The Mast was booming today, more than it usually was. Maybe people just needed a drink watching things go the way they were, Johnathon knew it certainly couldn't hurt much and it definitely lifted spirits. He passed through the rickety double doors into the building proper, at once swallowed in the dim fire light of the tavern, which sent jagged shadows flickering across the gnarled wooden surfaces of the building. Everything was so beat up it seemed to him an intentional gimmick of the bar to appear run down. In fact it had a more rugged demeanor, exuding a kind of resilience that reminded him of the kind of people that populated Aldrun and the surrounding area. Light could only creep into the building through two dusted windows at the front, the rest was kept in an utter haze by a few scant arrays of candles and a fire in the corner of the room. Next to it stood the old bar, he'd been told, rather the bartender bragged that it went all the way back to his great great, and so forth, grandfather. It looked ragged enough but something about the finish was off. Johnathon had looked over the details enough, he'd stitched all of them into a piece of cloth he'd bought a few days ago, a nice work in progress he returned to whenever he was waiting.

He didn't drink, not anything hard at least, and so sat nursing a wooden cup of water as sparingly as if it were a fine wine. He wasn't going to survive here much longer, not on his funding, and his usual lessons and such held no appeal to this new locale. He last of his money would have to go towards a way out. Every so often he reached out from where he sat to prop up a wooden plank laid against his rucksack on top of the table, making sure it was on clear display to anyone entering the bar. It read "$ Guide wanted. $" It had yet to drum up much interest, actually any at all, but the tidings of chance had held him through much worse. It may have been that he didn't look the part of a man seeking a guide who could actually pay for one, with his stitched up clothing and paupery look, but he certainly had a pouch of minted Arcarti coins stashed away for just such an occasion. He had to get over those mountains, but more importantly, he had to find someone who knew how to get over those mountains. There weren't many interested in much other than the news, and what news it was, but his search could not wait even for that.

Crom sat in the corner of the Mast, leaning back in his chair to watch the hustle and bustle of the establishment. He hadn't been in Aldrun long, and had no real business in the region. His wayfaring had lead him around the world, but what else was an exiled man with no purpose to do? He took a long drought from the dirty flagon gripped in his right hand. The ale was strong, by no means the strongest he had ever had, but the Arcartis had good taste. This was his third drink of the day. It was probably far too early to be drinking so heavily, but that had never stopped him before. The traveling vagabond stretched and situated himself in his chair before leaning the back of it firmly against the wall. His sword hung loosely at his hip. Many thought it unsavory to carry weapons in a tavern, but Crom didn't like the thought of being disarmed. He took another swig of the bitter ale and glanced across the room to the door, where a young man was entering.

The young man looked several years younger than the exiled knight, and didn't seem all that suited to combat. Crom watched as he walked across the room, retrieved a drink, and took a seat at a table. Crom noticed the young man setting up a plank with some sort of sign on it. He strained his eyes to read it in the dim light of the tavern. It seemed to be requesting some sort of guide. The old soldier took another sip of his drink, drumming over the possibility of inquiring what kind of guide the man needed. He needed money, certainly, and was more than capable of serving as a guardian. Deciding it was worth asking about, Crom brought his chair to the ground and stood up, downing the rest of his cup. He walked to the bar, throwing a tarnished coin onto the bar and handing his cup to the bartender, who promptly refilled it. Recovering his beverage, he approached the young man, taking a seat across from him nonchalantly. "Crom Vastil, at your service." The soldier gave a slight nod before smiling. "So lad, what kind of guide do you need?"

Griff's small rowing boat bumped softly against the hull of the Arcarti ship docked along the pier of Aldrun, Griff grabbed hold of part of the hull, hoping no one had heard anything. If his intelligence was right, the ship was a cargo ship carrying supplies Westwards for the Empire, at most there'd be a few soldiers on board, most having likely slipped off the ship to visit a tavern or brothel while in harbour. Griff began to climb the side of the ship, the decorative hull, normal for an Empire ship, to provide him with handholds. Reaching the deck he slowly peeked over the ledge to check the coast was clear. He notes four pikemen guarding the gangplank onto the ship from the pier, but apart from that the ship seems deserted, not a sound apart from the creaking of the hull and the waves breaking gently against the ship. Almost too easy. Griff thought to himself as he quickly made his way down into the hold.

