The dwarf looks at you with a stern, appraising visage, then bares his teeth in a way that only a dwarf would interpret as a smile.
"Findar samman, Dolrakten Gordid!"
Dwarven Translated:
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"Welcome brother, Gordid Swordbreaker!" Also "Good fortune to you kisnman, Gordid Swordbreaker!"
"Eet's good tae see anodar kinsman! Oy be Bazbin Strakeln, oof da Gate o' Oiron Moines."
He extends a hand in friendship after his traditional greeting. His thick and unusual accent is hard, even for a dwarf, to decipher, but you recognize it as coming from the desert mountains far southeast of here.
"Ye came o bit late, oim afrayd. Most o'da beest work goon oot ainreadeh." He scratches his beard a bit. "Bu' oim not fer turnin' me own blood away empteh-'anded. Gragory! War be da gnome aboot? Get dem pehppers 'ere."
He looks to the human as he asks the question, who seems to be comfortable with the dwarf's accent, and turns sharply on his heels claps his hands twice and calls out for someone named "Fnipper." Shortly thereafter, a small, silk-clad gnome scurries up to the human with an inquisitive face.
"Papers." he barks to the gnome.
"For six." The gnome bows and fumbles through his scroll case and produces a long scroll.
"Will that be all, Master Gregory?" The gnome inquires in a pompous, nasally voice.
"At's da ting." Bazbin replies as he snatches the scroll from the gnomes hand.
"Git yer friends tae coom op'ere, lad. 'Oil draw up da pehppers. Yoo'n'yers follow da gnome back tae da guild hall. Tellem oi sent ya. But be quick aboo'it!"
"Well," the Gnome says, turning to you.
"As soon as you're ready, then."