Gharn had been in the middle of purchasing something that looked very much like a flaffel from a seedy looking Dwarf when he heard someone call out to him over the noise of the crowd. He turned to fight a rather pretty woman approaching him, and was startled slightly by it. He took a step back as the dwarf impatiently held out a hand for money. 

Ignoring the dwarf, Gharn frowned slightly, though the expression only cross half of his face. The left side was marred badly by 4 long scars, and the damage done by them left that side of his face mostly paralyzed. It would only show emotion when Gharn's expression was a powerful one. The last time it had happened, Gharn had been furious at a pair of Guards who had knocked down a small shelter he'd built of trash. Had not more Guards quickly shown up, Gharn would likely now be spending his time either in prison, or 6 feet under as killing a Guard is not something that is generally applauded by the law.

Gharn wasn't trusting enough to instantly follow the woman, but she initially seemed nice enough... Cautiously he stretched out his hand to shake. His grip was firm, strong, a warrior's grip as he shook her hand. "Gharn I be. Who be you?" he asked. "And why be you offering mucha help to I? I notta one to take... er... what be word... Charity! I notta be one to be takin' lotta charity, so why you helpin' I?" he spoke oddly, his common partially broken, but also with a very unusual dialect and phrasing. His accent was thick, resembling something one might hear in Mezo-America in the 1400s.