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Rastheme
Rastheme had enjoyed the eggs, they were thankfully hard perhaps the chef knew the result of runny eggs on the hungover and didn't want to risk the results... "I disagree about sending a larger force, more than say a half dozen and travel slows, risk of discovery increases, and the ability to fight off or evade a reasonable amount of foemen also becomes more difficult. If anything I'd tell the counsel we need carrier pidgeons that home here and will be able to send word more quickly than a man on foot, and would also be more likely to return at all. As for fighting, we can train ye in the basics, but if it comes down to a serious and dangerous battle, ye'd be best to get to safety and throw knives or seek safety." Rastheme took a bite of the last of his toast, a small bit of egg still sitting on it and began combing out his goatee with the same care most dwarves took for their entire beards, ensuring not a hair was out of place, nor a crumb left sitting near his mouth. As he finished he plucked a hair that had grown too long and split it against the edge of one of his small axes.
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