An ordinary evening at an inn called the Prancing Pony, where you have been working as a waiter for some time. You were walking through the crowd that filled the hall, trying to squeeze through to the bar, but they stopped you, beckoning you to make another order.

It turned out to be a dwarf. You knew that dwarves rarely come to this inn, and you immediately noticed that some people's eyes were fixed on this rare guest.

"Something weak." The dwarf asked, raising his stern gaze at you.