The soldiers roared as they drank to the health of the Divine, roaring in laughter as one of their friends spilled their drink down the front of their leather jerkin. The night maid rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she served them another round of bitter ale.
In the corner, a few woodsmen and traders were grouped around a large table all eyeing each other beadily, serious faces in various states of stoicism as they clutched their cards to their chests. Some dogs were scuffling about their legs, looting around for scraps that may have been thrown in passion when one of the players lost a round.
The door opened and in came the few herbalists and healers in the village. They just ended a shift at the makeshift tents for the injured. They wearily smiled, waved at her as they passed and settled on the stools at the bar counter.
The infamous storyteller had the entire front of the fireplace to himself and his captive audience. He was gesturing wildly, recounting the moment when his equally infamous friend defeated the Arishok in single combat. Most of his listeners were women from the chantry kitchens, dewy-eyed and hung on to every word. She shook her head, amused, as the dwarf added a wyvern or two.
An intense negotiation of sorts was going on behind her table. It looked like someone was trying to pass trinkets worn by the knights of Redcliffe when the horde of the living dead enslaved the castle and besieged the village. One of the page boys stood up and pointed at the man and loudly proclaimed that the man and his amulets were fake. The room went silent. The man also stood up with a fierce scowl on his face and would have socked the boy when the door opened once more.
Anything the man would have said and done died a silent death as the commander entered the cabin. He scuffed his boots in the doorway and looked around. A shout from the place by the fireplace had him changing directions from going to the bar to joining the table there; a few ladies were giggling and blushing. Everyone settled once more.
At her own table, she raised a glass of that bitter ale.
"Happy birthday to me."