Grishnahk grabbed at the mug of ale sitting before him, and he drank it all in two swallows. Smacking his lips, and forgetting to wipe his foamed mouth, he nodded towards Barnaby in thanks. But his thank-you was somewhat sarcastic, for he was not used to being treated in anyway but in disgust. The old hobbit that had just left seamed a bit uncanny, and most likely unfamiliar with orcs. Grishnahk also eyed the knife that Farael had, and he marked him down as an enemy.
The dark, grim Captain nibbled on the bread while making his observations of inn; the bread reminded him of the maggoty bread back in Mordor served as rations during war times. He longed for meat. Raw meat (if he could get it) his sharp yellow teeth shifted around in his mouth as he licked the backs of them. His crossbow was lightly placed in his hands, if anyone attempted to attack him, he would be ready. But for the time being, he would lay low.
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12-17-2005, 09:33 AM
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