The Locksmith of the Spotted Hills

Thinking of his evening in Crumbald Centre, Slagfid smiled to himself as he fished his keys from his belt. A sound caught his ears before the keys reached the door. He listened, nothing. The dwarf stood still. The lock and key swayed gently above his head in the night breeze. His thoughts returned to the tattered man at the tavern. Again, a noise, it came from behind the cabin. Slagfid bent down and tossed his keys through the gate into the forge porch. He could pick his own locks later. Be...