Dwin's return
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_Dwin marches into town with some of his closest dwarven kin; Foilir, Bel'in, Maythor, Krig, and Furyar. All signs of the "floating armor" that had been present are now gone.
Dwin seems to have aged in the time he was gone. His hair has lightened, and he has more wrinkles around his eyes than before. "Laugh wrinkles" they are called, though few believe his came from joy.
However, those that know him well will also swear that he seems larger…both in size and in character.
The exhaustion from his ordeal is apparent. The procession stops near the Town Hall and he gives his rescuers great bear-hugs of thanks.
Lucid steps out, and with a quick wave Foilir and Dwin follow him inside where Dwin is updated on all that he has missed._
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Rando sits in the corner, not drinking but with the look of contentment, now Dwin is back and the town is back to normal. He watches as the Dwarfs get carried away with drinking as normal with the odd hin being thrown in the air by some over excited dwarf. He sees Krig talk to the rug and chuckles and says
" Back to business"
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Belin while indulging in the ale heartily and most of the rabble rousing although smart enough to avoid her cousin's blows during the brawling does not in fact wander out of the inn with lasses on each arm. Instead retreating to a bunk with muttering about guard duty.
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Krig spends a good deal of the time during the party off to the side by himself just smiling and watching the others have fun. At times he stares off into the dim grand hall light. After putting down quite a few ales he was heard making toasts to names such as Thorin, Covah, Galnin, even names of those who are not yet gone from this world but who Krig hasnt seen in some time. Gulir, Balin, Belthor, Bormus, Cadoc, Thorvin, Bella, Doli, Emerus, Dole (there is a slight twinge of sadness as he mentions that name). Of those names, he speaks of his old friend Gulir the most, taking someone who happens by at the time and holding them there until he finishes recounting one of the many trips they took to the Lost City. As the night and ales go by, he gets more and more long winded, finally ending up telling a tale of The Eyes of Makrath to a stuffed bear rug laying on the floor.
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Mord watches the party roll from the boarshead and stagger into the dawn light looking even more battered than when they returned tothe town from the north. The thin smile almost touches his eyes and he barely avoids an errant mug toosed with decent aim considering the condition of the tosser
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_The armor of the dwarves shows the signs of how their night was spent.
Axe wounds, claw marks, and the soot left from burns scars their armors, helms and cloaks. Dried blood etches odd looking rivers in the seams of their armor where it dried.
They are all exhausted but carry on in dwarven as if everyone and everything else around them is irrelevant. Boxes and packs of loot adorn the members of the party.
Dwin is given the lead spot in the procession, the place of honor. The trophies and armor announce their presence in the cold Norwick air with a steady and loud "clank" heard with each step.
After allowing Dwin to speak with Lucidious, the party drags him to the local tavern, his night not over.
The group stomps into the boarshead, and the normal drunken presence of Gruff is overshadowed by the dwarevn war party. A smile breaks onto
Barle's face as he realizes the cost of the ales the dwarves are going to drink is going to be vastly larger than the cost to replace the broken chairs and tables and tankards that are a regular occurance with these customers.Life seems to be returning to this hamlet… At least of the dwarven persuasion.
The pre-dawn hours are livelier than the previous 20. Countless bouts of arm wrestling end with loud cheers and coin exchanges hands. Brawls break out, with humans being tossed out the windows of the Inn, only to have a dwarf run out and drag them back inside. Wars of ale are waged, the enemies quickly battling each other, their equilibrium and gravity. Enemies become friends and friends enemies in seconds. A drunken Dwin starts an inn clearing brawl after mistaking Gruff for a dwarven lass in his drunken stupor and asking him to dance.
All in all a typical dwarven outing in this barbarian hamlet. After leaving all the other patrons either passed out in a drunken stupor or unconcious due to a well placed dwarven right cross, the dwarves stagger out of the inn, lasses on each arm, leavin the Boarshead the same way they left a part of the Nars._
