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Spending the late hours of the day on the search for her next victim, Grez found herself in an open-air tavern named the Hunters' Refuge.
A simple place with a handful of firepits dotted across the area and a large, circular bar.
The majority of its patrons were congregated around the bar, where hard liquors flowed more plentiful than ale.
Rather than use cups, they simply asked the barman to top of their flasks – they all seemed to carry those.
Seasoned adventurers, one and all. They had a hard look to their faces and conversed with intent.
A few had formed small groups at their own tables, private gatherings that had various animal companions lurking near them – hoping for scraps.
Finally, you had to have the lone wolves. Sitting by themselves, staring daggers at anyone hoping to make conversation.
These people would never end up in a long-term campaign, they were simply not built for it.
Like the lone wolves, yet different in other ways, was a tall, muscular half-orc.
She sat by herself at a table near a firepit, but not that near.
Like she was enjoying its flame, but being apologetic about it. The very edges of warmth.
Unlike the rest of the patrons she was sipping ale out of a large flagon.
The half-orc sat hunched forward, shoulders bent inward in an attempt to make herself seem smaller.
This was the first other half-orc Grez had seen in many weeks and she could tell that either the city or something else had taken a toll on the poor woman.
This was going to be easy.
No longer a rags wearing orphan, but now a fully kitted out individual with the backing of a powerful entity, she confidently sauntered her way to the bar and shouldered past the patrons, ordering herself a stiff drink.
The barman delivered her the drink with all the patience of a man who knows bravado when he sees it.
Grez took her drink and sat down at the same table as the tall half-orc.
The other woman didn’t notice her until Grez scooted in close and sat directly opposite.
Only then did the half-giant managed to pull her attention away from the bottom of her mug, she had been simply staring into the flagon.
The woman looked up, made brief eye contact, and looked back into her flagon.
“Greetings,” said Grez, flashing a friendly smile that went unobserved, “It’s nice seeing another half-orc around.”
The woman nodded at her flagon and used both hands to raise it to to her lips, where it remained.
Like a shield jutted out in defence, the warrior behind it peering over its edge. She took a sip.
“My name’s Grez,” continued Grez jovially, “Are you from around?”
Mug held before her, the half-giant slowly shook her head, gaze not leaving the content of the flagon.
Grez’s eye twitched, her brand sizzled, this was sheer disrespect and she would not stand for it.
“Look at me!” she roared, slamming a hand on the table.
Some of the patrons near the bar looked over momentarily, but quickly lost interest.