The hold was dark and smelled like something had died in it, a long time ago. A single lantern hung from a wall casting a little light on the ship's cargo. There was little of note, some grain, clothing and oil, likely for lanterns or flaming arrows, Griff had been hoping to deal a bigger blow than this but he was here now and so he began about his work. He started to spread the grain and clothing around, covering the floor of the hold in a layer of flammable materials. The small wasn't large and it didn't take long. Griff grabbed the lantern off the wall and swung it hard against the floor. The crude glass shattered and the flaming oil inside flew out onto a pile of cloth tunics. Griff waited a moment to make sure the tunics caught, before turning for the exit.

"Nice day." He mused to the soldiers as he walked past them, hoping they'd assume he was a member of the crew. One nodded in agreement while the other three seemed uninterested and bored of their post. As Griff began to pick up his pace, walking quickly along the pier, he heard a guard shout out for him to stop. He turned his head to see one guard walking after him, when there was a sudden explosion and the ship began bellowing smoke. The fire had reached the oil, Griff assumed breaking into a sprint as the guards recoiled from the shock. Reaching the end of the pier he glanced back to see two guards in pursuit. Pushing his way through the crowded quayside he decided to hide from the guards in a tavern.

Bursting through the door into The Mast. Griff looked around surveying the patrons. No soldiers, that's good. He thought, glad he hadn't just burst into a tavern full of off duty men, it had happened before and hadn't gone well. He eyed the sword at the hip of a man in a tattered grey cloak before deciding the man was likely just a mercenary, and even more likely drunk, rendering no threat. Satisfied he would be safe, Griff took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink.

Adrian sat at an empty table inside the tavern, minding his own business. In front of him laid his family's heirloom, a old dagger. He fiddled with it in his hands, as he surveyed the tavern. A man had just burst into the Mast, looking fairly suspicious. There were two men talking in the corner of the tavern, where one had previous been sitting with a sign that Adrian didn't know how to read. Adrian's eyes slumped back down to his dagger, and he continued to fiddle with it in his hands. Thoughts began to race through his head, back to his family. He began to wonder if he had made the right decision to abandon his family. A solemn look overtook Adrian's face as he sat, still as a tree. He had left the safety of his family, and entered a world that was on the verge of fire. This is what he wanted, though, right? He wanted the thrill of danger and adventure. He didn't want the boring safety of status quo. He wanted to have sword fights, and have a crossbow aimed at his head. He didn't wanted the life of warm meals, and comfort. He wanted to live rough and hard. He wanted to become a legend. A man whom lived off the land, who slayed bandits by the wagon load, who helped all those in need, to be the good hero this world deserves. He wouldn't be able to achieve that if he was sitting comfortably in his family's holdfast.

Adrian's eyes drifted back up to the tavern, still fiddling with the dagger in his has. He contemplated joining the men at the table at the far end of the bar. He could inquire about the sign, and perhaps join in in whatever adventure the two men were playing. Adrian shifted in his chair, moving his fur cloak slightly to the side, revealing his skinny frame underneath. Adrian's blood began to boil, and rush, as he thought about all the adventures and quests he could go on with the two men whom looked far more experienced than he. The both of them had obviously been around the world, and see some things. Maybe he could even squire for one of them. Older adventurers were always looking to take on a young ward in order to take care of all the small chores for them. Adrian slowly stood up from the table, sheathing his dagger, and walking up to the bar, and taking a seat on the stool. Adrian luckily looked far older than he was, although he didn't possess any facial hair. This was mainly due to his height, and how he towered over most people. As one of the barmaids came to take Adrian's order, Adrian let loose his gruffest sounding voice, 'One honeymead, please." Adrian said, raising one finger. The barmaid went off to retrieve the beverage. After a moment, the barmaid returned with Adrian's glass of honeymead. Adrian's blood rushed, again, for a moment. He had never drank before, but now was his chance. As Adrian drank from the normally sweet drink, he had not anticipated it being as sour as it was. Adrian instinctively spat the drink back up, covering the entire counter of the bar in front of him with a layer of honeymead. Other patrons of the Mast, that were sitting at the bar, began to give Adrian the stink eye.

