The Dwarf gives a wide, yellow-thoothed smile at your offer, and for the first time you notice the deep scars covering his face underneath the mats of his hair and beard. "Dun mind if I do," he says as he takes the last seat. "An fer yer generosity, I'll tell ye a story. About them Thokkari Hills, ye see. I been there 'afore." The man seems to go off in his own world as he tells his story, oblivious to everything else around him.
"'Bout three years ago a nest o' formians settled in ter them hills. They was intent on colonizing the whole damn place, but we fought 'em. Fought 'em good, too. But they was tough, and we lost plenty." The old dwarf runs a finger along a scar on his face as he continues. "But we beat 'em in th' end. Killed the whole damn lot of 'em. We gathered up our dead and brought 'em all home. Well, all but one; never could find her. Reckon she's still out there somewhere, Moradin bless her soul. But we come home and had a celebration o' life like you ain't never seen. Ain't been that much ale flowing 'round here since neither. If Hehranna coulda see'd it, she'da been some kinda proud. There be a grand celebration o' that one's life, if whatever's left of her ever finds her way home.
"But them hills, they leave a bad taste in yer mouth now. Fellas done lost too many kinfolk there, don't wanna go back. I done told ya we send a patrol down in there every now and again, but fer the most part them hills haven't been touched since that battle, 'cept for the occasional caravan that don't no bothers in the city. And I reckon that's what's happened to yer man. No tellin' what's holed up down in there now after all this time."
He appears to wake up out of his self-induced trance and raises his mug to you. "Good luck to ye if ye go. Be careful, and stay on yer toes. It was a dangerous area once, an' likely is again." He downs his ale in one giant swig and sets the mug down heavily on the table. "Good stuff," he says cheerfully as he wipes his mouth with the back of his filthy hand.
