Thurgred stirred in his seat, drawing Hakon's attention. The nord gave a cursory glance to the door, watching as two mer walked in to the warmth of the taven. Not together, but one after the other. He couldn't tell if they held a secret anxiety behind their eyes, but he still felt on edge. The crowd was growing thick in the place, and the two friends, Hakon and Thurgred, had eaten their fill in relative silence until the door had opened. Hakon realized he needed another refill of his drink. 

"Grab one for me, as well." The orc remarked, sliding his mug over to the Nord. 

"I'll see about getting you a drink you can handle. Maybe some Summerset wine." Hakon quipped, taking the drink and sliding his chair back. Thurgred went back to chewing on the bones of the chicken wings he had mostly devoured, the tusks and crackling of teeth on bone reminding Hakon of a dog he once had. The nord tried his best to gently shoulder through the throng of tavern-goers, making it to the counter and asking for another round of mead for the two of them. Idly he glanced at the Dunmer and the Altmer that had entered. Despite his misgivings on the Thalmor, as any sensible man would have, he did not hate elves. Ancient enemies of his people, yes, but every man, or elf, was an individual. 

This also was not Skyrim during Ulfric's rebellion, where one could never be too careful about who was a spy for the dominion, telling on who worshiped what god and who to report to the imperial authorities. The Thalmor might not be allies of the Empire forever, but imperial state secrets were a bit more conspicuous for spies to be looking in on a blacksmith, and far less to do with common people's rights of culture and religion. As far as he was concerned, everyone here was welcome here as long as they didn't cause trouble. 

Walking back with the mead, Hakon passed by the window. The glass had looked impossibly dark from the bar counter, but close up he could make out the outline of the city street and the wide expanse of the... 

Where was the water? Odd, the right angles and curves of the houses and shops were unobstructed, but the sea was obscured by a fallen cloud. Looking longer, it seemed as if it was moving closer to the tavern. He glanced about, and then backtracked to the door. That phenomena only really happened during snowstorms in his experience, but maybe this could happen in the southern weather? He shoved the door open with a brawny shoulder, gazing out with his blue eyes. He could see the rolling fog creeping closer, shrouding the horizon. There was some movement left that almost had him jump, but on second look, it was the figure of a woman. 

He felt he recognized her, though he couldn't think of a name. She strode down the steet, idly looking at the fog as if it were a stalking menace. Hakon held the door open for her with his back. "Best get in," He said to Granuaile Greenbow.