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So Raglar Commands
The name "Claws," she supposed, gave the image of a large male, bulging with muscle and striped like a tiger. Raichek's comment on her diminutive size was not unexpected. Despite that, her orange eyes narrowed as he offered to gut her for his.... mistress. Her lips split into a grin that was closer to a sneer as she looked at the frail-looking woman, showing teeth reminiscent of her feline ancestors. Her ears turned sideways in irritation as Little Mistress Weakling told Raichek to test her without killing her. She watched as Erzebet spoke, head tilting slightly as she watched the woman clamber along the disgusting hulk's arm in order to get to her feet. Weak.

Promptly, they perked forward, trying to catch just what it was that was told to the orc. Something about maiming, and liars deserving mercy. Even without that, though, she was already debating walking away. What use was having a reputation if people felt the need to "test" the person they were looking for? Considering what she had done to those who had pretended to be her before, Randatria knew well how dangerous she was.

Which meant that these two hadn't even had time to gather the rumors. They had come from quite a distance indeed.

She didn't catch everything that Erzebet said, but quite suddenly the brute was grinning, and his dagger was in his hand. The weapon was soaring towards her face, and she hissed in displeasure even as she dropped straight down to the ground with a small "flooph" of colored veils. The swoosh of his sword where her neck had been moments before made her want to cringe. Sloppy, that's what she had just been. Crouched down, one hand sought out a four inch dart, and sent the small weapon flying for Raichek's knee, wanting to disable the joint that would allow him to pursue her. While it was still flying toward him, she cursed, as it was aimed just a little higher than she wanted, more likely to hit his thigh, and she scurried on all fours toward another table. She twisted herself around the patron's legs, popping out the other side and up. She narrowed her eyes slightly, waiting for Raichek to come after her. The patrons of the table swiftly vacated it, lest they get caught in the battle.

Judging her opponent wasn't difficult. He was a brute. All brawn, little brain, no tactics, simply brute force. Pulverize your enemy. Hack at them in unskilled swipes until they were dead. Not an odd thing for an orc, or even for many human men. But it was never a tactic she had been able to use. She was too small, and had learned young that her best weapons were surprise, speed, and carefully placed blows, when it came to a physical fight. Most often she would have tried to dispell as situation through a diplomatic means, but she doubted that this particular orc would listen.

Little Mistress Weakling, though.... She dodged to a different table, flitting away again and throwing a tankard at his face as she did. From one place to the next, the tavern turning into a zone of destruction as the orc chased after her. She tossed random things at him, tankards, silverware, even a bowl of stew at one point. When she had him a decent distance from his mistress, she darted back, even faster than before, the sound of her scarves whooshing softly as she flew, under and over the same furniture she had allowed to be destroyed until she stood by Erzebet once again. Claws out, she still grabbed a knife voice snarling out loudly, vicious now. "Put your blade away, brute, or your Mistress here dies." Her ears were flattened to her skull in anger, and one she lurked just behind Erzebet, her voice hissed to the woman as well. "Call him off, little pest, or I will make it my personal goal to hinder your every step upon whatever it is you wished to hire me for."

So Raglar Commands
Her wide ears rotated slightly, listening to the murmurs of the crowd, and feeling amused when they went silent as Raichek's voice rumbled through the tavern. An intimidating, if disgusting, brute. The manner in which he interacted with the smaller woman piqued the feline's curiosity. Were they together? Perhaps the brute loved the woman but it was unrequited? There were too many possibilities to be had.

Ears twitched as a series of popping and crackling floated through the tavern, nose wrinkling in disgust.... But moments later, the clink of coin came, and her ears rotated, and then her head followed, orange eyes fixating first upon the coins that dropped into a small pile, and then upon the large bag that followed.

There was a flurry of colorful scarves and flashes of orange-tan fur as she left her entourage. The faintest of jingling noises followed her pawsteps as she practically danced across the floor... Or was it teleported? For one moment she was sprawled languidly over the couch, and the next, she was standing across the table from the orc and the seemingly blind woman, before any others had moved.... The three men who had been her entourage looked after her longingly, and angrily, for the money, and the orc, had stolen her attentions from them.

Her voice purred out seductively among the slight chiming of the anklets and bracelets on her, the colorful scarves draping over in see-through strips, like one of the dancers to the south. "I am Claws, brute.... " Her eyes focused upon Raichek for a moment before looking to the woman sitting down.

"What is it, exactly, that the two of you wish to hire me for?" Her ears, large in comparison to the rest of her, perked eagerly forward, tail swaying behind her.

So Raglar Commands
At first, the patrons of the inn seemed to freeze. Distrustful of the orc, hardly noticing the pale woman who entered after, their hands fell to daggers and weapons, eyes narrowed and ready. As he added that he was looking for Claws to hire, there was the slightest amount of relaxation, and several returned to their drink or their talk, while several others watched the pale woman stumble forward to the table. There were for men, working men, by appearances, though perhaps they were out of work for the moment. All of them looked over the woman with a mixture of distrust, and interest. They didn't speak beyond grunted greetings to her.

Behind the bar, the barkeep wiped out a glass. It perhaps needed a lot more than wiping, and the barmaid, buxom young thing that she was, bustled out of the kitchen with a mug full of water. She swung her way over to Erzsebet, fussing quietly. "Oh, you poor dear. No food or drink while traveling, and in this heat? Why would you even be on the road?" She gently set the mug on the table in front of the woman, and continued on. "There's some water for ya, you want anythin' else? Stew? Bread? It's only a few coppers."

Back in the corner of the inn, near the fireplace, a three men were gathered around a very basic chaise, a figure stretched across it. Two were hiskrs, one was human. One hiskr sat by her feet, the other on the ground, and the human stood on the other side. All of them glanced towards the orc, and his fragile looking companion, and then returned their attention to the figure that lay upon the chaise. Her ears, which had flattened with Raichek's roar, now perked as she listened to the woman and the barmaid. She sipped at the silver goblet of wine in her hand, turning to look past the men that surrounded her. Even as she did, one hand stroked over the hiskr on the floor, petting through his hair and over his shoulder.

Swathed in scarves and veils, much in the style of the southern desert, she still left much of her furred body exposed. Her dark tan fur was spotted with black, large ears picking up every noise, and her eyes, a striking gold, took in the scene easily. Her hair was in a mass of small braids, tucked back away from her face and behind her ears. A small rattling chime of beads came from it as she turned her head to look at Erzsebet and Raichek, examining them from across the room.


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