Grundle's, Ravenscraig
Froud pushes open the stone door. Though it looks heavy it is surprisingly light, as the Dwarf architects who had designed it took into account levers and counterbalances.
Inside, the torchlight is dim and subdued, with great gray shadows covering the walls. Of course, to the eyes of the Dwarves who are Grundle's main bread and butter, the ambient light level is not a problem. The smell of strong ale immediately hits you as you enter, and the place has a close cramped feel. Dozens of dwarves in various walks of life sit around on hard stools with large beer steins in hand, chanting dwarven drinking songs. You spy a human or two, hunched over due to the low ceiling but generally having a good time.
At first you thought it might be difficult to spot your mark, but it wasn't. Near the center of attention was the most massive dwarf you've ever seen, easily 5 and a quarter feet and heavily muscled. He was surrouded by a bunch of dwarves in rough earthen-coloured hoods, all singing bawdy songs. A beautiful jeweled hammer, clearly ceremonial in nature, hung at the giant dwarf's waist.
Yara gulped and frowned. "Tell me the mark ain't that massive fellow over there."