peilr Sorehands himself left home in the fresh age of fifty, and some dwarves thought that he was still too green to see the world. That felt like two eye blinks ago, even though many summers and winters had passed since he left his cozy mountain and traveled to see the wealth of the world.<br/><br/>"Hraumph.", he coughed like two stones cracking in a distant valley, and carefully put the coins into a small leathery pouch. The leather pouch was attached with the tiniest of chains into the thick belt orbiting the dwarf's venerable middle-area like a rim of a barrel. A hefty warhammer hung next to the pouch of coins, as a polite reminder for pickpockets, thieves and all the others who could be tempted with an act of disrespecting someone else's right for *very personal* property.<br/><br/>As the attention span of the chain-mailed cleric finally had enough capacity to take note of the surroundings, the human female that had entered the table had already left, but the black dressed youngling still kept going with his stories. Peilr's stubby fingers reached for the mug of ale. The mug arose to meet the thick beard, but just as he readied for a sip, two things happened.<br/>The youngling mentioned "gold", causing the dwarf's eyes pop into the mouth that had mentioned such a beautiful word. His head craned towards the black dressed man. And right after, someone mentioned "Sacred Order", and once more the beady eyes rushed nervously into the other end of their sockets.<br/>Peilr craned in his chair to take a glance at the noble girl, and the paladin cramped in the corner. A sacred man hiding in the dim corner.<br/>He couldn't quite see the sigil of the paladin, usually stamped somewhere in the shield for all the evil to witness before the inevitable slam, but Peilr reckoned him to serve the same cause as he did: Order, prosperity, security (and wealth) of the region.<br/>A good man in the proper place, the dwarf mused.<br/><br/>The storyteller seemed to gained second place in the attention race for the girl, the dwarf mused. He muffled a humm of a laughter that vibrated through his beard, mustache and brow all alike. He puckered his lips (under his beard that is) and craned his whole short body back to take that long craved quaff from the nice and<strong>golden</strong>ale.<br/><br/>Even though the realms were in chaos, the roads were unsafe and filled with peril, this was a good night. And the perfect mug of ale, also perfectly<em>haggled</em>, which made it all the better. The dwarf smooched his lips in anticipation of the first quaff.