"The Mists are coming?" Andri parrots, looking out past Kellon. Indeed, behind him it has begun to crest the hills since past, and glide down them in rivers of pale white. "He's right! We must get to shelter."

The hunter whose bow is still lowered goes to the fire and starts to stamp it out, but the other grabs him by the arm and pulls him back towards the mob. "The Mists will snuff the fire, leave it!" Both of them shoot another look at Kellon, but retreat towards the village without another word.

"I'm not having outlanders at my house! Nothing but trouble," the man with the pitchfork declares, turning around and following on his neighbors' heels. None of the others seem particularly keen on having two strange houseguests either and begin to fall back.

The butcher, at least, offers them some parting words: "You'll find yourselves the tavern near the center of the village... keeper doesn't much care if guest is outlander, if they have coin." With that she turns and hikes up her skirt to join the others retreating to their homes.

The elven woman beside Kellon finally slings her club onto her back once more. "Quite the welcoming committee... legendary ocean? Where in the Hells are we?" she asks the question quietly, as she starts another tired march up towards the buildings over the road.