Bjorn would let out an annoyed grunt. He had waited by the poster for quite a while now, but no one had seemed to be of a mind to read it aloud. He knew that it was from someone recruiting men who could fight, atleast those were the sort who lingered by the poster. Peasants and the like quickly moved on. A thoughtful frown would pass over his lips as he looked at the poster, finally losing his patience, he’d walk up to a elderly man in robes, after a brief conversation he learned that the robe-wearer could indeed read, and that he for a Denar, would read the poster aloud.<br/><br/>Apparently someone was recruiting a mercenary company in a tavern called ‘The Rawdy Song’, heh, it’d sound like his kind of place! After paying the old man his coin Bjorn went on his way.<br/><br/>However, he’d quickly lose his way, all those twists and turns in those damned cities, after half an hour of mucking about in the streets he’d finally find a place that could fit the description. It was a tavern, that much was sure, and the sign had a singing pig on it. Deciding that this was probably the place, Bjorn would hoist his belt, making sure all his equipment was where it should be, the daggers and his bastard sword. The rest was back at his room, hopefully to be found again. With his helmet underneath his left arm, he’d push the door open and take a step inside.<br/><br/>A large Nord would enter the room, dressed in a brynja that had seen battles and loving reparations, with a helmet true to his kin under his arm and a bastard sword hanging across his back. Two daggers would be seated in his belt, both in plain looking scabbards. The mans face would hold a scar along one of his cheeks but otherwise be somewhat unmolested, his eyes would sport a grey colour, his skin tanned by time spent under the sun and his hair blonde as wheat during harvest. The moment he’d enter he’d declare his business, loudly.<br/><br/>“I hear there’s a company looking to hire swords.”<br/><br/>After his rather sudden and abrupt entrance he’d shoot a glance around the room, in time to see a woman in armour and a cloaked man across the table, most like the woman would be some lass considering herself a shield maiden, and the man the one hiring, so without waiting for a response, he’d make way towards the two, eyes on the cloaked man.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>