Somewhat after the commotion died down, Hurk Giantbreaker walks into the city, utterly unconcerned about what might have happenned. A few coins thrown to one of the passing peasants easily purchases him a billy goat on a string. Picking the goat up by the scruff of his neck, Hurk takes a solid bite, tearing a reach haunch off with his mouth. The goat squeals and kicks in pain, but Hurk holds it still as he continues to devour the soon-twitching corpse.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Hurk glares around, causing bystanders to shrink back. "All right, you thinlings!" the Ogre bellows, bloody saliva flying from his lips with the force of his voice. "Which one of youse can tell me where I can find a decent pint?"
It is dark, or at least that is the way it looks from inside the inn. There is a fire in the fireplace to keep the small building's occupants warm, but strangely, it appears to be unnecessary at this point, for there seems to be very few people in here. Around the malodorous Ogre, certainly, there is a large clear area, odd for what is most likely a usually-packed common room. Tonight, however, the crowd just isn't there, so only a few hangers-on, most likely lacking their sense of smell, remain to watch the Ogre pour back pint after pint of weak mannish brew.
Shortly after, Hurk begins to sing, thus adding insult to injury. If you have never heard a tipsy Ogre sing, consider yourself fortunate. I will not harm you, dear reader, by attempting to describe the off-beat rhythm, the lack of anything resembling melody, and, above all, the sheer noise. Instead, we will leave Hurk Giantbreaker at the inn, happily singing and drinking.