"Who do you want to hit?" A clear voice came from the door of the tavern, and a slender green-haired female elf walked in. She was clad in white chainmail, with a unicorn emblem on her chest, a large red longbow and a full quiver of arrows on her back. At her waist was a slender blue scimitar, and a black hooded cloak wrapped her tightly, shielding her from the autumn wind and the penetrating gazes of 'men' in the tavern.
"I'm afraid you won't get a chance to hit me, Morgan Dwarf. Unless you learn to climb trees first, then maybe you could reach me." Anna approached silently, unstrapping her longbow and leaning it against the wall, before pulling up a chair and sitting at the table.
"Hmph, you?" The dwarf took another mug of ale and drank deeply, "Hitting you would be as easy as downing this ale."
"All you know is how to swing a hammer, with no sense of the art of battle at all." The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the novel·fiɾe·net
"You know art? Dressed in such a colorful array, trying to wear every color imaginable, like..." The dwarf thought for a moment and suddenly slapped his forehead, "like a pheasant before it's plucked and roasted."
Anna's eyes immediately narrowed. The dwarf dared to criticize the Elf Clan's sense of aesthetics, and particularly criticized her. Her gaze locked onto the dwarf, who was too amused by his own joke to contain himself. Her right hand moved to the scimitar. Wislin saw the situation change and quickly knocked the dwarf on the head, "If you're going to drink, then drink quietly. Beware your beard doesn't fall into the barrel and get lost..."
The dwarf's laughter abruptly stopped, as if a walnut was lodged in his throat. He remembered seven years ago, he had misspoken and offended the elfs, leading to his beard being shaved off, leaving only a smooth chin—a mortification that lasted two years until his new beard could cover it. The dwarf quickly touched his cheeks to confirm every hair was intact, still fluffy, before taking another mug of ale and cautiously avoiding the elf's gaze, slowly drinking...
Seeing the dwarf behaving, Anna placed her hands back on the table, deciding to forgive him this time. She then looked at Wislin's stubble with interest, "Hey handsome, why did you decide to grow a beard? It doesn't look good at all, makes you look like a dwarf..." Morgan grabbed a piece of meat, took a hearty bite, washed it down with ale, and chose to ignore the elf's words. Anna, seeing no reaction from the dwarf, turned back to Wislin and said, "You used to look so handsome and artistic. I was thinking of introducing some female elves to you. Just shave off the beard already."
"A beard is a man's pride. Some people just don't get it!" Morgan waved a drumstick and ale around, and as he noticed the pale ale spurting into the air, he exclaimed, "Oh no, what a waste!" The dwarf tilted his head back, opening his mouth wide to salvage the ale droplets mid-flight, but ended up giving his own beard an ale bath.
"Oh warrior of the Warhammer's glory, praise be to the stone. Your big beard truly showcases your pride." A dwarven merchant from the table next to them came over, showering Morgan with compliments as his mouth was still open toward the ceiling, "I wonder if you'd be interested in driving away enemies along the road and escorting us back to the Mine Temple in the Red Iron Mountain Range?"
"Why don't you just go back by yourself?" Morgan stuffed an entire drumstick in his mouth, slapped the approaching merchant with his oily hands, and gently wiped them, "We are the heirs of Warhammer's glory, we should not fear the hardships on the road." Morgan's red beard wobbled as he spoke, with some shiny reflections on the parts stained with grease.
"The road is not safe now, Giants... " Before the dwarves could finish, Morgan snatched an empty ale tankard, gesturing wildly. "If Giants come, I'll smash them, break them apart like shale, grind them to dust. What's there to fear about those Giants!" Morgan opened his left hand, then clenched it tightly and rubbed it, "Just ! I detest those who hide in caves to avoid battles the most."
The dwarves, hearing this, recognized they had encountered a die-hard warmonger among the dwarves, and decided not to provoke him further. The dwarf merchants went back to their table voluntarily. The sudden attack of the Giants had caught all races on the continent off guard. Humans had no choice but to fight, elves hastily prepared for battle, but the dwarves could retreat to their mines for defense. Given the Giant Clan's massive size, they couldn't do much against dwarves in caves. However, there were still calls within the Dwarf Race for proactive attacks to thwart the Giants' rampage. Morgan belonged to the pro-war faction.