Grit and gristle

" Who am I?. . . . ."
Radis seems to chew on this question a beat longer than expected before sighing heavily eyes downcast. His nearness brings a sour note, wiff of old alcohol and sleeping rough. Looking up a determined wry smile splits his darkly bearded face.

"Broer Karl Radis Holbrock runesmith of Caldera Forge, master of arcane design for Rockheart Inc. is what I am supposed to tell you sure as steel. The cold iron of it is that what I really am is a foolish lonely dwarf far from home. I am poorly prepared for hospitality, my wine skin failed me a short time ago,but what remains of this cheese . . And these dried plums. . . All that I have it seems, I pledge to a feast of friendship to share the burdens of our travels. Who has some ale?"

Radis is a bit shocked by his candor amongst strange tall folk, the wine skin he drained earlier must have contained a heady draught. Shameless of his meager offering Radis peers around the faces and waists of the group before him and sways slightly.

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