[center][h3]Norway – Castle of Snow[/h3][/center]
[center][@Lugubrious][@Rune_Alchemist][@Anonawrimo][@TheFake][/center][hr]

Hurried, but not rushed. Eager, but not avid. Thrilled, but not amazed. Though hot to trot, Marxion tempered his enthusiasm with experience. In a new rift, any step could provoke a deadly ambush or spring a devious trap. He let Soraya mosey on in, since she seemed content to put herself out in front. In his book a reset that worked at the speed of thought beat out a metal suit, but whatever. Far be it from him to give the princess what she wanted. As he proceeded after her, Marxion scanned the structure's elaborate interior. Sconces, braziers, bas-reliefs, the works. Everything seemed so perfect.

That could stand to change. With a pep in his step Marxion hurried over to the nearest vase, swiped it from where it stood, and upended it over the floor. As valuable as the vases and things themselves might be, he found himself short on time and sack room, so whatever he could carry on his person would be his objective. That sort of stuff could be stashed anywhere, and while the bottom of a trapped chest in this place's dankest bowels seemed likelier than a vase in the ornate entry hall, he felt pretty good about leaving no stone unturned. Courage came easy with an undo button.