<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/13/9d/3c/139d3ce32fc96c91aa18acc9a44ef9cc.jpg)</div>Name: Gronnin Verdhart (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2025673)<br/>NG Half-Orc Fighter 1<br/>AC: 18, HP: 12, PP: 13<br/>Action Surge: 1/1, Second Wind: 1/1, Half-orc Resilience: 1/1<br/>Status: Normal<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Gronnin was starting to get far too used to the disparaging look of squinting, suspicious peasants who were so busy evaluating her as a threat they didn't even bother to ask her name. Gainsby was not the first place they'd stopped off that feeling had stuck into her flank like a thorn, but it felt like a loud church bell ringing in her ear here; where she was meant to be helping. This was a town that needed help, and they were so busy judging her because she was a Half-Orc that they couldn't see the helping hand she hoped to offer...<br/><br/>Thankfully, Kindra was quick to break the silence. It was the Ex-pirate who had been a guiding light for the Half-Orc for a while now. The woman just saw her as, well, her. She didn't suspect some Orcish foul-play, or insinuate stupidity, or expect some brutish savage every time she spoke to Gronnin. Kindra had been a rudder in the storm since leaving Baldur's Gate. It was good that she found her when she did. "No point getting rained on, aye." The Half-Orc shrugged her shoulders, polished chain clinking against the hardened Steel-and-wood Targe she had slung on her back. This was no time to be bitter. Lathander wouldn't be bitter about such mistreatment, he would shine through as a beacon for what's right regardless of some small-minded individuals. There was a church to help. "I'll pass on the drinks though. Something tells me any of their ale meant for me is going to be flavoured with spit and rat droppings..."