[center][h2]Banard Kegborne
Dwarven Brewmaster[/h2][/center]

"Alright me lads." The voice is clear and loud. "Let's give these poor sods something to lift their spirits." It's a Dwarf, a golden haired son of stone. But his clothing and mannerisms say he's not a local. A ruddy tan rather then the slight pale skin says this dwarf spends a fair amount of time outside. Along with him is a full company of dwarves. Squat strong folk from afar it seems.

And as those around watch the four wagons the dwarves came in are opened cloth covers pulled back and behold! Barrels and barrels upon barrels and barrels of good prime hooch, beer, ale and whiskey. Stamped with the sigil of the Kegborne Brewery. South Hold Dwarves from south across the sea come from a far with gifts.

As the unloading begins a delegation of Kogani Dwarves approaches. The leader the one with the shaved pate and golden beard greets them heartily, "Cousins! I bring a gift of fine spirits to liven the mood before battle." As the Kogani start in the leader watched and is suddenly entranced quite suddenly. Few pay him need as he walks past one of the wagons. Just there a strange butterfly, beautiful yet somehow terrible as well. Whispering "Fair life what are you..." He reached out grasping almost taking hold. But nothing. Nothing to grab. Bit then from the camp "Master Banard Kegborne! A word?"

Bernard turns his attention returning. It's a stout Kogani Dwarf there in half plate. He growls, "Fine gifts young master. But what of the fight? Will any of your company stand?" It's quiet for a time Banard stands and strokes his beard. Look in past the Dwarf before him. Looking at the recruitment posters and announcements about. Bernard then nods "Of my company here Lord? None, they came to help with the drink. And will return to the south holds within the week. But my wife and sons and daughters rain at the holds. And thus I can be spared." 

He nods grabbing a pack and an axe from one of the wagons then males a beeline to the recruiters. There the questions are asked, Name - Banard Kegborne. Age - 34. Affliated with military, no. Guild? Sure, damn sure. The International Brewers Guild of the South Dwarven Holds, proud paying member damn it. Seemingly satitsfied the card was handed too him. And the sharp dwarven shout of annoyance exits the golden bearded dwarves mouth. [i]<<That Feckin' well hurt you arse grabbers...what the feckin' hell you tryin' ta pull!>>[/i] A brief tirade. But soon he's moving off to choose his tent. Eventually choosing tent C 4. And there he plants himself with a few barrels of Kegborne mead. And several of his company gathered about to toast his courage.