Things changed after the war. Cassandra, like the rest of the inhabitants of this godforsaken country in the midst of the northern sea, assumed that the peace would be a good thing. Civil wars were hardly pretty, much less when families were torn, brothers and sisters fighting to the death over stupid issues, over bloodlines and property rights. The whole war was a stupid venture started by stupid people, and during every minute of those six blasted years, she wished that the arrows and the swords and all of the pointless shouting would just stop already.
Some wish that was.
With a sigh, Cassandra looks over the dreary tavern interior one more time, as if hoping something new has sprung up in the last five minutes. She's only been here an hour, but it feels like an eternity. This place had been so promising from the outside... When she had first peered into the dingy windows and tasted the air of hopelessness that pervaded every inch of the place, she'd thought that her year-long search was finally over. It should be perfect. There are unsavory characters, wandering drunks, furniture that threatens to break every time someone dares to move... Hell, she's fairly sure that there's an assassin having an in-depth discussion on the benefits of certain types of fungi based poisons with an apprentice in the corner. But it's all the same as the other places; tropes and clichés. She stares into her empty mug of mead, swirling around the last drops of the stuff as if it will reveal some great truth to her. It's such a shame that this isn't the place. This inn is the only establishment in this damned country that doesn't have booze that tastes of swill.