Granig, a middle aged orc wearing a traveling cloak and boots that are falling apart, sits at the bar looking at a cup of fruity mead. Slowly he lifts the cup and takes a drink. He swills the liquid around his mouth for a second before swallowing, then sighs.

"Eh. It's fine."

He's taking another drink when the conversation happening at the table behind him picks up, and he turns around to glance back at the group congregating behind him. He watches as the goliath collects up the maps and notes.

Huh. Maybe he's a scholar too.

For a second he considers going over to join the conversation, but the table looks to be getting full, and at the last moment shyness wins out and he turns back around. He sits nursing his drink quietly listening in on the conversation.