Jorlitharr pulls open on of the heavy wooden doors. Soft light spills over the threshold. Before you is a large room with tall ceilings, decorated in a mishmash of tapestries, rugs, throws, furs, and other gaudy decorations like golden reflective balls hanging from the ceiling and chains of silver draped over the tall bedposts. These items glow in the flickering light of golden lit candelabrae and candles in silver candlesticks that litter the room. You smell a sickeningly sweet odor of bad perfume mixed with mildew, mothballs, and rot.
The Great Ulfe, who was sitting at a mirrored table, stands and turns. He looms in front of you. Standing much taller than any of you, and as wide as Thravum and Jorlitharr standing next to each other, his presence is profound. His massive pale body is wrapped in a regal dark red robe with thick pointed pauldrons. His face is wide and broad, with a bald pate and big ears. His build is thick, and what you can see of his skin is pale, spotted with age and scars, and pudgy. You see a thick silver chain around his neck with a fiery red gem nestled in his robe folds. Leaned up against the wall next to the mirror is a double-sided axe with a thick handle of what looks like a tree trunk wrapped in leather cords. Something small and circular on the weapon sparkles in the candelight.
“Why, what a surprise to have visitors.” His thick tusks glisten as he speaks with a wide, thick-lipped smile. Grushnak grovels and doesn’t say anything. The Great Ulfe ignores him. “Guests are usually announced by the Captain, but he seems to be off busying himself somewhere else. Again.” He gestures to the whole party. “Please, enter.” He gets out fancy golden goblets (that don’t match) and lays then out next to a silver jug of deep red wine. He pours and offers to everyone. “Please refresh yourselves. Surely you have travelled far, as you look weather-stained and tired.”
The Great Ulfe looks at the three dwarves in front of him. He now addresses only them, completely ignoring Olias and Olek.
