A hooded figure stood by the tavern door in a dark cloak that seemed to blend in with the shadows of the dimly lit tavern.
Helzebeth had her head hung low, making it even more difficult for anybody who would even notice her to make anything out of her face. She'd entered the tavern hoping for some warmth, as she wasn't too accustomed to cold climates, and for some silence. Tonight, yes, she had had some warmth by standing by the roaring fireplace a little bit earlier, but the place was full of adventurers, merchants, and fishermen of all sorts, all hooting about some sort of successful catch.
It was too reminiscent of the villages back on the Shattered Hills for her-- she never was fond of... Well, people, in general.
As soon as she'd turned to leave, however, the door flung open and in walked a dwarf, only to be met by somebody who appeared to be his proud father.
... Father.
Helzebeth read the signs and braced herself for the whooping cheer that was bound to follow-- and had to resist clamping her pointed ears underneath the hood with her hands.
Soon, the dwarf father began moving around the tavern, passing out drinks and such to the other patrons, some of whom she'd observed to be foreigners just like her. Some of them were elves, she'd noticed, and other folk, she had to think for a bit before recognizing their kind.
After a while, she grew weary of observing the tavern, and once more turned to leave.