The bar was dirty. One might expect that from the stuttering, sparking, off red neon sign hung above the door that read 'The Stag'. Down a flight of steps from street level and past piles of some sort of acrid refuse the pair pushed through the rust pitted door and into one of the oldest establishments in Nestora. Ahnuil's grey blue scales and Gren's red hair set them apart from the everything else, two vibrant splashes of color amidst the dingy and mildewed walls.
As the tall one of the pair, it was Ahnuil's job to be the eyes of the operation. The Saurian scrutinized her surroundings, searching for their target. Spotting their quarry she tapped Gren on the shoulder and pointed, trying to speak over the noise that passed for music in this place would have been pointless. Gren's role was much more straight forward, it was how she got her name after all.
Writing Time: 30 minutes
No comments:
Post a Comment