Life was full of ironies. 

Even after these past years, he still marveled at how his youth had been spent fretting over Imperialist occupation of his homeland, and here he was, a Nord in the very heart of Imperial land as one of those 'foreigners.' What's more, he earnestly cared about the people of this town. The men and women who just lived their lives and tried to make a living, and it filled him with contempt and anger that someone was killing them. Something he would have done himself once, with very little thought to it to boot. 

Yes, ironies and dark thoughts. He was no stranger to such musings, but they plagued him particularly poorly this day. It was a sure sign he had been working too much. It was a sign he needed a bloody drink.

Hakon stepped into the tavern, his face lined from working the bellows. He hadn't even noticed the early setting of the sun. He felt tired enough for it to be night, and it set much like when it might back in Rorikstead. The warmth of the torches felt nice, and a familiar face he saw brought a laugh to him. Down the first three steps into the common room to the left of the main body sat an Orc, Thurgred. The green, brawny Orc had scavenged a small meal at a table for four, but as usual he saw Hakon before the Nord had even announced his presence, turning around to give him a smile that showed his tusks. 

"You started without me," Hakon said, patting his friend and pulling out a seat just next to him, the chairs grating along the floor. 

"Do you see a drink in my hand? I wouldn't grab any grog before the prince of the north arrived." Thurgred remarked with his grating voice. The ribs he had on his plate were cleaned almost as thoroughly as if a dog had taken to them. Hakon politely called for the passing waitress to bring them two mugs of mead, and more ribs. She was a familiar face and Hakon gave her a smile in thanks as she sauntered off. 

Thurgred and Hakon began to speak of their day, making the occasional joke or jibe. It wasn't obvious, but Orcs and Nords tended to get on quite well when given the chance. Both had strong work ethics, abrasive senses of humor, and both cultures prized warriors and combat very highly. Hakon was a somewhat atypical Nord, but he found he acted more like his father when around Thurgred. After their drinks arrived, they both took a hearty swig and began to speak of more serious matters. 

"You've taken time off your busy day to hear about the last killing?" Thurgred inquired. 

"I have." Hakon said grimly, remaining silent for a moment. "They seem random to me, but they've all been men as I am. Still, I would keep your axe close." The Nord took the moment to turn his head to survey the crowd, and he spotted a few familiar faces. He spotted the healer step through the door. Granuile? He had only seen her in passing. The old Dereno had walked past him on the road, and now he sat down alone at a table. He had always liked him. And perhaps that was Uriel at the bar with his head down... 

"Strange things abroad. Something about this night bodes ill." Thurgred said as Hakon turned back to him and finished his first drink. "I don't like it, Hakon."

"Well, it's early yet." Hakon told him. He meant nothing by it, but it felt like the tightening of a noose.