The gruff dwarf looked up from his mug of rich, dark ale and plate of spiced potatoes to glare at you, the common room of the Inn of the First Home was as busy as it always seemed to be, with dwarven barmaids bustling about the latest crowd of dirty mine workers up from the first shift and the other industrious people of the underground community. It didn't matter if said dwarves were going in for their day of toil, or on their way home, but the inn, for all of it's lack of finery was well known for it's good ale and food among the common dwarves... Dagnabet (pronounced Dag-nab-it) Rockchipper liked it just fine... and this was the place, to his way of thinking, to start off the adventure of his lifetime.<br/><br/>He eyed you up and down before speaking in a gruff voice, "So, yer come ta ask meself 'bout me postin' is ye?"<br/><br/>He pointed to the oter side of the bench table and returned to his potatoes, "Tell meself why yer thinkin' yer th' right dwarf fer me mission?"