Johnathon's eyes were caught by a sudden motion, as a mountain of a man sat down at the table across from him. He appraised him briefly, noting the sword at his side and the black, armored clothing the man wore. He was surely a soldier of some type, most likely a sellsword given the locale. A dangerous man, but one that got the job done for the right amount of coin. An amount that John hoped he currently held. His new tablemate introduced himself as Crom Vastil, and luckily he was here about the sign. John smiled brightly and replied, "Johnathon Wenigsten, hoping to have your service." He looked briefly over his shoulder towards the windows at the front of the inn. "The weather's been awful nice considering. You would think storms should come with such terrible news." The outside world was invisible through the filthy windows, but the brightness of those dirt colored glass squares indicated that the sun was shining brightly outside. John shook his head, looking back to Crom and getting back to business. Mercenaries always seemed to praise 'getting straight to the point,' or a saying like that, and as much as he loved to chat there was no sense starting out on the wrong foot with a burly man with a sword.

"I'm looking for a man who can show me a way through the mountains. I want to go west and get back into the heartlands basin so I can travel on foot safely." Johnathon reached into his bag and withdrew a small pouch of coins. Ten silver Arcarti Marks. It wasn't all he had, but he didn't want to put everything on the table just yet. Maybe he would need more guides, or Crom would have a higher asking price than he anticipated. As he set the bag down, a crack followed by a long, rolling boom permeated the walls of the building, barely raising above the din of the tavern. He frowned momentarily, supposing that a storm had been brewing all along despite the sunny day. "I don't have much but I can offer ten marks for your service. It's a short run over those mountains but I've never dealt with the snow before." John said, looking sheepish in announcing his failure as a traveler. He'd come in on a boat, a mistake he'd never make again now that he'd seen the sea. Before he could sink further into a tirade that was equal parts pleading for cheap assistance and friendly recounting of his travels, alarm bells began to sound outside. The tavern hushed for a moment, and a few men even left their seats to head outside and investigate the commotion. John himself took the opportunity to look around the interior of the Mast, at first craning to see if anything was visible through the dingy windows. As if. What he did see was some young looking man waste his drink all over the bar counter, and was momentarily glad that he hadn't chosen a seat at the bar. He managed to recall his attention to Crom and turned back to the man to wait for a response, all the while hoping the soldier didn't plan on checking out what was happening outside.

The young man introduced himself as Johnathon, and explained his predicament to the gray-clad stranger in front of him. Crom nodded along as he spoke, eying the pouch of coins that now sat upon the table. It wasn't spectacular pay, but it didn't seem to be a terribly dangerous task, either. Besides, money was of minor importance to the sellsword. He had no desire to be rich. Having enough money to survive was more than enough for the old warrior. He smiled and nodded, about to reply to his new employer, when a sound, similar to an explosion, echoed outside and through the walls of the building. Crom shook his head as several patrons rushed outside to investigate. He disregarded the alarms as they rang out across the town. Whatever the sound had been, it didn't concern him. He took a long gulp from his cup. "Aye lad, I can help you across the mountains." He had traveled through the mountains on his way to Aldrun, but he barely remembered the way. Still, he was sure he could manage.

As the soldier accepted Johnathon's request, his blue eyes glanced casually around the room. A newcomer entered the Mast. Crom looked him over. He was armed, but didn't seem keen on starting trouble. Across the room a young man seemed to be having difficulties with his beverage. Crom took a long gulp from his flagon and called across the room. "Never drank much, have you lad?" The traveler chuckled. He was making a joke at the other patron's expense, but his voice was warm and hearty, and significantly more welcoming than the glares the man seemed to be getting from the tavern's other patrons.

Adrian patted his chest as he recovered from his drink. Suddenly, he heard a voice call out from the other end of the room, teasing him at his expense. Adrian sweated slightly, it seemed like all eyes were now on him. While the man's voice was warm, and welcoming, Adrian was too worried about attempting to keep face. What would a gruff adventurer say to someone who had just teased him? "Sorry, it just tastes a lot like your mother's fish pie." Adrian said, in his best mock gruff voice, without turning around to face the voice. He smiled to himself. ~ Nice one. ~ He thought to himself, congratulating himself on what he considered a good comeback. It had not even occurred to Adrian to turn around and take a look at the man he was addressing, but Adrian knew something was wrong when none of the other patrons laughed, instead opting for a dead silence. Adrian slowly began to turn around, and took a look at the man. Adrian paled as he took in the man. He was a tower, built like a brick wall, compared to Adrian. He was obviously some sort of hardened warrior. Adrian gulped as he gripped his honeymead in one hand, and took a swig, without breaking eye contact with the man. With a contorted face, Adrian swallowed the drink, with a loud gulp. An attempt to look tough, and discourage any type of retribution from the stranger. This attempt was poor, though, due to the fact that Adrian, soon after swallowing, made a face that told other's that were looking that he was on the verge of complete disgust.

