[CENTER][h1][color=BFF4BE]Ynga[/color][/h1][/CENTER]
[sub][right][color=silver][color=BFF4BE]Location[/color] — The Grand City of Atutania[/color][/right]
[right][color=silver][color=BFF4BE]Interacting[/color] — @ Everyone & No One[/color][/right][/sub]
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[indent][color=silver]The long-awaited Day of Heroes dawned upon Lacorron, and with the rising of the sun over the Grand City of Atutania, Ynga's long journey south came to an end. 

It had been some weeks since she set off from the great hold, which had been her home for all her years, and sat at the helm of one of her grandfather's great longships. For days, the oarsmen brought them swiftly down the River Breein, the sails filled with young Ynga's wind when they grew weary from the hard labor. It was the least she could do for those proud Ienarich men who set forth to see her off on her journey, bringing her from the far-flung corners of their frigid homeland to the heartlands of Itenaire, where kinsmen of theirs had fought under this banner or that over the years. She parted ways from her escort at the docks, insistent that the first steps taken on her path towards greatness be taken with nothing more than the steel at her hip and the furs on her back. 

And the generous care package that the women of the hold had put together for her, of course. But that much was expected: quarrelsome though the sons and daughters of Ienarich could but, all knew the value of community in the face of hardship. The people of Ienarhald would not allow the little princess of Nordavind to go unto the southern lands without the comforts of home to buoy her journey. And buoy her journey they did, as she made her way across the countryside, sleeping rough where she could and taking succor in the temperate fields and forests here and there. If the Wardens of the Glade were to accept her into their ranks, she reasoned, then the lands of Itenaire would become as common a sight as the dense woodlands of her wintery home. All the better to grow accustomed to them before the vigors of her training set in.

The fields and forests were swift to give way to rolling hills as she wandered the roads in search of her ultimate destination, however, and as morning cleared and the sprawling city that spread out beyond her rose to meet the day, Ynga descended upon it with an almost childish glee. How could she not? This was the city said to have spawned the Hero of all Lacorron, whose journey saw the order of the day rise from the chaos of old. It was the home to the realm's most stalwart defender, and—soon enough—it would serve as her new home away from home, once the Knights of the Order came to know her as the huskarls of her grandfather's own city did. But before she could claim her position of honor at their tables, she needed to find her way to the halls in which those tables were found.

And before she could do [i]that[/i], she needed to quell the rumbling in her tummy. Many days prior she had eaten through most all of her herring, and there was naught but crumbs of rye in the kerchiefs which held the loaves she set off with. For the better that she had done so, for it made indulging the sights and smells all about the city all the easier.

She must have looked the part of a doe-eyed foreigner, as she dodged about avenues so crowded she could scarce believe. Even on festival days, most holds could not boast so many souls wandering so freely about the streets, and the revelry was something to behold. Thrice she found herself enamored with one street performance or another, mummers dressed in flamboyant costumes depicting this hero or that, reenacting the great deeds of stories that Ynga both knew and did not. The young warrior couldn't help but applaud their displays, and she parted with more than one of her shiny copper coins before moving on from one show to the next. Another couple of coins she parted with when he stomach led her to a vendor settled upon a corner where one wide street intersected another. A more frugal young woman might have bartered, but the clinking of coins was far less appealing to her than the sizzling of sausage, and when she parted from the vendor, she held a particularly fat example of its kind between her fingers. 

A murmur of delight followed close behind the satisfying [i]snap[/i] of casing against Ynga's teeth, and huddled away from the foot traffic, with such a savory feast at her fingertips, she could not help but lose track of time. The southern sun hung high above in the warm skies, and there would be time yet to join the Knights at their stronghold. For now, enjoying the local flavors was of a more chief concern, however uncouth it might have appeared.[/color][/indent]