Ah, a typical night in The Hanged Man. The stench of piss and sweating men and something foul and not quite right growing from the corner behind the bar. It was the perfect place to embrace the nitty gritty world of Kirkwall that the nobles of Hightown fancied to be uncultured. Well, Isabela saw much of culture in Lowtown. In this tavern alone she could chalk up 10 different experiences a night of something different from a tavern in Ferelden or far up into Antiva. The rogue enjoyed coming here for a decent round of drinks and some people watching because of that. Lately, that involved the company of Hawke or Merrill who spent the time chatting away with her and maybe getting into trouble. Tonight, it was Hawke who stood at the bar with her, their eyes following the newest stranger to enter the door. 

Resting her elbow against the counter and taking a large drink of The Hanged Man’s charming swill, she motioned quietly at the man with an amused smirk.