Ivana stared absentmindedly into her awfully cheap drink, wondering what to do with herself now. Her battle smeared mace sat close beside her, unattached from her belt. It served its purpose as a good, silent warning. That she was not in the mood to be toyed with. As if the contorted confusion and fatigue on her face weren’t enough. It had never mattered if she was concentrating on something, she would always have some form of a scowl. Ivana gathered her will and down another swig of the poorly tasting, now cooling, whiskey.
She hated whiskey. Especially cold whiskey.
With only two days to relax before she got antsy again, she took up residence in a small inn temporarily. Needing to force her muscles to relax, she allowed herself to indulge in the debatable comforts of the inn’s selection of alcohol. Short on money, she went for the cheapest drink possible.
“I’ll have to raid a bandit camp soon. Maybe look for a hold full of Draugr,” she mumbled allowed to herself, cringing. Taking out Draugr was something that caused conflict. Being undead Nords, she did not want to fight almost similar kin. But on the bright side, she would get such thrills from the fight. The weapons and gold were an added bonus, along with making sure that ancient Nordic weapons not fall into the hands of filth. She shook her head and though of something else before she clenched her glass too hard.
Dragonborn was never something she had thought of, nor asked for. Even learning a few shouts did not ease her qualms about this idea. In a mere moment, upon entering the land of Skyrim, she was dubbed ‘Dragonborn’. It felt like a curse, having such expectations placed upon her. She’d never lived up to expectations placed on her by others. Only her own. It only so happened that there were times when her goals and others intertwined. Those who believe that she did something for them were wrong. An almost evil grin made its way to the corners of her lips, combined with tired, half closed eyes.
“I wonder what they’dsay, seeing me be so important and mighty,” she softly spat, laughing. The alcohol was working. She was speaking even the most simple, unimportant thoughts. People suddenly wanted her. They wanted her around, to do things, to help, to exist.Her grin widened, almost showing her teeth. Maybe she’d just milk this Dragonborn thing. People are stupid anyway. Once they believe in some hero, they blindly follow everything. They pass off faults or wrongs with some story or excuse. The people are who build a hero’s ego, fuel their greed.
Ivana’s smile dissipated. She hated boasting egos. She hated the overly greedy. They ran their lives purely by pleasure. Never by logic. Those kinds of people never think, never feel, and never care about others. Why should sheturn into them?
Ivana wrenched herself from the table. It scared some of the customers around her, who stared at this low growling, obviously mad, Nordic woman. The idea of an angry Nord scared them to death enough. Ivana turned away from her seat, leaving her unfinished drink at the table, and retiring upstairs to her room. She had naught but two days to relax. Thinking about such things was counterproductive. Sleep would be a better use of her time. Setting her mace in the corner, removing the bulky portions of her clothes and armor, and slipping off her shoes she threw herself under the heavy cow hide and knitted blankets. Warmth. Finally she had warmth. It wasn’t as good compared to the slow burning fire downstairs, nor was it worse than the horrible drink, but it was pleasant. Ivana settled herself into her usual ball, before sleep took over and worked its magic.
Maybe her dreams would be more productive.