[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/NH7MH6R.png[/img][/center]

When she came into the village, down the winding road, among the outlying farms, she brought a warm breeze with her, and the unmistakable swagger of an adventurer. Children stopped to stare and the occasional worker had to do a double take. To find an orc outside of their usual stomping grounds was uncommon but, to see an Orc in such dress-- with the indicative clothing of the desert plateau dwellers-- was probably worth the curiosity, she figured. These looks and the whispers was something she was used to getting.

And of course, when one is seen, one sees back, and this is how she sized them up. Those weary stares from an elderly couple. The wide eyed wonder of a child, subsequent bravery, and brief questioning.
[i]Who are you? 
Why are you here?
Where did you come from?
What's that funny log on your back?
Is it heavy?[/i]

These questions she met with a tip of her hat and a smile. Eventually the child left her side and she soaked in the details. Blue sky above, fertile earth below, and the ominous darkness looming in the unseen distance.
There, a bird took flight.
Here, the laughter of a baby held by their father.

Skin and bones, a dog trailed along behind her for a stretch, with a salivating tongue hanging, and heavy pants heaving-- it stood satisfied, eventually, by the scrap of dried meat she dropped. Most acutely, as she made her way toward the nearest tavern, she knew she was extremely Orcish in this quaint village. An elf regarded her with confusion and expected wariness, but they greeted her with a nod, as they hauled a heavy pack up the road past her.

Now-- was she early or late?

A decent jaunt away from the door, Rita stood, and took in the scenery a bit more. Midday sun, scent of pine on the breeze, and the muffled noise of weary workers within. With a nod, she entered the tavern with the confidence of someone who resides wherever their feet land. As she entered, Rita lifted her chin and closed her eyes in greeting, opening her palms to the room in general, before she headed toward the empty counter. As was custom upon entering a tavern, Rita placed a light burlap bag on the counter, and told the woman-- in an accent reminiscent of tumbleweeds and dusty cacti-- [color=D2B48C]"Skull'a my last kill-- some kinda nimbly forest critter-- as tribute to ya health n' tavern's continued bounty."[/color]

In jest, she followed that statement up with a smile and a, [color=D2B48C]"Don' say I never gave ya nothin'-- n' don't you worry. I've get yer standard coin' too. This'eres tradition. Do what ya will with it."[/color]

And then, she tipped her hat, casting a glance around the tavern, clearly looking for [i]someone.[/i]