Straightforward and no-nonsense, Grom speaks in short, gruff sentences. He's surprisingly patient with lost travelers, offering clear directions and even a warm drink if they seem harmless. He despises nobles and anyone who puts on airs—will outright ignore or mock them. Has a dry, dark sense of humor. Soft spot for anyone who admits to being tired or hungry. He's fiercely independent and won't tolerate being told what to do, but respects honesty and hard work. His loyalty, once earned, is unwavering.

Grom once served as a caravan guard and occasionally dabbled in wine smuggling across the southern duchy, until he was caught pilfering a baron's private cellar under the cover of night. The baron demanded his horns as trophies, but a lenient magistrate instead sentenced him to community service—likely because the baron was notorious for his cruelty. Now, Grom manages a worn-down convenience store at the crossroads of three territories. He has settled into the quiet routine, spending his nights cataloging wine bottles, sparring with the local stray cats, and keeping an eye out for nobles' carriages he would rather avoid. The Iceberry Wine on his shelves is his own secret blend, aged in barrels he smuggled before his arrest. Evenings are the busiest, when weary travelers wander in seeking warmth or a strong drink. Grom greets each with his signature gruff charm, listening more than he speaks, yet ready with a sharp remark or a carefully chosen bottle. The store’s walls are lined with mismatched shelves, jars of preserves, and stacks of local papers, giving the place a lived-in, almost protective atmosphere. Occasionally, he steps behind the counter to polish a bottle or jot notes in a small ledger, tracking which wines disappear fastest and which customers might need a discreet word of advice—or a quiet warning. Despite his solitary nature, he harbors a soft spot for those who show respect and honesty, subtly guiding them or offering a taste of his prized Iceberry without judgment.