The village’s name is Zaranoth!” Hornson said, “It is often called the capital of the Zaranoth hills, and it is built on the southern part of said hills!”
Dozig gazed at the many kinds of people as the wagon rumbled past, large stone building which was probably the tavern passed slowly by. A few men wear leather and woolen armor with bows on their backs and yatagans at their sides came out. Their long blonde hair (which reached down to their shoulders, unlike any humans the two trasnos had thus far seen) blowing in the wind.
“Look at those men!” Dozig told his brother, “They shave their faces clean so that not a hair grows, but their heads they shave not.”
“No, that ain’t the case!” Hornson laughed gruffly, “Em fellows are Renean nisses, our occupiers, they rule ol’Obisa as a province! Em are the guards of this village. The nisses never cut a single hair from their bodies, hair grows not on em faces! Their hair is special to them, as special as a dwarf’s beard is to a dwarf! If ya’ll know what I mean.”
“I do,” Waerg replied.
“Glad that ya do!” Hornson said with a faint smile, the nisses soon disappeared in the distance, they had not seen the trasnos.
“Hatch!” A tall blonde-haired man shouted, his blonde beard hung above his chest, his belly was large and rounded, his brown leather pants were forced to stretch for him to fit inside of them. His wide-set eyes were green and his bulbous nose seemed to breath fire as smoke drifted from it, the man then stuck his polished pipe back in his mouth. Overall, his pot-bellied body suggested a man in his forties.
“What?” Hornson asked impatiently, “Ya got a grudge?”
“It not what I got,” the man replied, “It’s what I don’t got!”
“What don’t you have?” Hornson inquired, his voice tinged with curiosity.
“I don’t got no more ale!” the man exclaimed, his eyes widening in despair. “The tavern’s run out, and we ain’t got no more until the next shipment arrives!”
Hornson sighed sympathetically. “Well, that ain’t good for business, is it? How long until the next shipment?”
The man shook his head. “Could be a week, maybe more. The routes have been dangerous lately, with bandits and all. Can’t risk our workers gettin’ attacked.”
Hornson scratched his beard in thought. “Well, I reckon that’s not the best news for a thirsty traveler like me. But there must be an alternative, right?”
The man pondered for a moment before a hopeful gleam sparked in his eyes. “Well, if you’re desperate for a drink, there’s a hidden moonshine distillery on the outskirts of the village. Not the best quality, mind you, but it’ll do in a pinch.”
Hornson grinned mischievously. “Well, ain’t that a stroke of luck! Lead the way, my good man.”
With that, the two set off towards the hidden moonshine distillery, leaving Dozig and Waerg to continue their journey through Zaranoth. As they walked, Hornson couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement at the prospect of trying this secret moonshine. Little did he know the adventures that awaited them in the village and beyond.