Summoning the dwarf proprietor, a commanding figure with a thick mane of braided, fiery-red beard and discerning piercing eyes, stands sentinel near the entrance. His attire, a practical ensemble adorned with leather and embellished with an assortment of intriguing trinkets, speaks volumes of a life well-traveled. Politely, you request a root beer. The dwarf gazes at you momentarily, then queries, "Did Fletcher send you?"