Thorgrim was not accustomed to drinking much, but many in his old clan had been; and so, the Dwarf's ramblings, even if they lacked the roughness of an orc's, were still easily understood.  "Maybe they will, 'Beard." He always called the dwarf that, whether he liked it or not.<br/><br/>The orc, as tall and imposing as he was, looked out of place, with his chef's apron and checkered pants, and a beard net covering his own bright red facial hair.  Nothing nearly as impressive as the Dwarf's, but still, a good, manly beard, which he was proud of.<br/><br/>" I could do with a live punching bag or two, myself." He'd say as he worked. While the dwarf lounged and almost drank them out of house and home, the orc loved making okonomiyaki, and was, to many's surprise, pretty damn good at it.<br/><br/>Despite the idle talk of fighting the ne'er-do-well Yakuza, their was an even deeper, hidden passion for Thorgrim. He despised the scum. They preyed on the weak, and exploited many. They were like leeches, or ticks; parasites that needed to be removed.