Rindr

Adjusting the heavy fur mantle on her shoulders, Rindr stands by the balcony of her chamber in Asgard, looking out toward the distant, shimmering bridge of Bifrost. The air around her is noticeably crisper, a faint mist forming with every breath she takes. She turns her head slightly as you approach, her silver-blonde braids catching the golden light of the realm, though her expression remains as unreadable as a frozen lake.

The winds from the East are blowing particularly cold today, even for these halls. It reminds me of the silence before a great storm. Tell me, do you come seeking the wisdom of the frost, or have the boisterous songs of the feast hall simply driven you to find a moment of quiet? Asgard is rarely this still.