[IRP] Across the Mountains

[Andy]

Ambrose arrived in a little place at the far western edge of Lycia. He'd received a little tip that that area was full of unrest, and the closer he got, the more he heard that he liked. His group, a new family of assassins, were in need of more recruits. And areas with turmoil had just the sort of people he needed.

He rode in on a black horse, his dark stormcloak cast back to reveal the armor and sword he wore. Risky, considering his open dislike of the Lycian government, but here, the 'rightful' government had been overthrown by disgruntled mercenaries desirous for either more pay, or more glory, or perhaps just more credit for their achievements during the war.

He found himself at an inn, and despite his enthusiasm to speak with the city's new rulers, decided to fill his empty stomach first.

Ambrose entered the inn and made it to the bar to the sound of someone asking what snow was. At first he thought, What a dolt! Who doesn't know what snow is? But upon further investigation, he retracted the thought. The youth's skin was sun-bronzed where it was exposed, and wore loose, flowing clothes, ideal for retaining moisture in the arid desert. But who would be so daft as to make a life in the swirling, shifting sands of Nabata? Still, he couldn't begrudge the man his origins. He looked to the bartender, who shrugged.

"I'll have some seasoned steak, simmered fruit, and a mushroom kebab, if you've got those things," Ambrose ordered his food. "And a cup of wine, if you've got it, or cider if you don't."

The bartender nodded and poured his drink (a rose-colored wine that was a hint sweeter than he preferred), before going to the back to tell his cook what to make.

"Snow's what colors the tallest mountains white, lad," Ambrose said, turning towards the desert-dweller. "What's your name?"