In the Dwarven Hillocks in Iris, there was a Tavern of Dwarves. they are short, fat, large and hairy of course. but most of all these Dwarves were silent, their tales and songs of the old days were dead as the Goblins in Bonemoor.
"How are you feeling?" asked a Farmer Dwarf, he often haunted the Tavern seeking information on the Weather and what his fellow Dwarves were feeling. They often replied happily and ignored him if he asked again, but there one day came a stranger from the North, a Dwarven Rogue passing down the Red Sand Road down to the Mountains down South. he was tall, he had flowing blood red hair grown from his head to his elbows, beware of his fire-breathing nipples!
He sat quietly at the Bar gulping down Pint after Pint. inevitably the Farmer Dwarf blundered towards the Rogue asking his usual list of unneeded questions. the Rogue ignored him, then again when he was asked a second time.
Finally after several minutes of near constant asking and no answering the Rogue stood up and stood somewhat tall over the Dwarf. the poor Farmer seemed to shrink down to an even smaller height almost whimpering in fear. The Rogue drew his Silver encrusted Bow from his back and held it stance towards the terrified Dwarf. "Please don't!" he cried covering his face.
But the Rogue did not fire a screaming arrow, he suddenly begun to beat the Dwarf, first the Farmer collapsed onto the floor. bruising the muscles in his body.
Never... Ask... about...the... Weather.