Here in the outskirts of Dun Khoria, fully a week’s travel from land any noble would claim, trouble is brewing. Of course, trouble is on tap, too, so there’s no need to wait. The Olk and Frow (Dwarven for stale ale and contaminated ale, respectively) is the tavern of note outside a failed mine whose expedition was never recalled by their superiors. Inside the mine, a dwarven community toils fruitlessly in a labor born of duty and bureaucracy. Outside, a small village has grown up around the tavern where the cast-offs of nearby civilizations come to lay low, plot, and marvel at the increasingly sour and bitter dwarves who run it.
Your tale starts here, at the Olk and Frow. The gods only know why you’ve ended up here, and if they do, then perhaps they could tell you whether the foul concoction in your chipped ceramic mug is Olk or Frow.