“poops, peer, plooq” is the tattoo runs accross JK Scrumpy’s shoulder blades. It’s supposed to read “boobs, beer, blood” but unfortunately Scrumpy’s limited intelligence (thanks in large part to his belief that investing in wisdom or charisma abilities might take away from his “mad combat skillz”) leaves little in the way of coherent written or verbal communication abilities. Those looking for a rousing pre-battle speech or stimulating dinner conversation should look elsewhere; completely devoid of even the most rudimentary social skills, Scrumpy is barely capable of holding the simplest of conversations. Despite hardly being able to even dress himself, Scrumpy is a tour de force on the battlefield. His dimwitted demeanor only enhances his reckless and ruthless character in a fight. Scrumpy’s complete mastery of close combat betrays the both humorous and humiliating behavioral polarity of this simpleton. This drooling, knuckle dragging imbecile has no understanding of what the overarching moral justification is for his quest. To say that Scrumpy is aware of his fellow adventurers is generous. While he may be cognizant of their physical presence, he cares little for who they are, what they are, or why they insist on talking to him. When trying to convey a concept or idea to Scrumpy, it is best to appeal to his core needs or desires; like you would a small child or lower life form. Like lower life forms, Scrumpy is a creature of impulse. Copulation is Scrumpy’s preferred pastime. It has been said that his impressive appetite for and mastery of coitus is second only to that of his skill on the battlefield. This coupled with his excruciating low IQ, means Scrumpy can lay claim to having a disproportionate hand in the population boom of the human population in the region. If one had to describe Scrumpy’s character it would most likely entail; procreation, inebriation, and wholesale genocide.