In response to Ember’s call, a young half-half with long brown hair carrying a wooden box turns his head around in surprise, looking for the source of the voice. He looks up at Ember from her heightened position.

"Hi there, little lady. We’re getting ready for the Founding Festival. In just a few days, Dawn’s Point will be four years old. There’s going to be music, food, traveling merchants, contests, even a tournament."

Meanwhile, at the inn, Ozyre and Cork are enjoying their hearty breakfast. The low-toned chatter of the various patrons makes a contrast to the loud banter from the night prior. However, it suddenly comes to a stop when the sound of shattering glass erupts from behind the counter. The dwarven woman currently tending the bar starts yelling while one of the servants tries to calm her down, catching the attention of all patrons.

"BLOODY SHITE! IF I CATCH THE ONE RESPONSIBLE, THEY’RE GONNA HAVE THE TASTE OF MY BOOT POLISH IN THEIR MOUTH FOR THE NEXT TENDAY."

"M’am, please calm down. You’re making a scene in front of the patrons."

"Dawn's Point has a Found Day just like me!?" Ember enthuses, getting quite squirmy in her excitement. Down to Thurodim she adds quieter, "I'm much older though. Dawn's Point is justa little kid, huh?" 

Waving at the man in thanks, the little wizard muses, "I've never been to a festival before.... wonder what kinda foods they'll have? Lots of meat I hope! You think Ozzy and Cork will wanna go? Bet you guys could win all those contests and the tournament. We'd bet a million gold, huh Aggie?" The still-sleepy squirrel pops his head out of his nest of hair and chirps in agreement. 

Ozyre gulps down a chunk of meat that he's been chewing on for a good while and quickly hops over to the commotion-making bartender to strike up a more peaceful conversation. A little pair of eyes peeks over the counter. "Listen, I'm all for the wanton destruction of glasswork under most circumstances, but when it comes to information gathering I find that they very rarely divulge their secrets. Even moreso after they've been smashed. My friend and I, on the other hand..." He raises his hand over the counter and points it back to Cork. "We're quite good at Things, especially of the nature that makes most want to mar mugs and spoil steins. So, what's whoever's responsible for the thing responsible for? We can tell you anything we know/learn/deduce about them. Unless I'm somehow the one who's responsible, in which case I don't know anything about it and I've never met the guy."

The massive blonde bearded warrior chuckles deeply at the words of the little one on his shoulders. "I never competed before, at least not in any fancy tournament." Thurodim says with a shrug that almost makes Ember fall of his shoulders. "And a million? Sounds like quite a lot of gold. You should spend that gold on something better." He continues, not seeming overly impressed with the talk of a festival. "I could do with some tasty meat though, speaking of which, time for your breakfast little one." He says continuing on the the inn.

Cork observes the screaming dwarf woman and then looks at Ozyre.  He nods and points at Ozyre, then gobbles down his last piece of breakfast toast, head bobbing as he works it down his gullet.  Then he listens patiently to see if they will answer Oyzre's questions, or resume screaming.

The servant, whom you recognize as Olivier, the one who served you when you passed through a couple days ago, looks with worry between Ozyre and the dwarven woman. She stands about a head taller than Ozyre and has broad shoulders. Her long chestnut-colored braided hair reaches down to the middle of her back, and her emerald green eyes currently burn with anger. Her traits are rough, typical of her dwarven heritage.

The servant speaks up. "Apologies, sir. We didn’t mean to cause a disturbance. This is a matter we can solve interna-", he manages to say before getting cut off.

"If ya know somethin’ about the robbery, ya betta start talkin’ now, gnome! Someone wen’ inta me reserve and made away with me special brew I prepared fur da festival! I’ve bin workin’ fur six months and it was almost ready!" As she finishes her sentence, she grabs another empty mug and tosses it across the room in anger.

"Ma’am, please stop throwing things. Someone could get hurt.", says Olivier pleadingly.

It’s about at that time that Thurodim arrives with Ember sitting on his shoulders. They open the front door just as the mug comes clattering in the ground in the middle of the mess hall. 

Ember, distracted by the commotion, forgets to duck and promptly whacks her head on the door frame. With a sharp intake of breath, she rubs at the growing knot then works her way down to the floor.

"Is it a food fight?" she asks, looking for any others throwing things too. Not wanting to be left out, she picks up the mug and chucks it back the way it came with a snort of laughter. 

"A fight? Where?" His belly grumbling for food, the massive blonde bearded warrior is not in playful mood, and sensing a disturbance at the inn he quickly goes for Skullcrusher, looking around for anyone who would dare to stand between the hunter and his breakfast.

