Myrna returned to her room, pulling her breastplate and shield from her magical pack, laying it out over the cheap cot. Memories of her homelands flooded into her mind as she traced her calloused fingers over the large gold leafed rune that marks Clan Steelshard. She bore the name proudly, for her family were skilled artisans, and good people, but the fate that befell them was not fitting. With a depressed sigh, she squeezed her rather impressive, yet still stout, chest into the fitted plate, buckling it tightly against the scale undermail so that it did not chafe. Still gazing at the large emblem on her shield, she clamped her heavy greaves in place, adjusted her gauntlets, and shouldered her pack. Carrying the shield on her back, Myrna returned to the tavern downstairs, sitting down in the chair Reaha had  left.<br/><br/>"Anythin catch your eye, Aura?" she says, watching the elf's eyes once over everyone in the tavern again and again.