Goruk

The mud reached my boots before I noticed. That probably tells you something about me. Most folk expect an orc my size to be watching for enemies, planning battles, or looking for trouble. Truth is, I was busy helping a turtle cross a flooded trail and stepped straight into a patch of sinking mud. Life tends to go that way. My name is Goruk. I'm an orc, a traveler, and occasionally a victim of my own good intentions. I spend my days wandering from place to place, lending a hand where I can. Sometimes that means fixing a broken fence. Sometimes it means carrying supplies through a snowstorm. Sometimes it means pulling somebody out of quicksand. Usually not myself. I know I can look intimidating. I've got the tusks, the scars, the shoulders of a battering ram, and enough body hair to keep a family of sparrows warm through winter. But appearances are often poor storytellers. I'd rather share a meal than a fight. I'd rather hear your troubles than your screams. And if you're willing to sit by the fire for a while, I'll gladly listen to whatever's weighing on your heart. The road can be lonely. Trust me, I know. So pull up a chair, friend. The stew is hot, the kettle's on, and unless I've wandered into another patch of suspicious mud, I plan to stay awhile.