*Snore! *Snore!
The guttural sound of loud snoring filled Razan's ears, each breath like a saw scraping against metal.
Along with it came a strong, foul stench that instantly made his nose wrinkle and his eyes snap open.
A dirty, mud-caked foot hovered dangerously close to his face.
"Argh, dammit!" Razan shouted, swatting the foot away in disgust before jolting upright.
His head pounded like a drum, his vision slightly blurry from whatever madness happened last night.
He glanced down at himself—his shirt and vest were completely gone, his chest bare, and his pants soaked with ale and… something else that looked suspiciously sticky.
He frowned, sniffed once, and quickly decided he didn't want to know what it was.
"Ugh, what the hell happened here…" he muttered, running a hand through his tangled hair.
All around him was a battlefield of dwarves.
Some were snoring face-first on the floor, others were slumped over tables, and a few were lying on each other in tangled heaps of armor and beard.
Empty tankards littered the floor, the scent of alcohol and smoke heavy in the air.
He glanced down again—
*sigh!
and sighed.
Three dwarves were sprawled right beside him, using his legs as pillows while they drooled and mumbled in their sleep.
"I'll get ya… I'll get ya you damned…"
"Hey another one here…!"
"Damn ya… Thorfyn… ya damned rascal…"
"Of course…" Razan groaned before gently shaking his legs free.
He stood up, stretching his sore arms as his joints popped from the awkward position he'd slept in.
Just as he started to regain his bearings, the large doors of the inn burst open with a thunderous
*BANG!
The morning light spilled in sharply, followed by the sound of boots and shouting.
"W-What in the blazes is this!?" a man's voice barked out.
Razan turned toward the door to see a group of armored guards storming in, their polished chest plates gleaming in the sunlight.
The man at the front—clearly the officer in charge—looked around the chaotic scene with wide, horrified eyes.
His jaw dropped as he saw the dwarves sprawled all over the floor and tables.
One of the younger guards beside him whispered,
"Sir… are those all dwarves?"
"By the gods, it looks like a tavern exploded in here!" the officer exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stepped further inside.
His gaze then locked onto Razan—half-dressed, disheveled, and standing in the middle of the wreckage.
"You there! Human!" the officer barked, pointing an accusing finger.
"Explain yourself! What kind of… drunken battlefield is this supposed to be!?"
Razan blinked once, still half-asleep and smelling like old ale.
He looked around at the unconscious dwarves, the overturned tables, the puddles of spilled drink, and then back at the officer.
"Uhh…Team bonding?" he muttered dryly.
After a few more seconds, groans and grumbles began to echo around the inn as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the open doorway.
The light crawled across the tables, glinting off empty mugs and half-eaten plates until it reached a familiar bearded figure sprawled near the hearth.
"Urgh… by the nine mines… my head's ringin' like a forge bell…" Dragkon mumbled, clutching his temples as he slowly sat up.
His eyes squinted against the brightness before snapping open fully when he noticed the group of armored guards standing stiff at the entrance.
"EY' LADS! WAKE UP!" he roared, his voice booming through the hall like thunder.
*CLANG!
A plate fell from a table and shattered on the floor, followed by the startled groans of dwarves snapping awake one after another.
"Wh–what in the blazes—who's hittin' the gong this early!?" one dwarf grumbled, rolling off the bench with a loud thud.
"My beard… someone stepped on me beard again!" another shouted, tugging furiously at his tangled whiskers.
"Where's me mug!? I wasn't done with that ale!" a third bellowed, patting the floor around him before realizing his mug had been broken in half.
"What's all the racket!? Oh, wait—guards?!" another dwarf blurted out, eyes wide as he sat upright and blinked rapidly.
"By the forgefather's toes, Dragkon, what did ye do this time!?"
"Shut yer traps and stand up straight!" Dragkon barked, stumbling to his feet and swatting the nearest dwarf on the shoulder.
"We got company, and not the kind that brings breakfast!"
Razan stood silently nearby, arms crossed, watching the chaotic scene unfold as half-awake dwarves scrambled to look somewhat presentable—some trying to fix their hair, others still arguing over who drooled on who.
"Gods above…" the officer at the door muttered under his breath, staring at the disheveled crowd in disbelief.
"Are all dwarves like this in the morning?"
*Sigh!!!
The officer let out a long, exhausted sigh before reaching into his coat. His gloved hand pulled out a rolled parchment sealed with a wax emblem, which he promptly cracked open.
He cleared his throat once, the echo of his voice trying to overpower the background noise of half-awake dwarves mumbling and stretching.
"Thankfully," he began, his tone dripping with weary sarcasm, "to the reports of several concerned locals, I've received word that a clutter of dwarves—" he paused, eyeing the mess of bodies and broken mugs before him,
"—had completely taken over an inn last night. Well… at least that makes my job easier."
A few dwarves blinked at him, not sure whether they should take offense or pride in that statement.
The officer continued, raising the parchment slightly.
"All Eshari are now officially eligible to enter the Adventurer's Hall. Just show them the crystal that the elder gave you, and you'll be allowed to register and accept contracts. These contracts come with… varying rewards depending on your rank and performance."
That last word—rewards—might as well have been a magic spell.
"Rewards, ya say!?" one dwarf shouted, his sleepy eyes snapping open as he sat upright.
"Like gold rewards or ale rewards?" another chimed in eagerly, rubbing his beard with interest.
"Oi, if it's gold, I'm signin' up right now!" a third dwarf hollered, jumping to his feet and accidentally stepping on a fallen mug, sending it clattering across the floor.
"Forget gold! If it's ale, I'll take a dozen contracts right this moment!" another yelled, to which several nearby dwarves shouted in agreement.
Dragkon rolled his eyes, brushing off the dust from his chestplate before speaking.
"You drunk fools, ye can't even walk straight and you're already talkin' about rewards! Get yer heads together, lads!"
But even as he scolded them, a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He looked at the officer and gave a short nod.
"Appreciate the news, lad. You heard him, boys! Seems our next drink's waitin' at the Adventurer's Hall!"
A cheer erupted from the dwarves, half of them raising their tankards high—completely forgetting they were empty.
Razan, standing quietly near the door, couldn't help but smirk faintly. "Guess that's one way to motivate them," he muttered.
The officer simply sighed again, rubbing his forehead.
"Gods help whoever runs that hall…" he murmured under his breath, rolling the parchment back up before turning to leave.