[The Crown] Will work for gold or ale. (Open)

[Ogrim]

1st of Ioannes, in the Season of Summer, Era II of the Celestine Mandate, Era XIV Post Fractum, the Second Era of the Regency of Milo L'Evienne.

A living juxtaposition of intrinsic racial viciousness and hard learned temperance, Ogrim was prone to bouts of melancholy when considering his place in life. When he retreated to his tribal lands the greenskin quickly grew disenchanted with the ignorant savagery that permeated every facet of life. The daily grind of survival was a constant battering to his sanity as he fought off would be usurpers to his natural position of dominance. While their folly served as a welcome relief to the aggressive urgings that were an inescapable symptom of orcish society, Ogrim soon grew tired of the endless cycle of violence and carnage and his stays amongst the orc’s were becoming shorter and more infrequent the older he got.

The same too could be said about living in the human dominated populace of Aelyria greater. He was a magnet for hate, and while some of it was likely deserved as he had done evil to many a citizen, his erudite nature left him prone to taking more offense that he was perhaps entitled to. Therefore any interaction in either setting became difficult. With each group he was never completely trusted and often spurned for his mere presence. Ogrim had become a nomad, drifting from one life to another with nothing to look forward to but a full stomach and a dry place to sleep at the end of the brightening.

As of this moment, Ogrim’s stomach was full of ale and he was half drunk. His head was numb and his lids heavy as he sat alone, again, in the common room of the famous Crown Inn and Tavern. Uncaring of what those around him thought, he left out a deep belch that relieved the full feeling in his gut. Scratching his crotch and leaning back on the chair the Orc adopted a more relaxed position before he drained his tankard and beckoned for another.

[Ogrim]

Wearily Ogrim put down his empty tankard. The Crown was all put empty of patrons and only a muted bubble of sound could be heard where before it was a dull roar. Absently scratching at his beard, he crushed a parasitic beetle between his nails and brushed its mangled carcass off on his leggings. The taste of stale alcohol was still present in the back of his throat and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth as the light buzz of intoxication danced around the edge of his vision and his eyelids felt heavy.

Sensing that sleep was near, the Orc took a handful of coins and placed them in a messy pile next to his drinking vessel. Standing up slowly so as not to unbalance himself, he waited until the swaying sensation left him before hesitantly taking one step, then another towards the door that led outside. Pushing open the door Ogrim took a step into the dark street and slowly shambled off in the direction of the less than modest quarters he had rented for the evening.