A stocky dwarf clad in armor of steel and leather marches to the edge of a clearing, clanking to a halt as the tavern comes into view.
"This must be the place..." he mumbles to himself, sinking his chin into his beard thoughtfully.
A large shield is slung over his back and a sword hangs at his side. His fingers drum the pommel of his sword before reaching for an oversized "wine"-skin. Popping the cork out, he turns his head back and lifts the skin up. He holds it for a moment giving it a swift shake before lifting it from his face and peering in.
"There'd better be something strong to drink in this blasted town..."
He takes a moment to observe his surroundings, seeing the poorly hidden figures moving throughout and within the trees on the edges of his vision. He shakes his head and grumbles darkly,
"More sneaks and uordeqs here than a bloody prison, a soul might go stark mad trying to sleep at night within a fortnight of this place; all these hoots making a racket during the night with their supposed sneaking. What in the blazes is he doing in a place like this?"
The angry dwarf takes one more gloomy look at his empty wine-skin and stomps off towards the tavern.