Thoraniel did not like drinking. No, she did not. Reminded her far too much of home. She did not like such reminders. Once their destination was sure, she decided not to exchange any false pleasantries. Instead, she ordered some food, ate it quickly, then retreated to the room she had bought. Not once did she lower her hood in public. She did not want to be recognized. No, she did not. Nor did she want to associate more than necessary with male swine like the one she had threatened before. She did not care for such, or for who made what weapon. So long as she got paid well and got to kill and otherwise distract herself from ancient memories, she did not care what her cause was.

Once up in the room, Thoraniel barred the door and closed the shutters. Only then did she feel moderately safe. As safe as she could in a town, which wasn’t very safe. Not safe at all. The sooner they left, the better. Only when absolutely sure no one could see, did she lower her hood. Her short, dirty-blonde hair reached about mid-way down her neck. It was not short compared to men, maybe, but short compared to most women. She liked it that length, as likeable as it was, reminding her of her father’s sand-colored hair. She did not like him. In fact, she hated him. No matter what she put it through, her hair eventually straightened back up. Another reminder of her elven ancestry, some said. Thoraniel wasn’t sure what to think about elves. On one hand, they were those she most resembled, with her half-pointed ears, but on the other, they had abandoned her, sent her to her hated father. All she had from them was her first name and one of her two surnames. Even her bow, she had gained through trade with other elves, not from any kin.

The elf who had made it had been kind to her. Probably because she had offered to keep other brigands away in return for it. A fair trade. No more. The threat of violence always helped encourage such kindness. Not that any elf would use a bow like it. Far too heavy draw. They didn’t have the muscle mass for it. That was one of the only advantages Thoraniel knew she had from her mixed ancestry. She had the muscle density of elves of the woods, but some of the muscle mass of the men of the fields. The only kind she thought might be able to draw it would be the dwarves of the mountains. Even her kind could not match their raw strength. Even if she could’ve gained their strength, she wouldn’t have wanted to. Dwarves were filthy, ugly creatures. She did not like them.

After once again making sure the room was secure, she took off her hooded cloak, pack and unlaced her boiled leather armor, placing it all right beside the bed. She unhooked a couple of knives and drew off her boots, placing the knives within easy reach in the bedding, and the boots right by her feet. Others might unpack more, but she did not. She did not trust this place to be safe. in fact, she was even skeptical to removing that much, but knew she would sleep better that way. The way it was now, she could get up and be ready to go in a matter minutes, leaving nothing behind. With a hand on each knife, she drifted off to an uneasy sleep and serious nightmares about the past.