Unceremoniously ushering the travel-weary dwarven shieldmaidens into the common room of the only inn, Arlene was the first to hop in, much to the chagrin of Gwain. The result of having hosted one too many dwarven parties. Ignoring the curious glances and some not-so-subtle drunken love songs sung at the all-female party, the shieldmaidens maintained an air of self-restraint as they marched quietly, filling the cozy inside of the inn.

“This is Baernis. Just Baernis,” introduced Arlene over the sound of pitchers filled with spiced rum served.

The stout red-headed woman with thick long braids reaching till her hips, shook her head, discarding the tiny rebellious fleck of snow that still managed to cling to her. Shedding her long travel cloak, she revealed her steel armour with countless dents and innumerable mends, underneath. Dark steel gauntlets, with minute cracks like spiderwebs running around their surface, encased her arms. The chains of her mail skirt, chimed together like the comfortable sound of a thousand bells, as she heaved herself onto a chair that was definitely not made for dwarves. If Baernis sported visible scars of any sort, they were carefully hidden beneath her rough patch of facial hair.

Glancing from the periphery of my vision, I witnessed two dwarven shieldmaidens, carefully carrying a box, wrapped preciously with chamois leather and doeskin. One of them, the slightly older of the two, with deep brown hair and slightly bulging neck muscles, a rare trait in women, gestured the younger of the two. The latter was one of the few without any facial hair, adopting the beauty standards of other races; simply nodded at her companion’s suggestion with a bright twinkle in her brown eyes.

The two quietly moved with their precious cargo and drew up a chair closer to our tables. The older one nodded to her shieldwarden before returning her gaze in a manner of surveying through the rest of the seated dwarven maiden. The younger one checked the straps holding the bundle one more time. Satisfied with the state of their contents, she gave a mischievous wide grin aimed at Arlene.

The shieldwarden broke the silence finally.

“Commander Rylonvirah, a pleasure to meet you, finally.” Her husky voice, like flowing viscous honey, was devoid of the guttural accent that usually plagued the dwarves. The low sibilant whisper-like timbre reverberating from her hinted at a heritage of dwarves who grew up in the deep tunnels.

“Your protege sang praises of your leadership.” The way Arlene beamed her wide smile was a clear evident indication that the comments the shieldwarden heard about me were anything but positive.

“So how did you meet my top officer?” I asked with morbid curiosity.

“Gnoll hunting,” answered the other younger dwarven girl, leaning almost close to our table that for a moment, I thought her chair would topple from her weight.

“Cosette, let the grown-ups do the talking,” admonished the older of the dwarven women in a guttural rambling tone that was typical of dwarves who lived closer to the surface.

Seizing the opportunity, Baernis smoothed out the conversation.

“This is Eddyrn Rubyforged. Our shieldwall and my second-in-command. The little one is Cosette, our tracker.”

Baernis’s further words were drowned in a sea of exuberant cheers and loud banging of wooden tankards on the table.

“Better reel Inga in before she starts breaking the furniture,” said Baernis raising her voice slightly, just enough to be heard over the commotion.

A still silence promptly rolled in as Eddryn cleared her throat.

“Inga, you with us,” shouted Eddyrn.

Inga, a stout dwarven woman with rich blonde hair gleaming like golden hay in the afternoon sunshine, wore her hair in twin braids. With silent resignation, she grabbed two frothing tankards in both her hands and scurried towards the table hosting Eddyrn and Cosette.

The one introduced as Eddyrn was the only one who had a second name to her. Cosette was young, if not the youngest among the dwarven women. Though calling them women might be stretching their seniority a tad too far. None of them shieldmaiden sported grey hairs. Not even a crow's feet at the corner of their eyes.

While Baernis was clad in heavy plate armour, Eddryn clearly valued her tower shield more than her own armour. Though her own plate mail had fewer dents and scratches, the quality of her tower shield was pristine. The polished mirror-like surface glistened in the low light of the inn as Eddryn liberated her arms from her vambraces and gently wrapped them around, letting the familiar cold surface provide warm comfort.

Cosette, on the contrary, prided herself in her studded leather armour, adding a bit of her personal touch in the form of specialised personal motifs with ribbons, ivory enamelled brooches and metallic badges. She wore gloves with finger holes as was expected from her weapon of choice -- a heavy repeating crossbow.

“Gnoll is it?” I asked hiding the rising surge of anger at Arlene. She was supposed to reach the Viridian Dawn Rangers. Bring help. Not go gnoll hunting.

