The sound of heavy footsteps would fill the tavern as a large beast of an orc male would make his way inside, past the bouncers and towards the bar. Krellok would sit himself down before placing down a large sack next to his seat. He grumbles something to the barkeep and it's not long until he's gulping down flagon after flagon of ale and taking in the intoxicating aroma of decadence around him.<br/><br/>The orc himself would be a fine specimen of his race. A large, muscular creature, capable of dwarfing many of his own kind, clad in nothing but old and worn-out trousers that have clearly seen far too much use, and a pair of old, dirt-caked work boots with a few too many holes to count. His shirtless form would give people a good view of his muscular form, toned after years toiling in manual labour, along with all the scars, large and small that such work often entails.<br/><br/>Krellok was not, by any means, a stranger to the Bobbing Head. Far from it. The stench of sex, stale ale and smoke all pleased him, in that specific order, and the Bobbing Head clearly accounts for all three. His green eyes would lazily scan the tavern, taking in all the perversities that went on around him, until his attention is consumed by the lucky Goblin fucking a Draenei!<br/>Normally, Krellok would stay clear of anything regarding the little green people, but the horny, moaning Draenei was enough to convince him to disregard his suspicions, at least this once. He'd seat himself closer to the pair, taking long gulps of his newest flagon, grinning at the scene and opening his legs, making himself more comfortable, a very sizeable bulge beginning to form on his crotch, inciting him to adjust it slightly, not to make it less visible, but to make it more comfortable for him as his trousers become ever more tight.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>