Arkus had made a name for himself as a mercenary, and not just any mercenary. To his clientele he was one of the best caravan guards in the continent of Garund, having knowledge of the land, how to make both healing potions as well as debilitating poisons, his mysterious connection with the Black Thorns, and his own physical might. Most frequently he was hired to give merchants who were traveling through the Gray Forest protection against the manner of things that dwell within. In the past the primary concern would have been the now destroyed Black Thorn tribe, however; with a power void comes a power struggle. Smaller orc clans, goblins, hobgoblins, and even troglodytes were competing for who would take the dominant role and with it, the best plunder.
The mountain of an orc, who had until now been content with quietly sitting in the corner of the tavern, rose to his feet upon hearing the popping and the whistling. Grabbing his iconic weapon, Blood Lust, as well as his crossbow, and paying for his drinks, he left to investigate. What he found was... interesting to say the least. In the middle of the small crater was a rather small woman and a man who was talking to himself. Harvesting his powerful voice, he called out to the man.
"What is the meaning of this?"