Wottworte, Halfling Expert

*Wottewort extinguishes the last of his rolled-up 'smokin' stick' as the man enters, stomping out the embers under his boot. He doesn't get up but only watches, leaning back in his seat with a cool smile. He speaks with a relaxed drawl, a warm look behind his dark eyes as he watches the elf tend to the intruder's wounds.*

"Whoa there, mon. Slow yaself down now. We can't be helpin' ya if ya don't give us more specifics, right?"

*He reaches into a pouch and removes a small pick, turning it over in his hands as he turns over his thoughts in his head.*

Geez... mon looks desperate. Wonder wot he means by all dis...