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[indent][indent][indent][color=gray][sub][right][color=white][b]Location:[/b][/color] The City of Auonar, Sókngarðr, The Frostlands[/right][/sub][/color]
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The people descended from the tribes of The Snjórlið weren’t like the civilized people beyond the river Mikillelfr. In Gudrik’s mind they were disorganized, barely scraping together a society that made any sense. They bartered more than they exchanged wealth for product, they told stories in song rather than scribing, and valued someone’s strength more than their intellect. Their leaders were jarls rather than kings and it was a rightful succession when a commoner challenged a jarl to a duel for his throne. The older adventurer oft called it barbaric and backwards, though the last time he had done so in Ordrin’s presence he had found himself personally backhanded by the merchant himself.

[i]‘Your arrogance is far more barbaric than they.’[/i]

He remembered it, much like he remembered that Ordrin had a surprisingly strong backhand.

“They aren’t like you and me.” He replied albeit bluntly to the young woman. “They don’t have guilds or brokers here. Your best bet for information is the tavern and the town markets. Maybe the jarl.”









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