Dick walked into The Grim Guzzler. The place before him was much more spacious than he remembered, at least five times larger. At a glance, several hundred people sat in the hall, and there were not that many Dark Iron Dwarves. Most were members of other races in outlandish clothing.
Tauren and Trolls drank together, humans and Elves flirted in corners, and drunken Gnomes stood on tables doing ridiculous dances, drawing loud laughter from the Goblins and Orcs beside them. Dick even spotted Drakonids-in Humanoid Form, of course, just like Das was now.
The clamor, the curses, the clinking glasses, the fights with fists pounding flesh, the dim, shifting lights-everything gave Dick a sense of unreality. He felt as though he were in one of those hazy nightclubs rather than a tavern in a magical world.
But the warmth of Liadrin's palm reminded him that all of this was real.
Dick shook his head and led Liadrin and Velinde into the crowd. Das, Demitier, and the other Paladins serving as guards could only move around the perimeter. They soon blended into the crowd as well, going off to find some fun.
He had initially thought his outfit might be rather conspicuous, but once he was actually walking through the noisy Grim Guzzler, Dick discovered that his clothes could not have been more ordinary. There were far too many strangely dressed people here. Liadrin, on the other hand, drew repeated gasps, not only for her luxurious gown, but even more in praise of the Elf's beauty.
Of course, no tavern was without conflict. Take the Dark Iron Dwarf blocking Dick's path, for instance. He clutched a mug, drunk and bleary-eyed. Judging by the ornament on his filthy uniform, the fellow was even a field officer among the Dark Iron Dwarves.
"Hey!