Rask sits on a crate of crossbow bolts the Heralds recently "liberated" from a Cheliaxian weapons merchant and leans against the wall. He sighs contentedly and takes a long drink from a mug of warm honey mead. After a moment, Solveig's request filters through the haze of relief and contentment that has filled his head since Ringeirr brought them to the Shrine of the Everbloom.
"I'm sorry, ma'am." The burly half-orc digs a finger into one ear to make sure it isn't plugged up. "I know you said something about the Iron Guard and the Winter Guard and whatnot, but did you just ask us to save a fair maiden who is being kept prisoner in a tower by a terrible dragon?" He turns to Billinheim. "That's what she said, isn't it?"