Having grown up on a farm, Fin had never really considered how he felt about crowds. When Brando started discussing his opinion about the matter, or rather, against it, Fin looked around and tried to decide his own opinion.

The air was warm, with varied currents of cooler air blowing in from outside. The noise level was perhaps loud, but not 'the chickens are under attack again' loud. The sounds were a concurrent murmur, shuffling of feet and clothes, and various sharp sounds of glass, coins, and cutlery.

Being able to see over all the tops of heads in his surroundings, he could locate where each sound was coming from. Some shops sold trinkets, and others sold clothing. The smell of a wood fire made him look for the shops selling food. It wasn't long before he found what he was smelling for. He got Brando's attention and gestured toward a stall selling something skewered and roasted on a stick. Even though he stood more than several feet above the normal height, no one seemed to pay him any attention. While walking, he decided he didn't share Brando's views on crowds; he was pretty comfortable.

"Rewbies on a stick, five coppers a piece," an older-looking dwarf sang out behind his booth. "Good for a strong, healthy beard!"

"Excuse me," Fin said, placing ten coins on the counter. "I'll take two. Also, can you tell me where we can find a good inn?"

The dwarf handed out two sticks with the mysterious-looking food speared through the middle. They were shaped like a twisted tear drop with a rough surface where it was rolled in nuts and herbs before roasting. Brando took a bite and blew residual steam from his mouth.

"You're looking for The Traveler's House. It's a decent inn with a stable," The dwarf pointed over his shoulder with a skewer. "It's over there a ways. Big sign with a horse; you can't miss it. They have running water most days and beds for you long leggers."

Brando, seemingly oblivious to the conversation, blurted out, "It's a potato."

Fin, remembering the stick he was holding, took a bite. The outer crust tasted sweet and bitter. There was almost too much flavor until his teeth sank further into something similar to a potato, allowing the flavors to spread out. It wasn't a potato. However, there were some distinct similarities.

"It's a rew-bee," the dwarf said slowly, annunciating the word as if he were talking to a child. "It takes twice as long to grow, has diamond-shaped leaves, and makes your beard shine better than any potato."

Fin held up his stick. "I bet I can grow a potato that's shaped like this."

"It's not a potato!" the dwarf bellowed, causing the traffic that flowed around them to studder.

Noticing how serious the dwarf had become, Brando changed the subject, "It's called The Traveler's House, then? Got it. Thank you for your time and this delicious vegetable on a stick that is certainly not a potato."

The two walked in the direction the angry dwarf had given, and before long, they were standing in front of the Traveler's House. The outside of the building offered no insights into what was inside. The building matched the surrounding ones in all but size. It could only be described as square, grey, and having several windows, which were indeed being used to spy on their disappointed looks. Fortunately, the establishment did seem prepared to handle horses, notably by the hitching post outside. After their horses were secure, Fin leaned down, reached for the knob, and opened the door.

The inside of the building only made sense after thinking about it. Dwarves were universally recognized as among Erland's best miners, craftsmen, and builders. The massive stone pillars built inside and out of the mountain are a testament to their abilities, but rumors of dwarven interior decoration had never circulated, and Fin could see why.

The common room was bare of any decorations save for a light brown blanket folded neatly on a chest. The short reception desk, though made of rich and marbled stone, had nothing on top of it. The walls were bare, the floor was bare, and the tables and bar were square, plain, and also bare. Nothing attempted to create a cozy environment.

Behind the reception desk, a female dwarf looked up at the men. "Welcome in. I'm not going to break my neck looking up at you, so take a knee if you want a conversation." Despite the rumors, her round face was completely without a beard. Her walnut-brown hair lay neatly over her shoulder in a series of braids. Her smile might have been charming if it was genuine.

"We're looking for," Brando started before the desk clerk's words registered. He stopped, crouched in front of the desk, and started over. "Hi, I'm Brando, and this is Fin. We are looking for a room and stables for a few nights."

"I am Velamy, and it is a pleasure to meet you two," she said matter-of-factly. "The tall-folk rooms are a silver a night, but I only have one left. The stables come with the room. I assume those are your horses?"

"Yes," Fin considered, crouching next to Brando. "Will we have to share a bed?"

Velamy laughed. "Only if you squeeze really tight. The beds are big but not big enough for the both of you, so I recommend getting your cuddles in before going to sleep."

Relieved at the implication that there was more than one bed, Fin ignored the quip and nodded.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Brando needed clarification. "There are two beds, right?"

The room did, in fact, have two beds. It also had a dresser, a bathing room with running water, a clothesline, and no decorations. The walls were a textured mixture of white and brown paint that matched the blankets and pillows on the beds.

Brando collapsed on the bed and closed his eyes before jumping to his feet. "We have to go see the king."

Fin, transfixed with the lever that made water come out of a spout, agreed without looking up. "Let's get cleaned up then."

When Fin and Brando exited the inn, the streets were even more busy than before. It took asking for several sets of directions, but before long, they found what they were looking for. Just ahead, a thick grated gate stood guarded between two defense towers. The towers featured dark and vacated slots suited for firing arrows.

"This time, let's not pretend to be diplomats," Fin cautioned, speaking so his voice wouldn't carry to the guard watching the gate. "Let's make it simple and straightforward. We'll tell whoever is in charge what's happening and ask how they want to move forward."

