It was a dark and stormy night...Not really.
As a matter of fact it was a beautiful, clear day.
Unfortunately for Hawk, the brew was calling his name.
As he followed the column of the Rubber Ducky Brigade his mind slowly began to drift.
Looking to his right he thought he glimpsed a small tavern in the woods, and that's when his pure Irish blood took over.
Entering the small building he found a table with two shot glasses and two pint glasses set symmetrically on top of it.
Upon further scrutiny Hawk found a small man, excitedly waiting on the other side of the table.
"Have a seat, have a seat!" the small man said quickly and repeatedly in his falsetto voice.
Hawk, befuddled at the small man's behavior, sat down and waited anxiously. Anxiety turned to excitement when the halfling returned with a pitcher of beer and a bottle of Irish Malt Whiskey.
"Here ye are son" the vertically challenged elder said happily, "and now let us drink...to you!"
Hawk willingly obliges. He pounds the shot, which he is surprised to find tastes a bit sandy on the way down.
*Hmmm* he thinks *must be a little bit of dirt in the glass...* He shrugs and raises the beer glass in response to yet another toast from the dwarf.
As he begins to drink, however, his mouth begins to fill with sand. He tries, but is unable to pull the mug away. Finally two hands does the trick, unfortunately the lack of oxygen intake causes Hawk to black out.
---xxx---xxx---xxx---
Hawk puts his hand to his throbbing head as he comes to. There is nothing to be seen of the man, or the small hut Hawk had found earlier that day.
He gathers his strength and stands against a nearby tree for a moment to get his balance. He runs back to the road, to find himself in the same place he'd left hours earlier. It seemed as if the hut had never been there.
Hawk follows the road to the town of Lios Mor, where he gets word that the Brigade had passed through earlier. It's late though so he gets a bite to eat in the Elven Tavern and then finds a place to bunk down for the night..