The Drunken Hammer came into view long before Noel reached its creaking doorstep. From the outside, everything sounded the same—drunken laughter, glass breaking, the occasional yell followed by a round of cheers. The familiar chaos bled through the wooden walls.
He pushed the door open and stepped into the noisy warmth. Eyes glanced his way, but no one paid him much attention. The scent of ale and roasted meat hung thick in the air.
Noel scanned the room.
'No sign of him.'
The bar was busy, as always, but Balthor's thick beard and booming voice were noticeably absent. Noel's gaze swept past the rowdy dwarves, past the tables cluttered with mugs, and toward the bar counter.
He approached the woman behind it—a tall half-dwarf with braided hair and sleeves rolled up past her elbows. She raised a brow as he came closer.
"What'll it be?" she asked, already reaching for a mug.
