"Look ya snot," growls the old dwarf, standing unsteadily on a tavern barstool to get closer to eye level with the Edger barkeep, "I know yer
hiding booze in the basement older than yer mother! Find me something brewed by Grimlorn, or Aaldari, or even that butterfingers Kogbender. This swill? It does
the Lunatic Fringe Tavern a disservice."
Around the Edger's tavern, hands drift to hilts instead of tankards as the dwarf climbs down off the stool and the barkeep scurries away towards moldy old corners of the guildhall basement. A mischevious smile forms on the old dwarf's face and deep a chuckle bubbles from him. "Look at yer face, lads. Made nervous by one old dorf with picky taste? I was stealin' yer guildleaders' panties when you were knee-high to a brownie! There are stains on this bar older than some of you, and I can tell 'ya made 'em in the first place!" As the dwarf straightens his shoulders and clears his throat, you begin to notice that his armor resembles something you saw in a museum once as a child.
"Fine Edgers, may I present meself," the dwarf announces. "I'm Pater Gnostik Gnollhugger, Drunken Priest of Brell, former officer of The Champions of Light and The Tears of Veeshan, former Herald of the Sub Rosa of the Gathering of Banners and now one of the last standard bearers of the Coeur de Lion. And, as always, a loyal ally and friend of the Edgers."
"Where is that sauce of paladin guildleader of yours? And how'dja evah get rid of all the penguins?"