Fridbjorn

A blizzard thrust snow through the air upon the Misty Mountains, the whistling was harsh and the gust of the wind was like a blast upon any who sought to oppose it’s natural power. “Therwen! Where are you?

Hunched in his woolen cloak and with the rain lashing at his features the tall Northman strode on. Looking back at Jarnsalr for the last time the pouring heavens mingled their water with a brief tear of grief
 

‘There was no time to inform everyone.’
 

He was the first to make her feel welcome in a town impregnated by filth and desperation. Bree hadn't given her anything to admire, at least not at first, and she often found herself wondering when she would be taking off again. With a voice as calloused as his hands, he sought her conversation when no one else dared. 

When dawn had come the men and woman of The Mead Company had risen and began their search for the Beorning Mead which they had come to the Misty Mountains in search of. Through cold snow the marched and whilst the morning was still young they had found some wooden wreckage held up in the snow near a frozen lake. They began to dig with their bare hands but they found naught but a corpse. It was then when they had decided to call a vote, to go on in search of their mead or turn back.

History...