@hiddenbrynn location: Brewed Awakening notes: m said this was meant to be a coffee place and I made it a mead place so love me despite my many flaws
Homesickness had plagued him since they'd landed in Lysara. Eterna, in so many ways, reminded him of Yggdrasildal. Shit still landed in the sewers wherever you went. Alrik's view of the nation as a whole was biased from the start - a boy obsessed with stories had heard countless tales of the violence of the Olympians and the cruelty of the Game that Lysarans played.
He'd been given a coin when he arrived here, now a man was dead, and Alrik had taken some measure of comfort in looking down at the noble's swollen throat, and the blood as it seeped from the corners of his eyes.
"Rare to see Iskaran anything around here." Alrik pointed out as he looked at the bottles of mead that lined the walls, mouth practically salivating at the thought of drowning himself with them. "Except for the refugees," accent thick, he appraised the other and tried to ascertain what he could from their body language. Their candor, their tone - a fellow refugee? Maybe? He hadn't seen them on the road... so maybe from before?