Maeg stopped though the entrance of the mines, covered in snow and his hair matted with ice. The wind that bit at his already frozen face, slowed as some of the mines warmth added to it. Maeg was wearing some weathered clothes including a plain brown cloak with a few battle scars in it and stiff from the cold. On his feet were sandals with cloth rapped in them thickly to protect them against the cold an now a small layer of snow and ice had collected on the top. He felt out of place here, why had I come. he thought looking around. The guards at the entrance were all dwarven defenders with huge shields and unique armours. And what did him have, nothing but his dagger and cloak. that’ll soon change Mwhahahaha! he chuckled manically again but aloud. His laughter was cut off when he heard to miners talk about the size of his beard. Looking down at his frozen ginger beard it was small compared to everyone else’s. It was tied into a braid in the usual fashion that showed he was nothing important. this is why I left places like theses “Mwhahahaha!” the guards and the men took a clear step away form Maeg and looked worried when he abruptly stopped laughing.

His journey to this retched place was long, cold but not so dull many other people had been coming his way and most of them now lay dead and icy by the side of the road, or else dieing.
A fair few had been merchants but nothing had been interesting so all he took was what food they had. It had not been enough and he was incredible hungry.

Walking further into the main hall which was slightly busy this time in the morning, the walls where ornately made just like all others as if to prove dwarves could craft better than everyone else which no one needed reminding. There were several stalls in the hall and huge tables stretched the entire distance. Walking up to the stalls he got some thick meat soup and crusty Stonebread and sat down where there weren’t any people, well there wasn’t any afterwards. All of them seemed to have moved away so not to catch his madness, which seemed to of been gossiped fast. It was quiet except for a few numberings of near by dwarfs and a few Halflings too. I’d like to kill them bloody Halflings! Not as bad as those damn elves though! [I]
For the rest of the breakfast he sat quiet, not even chuckling to himself.
[I] this is good soup he thought chewing some of the tough meat in his third bowl.

[[ (is not making excuses) sorry it is pretty bad. I never realised I was that out of Rpness.]]

It was a cold and dreary day outside that day. Snow hurried from one end of the entrance to the other, not stopping to let weary travelers pass through unscathed. Nature bowed to no one, and all had to suffer it. And so as Sraxen stood proudly at the entrance of the great Annon-en-Groth mines, it was only the bitter chill that rushed him inside. He would have liked to stay and look in wonder at the delicately carved entrance, the signs of hard labor, the pride of his bloodline, but the weather forced him not to tarry. In he went, white flakes locking into his beard and not letting go.

Sraxen never came to these mountains without a reason, and he wasn't simply here for the sake of the journey. Though the road had been long and tough, it had been well worth it, as today he planned on taking care of some unfinished business.

The dwarf rushed past the guards, giving them little more than a nod, walking straight towards the main hall. Somewhere, in this passageway, there would be a corridor that would lead him to the hall of the elders, the leaders of his clan that presided in the mines. This would be his destination.

However, he was deterred by the fresh aroma of foods made from dwarven ovens, and he immediately was attracted to the vast tables that spanned through one anex of the main hallway. Vendors were set up, ready to accomodate their hungry customers. Sraxen pondered which one he should venture up to. That is, he was pondering such things when his eyes flickered past a dwarf that was sitting in solitude, sipping a bit of soup. Something radiated from this dwarf, Sraxen couldn't make it out, his abilities to detect evil coming into play without his full knowledge. But he could gather some interest in the being, and so, he grabbed a meal from the closest vendor and went over to sit near the short-bearded dwarf.

"Hello there, mate," he said, in his muffled, but kind-mannered voice. "You're a hardy dwarf indeed. You can call me Sraxen. Pleased to meet your acquaintance," he said politely.