"And so, that is the story of how I slew the old {Groundhog Wyrm}. She was a nasty one, I'll tell ya!"
Throwing back a swig from the canister that has been hanging at his hip, Beorstone guffawed loudly, very clearly drunk as all hell.
Beside him, Cain sat cautiously.
In his mind, he couldn't help but think to himself,
'The mood of these dwarves changes so erratically.'
One moment, they were dead serious, the next, they were gathered around him, laughing and throwing back large gulps of alcohol.
"Are yer sure you don't want any, Cain my boy! This is the good stuff!" Bilfur slapped his hand on his shoulder and pulled him closer.
Feeling the dull pain brought about from the simple pat, Cain's expression wrinkled as he let out a nervous chuckle,
"No. I don't really like to drink."
Grimdor snorted,
"The nectar of the gods gives you strength! Removes the softness from her core! Those damned highlanders also didn't like our stuff, did they..."
