Of course! (Grail)

Grail polished off another pint, slurping up the foam from the bottom of the clay mug as it slowly oozed it's way down the interior, before slamming it down on the table. "And then she says, an' I'm not jokin' you, she says, ''m sorry miss, bu' I'm jus’ a little busy right now.' Th' feckin' mayor tells me that. Your mayor!"

The man she was talking to gave a bit of a wheeze and cough, then slowly blinked. He was entirely drunk past the point of proper conversation at this point, but Grail's own state of inebriation made it so she didn't really care all that much.

"Hey," Grail said, waving towards the nearby ale cart. "We need another round over here!"

They were sitting in one of the green spaces crowded around the big Cathedral wings, where tables and chairs had been set out for festival goers to kick back in the sun and rest their feet, or have a place to eat the various fair foods that were being hoc'd up and down the avenues. With the free lunch now winding down, most of the families were starting to filter back out into the festival events, while the adults less tied down to children were setting up for the long haul of afternoon drinking. That was how Grail had ended up in the drink-for-drink competition with... whatever his name was.

"It's really no' that long a message even," Grail grumbled. "Jus' wanna tell yer mayor tha' y'all need t' beware all th' fuckin' ogres n' giants from up north. Ain't tha' hard to listen to, isn't it!?"

Grail hiccuped and realised she'd started shouting around the time that the man wearing the pothelm and clad in a little blue tabard came up with his hands on his hips. "Uh, ma'am? Er, miss? I'm going to have to ask you to take a breath and maybe a break from the ale. You're starting to alarm folks."

"What? Good!" Grail said. "They should be 'larmed. Ogres an' giants!" Grail hiccuped again and blinked a few times to clear his thoughts. "Who th' hell are you t' tell me what to do, anyways?"

The man frowned and ran a thumb across his nose in a consternated gesture. "I'm one of the Town Guard, miss."

"What? Y'are?" Grail demanded, standing up. She still only came to a height just a head over his waist. "Then take me to your leader, Guard Guy. Th' Sherf, or whatever 'is name was."

"You want me to take you to Sheriff Hemlock?"

"Yeah, that guy."

Grail followed the man - well, he guided her with a hand on her shoulder - and managed to take a few deep breaths on the way to stabilise herself. The ale here on the coast was surprisingly potent for human stuff.

They circled the town square until finally they found the Sheriff, a bald man with the deep tan skin of a warrior of the northern Shoanti tribes. He was speaking with a few of the village folk, all dolled up in their festival finery, and he made eye contact with her guard and gestured for them to wait a moment as he finished his conversation.

"Tha's him, yeah?" Grail asked her guard.

"Yes," the guard said, clearly wishing he'd decided to patrol in a different direction than the sitting area.

Grail sucked in another breath through her nose and let it out slowly, trying to focus her thoughts. Gorum, how many brews had she downed? It had been a long while since she'd tucked in to a drink like that. That's what happened when you were out in the wilds ranging, you ran out of beer.

"Pardon?" the guard asked.

"What?" Grail asked back.

"You were saying something about drinking rangers out of beer?"

"What, no I wasn't," Grail said. Had she been mumbling out loud?

"Yes, you-"

"Phillip," Sheriff Hemlock interrupted. "What seems to be the matter?"

Grail looked up at the man who towered over her. It was the usual case of human-to-dwarf height conflict. She focused on the cleft in his chin that looked like abutt to keep herself on point. "Sheriff Hem'ock, ah'm here t' bring dire warnin'!"

"Are you drunk?" the Sheriff asked pointedly. He had stern, dark brown eyes that made Grail feel small. She hated feeling small.

"Yesh, but that's not the point," Grail said. "There's danger. Up north. Like, way north, but it's getting bigger. No, wait, the giants aren't getting bigger, but the danger is getting bigger. See, that's the thing. And they'll come here probably some day. But ignoring it is not good, so that's the way it is."

Grail nodded to emphasise her point.

The Sheriff and Phillip the guard glanced to each other.

"Right..." the Sheriff said. "So, you're here to deliver a message of danger. Is the danger imminent?"

"Not right now," Grail said. "But-"

"Miss dwarf, I would be happy to meet with you tomorrow," the Sheriff said, holding up a hand to stop her. "Perhaps in the afternoon, after you have fully slept off your current... state. And all of the festivities have ended and the town has returned to normal. Yes?"

