The door to the tavern swings open, and a young woman glides into the tavern. She is dressed in a mottled patchwork of greys and black, the tip of a long ponytail peaks out of the bottom of her travelling cloak. A large, well crafted bow is strapped to her back, and a pair of small axes hug her hips. Her hood still up, she scans the nearly empty tavern, letting out a forlorn sigh. Small tusks are visible above her lower lip, and he skin has a slightly greenish tinge to it making her look ill.
I am Ryda of the Shadow March. she says to no one in particular. and I'm dirt poor. she says the last with sad resignation over her situation. gliding over to the barkeep, she states, Busy time I see. Any idea how long I'm going to need to wait for a patron to ask for help? Her shoulders slump over Brews reply that she just missed a job. She slowly meanders over to a table, nodding slightly to the warforged, and begins to putz with the end of her braid, her hood still covering most of her face.
