“Sleeping. He must be sleeping,” Baldrick muttered as he hefted his axe, its familiar weight settling on his shoulder as he peered into the darkness ahead, “bloody addled Buldahr spent the night talking to his mouse, and now he’s sleeping.” “He’s not, brother,” Beldar replied, “don’t you know? The Buldahr don’t sleep, or piss, or even breathe. Fie! I’d wager all they do is wrestle and hu—” “Quiet!” Lobrek hissed, blowing on the match to keep it lit as he fit it into the neck of his weapon’s lock. The others obeyed, and could now hear what he did: dragging. No, walking, but with the unmistakable echo of something being hauled behind whomever—whatever—was approaching. “Ancestors!” Gloni called out, his pistol shaking in his grip as he pointed it down the hall at the shuffling figure shuffling forward stiffly, its twisted right lag dragging behind it at an awkward angle. In response to the shortbeard’s cry, th...
H alreth sipped the pint in his hands, and unable to hide his grimace, caused several of his companions to chuckle heartily. “Manling’s got his first taste of proper drink, and look at him! He’s already redder than blood!” Beldar howled, his own pint of Greyfrost nearly spilling as he looked on at Halreth’s first tentative delve into the world of dwarven brewing. “It’s. . .bitter, and half as hot as liquor. You drink this on a normal eve?” “By the barrelful,” Beldar replied, “and don’t you go comparing this fine ale to that manling swill! I’ve smelled more pleasant things in an alchemist’s shop, I have.” Halreth shrugged, peering into his mug like a child might gaze into a well. “So,” Halreth said, “let me get this straight. You and Baldrick here are brothers. Brothers, and part of clan Ironthane.” Beldar (left) and Baldrick (right). “Aye,” the two siblings agreed in unison. “And you, uncle, are part of clan Copperbrow, alongside Glo...