"Yippee!! Look at me I'm a Centaur!!" The rosy cheeked gnome yelled as he jumped on the large wooden table in front of him, his ale sloshing frothily in his oversized stein, but not spilling a drop. Roars of laughter came from all directions, as the locals enjoyed a good laugh at this curious traveler who stood on his knees, his chin tilted up and the long wild hair which only grew on the sides and back of his head and usually looked like an electrocuted halo now pulled into a top knot, as he grimaced comically.
Few of the gnomes in the area were dumb enough to get drunk in front of any other race, they already had enough reputation issues to deal with. Thunderhorn Darby however, was not from this area. Long amber hair shot out from around the crown of his otherwise bald head, a moustache and beard like a trio of flaming scimitars bordered his snarling lips, and metallic purple eyes crackled with mirth and ferocity. He was also distinguished by the company he brought with him, including a rather awkward and clumsy looking blue giant, the likes of which few had seen in Dun Morogh. An equally standoffish human wearing enough light-related trinkets to make him look like a key chain...in plate mail. Two females rounded out the group, the first, a white haired night elf, was young and bright as the nightly reflection of the stars in the great sea. She was cheerful, but cautious in her drink selection, much to the dissapointment of the local dwarves likely to return to their mundane lives and dwarf women, you know, the kind you can take home to mother. The last however didn't dissapoint. A comely woman with midnight hair and moonlight skin, and a great glass of Rhapsody malt, which somehow found itself full again no matter how many times she drank it down.
The Cheers of the locals were doubled when she joined the gnome on the table,
"Your time has come, Centaur slime! This Tauren won't allow your foul presence here."
At this point she realized the severe height difference and to the delight of all, dropped to her knees herself, now only twice as tall as darby. She quickly threw her elbows up to her ears and forcing her forearms out, she created bullhorns with which she began to attack the centaur invader. The centaur, in spite of taking multiple blows to the top of his head, fought back valiantly by sneaking in a few belly pokes and ale swigs, still not spilling a drop. Then, from somewhere came the call for a song, and instantly, as if they were performers and not hardened soldiers, with the coordinaton of an olympic synchronized swimming gold metal pair, they burst into a raucaus rendition of that Kalimdorian favorite ' Oh, A Centaur ate my sweetheart on my sweet sixteen'. The fact that they were actually soldiers and not performers, was betrayed by the cruel looking weapons now in the care of the Paladdin, who by this time looked like a giant windchime. Everyone, Man, Dwarf, Elf, Draenei, Gnome, and Windchime, was dancing, guzzling, or singing along while Darby and Motoka, his fellow entertainer, danced from table to table furiously swinging arms, swaying hips, singing and drinking, until the song finally ended with Motoka planting a kiss on the cheek of Centaur turned minstrel, who blushed violently, before promtly throwing his stein in the air, spilling all of his remaining ale. The cheers were as loud as were ever heard in the Thunderbrew Distillery, broken suddenly by a loud boom that shattered the windows facing the road. While this surprised quite of few of the thirsty dwarves, the greater surprise came at the speed shown by gnome and Paladdin as they armed, and were out the door, or window in Darby's case. The three other strangers followed quickly, finding their weapons expediously dumped in the arms of the Draenei. Indeed the crowd was shocked, but another round offered by ol' Marleth Thunderbrew, and it was business as usual for the patrons, who, on night like this, made drinking their business.