A sound thump to the table before him, Krom seemed quite pleased to see the welcome expression on Delrum's face. Sure, he picked out the concerned look of the paladin across the way, but human-looking the big lug, the suspicion and caution was something he'd come to expect of such folk. He gave it no response, and waved for Delrum to come over, "Honored am I, to be welcomed by the stout folk! Much have I heard of them, little have I seen. I am Krom, son of Grisov Ogrebane." It is by then the bull's ordered ale arrives, and he tries to soothe the barmaid's nerves, with a soft and polite, "Thank you." Showing himself to have manners surely unexpected of his brutal people.
He has noticed the dark elves, and he has fought with anxiety over racial prejudices of these creatures since seeing them, but it is out of respect for being the target of similar views, he has masked these feelings. Yet, the only expression he has offered them is one determined to show himself strong and unafraid, believing their fierce reputations are more founded in the panicking fear, of races weaker of limb, and more delicate of body. Perhaps some day he may learn the truth of their combat prowess, someday a Drow might receive a friendly clout on the back, or head-butt, signifying the bull's respect of a fellow Warrior among a race seeming to him, too frail.
For now, he will measure his friends by their capacity for drinking. Perhaps other things too, the big bull may seem an adult, but he is young still, according to traditions, for he is an unblooded warrior, and must prove himself without the aid of his clan, and return with deeds worth boasting about, and proof of them, before he is an adult in their eyes. Surely the company he shares now, is that of seasoned veterans, at least a few.
Red Dragon: See how the elf writhes as it burns, Little Naien?
Young Naien: Oooooh! So beautiful, can I burn one?! PLEASSSSE?!