"Some rest?" Drimbold echoed, and then huffed through his beard. He'd come back over and signed the damned thing, now the manling thought he was at his beck and call. Grimnir damn that, he was going to go back to the drinking table. And so he did, drinking and reveling in stories of old. Even naming the 136 names of Gold he knew in a bawdy song. Thankfully, once he grew tired of manling company, he did decide to get a few hours of sleep. 

Most men and Elgi would sleep the night away after such exertion. Drimbold was made of stern stuff however, and he rose just when he needed to. He grabbed another drink for good measure, along with some hearty ham, his pack already strapped to his broad back. His muscles granite and his skin thick as leather, even with only a few hours of sleep, Drimbold would march until the others stopped to rest their legs. That or, until he needed to take a piss or vomit since he had a small drinking binge the other night. 

Here's hoping this mercenary expedition would provide enough gold for him to fawn over, and spend more money on beer. And hopefully he could get better beer than the manling piss water!