*** Jharl answers the knock on the door of the Arms to find a small entourage standing in front of him. He quickly beckons the elderly white robed cleric and the three young looking men in armor into the warmth of the inn. They hesitate for a brief moment and then follow the cleric inside.
They find that the main hallway of the Arms has been reduced to a path and the merchant area piled high with clothing, blankets and foodstuffs.
It has in fact become a makeshift warehouse.
They all set quietly to work sorting, packing and hauling the goods to the carts under the direction of the cleric.
As the dim sunlight fades into twilight, the last of the carts leaves for the docks.
The supplies are on their way to Dregar.
Jharl starts to head for the kitchen when he hears another knock on the door. He opens it to find the enormous axe wielding half-orc back yet again, a huge sack slung casually over his shoulder.
The big guy grins as he says ‘Jharl friend, me’s bring more food stuffs for sick hoomans. Where put ?’
With a grin Jharl directs him to a now empty crate in the hallway.
Grok upends the sack and it all tumbles into the crate more or less.
As Grok heads into the cold, Jharl quietly hands him a bottle of whiskey.
The half -orc gives him a toothy smile and trudges off, quickly swallowed from sight by the persistent snowfall.
Jharl closes the door and heads for the kitchen. ***
