Snippet #1503022

The darkness grew around the dark-skinned woman that rode along the dulled stone path that ran to Anvil, the elder horse underneith her slowly making it's way towards the gates. The large, black wolfhound tracked behind the horse, it's huge pink tongue hanging out of it's mouth. Penelope took her heels out of the horse's flanks as she slowly rode upon the stable outside the walled city. Her mithril mail clattered and jingled as she threw her leg over the aged pinto horse, planting her booted feet on the ground. She leant against the horse, closing her eyes and rubbing the horse's neck, murmuring complements towards the fatuged horse. She released her grip on her steed, which let out a light whinny, before trotting forth towards the stable. The stablehand opened up the gate for the horse, which almost wobbled inside, and knelt down inside the small shack like covers, ready to sleep. The ebony skinned woman reached down to run her gauntlet covered hand across the furred head of the wolf, which loyally greeted her hand. With a nod towards the stable worker, she headed towards the gate.

After entering the city, Penelope watched as the guards readied themselves for the coming night, the remnants of the populous of Anvil heading into their homes, lightly damaged and marred in appearance. Her mithril mail glimmered brightly as guards sparked flames, and beared torches. It truly made her glimmer in the increasing black that was slowly coming over the world. The light clanking and clinging of her armor kept her movement from being any-what silent, along with the panting of her canine companion. She passed through yet another gate, welcomed with the wafting smell of the salty sea. There was only one boat docked in the port this day, not that it gained much attention of the armored Redguard. She turned left, walking along the wooden planks that ran alongside the port...untill she arrived at the building she believed that was her destination: The Flowing Bowl. She turned her head, her semi-puffy cheeks looking towards the dog that followed her humbling.
"Stay. Stay, boy." She said lightly, patting his head heavily, before pushing in on the door.

The woman looked around as she pushed the door open, the cozy interior taking her mind off the night. The smell of sea was washed away by food, and ale. She smiled at the keepers, walking past the patrons and up the stairs, not even going into one of the rooms. Standing in the hallway, she began to remove her armor, starting with her shield. Her hands came up the oppisite shoulders, unlatching the pauldrons, lying the mithril plates down on the nearby table, followed by her spaulders. . This exposed the leather strap running across her back that kept her breastplate on. Reaching behind her, she tugged on the strap, unbuckling it with a few tugging pulls. Loosened now, the woman pressed against the plates, which overlapped barely to hide the strap from plain view. She pressed hard against the armor to pull it away from her cloth covered chest, which protected her from being rubbed raw by the metal. She reached up under the hem of her underarmor, and up to her brassiere (being the ever so classy woman she was), and withdrew the note from it's place of safekeeping. Still in it's torn envelope, she withdrew the yellow cloth provided. She crudely tied it around the joint in her armored arms, before readorning the light arrangement of plates and mail. Making sure she was properly adorned, she headed back down the stairs, happily choosing a place to sit.

She found herself scanning the small crowd within the Flowing Bowl...untill she found something that caught her sensitive brown eyes. A yellow cloth, fastened around an elbow. If her letter wasn't unique to her, she had guessed that other people summoned here had the same attribute about their person. She slowly moved over to the table at which the form sat. She was, (or at least Penelope thought it was a 'she') quite honestly, a little shady looking. The dark armor, and the hood made her just seem sucpicious. But far from her to judge the woman, especially as this was her first time seeing her. She was clearly an argonian, the scales that decorated her face with a plethora of color showed this clearly. Making sure the longsword on her waist, a finely crafted steel blade sheathed in a glass-adorned leather sheath, was not in her way, she sat down. The glinting glass that sat in the pommel of the blade made it look even a tad regal.

She didn't say word to the Argonian across from her. The shady female looked like she rather enjoyed her almost solem seeming tranquillity. The last thing she needed was a loud redguard trying to get superfriendly...