John
*"Like I said, this is a venture that may take some time for clues to show up. Don't worry about meeting tonight if you don't come back with anything valuable. If I were you, I'd just keep searching until I found something interesting, then come report it at the inn when I'm there and my hands are free, which they likely will be given the broad nature of this investigation. Just remember not to bother me too much when I'm about town, I'll be too focused on my own part of the investigation to hold up much of a conversation. Sorry, that's just how I am." Halvar nodded, finally taking a grasp on the wine glass filled to the brim, and bringing it to his mouth for a sip as he subtly pulled his face mask down, but the wine glass still obscured much of his face.*
Ronald
Luhn raised an eyebrow, the man was insistent. She wasn't going to push a stone that couldn't be moved. This man must have some reason, or perhaps it was a cultural thing. Whichever it was, her job was to find people, not to pick at their minds. 
Luhn bowed towards him slightly. Reaching over the table to pickup her now empty bowl. "Huh, I see. Well I will still be at the inn tonight, considering this is the only lodging within this part of the road. For now I'll go over to the trader, pick up some horker skin boots. They're waterproof from what I've heard, and my camel skins don't like mud. After that... I think I will head into the swamps, begin my search." Luhn spoke aloud, more so to herself then to him. She straightened and glanced behind her towards the counter of the inn. "I will be seeing you then, Klimmick. I hope both of our searches prove fruitful." 

Luhn turned on her heel and stepped towards the counter at the far corner of the inn. She gently placed the bowl on the counter, thanking the innkeeper and headed towards the door of the inn. Luhn pulled her scarf closer around her neck, glancing over at the hooded nord as she tossed the yellow and worn fabric over her shoulder. She took another glance around the inn, savored the warmth from the central fire pit and then opened the door. A cool breeze hit her from the outside and she suppressed a shiver. How she missed the dry, warm air from the desert. She thought for a moment on what Belkarth would be like this time of year. Temperate, warm, a bit humid as the spring rains would start, slowly turning into the monsoons of the early summer.
John
*Halvar resisted the urge to laugh maniacally as he gulped down more of his wine, only setting the glass down upon the table once it was only half full. The moment he was pulling his scarf back over his mouth was the moment he allowed himself to grin. That "Quest" He sent her on should keep the nosy little Dunmer occupied for a while, as well as provide a good cover story for himself. As he silently watched her depart from the inn, the vampire idly wondered how long it would be before she'd begin to realize that she was being put on a wild snipe chase. If he was convincing enough, he hoped it would be a good length of time. He'd need to construct another tall tale soon if he was to further justify his presence here with no tangible proof to show for it.* 

*No matter, that bridge will be crossed once they reach it. For now, he was to return to his main objective. He needed to continue gauging the town's defenses, both against the scenario of undead, and the more conventional threat of bandits and the like. Whether Morthal's protectors were actively keeping themselves on their toes against danger, or sitting around munching on bread, he needed to know.* 

*A few moments later, the Nord would finish his wine, and quietly step back out, silently heading towards the guard house to inspect the parameter.*
Ronald
Luhn took a quick jaunt across the Morthal streets. True to her word she made her way to the local trader. It was a brief conversation with the man behind the counter. About a half hour of trying different boots on, and a good five minutes of bartering 
Luhn would leave with a set of thick soled horker boots. She tied her old pair to the back of her pack, and laced up the new shoes. A glance to the sky and she attempted to read the weather. The clouds were puffy, sparse, and high-up. Good tidings for the rest of the day, Azura be willing the warmth would stay as well.

Luhn took a moment to quickly check if everything was in place, she patted down her front and pockets, tightened the straps of her pack and began a march towards the edge of town. The mists of the morning had burned off, leaving a clear view of the frost covered marsh. As she walked the firm earth of the street became softer, soon her boots were leaving deep welts within the muck.
Puddles of water forming within the deepest recesses of the footprints. It would not be an easy walk, the deep, sucking mud slowed her down. Luhn pushed through, keeping her self on the only trail that was visible. Occasionally she would spot a smaller game trail, but those were far between, and only marked by the deep tracks of mudcrab claws and deer hooves. 
Luhn attempted to keep herself on higher ground, the altitude helping her see more, but the mounds of slightly drier dirt and rock, were sparse.

