Aran walked boldly into the room. Around a table sat a group of figures drinking, arguing, and rolling dice. A large open fire crackled to one side, lending the room a smoky haze and a shifting light. In the dim light Aran saw that there were goblins, hobgoblins, even several rough-looking humans, all busy in their game.
Also around the room were some other hunched figures, probably goblins too, scurrying around tending to a pair of large, fierce looking wolves who lay on the stone floor chewing bones.
The moment the Halfling ranger entered the room everybody stopped what they were doing. Behind the small figure of the Halfling stepped Waylander, Ryam, and Fau.
“And you would be…?” asked a surly hobgoblin who was sitting at the head of the table. He spoke in common, and did not sound as if he wished to be trifled with.
“Thirsty!” chirped Aran, nonetheless. There was a pause.
“Does this look like some kind of tavern?” snarled the hobgoblin after some thought.
Aran took a moment to look around. Beyond the table of drinkers and gamers, at the far side of the room, stood a long counter with cups and bottles on it. Behind the counter could be seen stacks of kegs, and also what looked liked sacks of food and supplies. Standing there was another goblin wiping a goblet with a rag. There was even a badger’s head mounted on a plaque above the fireplace.
“Well…” he began, but then quickly decided against the smartypants answer and went for the good old bluff, “Well, Chief Krand said to come and get a drink here when we brought in the new stock.”
The hobgoblin thought about this. It had never happened before, but that wasn’t to say that it couldn’t happen, and no-one wants to get on the wrong side of Chief Krand. Besides, these visitors had the look of coin about them. What did it matter if they were lying, let’s just take their money and send them on their way.
“If you wanna stay, you have to play.” offered the hobgoblin, slyly shaking a hand full of dice, “Which of you wants to go up against me?”
Ryam sat himself down at the table in between the two humans. They were dressed in grubby outdoors gear, swords on their backs, and each a face like a bulldog licking poison off a nettle.
“I’ll play.” stated Ryam, making room for himself between the two bandits, “What’s the game?”