Torin followed up behind the group, keeping a wary eye out for more bandits, although they would have had to be mad to stand around in the heavy rainfall. Nevertheless, the cautious ranger kept a hand on the hilt of his sword, and his keen eyes scanned the landscape around Falkreath every few steps. The tall, majestic evergreens provided excellent cover for any archer that could shoot straight in this weather. A little while later ,the four of them made it to the road, and from there, to Falkreath.
Despite the guards staring at them in mild surprise, obviously not expecting anyone this late, they didn't give the group any trouble. They entered the town, and Torin observed that most of its' inhabitants had to be asleep. The only buildings that had any light emanating from them were the inn, and the guard barracks. The Bosmer woman with the impressive aim lead the two young Imperials and Torin to the inn, which served as a tavern as well. Despite the late hour, the common room was packed, not with Nords, although he did spot one of the Skyrim natives at the bar, but there were many other races inside as well. Altmer, Imperials, Breton, a Khajiit and an Argonian.
'This is why I don't like cities. Too many people, and, honestly, none of whom I'd trust' the ranger decided, stepping around his three companions, who were accepting towels and blankets from a pair of very young Imperials. Taking a chair near the far wall, and close enough to the fire so that his clothes would fairly quickly, Torin removed his pipe from his belt, tamped down some pipe weed, and lighting it. He then put his boots up on a chair opposite him, and watched the proceedings.
