A weary-eyed dwarf made his way through the main gate of the city. The wheels of his wagon and the shoes of his mule clacked against the cobblestone street. Each pang caused his eyes to reopen as he fought slumber. He had journeyed for many days. After all, he was on important business. His face had become scorched from the wind and sun. The clothes on his back left unwashed, wreaked of sweat. Usually, he wore armor, but he had taken that off days ago. For he was not yet used to the heat of the south. He had come a long way from his home in the mountains.

Church bells rang in the distance. Ten strikes of the bell announced that it was ten o'clock in the morning. The dwarf rubbed his eyes and began looking around for a friendly face among the city's commotion. He spotted a group of boys playing with sticks as if they were knights and bandits. Their imaginations saw them fighting with longswords, wearing full plate armor, slaying bandits, goblins, and dragons. But the dwarf was able to see it for what it was-boys in ripped and dirty hand-me-down clothing playing with sticks.

The dwarf pulled back the reins of his steed, and in a deep, grumbly voice, yelled out them.

"'Ey, any you know which way's ta the market?"

The oldest of the boys began walking closer to the wagon. He started batting the stick into his open hand and smirked as he began to speak.

"There are plenty ah ways to get there. Now you could follow Fuller Path, make your first two rights after the Butchershop. Or you could keep going straight down Main and take the bridge over the river. That'll bring you to... Messah Road, I think it is. Just follow Messah, and you'll end up in the marketplace."

As the boy spoke, he pointed the stick in the directions of the streets. But while the dwarf was occupied listening to the boy, one of the smaller ones snuck into the back of the wagon. The tarp that covered the dwarf's goods began bobbing up and down while the boy rummaged through. Some of the other children started snickering as they watched. Still, the older boy continued trying to distract the dwarf.

"See now. Uh, I could hop up there with you and show you. It's only a few blocks away, really!"

The dwarf sucked at his teeth and began nodding. He looked over to the rest of the children and noticed their laughter; he perked his ears. Out of his peripherals, he saw movement under the tarp of his wagon. He swiftly reached beneath the tarp and began pulling the smallest of the boys into the front of the wagon with him by the scruff of the neck. As he pulled, bottles rattled and clanked in their wooden crates. One fell from the boy's hands, onto the wagon's seat, and rolled, shattering as it met the cobblestone road.

The dwarf lifted the boy over his head by the scruff of the neck and began lightly shaking him as he spoke.

"Listen 'ere! These hands have crushed boulders. Should we find out if yer head is as tough as a boulder? Well! Shall we?"

The older boy pointed his stick at the dwarf and screamed out behind teary eyes, "You leave Pipsqueak alone!"

And the dwarf began chuckling, a burst of curdling laughter that foamed up from deep inside of his belly. He set the little boy down in the wagon, buckling over as his laughter continued. Pipsqueak wiped away tears and nearly began smiling himself. That was a close one.

Slapping his knee, the dwarf began speaking as his laughter subsided.

"Now. Ya ain't goin' to get mah ale, but I will give you a piece of copper if you can give me directions. And I ain't playing anymore."

The dwarf furrowed his brow and placed his hand on a Battleaxe that sat on his hip. Another ax rested against his other hip, strapped in leather. With his free hand, he wiped away tears of joy. His cheeks still red from slight embarrassment.

In the tiniest, high-pitched voice, Pipsqueak spoke up, "I'll show ya! I'll show ya! Follow me."

He jumped out of the wagon, wiping away tears and the runnings from his nose onto his shirt. The dwarf followed closely behind in his wagon. Trotting along the cobblestone streets, he could hear church bells ringing in the distance and whispers about the festival. Pipsqueak ran through crowds of people, always turning around when he got too far.

While he followed the boy, he began taking in the sites. Two yellow birds flew directly over his head, landing on a silver lamppost. That's when he realized all of the lampposts were silver. So was most of the city's exposed metal; the brackets holding the shop signage, the church's bell, and the doors' locks and handles. Most of the horses wore silver horseshoes. But if the city was so wealthy, why were there such poor children? It didn't add up to him.

"Well, here we are!" squeaked Pipsqueak with a boyish grin.

His hat too big for his head slouched down just above his eyes. And his shirt, stained and old from generations of now-older Pipsqueak, hung from his wiry frame.

"Ahhhh," the dwarf grunted, reaching into his pockets for some change. He pulled out two silver coins and flicked them towards the boy. "Make sure to share that with your friends."

He reached his hand out to shake Pipsqueak's hand. "Name's Flint. Flint Mountainbane." The boy hesitated before reaching for the dwarf's hand. Although they were around the same height, the boy's slender hand was miniature in comparison. As they shook hands, his hand was locked in place by the dwarf's firm grip.

Flint gave his best attempt at a warm grin and wink and looked for a good place to hitch his horse and wagon.

The sun was beginning to make its way higher in the sky. The air had become warm and humid. Unintelligible chatters echoed throughout the festival as more and more people piled themselves into the marketplace.

Better to find myself the bar, Flint thought to himself.

Flint walked through the festival, eye-level with a sea of armpits. As he made his way to the center of the festival, he stopped to take in the sights. The sound of hammers rang against nails, assembling the stage in front of him. He stood watching for a moment, and a large piece of lumber nearly grazed his head. Startled, he yelled out and gripped his ax sitting on his right hip.

"Watch it!" His knuckles turned white, and his face red.

The two men continued walking, obviously struggling with the large bundle of lumber they were carrying. The younger man's head cocked back.

"Terribly sorry didn't see you there, Dwarf." He then turned his head back around, trying to keep up with the older man helping him. He tried repositioning and then threw the wood up, catching it and then allowing his back to fold down and come back up.

Flint huffed, released his ax, and continued looking. Beside the stage stood a small maroon-colored tent. The curtain was drawn for only a moment, and Flint could lock eyes with a mysterious pale figure. His eyes looked black with black pupils. He wore black ink around his eyes and a black robe. Quickly and aggressively, the curtain was pulled back as his gaze met Flint's.

An eerie feeling began pooling up from Flint's stomach. It wreaked of trouble. Trying to forget about it, he slowly began turning in a circle in hopes of finding the bar. Round dark oak tables and chairs were set up in front and to the right of the stage. Card dealers were busy at the tables beside the stage, setting up. A long table stretched with a row of ten seats on either side. As he continued spinning, he noticed the merchant carts and stands off to the one side. All of the merchants stood by the edge of their small market, gawking at the festival. Then there was a large white tent. The entrance was large. It's canvas doors were pinned open, inviting all.

Flint sighed relief. "Can't wait to get back to the mountains." He walked into the tent and stood at the bar. Only the top of his head was visible from the other side.

"Ah-hem."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't see you there." The voice was soft and melodic. Flint walked around to the side to see who's angelic voice he had heard. A tall, blonde woman with ocean blue eyes and large breasts stood before him. Her face was slightly flush, feeling the embarrassment of not seeing the dwarf over the large wooden bar.

Flint bowed for her. "I am the one who should apologize," he said. He cleared his throat again. Although this time, earnestly. "Was supposed to be here two days ago with the ale from Themria. Was slowed down by a group of bandits. Nothing I couldn't handle, though." His face became solemn, and he lowered his eyes to the ground.

Clearing his voice and his thoughts, Flint raised his head and continued speaking. "Wagon's hitched round the corner. I'll bring it round and unload the ale. Again, sorry I'm late."