"Bah!" exclaims the dwarf as he tosses another losing hand onto the table. Linda and Variette giggle seductively. "Ladies, you have run old Torgin dry." Says the dwarf loudly, this time tossing an empty purse on top of the cards. He stands, bows, and kisses each woman's hand in turn. "Linda, Variette, it has been my pleasure, but I must withdraw from your company until I have restored my funds." He says loudly. Linda and Variette pout sadly, beckoning Torgin closer for a whispered conference; as he listens, his tombstone grin broadens, and all three card player's heads turn to stare directly at the adventures. The dwarf puff's out his chest and swaggers over. The minstrel hits a bum note; suddenly, the Inn is uncomfortably quiet. Patrons and staff hold their breath, and sweaty Ostler slowly ducks behind the bar. "Greetings, adventurers." The dwarf bellows, then bows. "The name's Torgin" He jabs a stubby thumb into his chest. "That's me." He winks and grins. "Hillsafar Torgin." Torgin looks from face to face of the group, grin slackening, eyebrows arched in a pleading gesture. Several awkward moments pass, then he clears his throat and continues. "I'm an adventurer, specialise in dungeon clearances." He says, nodding. "Heard about your cellar problem, and lucky for you, I'm available." Torgin winks at Brynn, then with surprising grace, whips out a crossbow, spins left, drops to one knee, and fires at a rat scurrying along the front of the bar. Twang! The shot goes high, wakes the bar cat, who howls and launches herself toward the ceiling as the bolt thuds into a cask above the ducking Osters head. "Rats first, then ravens." Says Torgin.