Beer. No matter how hard Kaghad tried, he could never say 'no' to the stuff after a long day of traveling, particularly one as disappointing as this. As much as he wanted to sit down, he knew when he had arrived that climbing atop one would be a chore given his physique and clothes, and that staying on one would be a trick since his legs wouldn't be able to touch the ground. As such, when he had first approached the counter to request two pints of dark beer, he remained standing. It helped keep him from becoming too engrossed in his drinks, though he still didn't bother to wipe the cream-colored foam from his cloud-white beard.

What a day! First he had nearly gotten run over by a carriage while strolling down the main road, then he had tripped on an uneven clod of dirt and dropped his Portable Forge into a ditch, nearly starting a brushfire in the process. With no place to stop for a proper lunch, he had been forced to turn to his own rations of hard cheese and stale bread, and when he finally reached the small town of Balendale, he had found that the local smith was both appallingly incompetent and intolerably nasty. No wonder his equipment was so poor; he had likely driven away any potential customers with his sharp tongue. After a lifetime of smithing, Kaghad knew that one had to be at least passingly pleasant to people to be bought from. The thought of setting up shop in Balendale to disgrace the unpleasant man's work had indeed occurred to him, but he wasn't waltzing across the countryside to find a new place to start a forge in.

No, thought the dwarf as he clapped the second mug down on the table a little too heavily. He was here for adventure!

At that moment, a woman a few seats away stood up. Naturally this failed to interest Kaghad; a female advancing into an upright position was a fairly everyday phenomenon. Her voice, however, breaking over the dull roar of conversation and hearth-fire everpresent in the tavern, gave him reason to look her way. At first glance, she seemed fairly unremarkable except for her locks, which were both exceedingly long and purple. This struck the practical craftsman as needlessly garish, and her comment about being a warrior -while it would explain her stiff manner- did not sufficiently convince him. He knew he didn't really have the place to judge, since he knew he himself was no warrior, but at least he owned up to it. Still, a warrior with purple hair, and in a dress no less! As he listened further he found that her proposition struck more of a chord with him than her appearance. What an incredible coincidence that another adventurer had wound up in the exact same spot as he at the same time. The prison-castle she mentioned mystified him somewhat, but the mention of the name filled his old bones with a tingling sort of excitement. The last time he had delved into a fort with a couple of allies at his back, they had all made off with a fair haul. Should a castle be any different?

Making up his mind, Kaghad wiped away the froth from his beard with the back of his gloves hand and pushed off from the bar. Though slightly inebriated, he was no stranger to low-quality liquor, so the vast majority of his senses were still in tact. He navigated the various patrons of the bar until he stood directly in front of Tanya. Her eyes were already on him before he had arrived, examining him critically the whole time, and the dwarf thought he could detect a hint of scorn on her face. Perhaps not. He was not so good with human emotions. Regardless, he was suddenly conscious of his general dinginess. Kaghad crossed his own arms and titled his head until his shiny black eyes were staring down his vast nose into the vibrant purple of Tanya's. "Hallo," he began, "Wot exactly does thess quest o' yourn entail?"