The dwarf smiled as his only normal hand brushed his beard. His expression turned serious as he was considering the idea. Moments seemed to grow longer as Balamor waited for the stern remark from across the table. The both of them were finished their meal as well as their mead when the Anvorbeard finally broke the silence,
“So I take you to the Mog Brush, through the thick twisted forests and into the swamps? Past the ravenous packs of tarr wolves, or the even more deadly Parins? All the way up to the Bridge of Kaltas, so you can find a way in? You’ll be dead by sundown….But what’s in it for me?”
The robed hobbit’s excitement ceased as he tried to come up with some incentive, when suddenly it hit him,
“If I return, I will bring you the name of the woman who gave you that curse.”
The brown eyes of the Dwarf grew wide before a chuckle caused them to close,
“Ha! And how do you expect to find that in the Mog Brush?”
Balamor immediately jumped on the question, “If this woman has any interest in magic, she would have no bigger interest than going to the Mog Brush. And considering what she has done to your arm, sounds like the Mog Brush would be right up her alley. If she isn't there herself, her name is."
He paused a moment as he realized he offered nothing tangible for Awkids service, “Look, I know I’m paying you in hope, but that is all I have to offer.”
They two of them waited in silence, both with their eyes fixed on the table, as if their thoughts were scattered across its surface like battle plans. Awkid leaned back in his chair as dormant memories filled his mind. thought back to the time when his arm was lost to him, even to this day his earthen limb seemed detached from his body. He opened his right palm, small clumps of dirt fell between his fingers as he examined it. A feeling of anger loomed over him as he tried to picture the dwarven woman who cursed him.
Suddenly Awkid rose to his feet and extended his right hand over the table,
“You have yourself a deal Hobbit. But your plan needs work.”