[center][h2][color=silver][i]The SilverFox[/i][/color][/h2][/center]

[center][i]A moments peace[/i][/center]

[color=silver]Going into the cities were always difficult for the woman in white.  It was filled with life but the whispers of the world die here.  The ground is pressed and compacted like dead bones bleaching upon the scorched earth.  There was enough dead places.  Why mankind needed to cluster to them was something that she didn't understand.  Probably cause they need connection, connection to the here and now than the dead and gone.  It was something she wished to maybe take a moment, a single moment to partake in, but the spirits were everywhere, and they were particular task masters.  She could take a moment, food and tea, maybe some wine of pressed beets and spiced mushrooms, but she could not reveal herself fully.  Here she was an animal, and she wore the furs of such.

She was here on a purpose, to fulfill the duty and vow of her Magical Overlord.  The king had sent for scouts, a great undertaking was at hand, and The Silverfox was to offer her aid, leading the group through the wild lands, spreading the message of the life and the glades in their wake.  That was the hope in any case, there was no telling what these warlords desired in the Southern Lands.  They never had the love of the land found in the North.

She wore a robe of purest white, fox tails behind her waving as if they had a mind all their own.  The chill of the air was blocked by the furs around her neck, framing a cold mask of a great predator.  Her spear and shield would further reciprocate that demeanor.  She was like a beacon, pristine white against a sea of drab greys and browns.  The people would view her with suspicion, another stranger from the wastes, bringing their insane cultures and whims with them.  Others would stare in aghast awe, hearing tails of the Dancers of the Glade, who wore the face and skins of beasts, slaughtering until the color of their furs speckled with nothing save the deepest crimson.  The silverfox was happy for this, it meant her people were not yet lost from memory.

As she felt the concrete and pebbles under foot, her limbs and bones felt the journey suddenly.  A raw soreness chaffed her thighs, blisters threatened her feet.  She needed to report to the king, but she needed to rest as well, lest she offer nothing more than a sight for foreign eyes.

The silverfox turned, ducking into an inn for a moment.  Her ears scrapped against the door frame as her mask scanned the establishment. 
 Again she would stand out as the spectacle she was and for that reason she would immediately turn to duck into an unused table and take a stool only lit by candle light.  She wofted her tails and her robes and sat as a noble lady would, keeping her shoulders back, back straight and head up.

She kept watch over the other patrons, a drunken busty woman apparently had the room, and now she had the counter.  A soft shake of her mask.  These city dwellers and their distractions.  She wouldn't mind maybe something strong to warm her bones.  The furs only did so much.[/color]