Tarlaz's jungle treck from her home village to the human dominated trading village was a long and arduous one full of adventure. Stopping at the entrance to the village, possibly one of the largest villages she had ever seen barring the occasional gathering of orc tribes, she puzzled at the strange carvings that overlooked the entrance. The sign was meaningless to her, though she wondered if they might be some sort of human magic to ward off predators.
Stepping through the village gates, the eyes of the guards watched her closely, only to be met with a glare from the young orc woman. As she ventured further in to the town she was met with similar stares, the eyes of the villagers reflecting thoughts of curiosity, revulsion, hatred, fear, and even lust. Orcs were generally unwelcome in the wider world, even a jungle savage like Tarlaz knew that. She also knew however that this trading village at least tolerated her people, with some of the denizens acting more as orcs than as humans.
Armed to the teeth with the weapons of her people, Tarlaz could perhaps understand their fear, though she only considered them cowards for it. Wearing little but a fur loincloth and leather chest wraps, Tarlaz's attire left little to the imagination and spurred many lecherous gazes from some of the braver men of the village, as if they stood any chance against her strength. So far Tarlaz was not impressed with what the village had to offer.
Wandering the winding streets, the observant orc noticed more strange planks of wood overhanging the entrances to various buildings, their strange squiggles and lines taunting her. Not spells then, perhaps this was how the villagers knew one home from another. Coming to a stop in front of a building that possessed a picture as well as the dancing lines, the painted image was one that crossed cultures and languages. A picture of steaming meat and a drinking vessel of some strange foam.
"Come on in greeny, Tyral will buy you a drink for a peak under that cloth!"
The heckling brought her attention from the sign to a pair of ruffians who stooped on the tavern's steps, smoking from a pipe together. Sniffing, the bitter smoke assaulted her superior sense of smell, leaving a noxious odor to linger in her nostrils. Stepping closer to the pair, they grinned and heckled, thinking themselves superior to the jungle savage in their civilized trappings.
"H-hey! What are you doi-mphhmpph!" The man's exclamation muffled as Tarlaz snatched the pipe from his hand, and at his protest, stepped on his face with her bare foot, pushing him to the ground with ease as she dumped the pipe's contents on the ground.
"Bad smell." Speaking roughly in the trade tongue as she removed her foot from the startled man's face and stamping out the embers, she dropped the pipe on the mans chest and continued forwards, leaving the men to sputter in anger and confusion. Her grasp of the trade tongue was poor, but servicable enough to make do. After all even in the depths of the jungles traders occassionally made their rounds through the various villages, bartering for safe passage and jungle rarities, trading weapons of steel for exotic jungle spices and other luxury goods.
Opening the door with a loud creaking, Tarlaz winced at the noise it made. Every eye turned to watch her enter, causing her to freeze in place for a moment. A mixture of rough looking thugs, and rough looking townsfolk gawked at her for a moment. Most notably was a large ogre, her form covered in metal armor, leaning against a wall.
Time seemed to tick by in Tarlaz's mind, all eyes on her. But life among the orcs did not cause one to grow timid, however little time she had spent among her own people of late.
"Keep eyes to self, unless want to lose them." She growled, her poor grasp of the trade tongue evident but the message coming across clear enough. Most of the tavern went back to their drinks and company, though a few still leered from under shadowed hoods or glanced out the corner of their eyes. Walking up the elf who appeared to be a man of some small authority in the house, Tarlaz leaned foward against the bar, getting close to his face.
"Give me the picture." She snarled, tusks perilously close to his face, the scent of her morning meal carrying on her words. The man blanched, color draining from his face as his eyes looked at her in confusion, stuttering as he tried to back away and make some space between them, "Th- the what?"
"The picture! Over the door!" Shouting as she grabbed him by the shirt and pointed towards the door. "Food! Drink!" Shouting quietly in his face before releasing him to sit down on a stool as the elf scurried off in fear to comply with her requests. Once more the tavern was staring at her, though none so openly for fear of losing their eyes. Grinning slightly, Tarlaz thought that she was making a good impression on the people of this village so far, her strength and confidence on full display.
