You take one step into the inn and the smell of crude dwarven mead hits your nostrils.
Oh Hyvana, the stench of dwarves.
Although, you're callous not to look grossed out. You walk towards the front desk to ask for one night's worth of rest and before you can put down anything of value, a dwarven warrior stops you in your tracks.
Harass: What the forget is that supposed to mean?
Address: Hello, noble dwarven warrior. My name is Maxwell.
Ignore: ...
Question: I'm a halfling?
Act: You'd better get out of my face before I make you.
