Havardr stood in the tavern of Osanora, sipping on the foreign flavor of Margarita's and Horchata's. A stranger passed the poem towards him, a light confused face was given as he gripped the parchment. Looking down on the foreign language, he simply shook his head and crumpled the poetry. Tossing it into an unknown corner, to never be rediscovered. "Damn foreigners and their propaganda."