Griff sat at the bar nursing a tankard of ale, absent-mindedly carving an L into the bar with his dagger as he thought about his next move, garnering a glare from the bartender. It was a habit he'd picked up since working for the League, he liked to think that maybe someone would see it and realise they weren't alone in their dislike of the Empire and weren't unable to resist its tyranny. With the sound of alarm bells ringing outside, Griff knew he wouldn't he safe if the soldiers decided to search the tavern. A few of them had seen him so search parties would likely be armed with a rough description, however they would be looking for someone alone.

"First time in a tavern?" He asked turning round on his stool to face Adrian, hoping to engage him in conversation. Seeing that he had stood up to intimidate the mercenary across the room, Griff leant back against the bar and took a swig from his tankard of ale. "Oh. This will be good." He chuckled. The mercenary was clearly slightly drunk although he was well armed and looked experienced, yet here was someone, little more than a boy, in tattered rags trying to appear the tougher of the two. Feeling pity for the boy, Griff lent in Adrian's direction, talking softly so that only he would here. "It was a jest he wasn't looking to fight. If you've just changed that, avoid going for his body, that tunic is lined with chainmail. You'll do more damage to you hand than him." He said, hoping to give the boy at least some confidence if the man was looking to fight. Not wanting to get too involved, Griff returned to his position leaning against the bar and took another swig of his ale, waiting with anticipation to see how the situation would play out.

Soah quietly drank from his personal flagon of wine. He was seated only one table over from the mercenary that had just teased the boy sitting at the tavern. Soah didn't care for whatever bar fight was about to emerge. He was more interested in the man who had bursted into the tavern, accompanied with the sound of alarms being raised by the Arcarti soldiers. The man was doing a fairly good job blending into the crowd, but no one in this tavern would be safe from investigation if the soldiers decided to search the tavern. Soah eyed the man. He looked roguish enough to commit any crime that would get the Arcarti garrison this worked up. Soah took another sip from his flagon as he turned his attention to the table that seated the grizzled older man, and the younger looking man. He was waiting for the man to stand up and gut the boy from navel to ear, something Soah had seen before in tavern fights. Gods know that the older man had every mean to finish the boy's young life right then and there. Soah decided that, if the man was going to take advantage of the situation and pound some good sense into the boy, that Soah would step in and stop the man. The kid was just young and stupid, something that the mercenary no doubt could sympathize with.

Johnathon's eyes lit up as Crom accepted his payment. He smiled deeply, relieved beyond words that he'd found a way out of this mess. Once they were over the mountains he'd probably even leave the rest of his money with Crom anyway, a gratitude and a safety. Intuition stated that Arcarti currency, despite being the obvious standard, would soon draw untoward attention in many western countries. Even contemplating the tensions on the continent wasn't enough to bring down his spirits, he bolted to his feet, almost making to shake the man's hand in gratitude when Crom called to the man having trouble with his drink. Johnathon froze in time with the other patrons of the inn at the boy's reply. He'd seen plenty of bar fights over slights at mothers in his day. Oh dear, he thought, his gaze shifting rapidly between Crom and the boy. Admittedly, he was more concerned about walking away with his guide without the town constabulary asking questions about a dead man at the Mast. Between the two of them, there wasn't much of a fight to be had, but with any luck there wouldn't be a fight. None of them had traded so much as a glare yet, just some japes, but he still intended to quell any bloodshed before it began. The kid deserved his life and he, frankly, deserved the guide he just paid for. Everyone won that way. "Seems they're born feisty up here," he said loudly, chuckling nervously to himself and clapping his hands together, walking away from the table and just so slightly putting himself between Crom and the cloaked boy at the bar. "And what are you all staring at? Just two men trading jests, clearly," he said, turning on his heel to address as many of the Mast's glaring patrons as he could. They weren't going to play along, and the silence of the inn continued as all parties awaited what came next.

