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[indent][indent][indent][color=gray][sub][right][color=white][b]Location:[/b][/color] Approaching Auonar, Sókngarðr, The Frostlands[/right][/sub][/color]
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The carriage driver mulled over the thought as he looked forward while they passed through the gates, the [url= https://i.pinimg.com/564x/6d/b3/fb/6db3fbe722a312f4c5a670e4434e728f.jpg]northron guards[/url] were imposing yet silent, their eyes like ice as they followed Gudrik’s horse and carriage as they made their way toward the stables. 

Auonar was built inside a ruin; a dwarven stronghold, a hain, but with the original owners lost to the page. The northron bards always spoke of them romantically, like a tragedy that none of the current inhabitants of the stretch of snow and ice could remember. The only thing the dwarves left the world was Auonar. Ordrin always found it interesting, a great mystery to uncover. Gudrik never understood it, but he supposed that’s why he was in charge of the horses and little else.

“I’m good, thanks.” He responded to the orc as she mentioned her tribe’s healing hands. “Once I have ale in my belly and a warm fire at my feet I’ll be happy.”

He pulled forward into the stables with his mind immediately on the city’s tavern, though he knew he said he’d wait at the stables.

“I’ll handle the stablemaster, as I said. You do what Ordrin asked of you.” He paused, “And get me an ale or mead, or whatever these… people drink.”








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