The half orc had been wandering the limited confines of the inn when the shift happened.<em>'Again?'</em>, he thought to himself as he made his way towards the stairs that would lead him back downstairs.<em>'I hate this...'</em>Shaking his head as he slipped down the stairs, he let a quiet sigh escape his lips.<br/><br/>A professional sneak thief, Lursk was not a typical example of his breed. Rather than being huge and bulky, loud and boisterous, the half orc was much quieter. His gray skin was tight over lean muscles, and though he was small for his breed, he was nevertheless much larger than the average human. His long white hair was braided and bound back into a collection of tiny coils that wound down his back, and kept his bright blue eyes clear to take in everything around him. His features were brutish and feral looking, as was to be expected given his heritage, and to a large degree he demeanor was what one expected.<br/><br/>As he stepped from the stairs and entered the common room of the tavern, the half orc automatically assessed the locations and attitudes of everyone in the room. While he wasn't planning on needing to cut throats in this particular bar, one never knew when violence might ensue. He wasn't particularly bright, or even friendly, but the half orc was well schooled in the manner of the streets. He'd grown up hard and violent, having killed his first person- his half brother- at the tender age of ten.<br/><br/>He'd been in the tavern for some scant few weeks, having made his presence known as the building was shifting away from the glorious city of Greyhawk. He wasn't particularly concerned with returning to his home, and he'd discovered that there was plenty of work and coin to be had by sticking with Harry and his crew. He didn't count any of them as friends per se, but he was willing to work side by side with them for as long as his cut kept coming in.<br/><br/>He shrugged his shoulders as he strolled across the room, shifting the hidden sheaths he kept strapped to his body at almost all times. Lursk was unarmored, but almost never unarmed. Two knives, well maintained and well used, were close at hand even when he was sleeping, and in his room he kept a locked chest containing his oiled and padded leathers, his two trusty morningstars, spare knives, and his various kits.<br/><br/>"So, where are we now?" His voice was rough and gravelly, but easy to understand. His tusks were minimal, and didn't interfere with speaking like some of his kin.<br/><br/>He bellied up to the bar just out of arms' reach of Storm, who he had a healthy respect for. She carried her prowess on her flesh- his people had a saying, 'My scars prove my worth.', and she was clearly worthy indeed. Offering her a flash of grin, he nodded respectfully and then turned his attention to the woman behind the bar.