Crom was taken back a bit by the boy's fiery retort. He stared at the boy in silence for about fifteen seconds, a pause that no doubt made all surrounding parties a bit uncomfortable. Johnathon seemed concerned there would be a conflict between the two, at least. Moments after Johnathon tried to make peace between them, a smirk cracked across Crom's face. "Aye, seems the blood runs hot in these folk." The grizzled mercenary strolled nonchalantly past Johnathon and over to the bar, laughing. He threw a few coins down on the bar and gave a hearty chuckle. "Another drink for my new friend here." He looked around the room. The cold stares around the room seemed to fade and return to their own business, despite a few sighs of disappointment. It seemed they wouldn't be getting a fight today. Crom leaned against the bar, throwing a nod to Johnathon as if to assure him there would be no unnecessary interruptions in their journey. He looked from the boy to the man next to him. He was the armed man who had entered the tavern a few minutes ago. "So, either of you know what that damned commotion is outside?" The alarms continued to sound, something the mercenary was growing tired of. He ordered another flagon of ale as he awaited an answer from either of the patrons.

Griff smiled as the mercenary bought the boy a drink, he had probably been terrified at the sight of the large man walking over to him. Taking another swig of his ale, Griff stowed away the dagger he had been playing with, he wasn't going to need it any time soon. "Looked like there was some kind of fire by the pier." He said, replying to the mercenary. "From what I could see on my way here, anyway." He added before downing what remained of his drink. He reached into his pocket and took out a couple of Arcarti coins. He hated carrying the things but most of his work put him in places where they were still in use. Placing them on the bar he gestured to the bartender for another drink. Wanted men tended not to get drunk in the nearest tavern to the scene of the crime and, if it came down to pretending to be drunk, Griff wanted to at least have the smell of the stuff on his breath. "So, what's your name stranger?" He asked the mercenary, he was starting the like the man already.

As the scene unfolding before Adrian, he could feel a lump building in his throat. As the brick of the man walked over to the bar, Adrian's hand slowly reached for his dagger, which was in his belt loop, under his cloak, but it was soon obvious that the man meant no harm, and even paid for another drink for Adrian. Adrian flashed a nervous smile. Adrian turned around in his stool, and drank from his first honeymead, attempting to get use to the taste. "By the explosion, and the number of alarm bells being used, it's probably some sort of accident on one of the Empire's ships." Adrian said, taking another sip. Adrian was starting to feel the effects of his beverage, and he swayed his head slightly. As the man who had sat beside Adrian asked the mercenary's name, Adrian tilted his head, to look at the man. He was waiting for an answer to. Surely, someone has impressive looking and intimidating as this man had some sort of famous name.

Soah slammed down his personal flagon of wine, and stood up from the stool. Soah could hear what the man said at the bar, even over the bustle of the tavern. It was obvious that the man had planned some part in whatever was happening outside. Soah, after a moment of thinking, grabbed his flagon of wine, and walked outside the tavern, bumping the man (Griff) at the bar, before going out the door. The man smelled of sea, stronger than most of the people in the tavern. Soah, being as paranoid as he was, was convinced that the man played a part in the act. Soah wasn't a Empire sympathizer by any means, but liars and rakes disgusted Soah, especially since the man had probably killed crewmen that were simply hired to work for the Empire. If you want to fight the Empire, at least do it to their face. Soah thought. Soah exited the tavern, pulling his hood up as he did. He could hear the plated boots of Arcarti guards scurrying around, not far from the tavern. Soah, dropped his backpack to the ground, and pulled out his pipe, along with a large pinch of tobacco. He calmly lit the pipe with a match, and puffed away as he stood outside. The guards would no doubt come bum rushing the tavern once they realized exactly what was happening. Maybe Soah would be able to talk them down, before they busted in and started a witch hunt, something that would no doubt cause a great deal of uproar. Soah planted himself in a position that half-way blocked the entrance to the tavern.

Johnathon sighed as the tension in the room ratcheted down. His gesturing had been for nothing, and Crom was even passing out drinks. He turned around and withdrew to the table he'd previously been sitting at. He fetched up his bag and his sign, slinging them over his shoulder and under his arm. A man emerged from a table to brush past the group quickly forming at the bar, bumping into a man and rushing outside. For a moment he wondered what that was about, especially considering that tavern wasn't as packed as it could have been. He shook his head and finished gathering his things, walking over towards the bar where the meet and greet was happening. The man had seen a fire down at the docks and the boy speculated the cause was an explosion aboard a ship. He dearly hoped it hadn't been the ferry that had shipped him up the coast, they had been nice enough people. The people in front of him were varied, definitely. The boy cut a wild look in that fur cloak, contrasting sharply with the well dressed man beside him. Crom completed the circle with his rugged, militaristic appearance. Then there was patchwork John. He'd had his fill of watching the bar while waiting for someone to see his sign. "Hopefully the town has a fire brigade, that fire might spread down the pier if the wind comes in," He chimed in as he came up alongside the group, withdrawing a blank patch from his bag. This would be worth stitching later and he'd have to start holding them in his head. "By any chance, are any of you lot planning to travel west?"

