She had approached the gates sullenly, and although somewhat relieved to see other life after days of wading through snow and bitter, stinging wind, she grimaced; the two looked similar to her kidnappers from just under a week ago. The thought made her battered cheek begin to burn, but subsided as she looked at them blankly, not responding to the formality they had approached her with. She was near invisible within the onslaught of a blizzard, a white phantom that shimmered among falling sleet and snow, but had allowed herself to be seen. [url=https://imgur.com/a/6JPFY]She wore[/url] a long coat which dragged across the cobbled path as she approached the doors, thin and torn, but remaining some of its integrity. It looked of the garb of a slave or lowly beggar, refurbished and made an onyx hue for intimidation. In direct contrast from this was the knives sheathed within the folds of her cloak, adorned with ivory and silver, each engraved with a name of its own. Two flintlocks hung at her waist, along with swaying pouches of gunpowder and homemade remedies, assortments of small odds and ends, worn trinkets. She wore a curved hat, slashed and antique, with a single quill of vibrant color tucked within. She stood and the Dojo gates, looked up and placed a single glove-shrouded finger on the old oakwood bolstered with steel making up the entrance, silent.