She quickly grew to appreciate the horker skin boots, but they did little to shield her from the cold and the wet once she slipped and managed to get her leg knee deep in stinking, muddy water. Luhn let out a series of vibrant curses. Her buckskin pants repelled most of the water, but she'd have to take care and hope that the frigid water would dry off quickly. The first few hours within the swamps, made her absolutely hate them.
Daniel
As Halvar sought the guard house, Tjormir was manning the front, his axe and sword strapped to his waist as he held his hands in front of him. His blue eyes shifted side to side, inspecting the town he was meant to protect and lay his life down for. It did not hurt that his mother was a few houses down, sitting on the porch, rocking back and forth with such menace, Tjormir had never forgotten those childhood beatings. He sighed through his nostrils, his back straight and mannerisms taught as he watched people pass by now and then. In the distance, children played near the docks, throwing snow balls at each other, and the occasional icy mud ball. 

He smirked a little when one of the youngsters slammed another directly in the face with one of those mud balls, remembering times when he had thrown and been targeted by such horrors. His eyes shifted again, looking toward the direction of a few Old Ways worshippers walking from their temple, having finished their sermons and chantings for the day, and gone off to one of their homes to enjoy a feast, or simply go off and talk more about wise sayings. He scoffed a little at the notion, but guessed he needed to keep any gods who would help him close to heart. Anything helps when one of those nasty Chaurus reapers makes its way to town. 

For now, he remained stationary, protecting the front of the Barracks while the sound of noise yawned from behind its doors, as veteran guards shared war stories with the newer recruits, waiting for the next shift change.
John
*A dark, hooded figure slithered under the shades of the balconies and the trees above his head, silently tracing quiet steps as his mind marked out the various pathways that comprised the interior of the small town, all while catching glances at the various workers and moving crowds going about their day. His mind was recording as much as possible on his way to the guardhouse. He needed to make sure that when he starts stalking at night, he knew where he was going and to whom, and how to evade and escape in case the going gets rough.* 

*The hooded Nord would approach the guardhouse from an angle and a fair distance, making sure that everyone who stood around the outside of the guardhouse was easily visible to him, but they would be less likely to spot him in turn. He clung to a wooden pillar, ready to slink back in case anyone looks his way. Peering in closely, he would observe the guards' goings, paying careful attention to their facial expressions and mannerisms. Which ones seemed on edge and as watchful of their surroundings as he was of them, and which ones looked like they were just sitting around waiting for the time to pass. He needed to know if the majority of them looked to be former or the latter, as this would indicate the general character of the local guard.*
Daniel
Years ago, a Vampire Menace had plagued Morthal for a long time. When Tjormir was a child, he remembered when his father ventured into Movarth's Lair. His father came back, a bite mark to his neck, and a lost leg. His mother had denied the Conjurer, Falion, from seeing his father to heal him and rid the man of the curse. She prayed to the divines, prayed for some blessing to ease his father's passing. Tjormir remembered when his father looked at his mother, spit on her prayer beads, got out of bed, crawled across town, and saw the Conjurer. He was cured, his wounds were healed, and he limped around until he died with a smug grin on his face. 

The menace of Movarth was nearly two decades ago, and the young had forgotten such a time of ghost stories and vampires. Tjormir grew up with the Dawnguard walking into his town and slaughtering every vampire in sight, until their presence was believed to be all but extinct. Still, the swamps of Morthal was a mystical place, and that summoned its own litany of conjurers and wizards over the years. Vampires were still out there in those swamps, waiting to drag children beneath the shallow waters into deep pools and underwater caverns.

Thus, around the barracks and other places in Morthal, the guards were wary, but not all too occupied. Morthal was a quiet town where most people knew each other, even with a fairly large population as far as Skyrim's settlements went. The majority of guards outside the barracks were young, and so they had a doey look about them. As if they had not seen real combat. Tjormir, however, stood tall, and unbothered. Some of his comrades gripped their swords too tight as night fell, more out of fear than caution.

Overall, the local guard was stalwart and prepared, but not very experienced. Less bandit raids, less vampires, less violence. The most many of these men ever did was provide a citation to a roudy mage, or follow up warrants from the Jarl. Maybe put Grojyolf in a cell for a few nights after a night of drinking.