As the ridiculous looking recruiter entered the tavern, Drimbold would mutter 'bout time' as he grabbed another Zhufbar Ale, having already inhaled the first one in a matter of seconds. The atmosphere in the Nag had shifted to something more business-like, but Drimbold remained as unchanging as when he walked in (bar the Elf). Longbeards had patience unlike anything else in the world, and he was too busy drinking at the moment. If the manlings and the beardling were eager, he'd let them ask for recruitment. 

Once he had finished his fourth pint for a bit of light drinking, he hopped off the stool he'd climb up on. The timber furniture was grateful for the intense weight that had disappeared from atop it. Grabbing the axe that leaned on the counter side, he set off toward the Estalian once the last manling had finished speaking to him. A perpetual unsatisfied and unbridaled grimness to his face, Drimbold eyed the one eyed Guild representative. 

"Pay me a fair wage, I'll kill what ye want and march where ye want, provided it doesn't dishonor me hearth and home." He said, then glanced to the side to the White Lion. "If the Elgi comes along, that's extra." His voice sounded like rocks grating against one another. "If ye have no more gold, as ye look too scrawny to be a man of means, just see he keeps his distance." 

Drimbold didn't even wait for a proper answer, only staying enough to be satisfied with the man's acceptance before he went back to drinking.