Intimidation as Thurodim makes it over to the breakfast table, wanting nothing to interfere with his breakfast now: 1

Cork raises a feathered eyebrow.  

"... special brew... fur da festival...?" he asks.  "... My friend and I... can solve... what's whoever's responsible for the thing..." he ventures, trying to calm the raging woman.

He pops open his trunk and retrieves a quill and parchment, prepared to write down any clues.

The dwarven woman’s anger slowly fades away and turns into confusion. She wasn’t expecting to hear her own voice spoke back to her, along with several others. She cocks her head to the side.

"Are ya…tryin’ to offer tha help me, bird man?", she asks, still trying to get a read on Cork.

As for the rest of the inn, they watch Ember chuck the mug across the room with little to no reaction. They are either enjoying their breakfast, or not concerned enough to care that someone, a child of all things, threw something. And besides, the people don’t seem keen to cross the path of the massive blond warrior behind her.

When there's no further commotion or mug throwing, Ember is easily distracted by the promise of breakfast and hurries after Thurodim.

Joining the others at the breakfast table the ravenous blonde bearded warrior slumps down on a chair and waves for more food and drink to be brought forth.

As Cork and Ozyre continue discussing with the bartender, Ember and Thurodim sit down and wave over a young half-elven lady with platinum blond hair. She comes back a few minutes later with a plate of roasted potatoes, berries, cheese, bread and a few venison sausages.

Ozyre chimes in, as a wind chime would in a hurricane. "He is! I think. Sometimes it's hard for me to tell because I always get distracted by how high my voice actually is. You see, my friend–" he abruptly stops speaking to put a finger in his mouth, pull it against his cheek, and remove it– "and I are scholars. We aren't just the sit-in-a-tower-reading-books-all-day kind of scholars, though (although I myself love a good page-turner on rock classification or other such fascinating topic and I'm sure [sound of cheek whiplash] would agree with that general sentiment if possibly not the mineralistic specifics although I wouldn't want to presume one way or the other). We are scholars of a more, say, practical nature. Ready at all times to face the dangers and curiosities of the world, armed with words and magic and in my case a rather large hammer. Also, they're with us." He attempts to throw a thumb back towards Ember and Thurodim's table without looking back. He misses by a good bit, instead indicating a table full to the brim with roughly eight halflings jovially chatting about something or other. "Wait, no, not them." He looks back, finds the correct table, and throws the thumb with much more precision. "Them. They provide us with more words and more magic and yet another rather large hammer, not to mention a squirrel who may or may not have pyromanic tendencies. With such a great quantity of words and magic and hammers and rodential conniving, you'd be surprised at what we can do, which includes but is not limited to recovering prized alcoholic beverages.

"So. Any suspects? Any clues? Any discounts if we get it back to you?"

The dwarven woman squints as she tries to keep pace with what Ozyre is saying.

"Y're a wordy one, aren't ya? Well, we havn't taken a close look at the storage room yet. If ya wanna take a crack at it, y'er welcome t'a try. And don't worry, if ya help me, I'll make it worth yer while."

The young human looks at her with surprise.

"Ma'am, I think we really should leave this matter to the guar-", he says before getting interrupted by his boss.

"I'm da owner of dis buisness 'ere. I do as I want, boyo."

Ember, who's eating under the table lest someone try to take her food, sees Ozyre throw a thumb at them and waves back with a half-eaten sausage. 

"Aggie, wha' dey balkin' abow," she asks around a mouthful of potatoes. Said rodent sets his berries back on the plate--his little mouth stained red--and scurries off to go listen in. 

The massive blonde bearded warrior is occupied with chewing down a venison sausage and deos not particularly notice the discussion at the bar, fully focused on pleasing his rumbling belly.

"Sounds like a good place to start to me. One indeterminate period of time, please." Ozyre hops over to the table where Thurodim and Ember are eating, collecting the wandering Aggie onto his shoulders along the way. Once he's there, he says, "We're investigating a room for clues / To discover who stole some booze!" With his piece said, the gnome turns on his heel to go back to the barkeep and get directions and access to the storage room. Ozyre has roughly two modes of explanation, and neither of them are particularly effective.

"Booze?" The massive blonde bearded warrior says agitatedly, looking up from the breakfast table. "And someone stole it? What a heinous crime." He grumbles, looking about as if trying to spot the culprit, grabbing another sausage with one large hand and Skullcrusher with the other, quickly following the diminutive giant. He had planned to leave but this offense could not go unpunished.

Ember jumps to her feet, knocking her head against the underside of the table. "Ow... HEY, wait up, Ozzy! I wanna play booze clues too!" She starts to chase after the gnome, but runs back for another venison sausage and handful of berries first. Then she follows Ozyre wherever he goes next.