israa nilas ; waking sea ranger (israa) wrote in thedas,
Lothering was not by any definition a large town, but for Israa, there were far too many people buzzing about the city. That wasn't much of a surprise, really, it was a trading post, a place that people passed through on their way to other places. It didn't change the fact she kind of hated being around the hustle of people, and it certainly didn't help her mood. She was currently frustrated with where her trip had led her. She figured that, by now, she would be back in the bannorn, scouting darkspawn on the boarders. It seemed like such a long time since she'd left in search of any immediate news of the Blight, and now she was all the way to Lothering with not a single meeting of a Warden. It made her admittedly suspicious. She was very aware of what she thought was a mass recruitment before she left. Were they all sitting in their new keep waiting for the darkspawn to come to them? Whatever it was, she hoped she'd find one quick so she could get information back to Alfstanna.
Her initial reason for stopping in the town had been, like many others, for trade. She was low on supplies, particularly vials and arrows, and she needed to restock badly. As much as she would have liked to make the arrows herself, convenience won out over hunting down acceptable fletching materials. And while she had no intention of passing the night there, the longer she sat restocking her pack, the more apparent her fatigue became. The thought of stopping for too long upset her, but the idea of sleeping on a bed as opposed to dirt and sticks was appealing.
Like busy cities, taverns weren't exactly her favorite place either. She'd slept better than usual the night before, so her mood wasn't so shaky, but like any tavern, any time of day, there were already drunk people, and it made her twitch. She always felt like she should keep her hand on the hilt of her blade, not because she felt any danger, but because she thought she might need to poke someone with it. She tried not to think about it too much, though, because she needed a meal - one that was more than charred rodent and boiled roots. Pub fare certainly wasn't a replacement for a home cooked meal, but it was better than the alternative. Plus, the ale the sat beside it kept her nerves as even as they could be.
She did do her best to keep her annoyance to herself, staying out of the way of the wobblers and minding her own business. Sunk down at a table in a corner farthest from the entrance, she sat quietly as she ate her greasy stew and listened to the drunken conversations of the over watered patrons. The drunk talk was fine, and for a while she was able to tolerate the musings of the indignant drunk man, though she kept at the front of her ind a plan of action in case he did decide to sidled up beside her. But it was getting to the point where she wanted to throw something at him to put him out of his own misery. He'd have a headache in the morning either way. It was obvious that she wasn't the only irritated patron, but she thought better of her plan, leaving his fate for someone else. Hopefully the proprietor.