The muck of the forest clung to Mazen's boots as he stepped through the dense foliage onto the winding path that lead to the nearby village. He had come to this remote area in the hopes of making contact with more of his people, but he'd had no such luck. As he walked, sending quick glances into the shadowed recesses of the forest to dissuade predators, he once again examined the amulet clasped about his neck. The characters inscribed on it were in the tongue of his people, which he hadn't had occasion to utter aloud in a long time. He had no desire to do so now.

Replacing the amulet beneath his breastplate, Mazen continued along the path until the trees thinned and the village was ahead of him. Nothing about his posture changed as he approached "civilization," to him traversing a village of humans was no different than stalking through the woods at night. His experience told him he would not be welcome in the village, but he didn't care whether humans welcomed him. The village hounds began barking one by one as they scented him, as if he were a wolf threatening the flock. Ignoring them, and the gasps of the few villagers who saw him, he made his way to the building he had identified as the tavern.

Swinging open the door, he stepped boldly into the midst of the laughter and clatter of tankards. However, even his imposing aura of confidence wasn't enough to halt challenges. A burly villager stood up as if to accost Mazen, but after meeting the dark elf's baleful red eyes he sunk back to his bench with trembling knees. His dispassionate gaze raked over the patrons as he took in the room. Deciding on a destination, he made his way to the bar and sat down. His sensitive ears tracked everything that occurred behind him as his fingers tapped the surface of the bar rhythmically, itching to grasp the hilt of his blade.