Despite his lack of manners, you figure that the fellow traveller might be a source of knowledge you won't find elsewhere — if not about Honourshine's bell, then perhaps about something related to it.

With that in mind, you offer to buy him a drink at the nearest tavern and exchange some tales, but explain that aside from a single Harpy Hotel on the western coast, there are no wenches to be found in Equestria.

Traveller: "Wun boy ye whot ye're ahskin' fer, boot eh drink's eh drink Oi s'peuse."

You nod, and ask your companions if they would like to come along.

Moonflower: "Ooh, I could go for some food!"

Honourshine: "... We might as well..."

You enter the Filly Bell Inn, a large yet homely establishment bordering the western corner of the public square. The lobby inside greets you with a reception desk, a stairway behind it up to the lodgings, and a large open room to the side where dozens of tables are filled with lively chatter and the clattering of tableware.

Receptionist: "Welcome! Are you here for a table, a room, or both?"

You tell the receptionist that you would like to start with a table for four, and ask if there are any private booths available. The mare glances down at her clipboard, then gestures for you to come along.

Receptionist: "We do! Right this way."

You follow the receptionist up a flight of stairs to an interior balcony overlooking the crowded room below. You pass by several doors along the wall, until you are invited to sit inside a vacant booth. You thank the receptionist, and take a seat.

Before long, a waiter comes by to take your order — a plate of fruits and cheeses on hay, some tea for you and your friends, and the hardest liquor on the menu for your guest. Your order arrives soon after, and you begin to chat over your refreshing evening meal.

Traveller: "Well, dun sharpen yer pick loike eh noight ot ye ol' 'bauch'rey, boot Oi ken 'preciate th' effert."

Pretending to understand even half of what he just said, you decide to try asking the traveller where he hails from.

Traveller: "F'ye got ta ahsk, 'derweurld's not gun' bey mo' 'ehn eh noame ter ye. Ehnyheule, s'eh ploace sum'aere 'reund th' Weurld Reuts, 'tis. Joos' 'mahgine sum'oht 'scoape loike yers, with 'er meuntains an' teuwns, boot woay deep 'dergreund, aye?"

You agree, but you're not exactly sure what you're agreeing with. Either way, you briefly tell him that you are currently headed to the Kirin Empire, and try asking where he is bound to. He takes a sip from his drink, then shrugs in response.

Traveller: "M'eut 'ere prospectin' fer sum hoigh-graede fueul. Whay ye deu it's trehk in eh d'rehction 'til ye're back whear ye storted, an' listen fer th' rumbles deun oonder. Din foind a peb' 'reund yer oisland, boot thar's sum'in fleuwin' 'der flood roight east'a here."

As the traveller continues to speak in a thickness that you are certain the drink isn't helping, you feel Moonflower lightly nudge you. With a mouthful of food, she silently gestures to you with her eyes, and you subtly follow her gaze to the sitting traveller's exposed underside.

You glance briefly, but long enough to see what she is looking at — and while you've seen many, you've never seen a stallion of that size before. Suspicion begins to creep in, and you follow up by nonchalantly asking what kind of pony hides under that armour of his, anyway.

Traveller: "Har, dun recugnoize a Dwarf when ye seey 'un?"

Honourshine: "... A Dwarf? From the roots of Yggdrasil?"

Traveller: "Aye, seu ye waer lestenin'! Dun look loike th' koinda lass whot ehrns 'er leud'a ore deun thar, theugh. Least this 'un here's wearin' sumin on 'er head."

Curious, you ask the traveller if the Dwarves have some kind of history with the Elves, but he dismisses you with a plated hoof.

Traveller: "M'enjuyin' eh drink 'er here, lad. Dun speuil th' meud 'less ye're intendin' ter moake up fer it, aye?"

You quickly apologize for upsetting him, and promise to order him a refill. However, it seems you won't be getting any more relevant information out of him.