Drimbold had placed a few of the shoddy manling coins upon the counter and had waited expectantly for the ale, until this manling had offered something else that had piqued his interest. Furrowing his brow, he stared at him with a curious disbelief. "Zhufbar Ale?" he declared allowed. "How'd you get that?" The question hung in the air, but in the end he knew it did not matter. By Gungni, he just needed a drink. It wasn't like the manling had claimed he had read any of the sacred texts of Valya! 

"Aye, Zhufbar Ale it is. And keep [i]that[/i] coming!" He cried, shoving some more of the manling coins his way. If he didn't accept the payment, Drimbold had some extra Dwarfish gold in his pack. But he'd not give that to any but of the Elder in any but the most dire circumstances. 

As he waited for his drink, he glanced out into the room. Oddly enough, it was a diverse crowd of manlings and even other Dawi. A beardling and a slayer (who looked like a beardling himself) had just greeted one another. They looked like they hadn't even been on a dozen campaigns against Grobi! It was the fifteenth campaign when a Dwarf got a beard on his chest! Still, he heard Vargni's comment about the Elgi and it brought an obnoxious, roaring laugh from Drimbold's lips. 

His mirth only died down when the riflemen sitting next to him paid him a greetings, to which he shot him a guarded and uninterested look. Luckily, the Ale had slid into his ham sized fist and the good Dwarfish alcohol improved his mood to where he would at least speak. After taking a long swig, he set the mug down and wiped his mouth with his forearm. "I don't pay men to fight fer me. I do me own fighting, manling." He saw the longrifle the hochlander wore. If nothing else, he respected the weapon. Might not be as good as a Dwarfish handgun, but it was good work for a man engineer.