Roy had bundled himself up in his winter gear to make the long trek down to the fortress, where apparently the Nomads were stationed, and giving help to people. Since his original goal of finding his close friends ended up not working out so well, and the small amount of money he earned from doing mechanical work wasn’t really cutting it. And hopefully they needed a mechanic at the fortress, for.... mechanical things. They probably had vehicles or something.
Roy also had no idea if he could just walk up to the doors without being sniped. Or attacked in some way. It was a fortress. All he knew is that he was going the right way, and he’d hit it at some point. Monkeys hitting a typewriter and all of that. But now, standing at the edge of town, he had no idea where to go. And the wind and snow were really starting to pick up. Roy’s delicate California blood was frozen solid. He lightly tapped the person closest to him, trying to look as harmless as possible with bow slung on his back.
“Hi, hello there. Good afternoon. I was wondering if you knew where the....Mousehole is? Or anything about it? Its like a-” Roy mimed a house shape with his hands as the snow whipped by his face, “castle fortress thing.”
