The trip to Aldavia was fairly uneventful. The crew of the Norðanvindurinn had been granted decent weather with no storm, and as such made it to their destination with few problems, and only two men lighter. Falkor strode from the ship, expression stern as his eyes took in the land around him. He had never actually been to this area before, frequenting the more northern borders and villages scattered along the coastlines.<br/><br/>Pulling the letter out, he read over where each recipient was to meet. The Lonely Sprite inn. Choosing two of his men who had been with him for years, proving their loyalty to the captain, Falkor sent them off to find the establishment. It didn't take them long to find it thankfully, the viking's temper already worked up by the foolishness of the people stumbling around on the docks. Following the pair, Falkor expressed his distaste of the inn with a grimace. True, he had been to places far worse, but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate quality as well.<br/><br/>Pushing the door open, Falkor eyed the room and its occupants carefully. A few averted their gaze as soon as the viking's attention swept over them, while others openly gawked at the man. Narrowing his eyes, Falkor dismissed his men and continued looking for the person he, or rather, the chief, was to meet. Spotting a young woman seated near the firepit, Falkor stalked over and dropped the letter on the table.<br/><br/>"I assume this is from you?" He commented, voice heavy with his northern accent. He wondered how she would react should his assumption be correct. The letter had been addressed to the ruling chief of his homeland, his sorry excuse for a father. The fact that Falkor's men had intercepted the carrier first meant that the chief had no knowledge of what was happening in the foreign land.