A short distance from the Wild Surge Inn, a half-orc sits by a wooden platform, a copper greataxe resting over his right shoulder. To his left is a truly tremendous, bloodstained sack, from which wafts the smell of cooked meat. The half-orc has his left arm slung over the sack rather unsuccessfully, as the sack is larger than he is, but he remains where he is, patiently waiting...
A small boy timidly approaches the half-orc, who grins at him. The boy shrinks back for a moment, but then comes close enough to speak with him again.
"Uh... Mister? Why're you sitting here all alone, and what's in that bag?"
The half-orc's grin widens, and he pats the sack. "Grok get eats for sicks, give Jharl-hoomin. Jharl-hoomin give sicks. Jharl-hoomin talk wait, Grok wait."
The boy looks confused, but backs away without any further questions. Grok simply leans his head back against the platform, waiting.
