<br/>The half orc woman who ran the establishment was a rather shocking figure to behold a brute of woman her tubby frame rippled with unsightly muscles, scarification and just a few tattoos, her pug face which seamed to often attempt to present a friendly toothy smile was a peculiar contrast to her brutish looks. Her outfit which seamed to be a patchwork of sown together dresses and the obvious wig of blond locks which where most definitely not her own looked somewhat ridiculous, she spent her time looking out from behind the bar keeping a watchful eye on her establishment serving drinks at the bar and conversing with the customers .<br/><br/>When Storm approached the bar the orcish woman glanced her way seemingly glad of the distraction and any excuse to avoid the conversation a mildly drunk sea captain was offering her, she presented a most unwholesome toothy grin to Storm and move closer the smell of her ill mixed and overused scented perfumes was an assault on the senses.<em>"Eya luv wat can the Prinsess get yer den ? Yer fixin fur a brew or yer watin fur sum company fur the night?"</em>The womans nostrils flared slightly and her eyes glanced over Storm as she took in the woman.<em>"I be guessin yer ere fur tha brew den."</em>She reached out and wrapped her fat greasy fingers tipped with the most vile manicured nails about a large tankard, turning she cast her eyes over the array of barrels before her all marked with strange symbols and foreign script. Deciding upon one she poured a frothy bubbling mixture into the tankard and set it before Storm<em>  "Dere yer go luv, nice warm brew jus how yer lik if I ain't right yer can ave it fur naught."</em>.  The mixture before Storm was probably one she had seen before, it had a reputation in Shelzar as being strong and by some vile although there where many who admired its qualities and even flavor.<br/><br/>Elsewhere in the busy tavern as the patrons made merry and the people conversed or made plans the other business of the tavern was up for grabs, about the room where tattered posters reporting of Amylyn and Arsuth Misstress and Master of the brothel with bold claims of nights of perfection and dreams of delight.  The crude pictures of the pair remarkably fitted them quite well at least in Arsuth's case in particular, for there where few bald tanned men his size with such a stylized mustache.  He stood at the tavern wall before the stairs while his partner was absent attending to other business, his tanned bare chest and oiled skin glimmering in the fire light the only hair upon his body his mustache which gave him a rather suspicious look.  He stood arms folded watching the crowd of patrons and speaking with those who approached him, squatting or sitting down occasionally to talk to those who where much smaller than he.<br/><br/>The Masked companion that followed with the group seemingly decided it was best to await the others outside after a brief moment inside,  without a word they turned and departed to stand vigil outside waiting for the matters here to conclude.