When Fin was done talking, Brando smiled as if whatever Fin said was perfectly logical for something so wrong. "We are technically diplomats now, and we could get in trouble for not mentioning it right away. It worked before, and we have the documentation to support our story this time."

Fin sighed, "Okay, but first, let's just ask to see the king. It couldn't hurt."

Brando shrugged. "Fine, we'll try it your way, but as soon as they tell us to kick rocks, we tell them whatever gets us through the gate. "

A dwarf standing in front of the gate looked up to the two men nearly at eye level with the tip of his spear. "State your names and business."

Fin collected himself and offered their names. "We are here to see the king."

"One moment," the dwarf said before walking away.

"See, I told you we didn't need to make up a whole story," Fin beamed. "Simplicity is key."

The dwarf returned, carrying an empty wooden crate. He set it down and stood on top of it. "Sargeant Crispin, at your service," The dwarf offered, "I hope you understand that the king doesn't just see anyone, what business do you have?"

There is a goblin slave camp south about a four- or five-day journey. We were told to come here and ask for assistance freeing the captives, one of which is a dwarf called Heidle the Hammer."

"That's a whole different story altogether," Crispin said with a look of distaste. "One moment."

When the dwarf came back carrying a second crate, Brando smiled smugly, "It looks like he wants to be able to see the look of disappointment in your eyes when he turns you away."

Crispin stacked the crates and climbed on top, "I haven't heard of this Heidle chap, but that is some grave business indeed. You said he's a dwarf? Are there others?"

Fin nodded even though he had only seen the one. He reasoned that the more this dwarf saw them as trying to save his people, the more likely he would allow them to pass through.

"Unfortunately, this isn't something that can be handled quickly. You'll need to stop by the office of requisitions and put in a request to investigate your claim," Crispin explained. "It could take anywhere from three days to several months, though I'm assuming you'll want this sooner than later. Requisitions will probably want to send a team down to take a look and make a report on their findings before approving the requisition."

"And they report their findings to the king?" Fin asked with a hopeful tone.

"Not quite," the guard responded. "The report goes back to the office of requisitions. Then, if it's deemed a critical matter, which I'm certain it will, the head of, I don't know, someone above my level would look at it."

Brando pointed away from the gated entrance, "Should we go start that process now? That way, we'll be able to help all those people suffering in the slave camp in about a year or two. You don't suppose there's a tried-and-true method of speeding requisitions along, is there?"

"Afraid not," the dwarf responded solemnly, missing the hidden message in the words. "It will probably take even longer since the king declared war against Clive Rae this morning. No, I don't think this issue will be addressed any time in the near future."

"The king what?" Brando asked, unsure he heard correctly.

The dwarf looked over his shoulder before talking. "We got word this morning that the derelict king had a champion defeat whatever violent things keeping us out of our ancestral mine. As soon as the mine was safe, he made a royal proclamation only allowing you lanks to dig, no offense to you, of course, just the other lanks.

"Since the first report this morning, we've gotten at least twenty more. After Clive broke the treaty, all Lokardale dwarves have been relocating here. The king made an informal declaration of war just today."

"If we are at war," Fin slowly formulated his question. "What happens to delegates of Lokardale?"

"Clive Rae doesn't keep dwarven delegates," the guard nearly spat. "It's a good thing, too; it would make me feel uneasy arresting my own kin and keeping them locked up until the war ended. The king is angry, but I'm unsure what he plans to do."

Fin gave Brando an 'I told you so' look before agreeing with Crispin, "No way of knowing. That's for sure."

"I probably shouldn't be saying this, but you two seem like the best of the tall folk with your mission to rescue my kin from the goblins," the guard nodded his appreciation. "But don't talk about any of this until it's official."

After Fin and Brando promised not to mention a word of it, the guard offered as much help as he could, "If you're just looking for some extra hands, you could visit the mercenary guild. You look like you have some coin between the two of you. They're right behind the old market near the church of Loden. Tell them Crispin sent you."

Brando slapped Fin with the back of his hand, pointed at Crispin, and asked, "Are there any mines around here we could try our hand at? Who knows? We could make enough to where we could buy all the mercenaries."

"You don't strike me as miners," Crispin said uncertainly. "But if you're going to be waiting on requisitions anyway, I suppose there really isn't anything better than uncovering the secrets of the earth, eh?" he cleared his throat. "There's plenty of mines around, but only three main ones that are publicly accessible. I recommend the Dunkle mine. They take a larger cut, but it's better suited for short-term excavations."

Fin was about to ask about its location when a series of sharp sounds came from behind the gate.

The guard glanced over his shoulder, "Changing of the guards. You better shove off. Come find me if you're ever successful, and I'll buy you a whole cask of ale for the story."

The two thanked the guard and left just as the gate started lifting.

"That was a balanced conversation of helpful and disappointing," Brando said with a chipper tone.

Fin agreed, "Yeah, but I feel sorry for anyone who openly admits to being a Clive Rae delegate. Remember, like you wanted to do?"

"We don't talk about that," Brando said with a dark glimmer in his eye.

Fin smirked. "Because of the whole imprisonment thing or because I was right, and you were wrong?"

"Let's forget about all that and go find an armor shop," Brando curtailed the topic, looking around as if he could sense one nearby.