[Captain Grishnahk]

Between the clatter and banging of drinks and orders being served, people laughing, talking, and looking at ferrets a snarl was heard from outside. Many ignored it. The people sitting close to the door heard the thick jingle of loosely armored legs hitting the ground. The door soon swung open, revealing a hooded creature with a black cape. A shadow passed over his entire face, unrevealing his true orcish features. The orc was well built, and showed that he wanted no trouble with the peaceful hobbits, elves, or ferrets by placing his razor sharp scimitar and his heavy orcish axe by the door; keeping a woodened black crossbow under his cloak. Beneath his black cloak he was clad in steel armor blackened with fire, with leather slabs in-between the steel plates. Mud was caked on his black leather boots, showing that he had traveled from afar off, because it had not been muddy in the Shire for a few weeks.


Once he closed the door he stumbled forward before stopping himself, he was slightly dizzy from the cursed sun that was out, and he soon found a shadowed area with a booth into which he slid. Once the guests saw the warg out the door, they guessed what their new visitor was.
“Cursed sun,” he murmured eyeing the window shades. His beady eyes shifted from side to side, and soon his long fingers grasped the curtain and slid them halfway shut. He sighed with relief.
“What might I get you, sir?” said a hobbit waiter who stood a few feet from the table. Grishnahk did not raise his head; he only asked if they served raw meat.
“Sorry sir, but we only serve cooked meat!” he chuckled thinking the strange man was joking, “we don’t want to gross our customers out!” Grishnahk raised his head and looked at the hobbit with his deathly gaze, soon frightening him away. He then eyed the ferrets a few tables off with a new sort of look.