LeonXIII

Steelram was settled in his favorite seat in the Eagle's Rest, right at the bar. Like any other dwarf, their customs are quite easy to remember. Drink, drink some more, drink until you drop, and drink in a fight. Nothing drives a dwarf to do well in battle without a good pint of ale. And so Steelram was being faithful to his customs, not that it was complicated to follow.

"'Oi barkeep...hic... one m're pint of ale well ye'?" He grabbed the pint from the barkeeper and drained it in two gulps. "Ah, nutin' bet'er than a pint of ale to set'le you're worries!"

Steelram jumped off the bar stool and began walking around, taking pints when no one was looking and draining them. "Ohhhhhh pick up your pints and dra'n them in a gulp, down it easy with'ut any hulp, see it here, the way I do, just make sure you don't make yourself look like a fool, just like what I'm aboot to do!" With these last words, the dwarf jumped onto the nearest table and started to do the infamous Dwarven River Dance, a tradition amongst his race. He was halfway through the dance when someone had pushed him off the table. Landing head first on the stone floor, Steelram was knocked out cold.

~~~~~~Flashback~~~~~~~

It was all a dream, the days when he grew up in the mines, to the day when he was given his first pint at the age of 14 ( human years and dwarf years differ, dwarven age = 2xhuman age ). Then there was the day that one of the mine tunnels had collapsed, burying half of Steelram's clan deep inside the cave. It was a tragic day for him and many others, losing his parents, while the others lost their husbands, wives, children, siblings, and parents alike. He would never set foot in a mine ever again, not even if it meant his life. Of course, however, a few pints might cloud his judgement.

(( just a hint to everyone, I'll be perfecting my use of the dwarven accent, I'm not spelling anything wrong on purpose, it's the accent))

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