“A nasty bunch found their love nest deep inside a cavern,” said Cosette.

“And the plea of the neighbouring villages went unanswered. Some Errant knights and paladins they are,” spat Arlene in tandem with Cosette.

“Those brave knights will only hunt gnoll hunting parties, chasing them through the wilderness. Run through a fleeing opponent with their long spears, that is what chivalry boils down to.” If I had any reservations about why the dwarven shieldmaiden tolerated the constant unrestrained comments of Arlene, Cosette’s own opinion made everything clear.

“The jaws of a gnoll are a formidable weapon. Strong enough to rip through the steel armour of many clueless knights. That is why experienced hunters and knights would not willingly venture into a gnoll-infested cave,” corrected Baernis.

The shieldwarden’s words were all that was needed to infer her abilities. She has a good head on her shoulders. Which made the situation all the more intriguing. Why would they risk their lives on an assignment that was fated to doom?

“Our initial plan was to advance slowly with our shieldwall in front with cover fire from our blunderbuss users, but we were fortunate enough to meet your Ranger there,” chimed in Cosette.

“Dis she smoked them out into the open?” I asked.

“She placed poisoned meat outside for them. We just went it and finished those stupid gnolls,” said an exhilarated Cosette, full of admiration.

“The plan wouldn’t have succeeded, if you girls weren’t persistent enough to hunt them through those winding tunnels,” praised Arlene in return.

Between the fishing for compliments and hug boxing of Arlene and Cosette, Inga simply emptied one mug and wiped the froth clinging to the corners of her lips with the back of her hands. The conversation was as interesting as a philosophy debate for the dwarven woman. Her hands were marked with scars and her palms with enough thick calluses that made me wonder for a moment if she could block a blade with her palms.

Arlene tasted her own drink and slowly pushed it towards Inga who graciously held on to the offered tankard. Arlene must have built quite a rapport with them. Or Inga is the sort who believes that wasting good alcohol was tantamount to blasphemy.

Letting my eyes sweep a casual look at the shieldmaiden’s gathered in the common room, with their varied heavy armours and weapons, even their accents, some thick with guttural accents while others more in alignment with the dwarves from mining regions. Only heterogeneity and their race were the only common denominator.

With surprise in my voice, I finally realised their purpose.

My features did not suppress any hint of the telltale sign of my realisation when I uttered, “You are all clanless. You are trying to earn your dowry.”

Baernis grimaced. Her otherwise tight lips, which held a perpetual crease at their corners, now widened impossibly.

“Precisely. I am in awe how a Respected Drow Leader even bothered to learn our culture,” said Baernis. It was her turn to be surprised.

Arlene whose attention was captivated by something outside the paned windows, jolted herself awake.

“You risk your life just for gold?” she asked in disappointment.

Eddyrn, the closest to Arlene leaned back on the chair. Letting a sigh she explained, “We are clanless. The dowry is the only thing we could offer to our future husbands. Hopefully, with enough gold, some clan will accept our dowry.”

“But why risk life?” muttered an agitated Arlene.

“What else could we come up with? It is either die on a nameless battlefield or die isolated and destitute. I would rather die in a war with a full belly than in a dilapidated hellhole with hunger,” replied Eddyrn.

Arlene’s knuckles paled but her lips remained tightly sealed.

“Four conditions, Commander,” Baernis’s words drew my attention back to her.

“The shieldmaidens will only respond to me or Eddyrn. They will never be under your direct command. Any command will be issued through either of us,” said the Dwarven woman. Standard Dwarven Mercenary protocol. One that survived long for obvious reasons. I nodded my acknowledgement.

“Second, should the campaign fail, half of us will remain while the rest will depart. The choice of who remains and who survives is solely ours,” uttered Baernis with tempered steel in her voice. The message was clear. She will not budge on this fact.

“Should half of us leave, I pray not, but should it come to that, I expect that the full payment to be handed over to the rest as they leave,” said Baernis.

The shieldwarden made it explicit. There was very little room for negotiation. Nor could one, in good conscience and grace, bargain. Half of them, sacrificing their lives so the other half could live.

“We expect full provision and privacy for our living space. Any of you men found violating our grounds can be collected after we break every single one of his bones.” While Baernis held an air of rigidity about herself, Eddyrn, Cosette and even Inga grinned with contorted mirth.

“Yes,” finally added Cosette, “But only if they are ugly.”

“Or if he is a broke vagabond,” chimed Eddyrn in.

“Or if I am not drunk enough,” said Inga, “But if I am drunk, that would be a different tale.”

