A dwarf walks into a bar...

*Maxxim walks up to the tender, and orders two mugs of his favorite chilled Mountain-Gold ale brand, removing his armored gloves. As he climbed up on a chair built for a person twice his size, he hisses, when his sore rump hits the seat. A nearby commoner asked him if he was hurt. Slowly, but irritatedly pulling his helmet off, he brings the first mug to his lips for guzzling, and empties it in a matter of seconds, then replying*....

"Oye, iffin ye hod ter dig nine bloody bolts ond arrows out ye own arse in the last hour, ye'd be hurtin a little too. Ye see, thoy domn near gut anothuh convoy o'mine. Jist ut'side the Axfell gate, thar came aboot a'hunerd oh them domned bondits from the middle woy, nearly took the domn gates down. We sounded the coll, ond thanks be ter Abbathor, the reinforcements came"...

*The finely armored Maxxim then went for the second mug, downing it even quicker than the first*..

"Bot then, the domned lawless pointy-eards showed up ofter the bondits did thar best ter beat us down. HEH, aint thot jist like a stinkin, tree-huggin elf. Nay'how, we monanged ter fend em off. But Oi dun heard on gud authorteh, thot not oll but the same hoppened ter those roscals over in Cleaven terf. Sum'in be brewin, ond it aint gud, Oi con tell ye thot right now. Ye oll be wotchin ye'selves."

*He then hopped off his chair, stuffing one side of his mouth with a black leafy tobacco, pulling his gloves back on, grabbing is helm, and strutting toward the exit*.