It was a normal day in Forkbeard’s Brodger. Patrons gathered together in the spirit of fellowship and camaraderie. Bread, cheese and barley soup were being consumed at a healthy pace by the locals of Stone Clan and surrounding areas. And, of course, ale was passed around, or rather spilled all over the place by a group of dwarves sitting at the large table, running the length of the tavern.

Several dwarven wenches were on duty, mopping up the floor and laughing heartily at the odd looks the dwarves were getting from some of the other races. It was difficult for some of them to comprehend the table manners of the thickly-bearded folk, if you could consider this display to consist of any manners at all.

Hakon Forkbeard was working hard as usual, tending to his customers and keeping conversation with each of them. On the surface, everything seemed normal. Yet, there was something that seemed out of place.

“I can’t help but think that this day is not a normal one.” Forkbeard said.

It was clear to anyone observing Forkbeard that he thought he knew this particular dwarf he was speaking with at the bar. He stared intently at the brawny dwarven warrior, trying to put a name to what little of the face he could see. Forkbeard was impressed with this dwarf, mainly the thick war-braids that he had his beard fashioned with. He could not believe how many drinks the dwarf had finished off. Even for a dwarf, this was a lot of ale!

“Ye got the coin to pay for all of this, I hope? Kertigen knows I could use the business!”

Forkbeard chuckled as he observed both the solid warrior at his bar and the group of dwarves at the large table, most of them with their faces down in their grits in a nice little nap.

“Put it on my tab, lad. I reckon business is going to pick up ‘round ‘ere.”

As he stood up, the dwarven warrior slammed a few dozen plats on the bar, signaling to Forkbeard that his tip had been placed. A simple note lay under the pile of plats, which Forkbeard picked up to read. As he started to read, the dwarven warrior started stomping towards the large tavern doors. The dwarven warrior looked over his shoulder at Forkbeard and said,

“When those lads wake up and wring out their beards, tell them to put their stomping boots on next time they’re here. And tell them to get their braids bearded like a real Dwarf!”

With that, the dwarven warrior stomped his way out the door to hunt down some Elpalzi. Forkbeard opened up the simple note left behind with his tip, and read the name scribbled on there…

~Hammerstone.

All at once, Forkbeard’s grin grew wider than his beard (which is saying a lot!) as he now knew the name he was trying to recall. Excited about the return of a Dwarf from the Hammerstone line, Forkbeard told the wenches to start stocking up on beer and ale. He knew in his heart that good things lie ahead for his establishment.