While most of the Dwarves seem to be minding their own business, a rather wide and stout dwarf with thick black hair seems to be looking around the establishment.  He's already on his second pint of breakfast ale, a pickaxe sitting by his legs at the table to show his profession of working in the mines within the mountain, gathering its rich materials for the forge.  He brings the tankard up to his lips when his gray eyes seem to fall on the strange, multicolored, turtle looking figure at his own table.  The dwarf sneers a bit, standing and walking over to the table.  He leaves his pickaxe behind, but still have several potentially dangerous tools on his utility belt around his thick waist as well as his own meaty fists.  His clothing is stained with the dark dust of his profession, much as it looks as though he's tied to clean it.<br/><br/>"What the fuck are you?"  He spits at the tortle, slamming down a hand on the table, causing the bowl of porridge to jump slightly at the weight of his hand.<br/><br/>"Alright now, Gunter, why don't you leave this dearie alone?"  Brunhilda warns the dwarf as she passes by, carrying a round wooden tray with several tankards of ale on it.<br/><br/>"I ain't gonna cause any trouble, Brunhilda, so long as this fucker gives me a decent answer,"  Gunter slurs out.  Clearly two ales first thing in the morning hasn't done much to give him a charismatic disposition, giving the tortle a hard look.  "I ain't never seen your kind around here before," He adds, a hiccup following the statement.