Jane
Hooves splashed and waded through the fresh mud along the roads of Miller Dale, bright sunbeams reflecting off a chipped but capable glaive. Black armor rattled and shambled through the muck, a large plumed helmet exhaling in a rhythm to ease the burn of her aching muscles.

 A beaten and toiled shield was still held strong by steel reinforcements, its once-round shape containing clear signs of close calls and near misses. This was an experienced fighter, one who clearly learns and adapts.

 She stopped at the shade of an Inn, leaning on the wall with an elbow. Her eye's unwaveringly observed the steam coming off the earth across the town, common after a rainstorm. While reaching for her waterskin, she scanned her surroundings, making sure it was safe to remove her helmet and refresh herself.
Wanda
While the armoured satyr certainly drew curious, awed, and frightened looks from the passers-by, no one challenged her as she strode through the streets and stopped by the little inn.

The inn was one of Miller Dale's smaller establishments, not as frequented as the Singing Shepherd or the Fox and Flagon, but it still drew a sizeable enough crowd during the day.

Lir wanted it that way.

He felt a desire for anonymity to-day, and had slipped into the tavern after hiring one of the farrier's boys to come clean out the barn and tend to the destrier that lived there, who was overfond of rain and mud.

Lir had gotten a port and a glass of water and was contemplating ordering some food. This was problematic, as he had been staring at the menu for a good while, and the barmaid was starting to look at him funny.
Jane
The humid outside air that followed the recent rain wrung countless droplets of sweat from her brow. Bearing the heat inside her armor no longer, she removed her helmet and held it under the arm that carried her glaive and shield. She gripped her waterskin and gulped it down furiously, audibly taking her fill as it impolitely ran down her chin. 

 With half a sneer and a furrowed brow she allowed her verdant eyes to adjust to the comparatively dim light of the inn. Her glare traced its away along those inside the establishment from underneath her stoic brow. Her chin was down and she moved only her eyes as she made eye contact with everyone inside, one by one, standing tall with her sculpted 6 foot frame beneath her armor. An admittedly bold Orcish way of establishing dominance, even by their standards.

 Eventually it was Lir's turn and it seems his precautions worked out wonderfully. He didn't trigger any kind of acknowledgment or response from the warrior who, now finishing her demonstration, slowly slid the waterskin to the barmaid. She considered nobody in here a threat.

 Her messy olive hair framed an admittedly fair satyr face, yet her expression was jaded and humorless as she spoke, 

 "Refill o' wa-uh..." Her voice was gruff, yet still somehow carried those signature satyr pipes underneath. A brutish Orc accent occasionally cut her words down to the syllables, even having trouble producing some sounds that would be impossible for the average orc with large fangs, "... 'ere," She slid a silver piece along the counter to the barmaid.
Wanda
The barmaid, her eyes wide at the imposing figure, nodded. She took the satyr's waterskin, turning to refill the waterskin with fresh, clean water.

Handing the waterskin back to the satyr, the barmaid swallowed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Thank you. Here you are. Anything else, ma'am?" She asked. She slid the silver back to the satyr. "It's no problem, ma'am. The water is free."

The patrons in the inn stared at the armoured creature who had entered. Most, again, held expressions of fear and awe on their faces.

Lir was staring, now, too.

The satyr, a creature he had not seen the likes of before, provided a welcome distraction from the menu. As usual, the propensity for people to run about in their armour unnerved him. He watched the satyr and the barmaid silently.