Gildrim Nurazak, dwarven Divine Bard 1
The door opens and in stomps a dwarf with wild black hair and a beard that's white at the tips. Beneath a chain shirt, he's wearing hairy goatskin clothing. A wooden shield and longsword are slung over his shoulders. He looks around. "Sae thes is th' Red Dragon. Ah was expectin' somethin' grander. Naethin' guid comes ay buildin' in wuid," he says in a deep gravelly voice. He examines the noticeboard. "Naethin' happenin' here," he gruffs. Then he sees the sign listing Joe's requirements for newcomers, and turns to address the patrons.
"Ah, mah nam, an' whit Ae dae," he says, scratching at his head. "Weel, Aam a kin' ay rovin' ambassadur fur mah clan, Nurazak, that's th' Steady Anvils tae ye beardless folk, an Ah dae whit ma god, Grendath, tells me tae dae. An' mah nam, weel, it's a guid prood nam fur a dwarf." He lifts his chin so that his beard bristles forward. "Mah nam's Gildrim, son ay Darak. An' nae as Ah've said mah piece, Ah'll sit doon an' hae somethin' tae eat."
"Woods ye hae onie bylt bawkies?" he asks a serving maid. He's answered by a blank look. Frowning, he repeats himself in perfect unaccented Common. "I said, do you have any boiled bats? No? A roast chicken, then, if you would."