You find yourself grabbing some fine, stock ale poured from a pine barrel and take a seat in a dark, dining hall with eight tables surrounded by other dwarfs. They are oddly quiet. Their beards only part to sip their brews as they all glance at one another from time to time. Clearly, none of the booze has hit, or has it?
A dwarf speaks up, breaking the cold silence. "As the broker for our lot, I confess I do not actually mind trading with Elves. Those Giant Tigers were easy to train for battle, and they give us better protection than dogs".
Silence breaks out once again for a moment. Another dwarf, one next to the trader speaks. "I must confess that I like the brew the humans make better than our own kins folk".
Another dwarf speak next to the last. "I am not actually a dwarf. I am short bearded human who enjoys working".
The following dwarf speaks. I confess that I much prefer drinking venom than ale. It has a better tang to my tongue, before it makes it and me go numb!" He takes a sip then his body stiffens and drops to the ground behind him.
The next dwarf speaks "As the doctor at our humble fortress, I confess I have been diagnosing venom overdoses as other aliments. Its easier on me that way. By the way, that dwarf just drank too much water . . . I suppose".
The next dwarf speaks "I think all of us dwarves are just hairy booze vampires" he says following a drink.
The group now look at you, awaiting what it is you will say, what you will reveal, what your bearded confession is. How do you respond?