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...a whack of metal on metal...
...announces the Blacksmith's (suspiciously?) tardy arrival. He advances on the lanky Fordim, a thunderous frown on his face. He speaks quietly, hoarsely, firmly.
"If ye wag yon tongue rashly, ye go about snapping blameless necks. Thine most o' all. Half the village be against thee already. Have a care, lad. Have a care."
Next the burly, solemn fellow turns on the innkeeper.
"As for ye, publican, lay off the mason. He's but a working man as I am. He has his craft to look to. Glance at yon walls and remember you have him to thank for them. Be not so ungrateful."
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Among the friendly dead, being bad at games did not seem to matter
-Il Lupo Fenriso
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