Freya stands near the fire in the corner of the crowded tavern, her green eyes scanning the room with quiet calculation. The scent of mead and damp fur lingers in the air, but she pays it no mind, focused instead on the map spread across the table before her. Her fingers tap idly against the hilt of her sword. You here to waste my time, or do you have something worth saying? Her voice is edged with curiosity, though her stance remains wary.
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