No, no, Oim not gonna knock your ear off wi' gabber an' jabber. Nufin o' th' sort. But yew gotta lean in close, this tavern is noisy, an' loik I always sez', noisy bars got more'n beers... they got ears.
What? You dint loik me joke? O, you sez you do, 'ur lips smoile all friendly loik, but ur eyes betray 'oo.
No, you couldn't handle what I waz' gunna tell ya. Fresh face loik yerself surely has no conceptulization of da' foiner, or, in my case, da' darker, points that loif takes ya'.
'Eh? You keep buggin' me loik that, an' in my drunken state oi moight jest' have to tells yah.
Wait, wait, don't let me dwarv'n predisposition scare ye' off. Come back. I gots a tale to tell, and by Bertox, oim gonna tell it.
Now where was oi? Oh yes, da beginnin'. Where'tall started:
'Afore we gets into the specificks o' me youth, there's this chap oi needs to tell you about. He goes by th' name of Teyloth Shadowsphere. Funny last name, oi know, but thats what his pop was called, so thass what he was called. 'Es an inky, of course, you know how they love the dark.... mebbe that explains it.
Well, enuff o this useless speculatin'. We gots a story to relate, and with all this mindless flabber, oi'll never get to the point, an' oo'd loikely fall asleep, roight in yer' chair.
Which oi wouln't be reccomendin' to ya'. This place is full o' shady types, who'd pick yer pocket faster than you can swig yer ale.
So Teyloth Shadowsbane, loik oi was sayin' afore ye interrupted me, 'es a real crooked fella. Oi never trusted inkies before oi met one, and now that oi seen one, had one o them professional relationships with the chap, oi'd kill any inky who trollied into view. We was workin' on this deal, yeh' see, a high class con job. Me, a couple o' me dwarven associates, who went by th' names Noppur and Toppur, (they was brothers, y'see), a Barbarian lout calling 'imself "Furry John", tho' oi personally know that no mum 'd ever call her son anything so reediculous, an' this Teyloth chap oi was tellin' you about. He was th' ringleader o the operation. Them inkies are smart, they are.
In more ways n 'one.
"Rindolph, what are you doing?" Teyloth hissed, dropping his slender arm to the hilt of his rapier.
"Oh, Teyloth, me oldest friend! What a plea- *hic* -sure 'tis to see you in me fav'rit bar! Sit! Have y'self a drink, it'll calm yer crazy nerves."
"Rindolph, we've go-."
"Ye'd better quit callin' me that, inky, 'er me poisn'd dagger'll find itself in yer back!"
The dark elf's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, towards the innebriated dwarf. " Must I remind you, dwarf , that my kind are not welcome in establishments such as this?
"Nah! These's good folk, wit' good wine! Waif! Another round fer me dark friend o'er here!"
Teyloth hissed again, and, wasting no time, grabbed the cusp of Rindolph's tunic and dragged him out into the cold, dark night.
“We’ve got a job to do, dwarf. So lets get to it.”
The dwarf sat indignantly in the dirt, arms crossed, brow furrowed.