Evening Merriment at the Bannered Mare (Seewul, Tarhie)
It was an odd feeling, having spending money. Or, at least, as much as Seewul currently had. Mining hadn’t exactly been a lucrative career: food and shelter were provided, so actual wages were minimum. On occasion Seewul had the chance to make his way down to the inn in Riften to sit and have a drink, and it had always seemed like such a treat.
Now, however, pay was better. Not only did the Companions often enjoy good food and drink in their own mead hall, but even with the earnings from the few jobs he got sent on, the Argonian felt as though he could buy nearly anything he wanted. Granted, the things he wanted weren’t often costly, but it was still an amazing feeling.
The Bannered Mare was crowded, loud with the revelry of two dozen or so patrons. Seewul sat at a table, listening, leaning back in the sturdiest chair he had been able to find. His hand rested next to a nearly-empty bottle of ale, his third for the night. Sinmir, ranting drunkenly, had challenged Seewul to arm-wrestling, which had resulted in a laugh for the small group of patrons that had gathered around. Still, the man didn’t seem horribly upset at his loss, and had made his way to the other side of the inn, complaining loudly about the state of the city guard.
Seewul watched a few Nords as they began to sing a song, most of them horribly off-key, but jolly nonetheless. The tip of his tail swept back and forth in rhythm with the song, as the Argonain tried to hum along with the tune.
He jumped, startled, when his tail connected with someone’s ankle, hard enough that a dull thwack sounded.
“Sorry,” the Naga said quickly, twisting around to see who had been unfortunate enough to have been walking behind him.
