The wind whistled directly onto the Old Stone that day at highsun. The zephyr that whistled its way down from the top of the Old Stone – a massive, ancient rock leaning on an angle on the edge of a mesa on the outskirts of Adgad – made a piercing sound in the ears of all those within thirty feet of it.
“Durn that blasted wail of a goblin’s fart,” cried Ivel.
“Ya need ta speak up laddy,” responded Dugar at the top of his lungs. It was difficult to hear anything else with the wind coming down from the Stone.
“I said, DURN THAT BLASTED WAIL OF A GOBLIN’S FART!” Ivel yelled this time. Dugar and Piknen merely scrunched up their faces in response to Ivel’s description of the wind.
Following their meeting with Lacidin, the three dwarves collected their rations, waterskins, and other adventuring peripherals, and then promptly made their way to the Old Stone. It hadn’t been quite highsun when they arrived, but they were content to wait a bit for the other adventuring company. Piknen, for one, was eager to find out who these other lads were. Perhaps his cousin Guud would be among them.
Piknen hadn’t spoken to Guud since they were young dwarves. Last he heard, Guud moved to Grabdek and fought in their army. Guud was known to have broken from typical dwarven tradition, fighting with a massive sword that was bigger than he. His skill with such a blade was great, and the power delivered in every swipe was grand.
Perhaps he moved back to Adgad where he belonged, Piknen thought – and hoped.
Soon enough, Piknen’s hopes were crushed as three dwarves, none of whom was Guud, finally arrived on scene. Two dwarves whose dark brown beards were caked with mud came forward first. Axes in hand, they approached Dugar.
“Har there, what’s this we hear about Goblin’s farts?” cried one of the dwarves approaching, well loud enough to be heard over the noise.
Dugar looked at Ivel, then looked back at the dwarves.
“We be Dugar, Piknen an’ Ivel, sent here by Lacidin. Who are we addressing?”
The dwarf on the left, wearing old, yet sturdy looking plate mail answered, “I be Hagdun Karidig. This be me brother Pwint,” he pointed to the other dwarf who was contrarily wearing plate mail polished to a silver sheen. “The two finest axe wielding, orc skull cleaving, dwarves this side of Claddigen. An’ behind us is the bravest cleric o’ Moradin in ALL of Claddigen.”
The lone dwarf at the back began his approach at that, getting into view. Or rather, she approached. Dugar’s eyes almost popped out of his head at the sight. Thick knees covered in fine Mithral Chain, which also covered the huge breasts…
“Belda!” Dugar couldn’t hold his amazement.
“Hey Dugar,” said Belda, a twinkle in her eye as Dugar stared at her. “It seems we’re going on the same quest you and I. Perhaps we can get to know each other a little better, away from the tavern and all. Should be lots of fun, don’t cha think?”
As always, Belda’s beauty captivated him in such a way that he could no longer process any thoughts properly, nor speak in a coherent manner.
“Err ahh…cleave skulls yeah…” he trailed off. He stared at the stubble on her chin.
Boy, to have that rub against me body…
“Ahem,” chimed in Ivel, “I believe what Dugar means to say is that we had no idea that you were more than merely a pretty serving wench in the fine establishment of the Foaming Froth. But we do welcome a lady of strong faith with healing prayers at her disposal, which will be invaluable in this quest.”
Piknen closed Dugar’s still open mouth and whiped the slight bit of drool trickling down his beard.
Belda gave the other dwarves a merry wink and said, “let’s get at it then, shall we? No time like the present to begin a treacherous trek through the lands.”
“A question first,” mentioned Piknen. “Why are your beards so dirty already?”
Hagdun, picking his nose, answered, “simple lad, we got ourselves prepped n’ dirty before goin’ on da road so that any dirt we get we canno’ complain about.”
The puzzled expression on the face of Piknen remained for hours after that.