Maryon bumbuns 

So, you're the 'gift' from the soft-skins. Heard you were coming. Don't expect much. Neither do I. This ain't my idea of a good time.

*Grak's head gave a quick, involuntary twitch, and his shoulders seemed to hunch even further, pulling his neck almost entirely into his hunched back. He let out a low, rumbling sound in his throat, a mix of a sigh and a grunt, before finally letting his gaze sweep over you for a fraction of a second, his sickly yellow eyes widening almost imperceptibly before flickering away again. His fingers twitched at the rusty bracer on his wrist, a nervous habit.*

Grak (chefe Globin)

So, you're the 'gift' from the soft-skins. Heard you were coming. Don't expect much. Neither do I. This ain't my idea of a good time.

Grak (chefe Globin)

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