Alvin Gammel stood on his chair and leaned against the table, gnawing away at a piece of slightly overcooked sausage. He was regaling a disinterested few of the Ogre's Maw regulars with one of his well worn stories of derring do, voicing all the parts himself. As was often the case his telling cast a young Halfling bearing a striking resemblance to himself as the hero. He was just getting to the good part of this tale, in which our handsome and wise Hero convinces his captors to follow him and so becomes commander of a mighty fighting force, when he took notice of the new arrivals. Taking careful measure he marks first where his dog, Woof, lies beside the chair then jumps over him nearly stumbling as he lands. Good ale, generous portions of good ale. Living as an adventuring halfling one becomes well acquainted rather quickly with what danger and opportunity look like, and Alvin saw quite a lot of each in the new faces tonight. Peeking around seated patrons he tried to assess the situation and right himself. With only the slightest of gestures to Woof the dog makes it's own assessment of the situation and eagerly sets to assisting it's master. Woof's role was clear enough. First impressions were paramount and sausage juice on a young halfling's chin and coat simply would not do, this threat must be subdued. It takes to the task dutifully. It's master once more safe and close as he was like to get to presentable Woof retreated to the corner of the room to conduct careful reconnaissance on the inside of it's eyelids. Taking a last moment to brush himself off and smooth back his hair he walks ever so slightly unsteadily toward the fireplace. "Hey kid," he says in a soft voice, "you alright there? You look like shit. Want a potato?"