[center][h1][color=493992]Wisk/[/color][color=D0D3D4]Sonnlinor Skora[/color][/h1][/center]
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[center][b]The night before[/b][/center]
Skora carried on her conversation for a bit with the curious gnome, intrigued by this secret organization of "small folk supporting smalls". She couldn't help but feel unease with the suspicious fox-eared lass who called her out one her scent. After a bit, she would give her drink a dwarven sip and slam the tankard down on the table, wiping her mouth on her leather clad arms and stood up. [color=D0D3D4]"I hate to bail out friends, but it's been a long and miserable trek. I've people to meet and as much as I hate to say it, work to find for now. May the Great Forge keep ya warm in this winter wastelands"[/color]. She had offered the gnome a hand and offered a hesitant smile to the foxy lass and turned in for the night.
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[center][b]The morning after[/b][/center]
Skora had awoken, following her morning ritual of cleaning her gear, inspecting armor, tools and weapons for ware and spending an hour in prayer to Moradin. Gathering her supplies, she would move to the main area where she would take a secluded table to eat her breakfast, have a morning tankard of mead and look over her journal.