Another eventful day already, and it was hardly mid-afternoon. If he weren't in uniform and there weren't people all around to witness him behaving like a sullen child, he'd be tempted to drag his feet all the way to the inn. As it was he walked slowly, feeling the pack slung on a strap over his shoulder thump gently against his shield with each stride.
They'd set out with light supplies from Vigil's Keep, enough to get to Lothering plus a few days worth of surprises but little more. It was easier to travel light at first and conserve energy when it would be a simple matter to stop and restock for the second leg of their journey. No surprise then that when they'd arrived here a few hours ago, nearly all of their party had expressed a need to procure one thing or another while they remained in range of something that could be called civilization. Alderic required a few items here and there himself, but one thing in particular he hadn't exactly advertised to his companions.
It wasn't that he'd been hurting for it. He had a few doses left yet of the supply he'd received before leaving the Tower, what felt now like so long ago. In the event of some... emergency, he was acutely aware of the contents of the Tranquil's little cart. Still, that stock had a purpose of its own, it wasn't meant for him. He'd started out going to the Chantry for more than one reason today, before Bethen's past made his afternoon so much more interesting.
Alderic stepped up to the inn and reached (his hand still bare, crushed gauntlet stowed in his pack- damn that animal!) to pull open the door, which didn't budge. He frowned. He heard people inside, lots of people. It made no sense that it would be locked up, not at this time of day and not if it was bustling. He tugged again, much harder, and something on the other side let lose abruptly- he let out a stunned cry of surprise as the momentum of his own tug drove the door hard into his chin.
Setting his jaw against a surge of anger and pain, Alderic threw the door the rest of the way open and glared at what he saw on the other side of the threshold. The man, stone drunk, grinned nervously at the Templar and backed away an unsteady step, not too drunk to be intimidated by a tall, infuriated, well-armed man in head to toe armor.
"Were you," rumbled Alderic through his teeth, "pulling?"
The man nodded weakly, stumbling away another worried step.
There were no words. His patience thoroughly tried, he stepped around what he could only pray was the village idiot and prowled into the bar… which… was… a disaster area. He only got a couple of strides further before he slowed and stopped, gawking. What in the Maker’s sight-? Why did it look like a tornado had hit the inside of this building? They’d planned to rent rooms at this place, he’d expected to come here and have a moment of midday peace and quiet before another rendezvous with his travelling companions, yet here he beheld a room full of broken crockery and grumbling malcontents rubbing bruised jaws and knuckles. He scanned the crowd in disbelief, and only just caught sight of one familiar face when someone began yelling. A man surged out of the crowd right toward the Dwarven Warden, spewing vitriol to which the crowd seemed receptive- a general flurry of muttering throughout the room grew instantly louder. He was rambling about- someone using magic? Alderic’s frown turned worried. The target of this tirade Alderic couldn’t quite see through the gaps in the crowd, but it could very well be one of his magi companions, and this kind of harassment was the last thing that either woman needed right now- not to mention that it could clearly be dangerous here if things got out of control. He muttered excuse-me’s as he shouldered his way closer past a group of sulking men, most of the room’s eyes now turning warily to watch this new drama unfold.