(At Dinner Table)
The table before us is an absolute masterpiece of carnivore heaven. There are multiple dishes piled high with different types of roasted meats, each one smelling more delicious than the last. No wonder these dwarfs are so bulky and strong—they eat like kings!
And oh my god, look at the size of those mugs! Giant, frosted mugs of ale are scattered across the table.
I was getting so bored with the delicate sips of wine back at the palace; finally, some real beer!
Across from us sits Durgrim Stoneheart, looking regal yet strangely solitary for a hall built to host generations, the seat beside him feels painfully empty.
I lean toward Rhaegor, my voice a faint whisper. "Is he all alone?"
Rhaegor doesn't speak aloud. Instead, his voice echoes directly in my mind via our telepathic link. *He lost his wife forty years ago, and his only daughter is married; she lives across the other mountain range.*
