Growling, the half elf turns to stalk away, when suddenly, the door to the tavern bursts open!  Standing in the doorway is a huge, heaving mass of muscle, an orc of Droaam.  The rain from outside has coated his green-grey skin with a watery sheen, and his hair hangs in stringy dreadlocks all about his head.  He sneers at the half-elf, and said elf gives a very girly squeek, before retreating to the back of the tavern.<br/><br/>The orc comes in, snarling in anger that his mass doesn’t quite fit the door.  He shoulders in anyway, the door frame creaking in protest.  The bartender shakes, clearly frightened, and the orc slams its fist down on the bar, shaking the entire thing.<br/><br/>“Ale,” it growls, “And something to eat.”<br/><br/>The bartender retreats, and the orc turns, glaring about the room.  It catches sight of you, and it’s lip curve in a sneer.<br/><br/>“Nice suit,” it growls.<br/>