Michael
A ship drops anchor at the harbor, thumping against the wooden dock. The crew is there for a moment, then vanishes in a purple flash, save for 3 people.
Robert
One is clearly different from the others, an elf in expensive clothing. "Alright you two, you know the drill by now. Lower the ramp and start moving cargo. Our buyer is paying good money for these, and I don't want to lose a single septim." His voice is reminiscent in tone of an aristocrat, and demands respect.
Tonya
**The Argonians at the docks were fairly quick to attend to the Altmer's ship. Guards stood idly by, watching. Three of their least favorite things in Windhelm; Argonians, Elves, and Strangers. It was a recepie for suspicion. Regardless, the rest of them did their job; Shahvee was securing the boat to the dock. Swims-In-Shallows and Scouts-Many-Marshes were beginning to unload if allowed. Neetrenaza was running a maintainence check, and one of the Nords was manifesting the goods entering the city today.**

**In-Her-Drinks was, as usual, late. She had a red wine bottle, chugging in a hurry and discarding it quickly. The Nord overseer quickly berates Drinks as she approaches, to which she just nods stupidly and waddles on board as the ramp lowers. She looks around for whoever appears to be the Captain. Upon spotting Palomir, she gives him a little hand wave to get his attention.**
Leonardo
*A man stood against the stone walls, looking around plainly at the docks and occasionally glancing at the sky. He could only be a Nord- the braided beard, the fair skin and long brown hair combed back in a mane, and the broad muscled build suggested little else, but he also possessed somewhat pointed ears like one would see on some Bretons. Perhaps elven blood. He was fairly handsome, but he was clearly touched by time- strands of gray and white in his hair and beard, his face marred by several old scars, and a leather patch over his left eye. In one hand he held an ornate staff with formations of ice jutting from the top, and in the other a leather-bound journal. A passersby or two looked at him with mild suspicion and concern, but he didn't seem to pay attention to it. All the while he muttered something as he gazed at the clouds, but it was hard to make out the words through the sounds of work.*
Robert
"Keep up the good work everyone!" He says, turning to one of his hired help, "There should be a marked crate, make sure the Saxhleel known as Scouts-Many-Marshes gets it, it's a gift," His voices becomes stern, "Don't. Let it. Get lost." He then turns to the clearly drunk argonian, he rolls his eyes, "And what can I do for you, miss?" He asks, feigning politeness, as he has little patience for drunkards, "My time is valuable, I'm expected at the Palace of Kings."
Tonya
**The Argonian woman approaches, until the Altmer can smell the sweet and burning alcohol on her frozen breath.**

"She is here to wash your linens and clothes." **She answers plainly.**