Unfailingly courteous in even these trying circumstances, Bróin bows and humbly thanks Dagmar for the offer of shelter. Were the accommodations far below the standard he was used to? Of course. But when the alternative was an evening beneath the haunted eaves of Mirkwood, one could hardly be choosy.
Upon being guided into Tyrant's Hill by Dagmar and her coterie, the Dwarf is quick to set his mercantile skills to work; bartering away the last of his treasure amongst the locals, the company's respite proves more invigorating than initially feared. But not by much however, for the folk of the Hill are tighfisted and suspicious around outsiders. Traits hardly conducive to barter.
His shortcomings seem to have darkened Bróin's mood, who partakes of neither pleasure nor commerce once the company settles in for the night. Not even Vara's quips and japish manner seem to liven Bróin up.