| The hobgoblin Krunk barely glances at the three prone figures lying bloodied at the bar of his bar. The fact that this halfork took out the three fools as easily as he did said less about his skills, and more about the foolishness of the youth within Tradetown.
"Nobody here seen an 'alf-orc before?" the greyskinned male asks, but before Krunk can respond, an elf female is quick with a reply. "You'll get yourself killed if you keep that up. Why don't you have a seat, and have an ale instead?"
Krunk runs an appraising eye over the elf, his glance lingering momentarily over the leather collar around her neck. Knowing not what it symbolizes, he instead addresses them both.
"She ain't kiddin', pal." Krunk says. "'Fact, it might happen anyways. Check the forearms of the three ya just conked out. Ya find a tattoo of a snake wrapped all the way 'round... ya better make yerself scarced. The Lost One's don't take kindly to their number being thinned."
He walks down the length of the bar and then comes around front. "I got no problems with ya, but I also know who's in charge. If these are Lost Ones, I'm gonna have to squeal to the next higher'up that comes in here." The hobgoblin crosses his arms, waiting to see what the halfork and elf woman do. | 
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