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[indent][indent][indent][color=gray][sub][right][color=40964e][b]Location:[/b][/color] The City of Auonar, Sókngarðr, The Frostlands[/right][/sub][/color]
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Rhoswen had kept quiet.

Between the orc and human noble, the half-elf wasn’t sure what to think. She didn’t particularly trust either person, but Ordrin expected them to not only play nice but to work together to find his property. A cache. Delivered by carriage. 

In the southern regions where snow was less of an issue in the warmer months they wouldn’t have needed to stop in Auonar. They would just follow the tracks, but that was the thing about the northern wastes. Snow and more snow. Sometimes hail. Difficult to track something if a snowstorm hits you thrice a fortnight. She nearly chuckled at the thought, for all she knew it stormed much more frequently than that. She couldn’t imagine living up here. The frostbite was bad enough and that wasn’t even factoring in the cultural differences. However, it seemed the orc and the halfling knew how things worked here far more than any who was born south of Auonar. Rhoswen was raised in a desert... if you could call it a childhood.

She drew her cloak closer, reminded of how [i]cold[/i] it actually was.

[color=40964e]“Don’t we have any contacts up here?”[/color]

Gudrik nodded, “Ordrin knows everyone who’s anyone. Ask for Sigrdrifa in the tavern. If the gods of luck are with us, she’s still here.”

She nodded, though she could hear her sword hiss in the annals of her mind.

[b][color=black]I smell the wicked. You should bring my blade into their hearts so they can repent for their misdeeds.[/color][/b]

She looked at the rest of her group as she refused her sword’s suggestion. They weren’t here for that. They were here for other reasons. Hopefully she could keep the impulses at bay as her party members conversed before they headed off to the tavern.







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