"S'meetings importan' then," Grail huffed.

"I promise that we will meet tomorrow," the Sheriff nodded. "Come by the Garrison shortly after noon. We'll make it official."

"S'good," Grail said.

The Sheriff nodded and leaned in to the guard and whispered something, then stepped away.

"Wha' did he say to you?" Grail demanded.

Phillip looked left and right, and then flashed her an innocent smile. "What? I don't know what you mean."

"He just whispered somethin' t' you. Wha' did he whisper?"

"Miss, do you have a room in town? Maybe somewhere you could go lie down?"

"Pffft, ah'm fine," Grail snorted. "This is just warmups. S'been a while, gotta find my stride."

"Right, how about-"

"Look, this'll fix me," Grail said, and she walked over to one of the nearby food vendors who were packing up after serving lunch. "'Scuse me, is this water?" she asked a thin woman with honey coloured skin, while gesturing to an open topped keg of liquid.

"It is, right from the river," the woman said, raising an eyebrow. "Let me guess - need a quick wake up?"

Grail thumbed over her shoulder at Phillip. "'E’s givin' me grief."

"Let me help," the woman said. She lifted the keg up, her arms flexing to show off surprising muscles despite her slender form. "Up and over we go," the woman said, and dumped the water right in Grail's face.

"Phaw!" Grail spluttered, letting the water splash across her as she resisted the shock of cold. It sparked inside her head as she felt it trying to push up her nose and open her eyelids with the brief moment of ****. The pour was over as quickly as it started, and she blew water from her lips and wiped it from her eyes before slicking back her now soaked red hair. "Thanks, missy."

"Any time. I know how it is," the woman said. "Come on down to the Rusty Dragon tonight. You seem like you would fit in."

"Might just do that," Grail grinned, then nodded her thanks again and turned back to Phillip and stalked over to him. "There, I'm fully awake and the buzz is down to a low hum. Still going to babysit me?"

Phillip just pursed his lips. "I've got my orders."

"Pah," Grail grumbled, looking around the festival grounds. Her eyes settled on one of the ongoing games being run, and she grinned. "What if I can prove I'm sober enough?"

"Sure," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "But I don't know-"

"I know exactly how," Grail said, and hustled towards the game.

The stand was built into an alley between two businesses, and was a 20 ft little shooting gallery. Someone had made little whicker scarecrows that moved around as the man running the game pulled on a pair of ropes. At the far end of the little dancing scarecrow gallery was a large wooden disc painted with target circles. As she was making her was through the crowd, Grail saw a kid pay a couple copper pennies to the man, and he handed the lad a little crossbow barely big enough to fire a blunt bolt the size of a cigar. The kid raised the toy crossbow, sighted down the length of it, and loosed with a squeeze. Pang! He struck one of the dancing scarecrows, which apparently had a large head backed by metal plates.

"Nice shot, Jesup," the man running the game said, leaning over and messing up the kid's hair as he took the crossbow back.

"My turn," Grail said, stepping forward and pressing a pair of copper coins at the man.

"Um, this is supposed to be for-"

"Just let her do it, Francis," Phillip sighed, stepping up behind Grail. "This should be quick."

"Alright, sure," Francis said, and started pulling on the ropes again to make the scarecrows dance.

Grail hefted the little crossbow - it wasn't even really large enough for her to hold in two hands. She pulled back the string and loaded one of the blunt bolts, then held it out and squinted an eye. "I bullseye this, and you leave me alone, right?" she asked out of the side of her mouth.

"Sure, sure," Phillip said.

With a breath out, Grail steadied her hand and pulled the lever. Twang! The tension of the string released, and the bolt didn't go anywhere.

The string had snapped. Misfire.

"Gorum's bald pate," Grail growled. She thrust the toy crossbow at Francis the game runner, and in one smooth motion she unlimbered her own crossbow from where it hung on the side of her backpack, strung it while placeing a bolt, lifted, and fired.

SCHWACK!

"Bullseye," Grail smirked.

"Gods damn it," Francis said.

The big wooden disc hanging at the end of the alley cracked down the centre, right along the impact point of her bolt, and then split as both halves dangled from strings tied to opposite roofs of the alley. Her bolt clattered to the cobbles.

"Whoops," Grail said, then turned to the piercing frowns of Phillip and Francis. "What? That counts!"

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