When they had entered the tavern, Dax had walked in hooded and cloaked, doing his best to keep the hissing out of his voice when he asked for a place to sleep the night. He had set Kris down at the closest table, so as not to draw attention to how beat and out of breath she was. The Saxhleel wasn't very well versed when it came to societal subtleties, particularly for Landstriders. But he knew to be clever enough to keep himself less than conspicuous, at least when he cared to be.

He didn't think the innkeeper believed that he wasn't argonian, but the least he could hope for would be for the man and the regulars to not see his telltale scale color. The color of dried blood was usually a marker for him in other areas, even in his native blackmarsh. He knew he would stand out with it in Morrowind as well, even upon the outskirts of the province. 

Minutes passed, and he (as well as Kris) could finally rest within one of the rooms. Daixanos crouching upon his clawed feet, gnawing at the slices of dried beef he had packed like a savage beast that had not eaten in days, holding it greedily to his maw. His powerful tail flicked back and forth as he devoured the food, and once he was done he opened his mouth, and it was hard to decipher it was to breath or if he was smiling. 

"We have survived another day." He said, standing to his impressive six feet in height. "A successful day as well. There are many dead Dark Elves in our wake." 

There was a lively quality about the Argonian. Even without being able to tell his facial expression, it was clear he had the energy to do much more if it meant the slaughter of more Dunmer, despite his fatigue and wounds. He flexed his clawed hands, and his tail smacked the ground with a thump. With an effort, he calmed himself and cleared his throat, perching himself by the window to gaze into the fading light of the overcast day. 
[@Penny]