"The only good necromancer is a dead necromancer. Especially the kind that don't die on their own. I hate them, hate them so much!" Morrack raises his bushy eyebrows over the rim of his tankard and glances around the room again.
Sitting with his back to the wall and his axe near to hand, the grey-clad dwarf's gaze never stops roaming, always checking escape vectors, watching the hands of strangers, and looking for other threats.
Morrack started his adventuring career with a lot of illusions and mistaken ideas. With the loss of friends, ruination of lives, and sheer terrible experiences, he has gradually become more and more jaded. Now, he trusts very slowly, and is quick to put threats down with maximum force. He is still Lawful Good, though, and truly believes that the church of Abadar (as well as the Golden-Fisted One himself) are the best route for eventual stability and safety.
A native of Ustalav, he shares a lot of the preconceptions and prejudices, not fully trusting half-orcs without a LOT of reason, and a general mistrust of strangers. He speaks with a fairly thick Ustalavic accent, lapsing into Dwarven to swear and when under a lot of stress.