Without pausing, Inga continued, “After a barrel of mead, even ugly trolls will pass for handsome princes,”

“Like that one out there. Isn’t he a bit too young to be out serving in a campaign?” said Cosette.

“And he is a bit too tall for his age, isn’t he not? Who is he?” asked Arlene.

Masking their external features from revealing whatever their heart craves, I found both Cosette and Arlene ogling Finn, who oblivious to the prowling of the two feral creatures preying on him, gave an infectious candid smile in the company of Rodo and Captain Hilam.

For a brief moment, I flirted with the idea of allotting additional guards around Finn but eventually scoffed at the absurdity of the plan. Before a determined Arlene, a bunch of cudgel-wearing guards would pose no significant hurdle.

My thoughts were disturbed by a tiny silhouette casting a long shadow, crossing the threshold of the inn. The last person I wished to add to the repertoire of uncanny folks. Colby.

“Colby, isn’t it way past your bedtime?” I reached out to the child, “Lyria would be searching.”

Huffing, he ignored my words and instead proclaimed in a loud voice, “I was a told group of my people have come. A big mistake. They are just stinking dwarven women.”

The eyes of every shieldmaiden, filled with unfiltered fury, fell on Colby. Yet the young gnome displayed a remarkable talent for obliviousness.

“Lame, if you ask me,” said Colby to no one in particular. His voice, despite his small form, carried over the whole room, further invoking the ire of every dwarf.

“Colby, come. let me tuck you in bed. I reckon it would be warm and comfy in your room,” I said softly while trying gently trying to guide him back to the door.

Colby wriggled his way out of my hold. Running straight towards Arlene, he stooped low to examine Cosette’s precious cargo.

“Why do you need incendiaries for? You carry a repeating crossbow,” said Colby in an indignant tone.

“Kid, leave,” roared Inga without bothering to lift her buried face from the tankard. She considered his presence a waste of good mead.

Colby decided to represent the personification of all things incognizant when he ignored Inga’s warning and grabbed the shiny alloyed blunderbuss. Examining it with the eyes of a discerning obstinate art critic, he clicked his tongue.

“Too much pellet spread in trajectory, lowers the range,” delivered Colby his opinion that would have saved him the next few precious moments.

“I waddled through thick snow for days and this is the first nice drink to wet my throat. Don’t spoil it, child,” said Inga with a sibilant hiss to her threat.

“The recoil needs to be reduced, to improve aim.”

“She told you to leave,” screamed Cosette. Slightly shaken from the sudden outburst, and accepting her words as a personal insult to his abilities, Colby did what any child in his age and maturity would do. He lashed back.

“Not surprising. The spread in the trajectory should compensate for the drunken aim.”

With the agile grace of a prowling panther, Inga leapt at the hapless Colby. She was joined by Cosette, while Arlene who I expected to have placated her new dwarven best friend, simply shrugged. She had that saw-that-one-coming expression on her face. By the time, Baernis and Eddyrn, who were close enough to respond faster, reacted and pulled a drunk Inga and raging Cosette away, only a battered Colby, a little more than a blood-covered rag, lay on the floor.

His three frontal teeth missing. Where he should have had his left eye, only a pink pulpy mass of flesh appeared. Colby had his nose realigned. I could hope that with the healing abilities of the Druids and with the natural vitality of his age, his face would mend itself. With any luck, when he grows older, he will not have any handicaps with courtship. Then again, his facial beauty will be the least of his hurdle while courting. Anyone who is willing to look beyond his uncouth attitude will definitely look beyond the skin-deep appearance.

I scooped the squirming Colby in my arms.

“Listen Colby, let's keep this between us. Tell Lyria, that it was an accident while sparing with maapu,” I said as I manoeuvred myself to push the door with my hips.

“uut.tying ith wtong,” uttered Colby between his breath.

Lying is wrong. Now the little turd wants to remind me of Morality and ethics!

“Not at all. We don’t want to worry Lyria. If she asks, just say, you were playing knights with Maapu and forgot to wear armour. Tell her that I came after you had this accident. She will boil me alive if she knew I let this happen while present,” I said over the sound of revelry and cold wind sweeping in from the cold door and a very hostile presence of an angry Lyria standing outside the door with her arms folded across.

Despite the din of the drunken soldiers and the howling of merciless icy winds, from the flaring nostrils of Lyria, it was clear that she heard every single word that I said.

At that moment, facing a very angry Lyria, the idea of leaping into the ravenous maw of a hungry dragon seemed very welcoming.