The tavern had quite come to life just recently.  An adventure was stirring and, much to the Halfling's delight, several rather burly strangers had seemed to attach themselves to the party of this Johan Sebastian Bock.  He meant to join his considerable power, and might, and wisdom, and bravery to their number and in so doing take his own share of the coin and reputation on offer.  It certainly helped tha several capable looking men had attached themselves already.  One with a massive Flamberge, one with a Warhammer, plus that black-clad knight and a dwarf to boot.  Mean looking bastard of a dwarf too, his favorite kind.  Though they were all mean looking bastards to Alvin, it was why he was so fond of them.

"Sir," he spoke up, literally, dusting off his fur lined vest and looking up at the scarred visage of the Mayor's messenger and (Alvin hoped) party leader. "My name is Alvin Gammel, Tracker in these parts and seasoned traveler far afield," he continued as he moved toward the growing group discussing Sr. Bock's proposal and his dog trotted up behind him to sit down on it's haunches, "This is my humble steed, Woof.  Her brother's waiting outside.  We're small Sir, sure, but we're quick and we know these roads.  I've a keen eye and they've keen snouts, and we'll all be near to the roads.  If you might point us to the ones those caravans were last seen on before they disappeared, or if you know between what cities they were traveling, it would be a good start to the search."

Though his tone still had the musical quality even grown Halfling's seemed to have a difficult time distancing themselves from he had dropped the braggadocio and conducted himself more respectably.  His audience from earlier had a mixed reaction to the little man stepping up.  In the darker corners of the tavern one or two chuffed at the notion of him going out into the wilds to track whatever bandits had been overtaking entire caravans, but however much they might doubt his ability the majority knew they wouldn't be putting themselves in the position.  Not to be publically rejected by the grim visage of this Johan Sebastian Bock, and even worse not to potentially have their offer of assistance be accepted and find themselves attached to this party.  It was hard to join yourself to a cause that would likely lead to your death, so much easier to stay in a nice bar.  Dry, warm, lubricated.  It was the wee man's funeral, not theirs.  Let the mayor's militia send more men or let them call for backup from the rest of Reikland, it was their job wasn't it.