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Message: <blockquote data-quote="spacehulkster" data-source="post: 3037718" data-attributes="member: 13070">MelvauntThe four men made their way into the town proper where the faint scent of dust permeated the air. Pfröte's miner's nose picked up the odor of precious ore, iron mostly with a few gems mixed in as well. "This town seems to be doing well for itself considering all the problems their mine claims to have." Pfröte the azer commented, his brightly colored hair slowly turned dull in the dusty air. "Why's the air so thick in this backhole town, haven't you northerners heard of bathing? It's a concept we Thayans developed over time as we learned that stink and dingy are acquired frailties." Kara-tor spoke to both dwarves in general, having seen the large orog in action he was keen to not turn that man's attentions towards himself. "It's the mines, they pull out the ore in a big lump of rock and then put it in big tumblers to flake off the dirt and bring more of the ore out." Pfröte answered "Absolutely filthy business, I shall not abide by these standards. You three may inquire without me, I shall retire to the finest inn, or whatever passes as one in this dirthole." and with that the red robed wizard ducked down a side street and disappeared amongst the throngs of busy townsfolk. "How should we go about locating our potential employer?" Rudgar asks. "Me thirsty!" The orog blurted out as the smell of stale ale and burnt flatbread wafted into his massive nostrils "This looks like as good place as any." Pfröte announced as the trio looks up at the sign above the building's entrance. RUSTY COOTER'S  Rudgar shrugs his shoulders and the three men walk into the tavern. The tavern is separated by a thin aisle that separates about a dozen long tables on the right of the aisle, with the long bar which covers nearly the entire left wall. The orog ambles up to the fullest table and plops his seat in the only empty chair on the near side of the table, immediately causing the man on his right to spill his tankard, while the man on his left has his elbow jerked into his mouth along with the leg of veal his was munching on.  "Hey watch it pal, don't make me make you move!" The patron who spilled his tankard yells at Qwergain, as he stands up and wipes the spilled ale from his breeches. Qwergain, who had sat hunched down in his seat, sits erect and turns his head slowly to his right, even sitting Qwergain head is still taller than the standing man. Realizing the uselessness any confrontation with this giant of a man would be, the patron quietly excuses himself and leaves for another table. Rudgar seizes this opportunity and takes the vacant seat next to Qwergain. Pfröte scans the tables, and notes that most of this assemblage is from the lower class, with a few exceptions which were probably supervisors to the majority of patrons.</blockquote>

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