Grozer Pilx is unusually sullen for a halfling, and is more likely to greet you with a cutting remark than with the joke or song you may have come to expect from little folk.  He is a dealer in plain talk, and has been known to make grown men cry on occasion.  He’s thin and rugged, more accustomed to iron rations and water than to milk and honey, with piercing eyes that have a way of seeing more than they should.  He doesn’t blow smoke rings.