The sun gave a clear view of the Marches from this high up, but the travelers were weary and laden with burdens and tragedy. Unfortunately, the two colorful commoners who had been playing the merry tune had just halted their revelry to take a break for lunch. They'd received enough coin from passersby to garner some food for themselves, and they saw fit to head over to the man selling skins, to see if he had some jerky. 

The Dwarf soldier had halted his blade sharpening, appraising his broadsword with a practiced eye. He raised an eyebrow to the other bare-chested Dwarf, who seemed lost in thought as he smoked his pipeweed. That is, until the soldier Dwarf elbowed him. "Seems we have a crowd," he said, gesturing to the two women who'd sat close to their firepit, as well as Talos who had planted a bit further away. 
"So, what do you want me to do about it?" (Wot do ye want meh tae do aboot it?). The other one snorted. "Stop your concocting and get to something useful, like the hurdy-gurdy. I'm gonna let out some oamn's." 

"Aye, I suppose I've been smoking a bit too much to be the one singing." The mohawk Dwarf said with a grin, revealing two or three missing teeth, with the rest looking positively un-cared for. He reached back, and to those who looked, his missing arm had been replaced with what looked like a tool of some kind. With his good hand, he grabbed an odd, multi-layered stringed instrument. He began to play a slow tune, broad and low in its sound, yet high enough to be heard above the murmur of conversation. The other Dwarf began a song through the tune. 

"[i]The miners pick, and the blacksmiths hammer![/i]" he began. "[i]Our. King's. throne. of. Gold![/i]" His voice rose at Gold. "[i]The Brewmaster's Ale and the Soldier's banner, Glory to the Gods of Old![/i]" 
It began again. 
"[i]The farmer's hoe and the ranger's crossbow, the inventor's engine of brass![/i]" He cried. "[i]If you think the Dwarves are will take your shit, you can kiss our hairy ass![/i]"  

There was uproarious laughter among the two Dwarves, though they continued through the lyrics, the song taking a more glory-filled tone as it progressed. While the Dwarf's voice was grating, he was obviously used to singing the song and it flowed well, if songs fit for Mountainhall barrooms was your style of music. 

As the song played, another came into the Cairn for rest and refitting. He looked to be twenty six, give or take a year. He had on dark leather fitting over chainmail, and a blue jacket atop that. His hair was dark, as were his eyes. He wore a sidesword at his hip, the sword's hilt a knuckle guard and tapers to give more hand protection to the wielder. This coupled with his jacket made it clear he had either been a sailor or a duelist. He made his way up and over to the blacksmith, handing him his dagger that looked quite corroded for some reason. 

The Drabarian walked over to the firepit, setting its Halberd down and listening to the Dwarves as he began to eat what looked to be an entire chicken, cooked. It chewed with the laziness of a lesser Dragon gnawing on the remains of a kill, leisurely. Still, there was an intelligence to its eyes, the Drabarian's broad shoulders heaving as it raised the chicken to its mouth. Near Talos, the hooded woman peeked out of her cowl. She was Praelian, it seemed. A vixen beauty who gazed at her surroundings with eyes of midnight brown. She locked eyes with Talos for a moment, before her eyes fell upon the fortune teller. She lifted herself up, and glided over there to meet her.