Another easy-going Morndas afternoon. The Puss and 'Pecker was typically quiet at this mid-afternoon hour, most folks still out tending the farmlands close to the city's walls, or down in the Fisheries, making enougn gold to afford to drink away the pain of their dead-end jobs. Whatever the reason for their custom — septims were septims to Peshi, and it all helped make ends meet for the portly argonian. Sole member of staff and proprietress of The Puss and 'Pecker, the red-scaled, 500-pound living bastion of a woman was not to be crossed. Many an unwise fool had met their comeuppance under her feet. Those same footpaws padded heavily around, creaking the floorboards of the inn as she quietly swept the floor, humming to herself a traditional argonian folksong. Her fat, limp, scaly tail dragged behind her enormous rump, coming through a hole tailored into her tight, taupe barmaid's dress. Peshi eyed the wall-mount, bearing the humongous, heavy, two-handed maul she once would swing with enough ferocity to crack a dragon's skull. She sighed wistfully at the memory of her younger, slimmer, fitter self. Beneath an increasingly-growing layer of body fat was a brawny, powerful argonian woman who was one of the finest adventurers of her day. Now aged into her late 30s, less so. She was absent-mindedly squeezing her paunch under her dress when she heard the bell above the door to the inn swing open, a brief blast of chilly, frigid air following the door's opening and closing. Peshi put aside the broom and headed towards the door to greet the newest customer with a warm smile and a warm seat beside the fireplace. "Traveller, welcome to The Puss and 'Pecker! Come, come, doff your travelling garb and find a seat — how may Peshi serve you this day? Drinks? Meals? Beds? We have a special on today, horker meatloaf. I personally went out onto the icesheets and wrestled the big bastard myself this morning!" Just a glance at the humongous argonian was enough to believe in her capability to kill half-ton sea mammals bare-handed.