The tavern was dimly lit, and haunting. Cobwebs clung from the ceiling, even the arachnids had abandoned this forsaken village. The air was musty, the floorboards were moist and quickly becoming moldy. They creaked as Yor Amberslag strode forth, towards his brother, Gorrim. A laugh caught his attention before he reached a stool, the footfalls of a lithe creature, an elf, were masked by his own heavy steps. The elf appeared to try and sneak past the Amberslag brothers, but his subtlety was ruined by his audible enterance. Yor raised a brow and brought his attention to a mead horn sailing through the air towards him. He snatched it and guzzled its contents with a ravenous fervor. 

[b][i]"Brudder, what took ye so long?"[/b][/i] questioned Gorrim. 
[b][i]"The damned fog was ticker' than our mudders beard!"[/b][/i] roared Yor. The stout dwarf plopped his rump on a stool next to Gorrim, whom jumped up and followed the elf to a room in the back. Meanwhile, Yor guzzled from the mead horn, the amber liquid trickled down his black beard. He lifted his mighty hammer and splayed it on the bar in front of him, his right hand rested on its shaft. A few minutes passed and his red headed brother, Gorrim returned, muttering something about elves before he resumed his sitting. [b][i]"How was yer trip into this weird little town?"[/b][/i] asked Gorrim. 
[b][i]"Well, like I said, the fog was thick, ye better believe I tread with caution. Hard tellin' if a hungry giant was lurking in dem woods. He'd discover an Amberslag dwarf is hard to chew, an even harder to digest!"[/b][/i] Yor howled again, slamming his fist on the bar, releasing a guttural laugh that shook the taverns foundation. 
[b][i]"So me brudder, ye expect our companions to be of any use? I say we clear Kehema ourselves! May ant and giant a like tremble at dwarven fortitude!"[/b][/i]

Yor felt his intoxication quickly returning, along with his menacing temper. His blood boiled and memories flowed through his mind. Memories of a whore he thought he loved. Yor was a prince, but he had cheap taste. The vision of the dwarf went red, and he knew Gorrim would be wise to distance himself. A callused hand grasped the shaft of the hammer, which was easily lifted over Yor's head and smashed into the stool to his left, shattering it easily. The momentum and force of his rage brought the dwarf to the floor, falling from his own stool in a drunken stupor. Yor roared primitively, leaning on his elbow and hopping back to his feet, and charged towards a nearby table with surprising speed. It was obliterated in seconds. This would be an interesting, yet typical everyday quest for the lively Amberslag brothers.