Edna
Clarisse found herself in an awkward position within the Inn. She was hoping for a smaller crowd to end the night off, but three people seemed to enter the building with quick succession. That wasn't a good sign for someone who wanted to relax for the rest of the night, and settle in to her cozy bed once everything was said and done.

She reached for her lute, placing it under her chair in hopes she could keep it from the public's eye. It's not like she didn't enjoy performing, but Clarisse didn't want to do another set tonight. She knew she was too drunk to perform properly, too. Her words would slur into a mess, and she'd probably forget half of the lyrics, too. She was infinitely better at talking to people than singing when she was like this.

To avoid attention, she looked into the bottom of her mead jug to see how much was left, then began to down it. Once the jug was empty, she wiped her mouth, leaving it with an intoxicated smile spreading across her face. Alcohol was always a good vice for any situation, as she'd found out back in Riften, although she knew not to rely on it _too_ much now, to avoid becoming a drunken mess again.
Ruth
Morzza was already now sitting down on the floor next to the firepit, pouring a small pebble from one of her boots that rolled into the flames. Whilst doing this, she glanced about the room and took notice of what she assumed to be a bard hiding her lute under the chair in which she sat. She did not comment on such a thing however, instead diverting her attention to the large Khajiit that followed her inside, taking a mental note of him and returning to her own business.

The Orc then reached into the backpack that layed down next to her and drew from it a quill, inkwell, and leather bound journal & flipped through it. If one were to pay attention, they would notice a myriad of diagrams, runes, and numerous paragraphs written in impeccably clear handwriting. Eventually, she settled on an empty page and began to jot down the various rumors she had overheard the locals discuss in her observations of them. In slightly larger print, she wrote down the words "Return of the dragons?". Surely such a thing could not be true, but the prospect was nontheless an intriguing one.

However, she did hear a sound resembling a roar as she entered the hold hours earlier.
Debra
Isha would get her trading with the store-owner. Getting a decent amount of gold through the transaction. She would also get a mug of Ale, getting extra foam on top to drink. Isha saw some other people chatting or entering but more of saw a woman drinking to herself. She seemed a bit lonely, so Isha thought she could cheer her up a bit.

With mug in hand, the foam drilling onto her hand. The Bosmer took a seat near the woman, chugging the warm mead.

"What brings you here my Imperial Friend?" She asked.
Amber
*The Khajiit began to converse with the shopkeeper, talking about the prices of hunting equipment and provisions and such. He watched as the shopkeeper set down a few things on the counter- rations, iron arrows, and dry tinder- and subsequently produced a small purse of gold, which he briefly counted with his fingers before placing it down, giving his thanks, and placing the new purchases in his pack. With his business said and done, he walked over to one of the side tables and took a seat, laying his bag beside him. Reaching one hand down, he opened it up and procured a small sheet of paper and a quill pen. He laid it out flat on the table and began to write something.*