Inside the Hammer and Rose Inn in Ironforge, two travelers in dark cloaks sat drinking beer in silence, all the more out of place amid the tavern's cheerful din.
"I don't like that minstrel," a clear female voice came from beneath one traveler's cloak.
She was human.
"Minstrels are all like that! Sure, a name like 'Rain on the Beach' is obviously fake, but as long as the story's good, who cares?" The voice from beneath the other cloak was low and resonant.
He was a dwarf.
"That's not the point of the story, my dear uncle," the girl sighed softly, then continued.
"The problem is that I know him! He's a runesmith. He doesn't need to make a living by working as a minstrel."
"So?"
"He updates whenever he feels like it, doesn't care what readers think, and loves to end chapters on cliffhangers. People like him would usually be sent north to reinforce the front lines back in our Kievan Rus!"
"Have a little tolerance, my dear niece." The dwarf drained his ale in one gulp and laughed heartily.
"After all, what harm could a dwarf possibly have in mind? Innkeeper, three more ales and a plate of roast meat!"
