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Message: <blockquote data-quote="horticulture" data-source="post: 5476203" data-attributes="member: 6671055">The barroom door opens with a resounding crash, letting the rain and smell of ozone seep into the common room once again; following close behind the swinging portal clanks an armed and armored dwarf, water flowing off him in rivers. With nary a twitch of his arm, he sends the door crashing closed. An exagerated, and very bushy, eyebrow raised, he looks over bar until his eyes alight the barkeep, to whom he moves towards, arms and legs pumping like pistons. Upon hopping atop a vacant stool, he digs out then drops a dented and dirty piece of gold on the bartop, grabs the bartender by his shirt front, pulls him close and in a conspiratorially loud bellow asks a few questions. "Ye got ale, do ye?" to which the barkeep assures him that he does, which causes the dwarf to let go and lean back a little. "And what o' a bit o' work? Been lookin' ta fill me coffers wit some gold an' what. Know anythin' 'bout that?" The bartender, upon being released, clears his throat and tugs on the hem of his now crumpled shirt. "Now and again, good dwarf, fellows come around looking for those that seek thrills in exchange for payment. This may be the best place to look for work, if you're patient." The bartender places a stout mug upon the bartop and fills it with ale, passing it along to the rain soaked dwarf. "Ahh, one o' them waitin' games, what? Good that me belly's empty and me beard's in need o' a wash then." He snatches the mug in a meaty paw and quickly drains its contents down his gullet, only half of the ale spilling out of his mouth and washing down his beard. "Keep 'em comin', lad, got nothin' but time on me hands, y'see."</blockquote>

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