Taking out the trash...

Rongar Darkhammer took a long swallow of his beer while he sat watching the goblin riff raff that had come in earlier. Usually the Ogre Bow was a decent place to drink. Tonight, however, it was filled with the raucous noise of goblin revelry. The bastards had come in about an hour earlier to blow off some steam and it seemed maybe even to celebrate some good fortune. He hadn't been paying complete attention to their childish antics, but he thought he had heard passing mention of a mine and kobolds in their conversation.

This information was merely of passing interest compared to the lowering level of beer in his mug. Rongar ordered a refill and waited for it to arrive. He glowered as the noise level increased. The goblins were now engaged in an inter-table competition which involved one goblin dancing on each table while the others tossed bits of food at them. There seemed to be little rhyme or reason to the activity, but every now and then a cheer would go up, goblins would exchange places and the general fervor increased. The bar maid brought the refilled mug. Rongar paid with a bit of silver and drank about half in one gulp. He set the mug down deciding that if the beer continued to taste better each drink, the night wouldn't be a total loss.

His rising good cheer was doused by a wet plop and splash of beer on his face as a piece of pork rind dropped into his mug. Rongar's anger flared as quickly as his cheer had left. A low growl erupted as a bellow of rage. He gripped his heavy mug and charged the closest table of goblins. They scattered; one headed for the door, one ran to the pantry to hide and one jumped into the hearth attempting to climb up and out of the chimney.

There was a momentary pause as the remaining goblins and Rongar sized each other up. One goblin yelled, "Git em!" But he noticed the other two were busy stuffing their pockets with food and nuggets of ore and joined in.

Rongar advanced with grim purpose. "By the beards of my ancestors you'll pay for that beer thrice over."

The goblins decided three to one wasn't bad odds and attacked.

At first contact Rongar was swarmed, barely holding his ground as goblin fists scored multiple hits. His armor, sheer cussidness and good luck prevailed and in the next few moments he was able to disable the center goblin with a knee to the groin. The second fell as Rongar's mug smashed his shoulder. A back hand swipe caught the last in the temple dropping him with a ringing bong.

In the silence that followed, Rongar scooped up several of the nuggets and grabbed the gasping, groin holding goblin by the hair. "Now you'll be telling me where you found these, " he said.