As the uproarious singing of cheerful drunks and fire-forged friends shook Thrillem's beloved feasting hall of old, only one dwarf seemed able to resist the infectious atmosphere of camaraderie. On any other day, one would expect to find Norburr Deepslate minding his own business over in a corner away from the other dwarves, with only a plate of roasted bitterroot, well-seasoned mushrooms, and salty cave fish fillets for company as he pored over ledgers of charts, records, and supplies. While the others stuffed their faces and got back to work, he could spend hours picking at his meal as he checked and rechecked the books to make sure that every lesson from the last expedition had been learned, and everything was in order for the next. After all, failure to do so -as Norburr loved to remind anyone who doubted his methods- could mean the difference between life and death. And yet, that fastidiousness and his exacting standards meant that for as long as anyone could remember, Norburr Deepslate -young in body but old in spirit- ate alone.

Not so today. For out of everyone to brave the myriad and unknown dangers of the outside world on this terrific quest, of all the stout-hearted warriors and celebrated heroes, it was Norburr who they picked. Nobody, they reasoned, was better prepared to tackle unknown territory and dangerous terrain than him, the prospector whose preparedness, perception, and perseverance saved who-knows-how-many lives down in the deep. And therein, Norburr realized, was the problem--the reason why even now, in the midst of a celebration for him, he sat slumped on one hand at the dinner table, a dour look upon his wan face. It was because he [i]knew[/i] what both opportunity and danger looked, sounded, and smelt like that he could overcome the underground so well! The idea of being thrown to the wolves on the surface world, a place devoid of documentation and research, terrified him. What even were wolves, for instance? What did they eat, and how did they hunt? Were they afraid of fire, like a number of subterranean predators down here? Did they make some distinctive sound that could be used to steer clear from them? Norburr just didn't know. And knowing wasn't half the battle; it was [i]everything[/i]. And because this was such an honor, he couldn't possibly refuse.

He was so lost in thought that he jumped in his seat when Beorthric slammed down a new round of drinks onto the table. He blinked in mixed bewilderment and annoyance Beorthric leaned into the group to make them aware of the gauntlet thrown down by their neighbors. Norburr glanced over at the Orebreakers. Surly, burly, broad, and dust-speckled...they were miners through and through, the very salt of the earth, and tough as nails. Of course, no typical dwarf would take any such challenge lying down, no matter how stout the competition. Kragg Stonefist, however, was an [i]exceptional[/i] dwarf, as strong and honorable as they come. Alongside him, Brazmere Granitebrew eagerly rose to confront the competition, going as far as to rouse the others to join him. Even Norburr was no exception, which the prospector actually didn't mind that much. If he was stuck going on this expedition, he really ought to try to improve his standing with the others in the long term, and he could certainly stand to distract himself from his misgivings for now. With a roll of his eyes Norburr downed the last of his mead (that being just his second cup) and got to his feet. "Let's just try not to break anythin', eh?" he groused, massaging his shoulders. "Don't know about you chaps, but I'd rather not start off tomorrow in a cast!"