You approach a small, and simply built house surrounded by a sturdy stone with a wrought iron gate, finely forged, if of simple design. There is a light in the window and a chimney that shows smoke piping from it. As you open the gate and approach the house, the smell of stew reaches your nostrils and causes your stomach to groan in protest of its emptiness. You can see that the door is smaller then what you would ordinarily see in most normal houses. You pass by a muddy patch of garden, probably growing vegetables. These are utilitarian folks, it seems. You knock on the door. You hear the muffled sound of two voices talking back and fourth, though you can't quite make out the words. After a few seconds you hear the sound of feet thumping heavily towards the door.
The door opens to a short, stout man with a large auburn beard with two braids running down it, a head of short, thick, shaggy hair a top his head. He wears a pair of slippers, a simple pair of brown trousers and a greyish woolen robe tied with a string. He looks you up and down with a cautious sneer as he rolls his shoulders a couple of times and clenches his hands into fists.
"Well out with it, lad, 'f you've got business here tell me what it is and be off." he says in a low gravely voice.
"Uh...well, sir," you say speaking loud enough to be heard over the pounding of rain on the shingled roof "I'm a poor hungry traveler. I've been walking for weeks straight. I'm just looking for shelter and a some food before I starve or fall ill. In return I can work for you, maybe help you around the house." The dwarf narrow his eyes suspiciously before letting out a bit of a derisive snort.
"I'd not trust such fine craftsmanship as this house wit' human hands." he says to you.
"Oh let the poor man in, Brahm, better him eating our stew then dying on our doorstep." you hear a female voice with a similar accent call from behind. He lets out a derisive sigh and steps aside.
"Well mind your head, then, I didn't build this place with you taller folk in mind." he says and steps aside. You need no further invitation. You walk into the small home and promptly bump your head on the ceiling, causing another half-sigh, half-snort to issue from the dwarven male, this time it sounds a bit like laughter.
"Now don't you walk about in here with those muddy boots of yours though, you take them off and put 'em by Brahm's, 'cause I'm not cleaning up your muddy footprints or his." you hear the woman say. She's a sturdy looking woman, roughly the same height as Brahm. The simple dress she's wearing is rolled up at the sleeves and her thick, dark blond hair is tied up with a kerchief as she points her fingers to a small bench where a pair of shoes, as muddy as your own, sit - presumably Brahm's - while her other hand stirs the stew in the large pot on the fire. You nod and remove your shoes and sopping wet cloak on a hook near the door. Your face tingles a bit as the door closes behind you. You've spent so long out in the cold that the sudden warmth feels quite a bit hotter then you're used to, still you'd rather the slightly uncomfortable warmth then the numbing cold rain any day.
"Thank you so much, I'll do what I can t repay your kindness." you say.
"Sit down." she says with a smile.
"On the bench, if you please." the dwarven male says gruffly "I'm not having your rain-soaked breeches putting water marks all over the good chairs."
"Oh, Brahm, you've got the manners of an angry badger." the woman says.
"If a high lord or baron comes by here, I'll mind my manners, but when a sopping wet vagabond comes by I'll say as I please." he says. You obediently sit at the bench and fold your arms in front of you while the two of them argue back and forth for a while. After a brief exchange the both "hmph" at each other in turn and Brahm sits at a seat at the head of the table. A long awkward silence passes between the both of you while he continues looking at you suspiciously. After a few minutes a bowl of stew placed in front of both you and Brahm and a loaf of bread is places at the center of the table.
"I'm Darga and this walking sneer here is my husband Brahm." the woman says to you and takes a seat on the bench across from you. Brahm nods to you, but the look on his face doesn't change. You nod and tell them your name and thank them again for the hospitality.
"Well it's just as well ya came here. Brahm may be a bit of a sourpuss, especially when it rains, but we're both honest folks." Darga says and leans in to whisper "The same can't be said for others in this town."
"What do you mean?" you ask.