On that theme, I’ve done a quick fan-fiction:
Karil looked around the small cavern again, trying to mask his confusion while trying to wedge his knees under table. “Ragnhild would be laughing her braids off if she could see me” he thought, bitterly. Boril tried to fill the increasingly awkward silence, “so, cousin, you’ve…grown since I saw you last?” The dwarf’s eyes cast about the room for inspiration, “nice hammer, by the way…a little on the light side for me but size isn’t everything I hear, just ask Mrs Little John, just because you’ve got a massive chop doesn’t mean well, you know…” he trailed off. Karil nodded and forced a thin smile. He was sure he’d heard his name called at the Summon Gate? He started to regret his reputation for being so impetuously hot blooded…
Out in Howling bay the longboat completed another haphazard circle. Standing at the prow, Toril checked the wind again. No, still easterly, the problem must be one of the new oarsman - probably that lazy looking Brand fellow.
Down in the boughs, Kiril’s heard his oar slap the water ineffectually. One of the other crew tutted in annoyance. “I said at the jetty, I’m Kiril…with an I!” he protested again. “Quiet down, rookie”, barked the coxswain, “I can see you’ve only got one eye, rowing is all in the legs. Now brace yourself and heave, you useless wench!” Kiril looked down at his steel boots, his feet dangling above the salt-stained deck. “I’d kill for a beer…” he thought as the coast came into view for the eighth time…