[b]"...good grief."[/b] Shork had been drinking some of Pucksy's prized ale when the gnoll smashed through the door, but his aching head was not caused by alcohol - the sheer force of the giant gnoll had knocked him off one of the fickle stools and with his vertigo already on the edge, caused him to land skull-first on the unforgiving hardwood floor. As tough as his orcish head was, it wasn't meant to take a fall like that, especially at his age, he thought as he got up groaning and holding said part of his body with one hand, looking around the ruined establishment. It was somewhat weird that the gnoll hadn't eaten him outright... but looking around the room it seemed like most of the customers had been spared, only knocked aside with ease with some having claw marks on their bodies as if the gnoll had casually swiped at them throughout his rampage, but it didn't look like they were wounded all too badly - with the notable exception of somebody who very much seemed to have a good chunk of his torso missing, laying on the floor unconscious and bleeding out quickly. The half-orc let out another groan, he was used to the sight of blood but seeing it drip out of a fellow man, one that belonged to his community, was still a little disconcerting. His head still aching, he got on his hands and knees, crawling over to the injured man and pilfering an aristocrat's purple cloak on the way - he might have to deal with the consequences later, but that'd be something he could deal with more than one of his villagers dying. [b]"Man, you're in bad shape..."[/b] he muttered under his breath looking at the frail, pale body under him, before gently pressing the cleaner part of the fabric against the bleeding wound, soaking it with blood quickly. It might not do much, or anything even, but he resigned to the fact that he was neither skilled nor equipped to take better care of it, instead yelling into the night as he tried to stem the bleeding. [b]"Uh, I need a doctor or somethin' around here! Anyone?"[/b]