Outside, the town ran ragged. Arcarti troops ran about in their gray-green fatigues, some still pulling their equipment on as they emerged from taverns to muster before a handful of furious looking corporals. All at once a cozy assignment to a town as far from political meandering with the LET as possible went from a routine aid run to the mountain guards to counter-revolutionary duties. One of their few horses had already been sent running south as the rest of the former good ship Roumont's crew watched her burn. The regulars were being counted and sorted; the town's guard garrison was left to search the town. The assumption being that, of course, only someone among the ship's crew could have possibly gotten aboard. If they could scare the unknown perpetrator into flight they'd have found their mark. The Sailor's Mast was next on the chopping block, and as Soah set himself up at the doors a trio of guards emerged from the next-door tavern to approach the Mast. Secondary explosions resounded within the scorched hull of the crippled ship as the chain mail clad constables stepped up. "Stand aside, there's a traitor afoot and he's to be rooted out," the man said curtly, placing a hand on his sword hilt.

Soah pulled his hood down. "I don't think Arcartus pays you enough to step into what you're about to step into." Soah said, as he plucked his pipe from his mouth, and threw it to the ground, in a symbol of defiance. Soah pulled down his hood, revealing his boyish face. Besides his gruff and gravely voice, there was no reason to even be slightly intimidated by Soah. Although, Soah took on a serious visage. Despite not sympathizing with the rebel, and even disgusted by his actions, Soah was in a mood to bust heads, plus he really disliked the Empire's authority. This was a perfect chance to butt heads, save sometime for the rebel to get his act together and hide, and gave Soah a perfectly good reason to get the hell out of town. Soah doubted he could actually take the guards in a melee, though. Soah wouldn't normally want a fight, but the 'itch', as Soah called it, had gotten a lot more vicious within the past couple of weeks. Soah had fought it off considerably, but fighting off this urge was like trying to fight off the cold when you're standing 3 feet in snow, naked. Soah was completely fine with turning, even only partially, to take care of the urge, and three guards would be easy enough. "You might want to take your hand off your sword, unless you actually intend on using it." Soah added, in his gruff voice. While Soah's voice was threatening, he made no move to take a offensive stance against the guards, his hand didn't even trail to his short sword.

Crom nodded along as the two patrons explained what they had witnessed. If a ship really had went up in flames, something told Crom it had been anything but an accident. He tended to keep to himself, but even the old mercenary knew of the turmoil that was sweeping the empire. If things got too out of hand their situation could get dangerous. It was probably for the best that they would be leaving Aldrun relatively soon. He continued listening as the well-dressed man at the bar asked his name. The boy he had just purchased a drink for seemed interested in his identity as well. When he had first been exiled from Esterl, he had been wary of giving out his name, for fear someone with ties to the island might have a grudge against the incompetent captain who'd allowed his lord to die. He learned that few people concerned themselves with foreign politics, however, especially when their own situation wasn't entirely stable. "Crom Vastil. And you, my friend?" The question was in reply to Griff, but seemed directed to both of the strangers.

As they spoke, Crom noticed another young man go bustling by them and out the door. The mercenary's eyes followed the newcomer for a moment before returning to his new companions. Johnathon had just asked if any of the two strangers were heading west. Crom wasn't opposed to the idea of company on the road, and neither of the newcomers seemed to have any particularly insidious qualities about them. Hurried footsteps and voices echoed in from the streets. The fire seemed to be causing quite the commotion. The mercenary could vaguely hear a rather intense-sounding conversation outside, but he couldn't tell just how close. He kept a watch on the door out of the corner of his eye. If things were going to escalate, he didn't want to be caught off guard.

"Griff Caden." Griff replied, offering a hand to Crom. He was never afraid of using his own name, with how much he moved around it meant very little, at most, to people. False names also created chances of slipping up. "I am as a matter of fact." Griff continued, this time to both Crom and Johnathon. "I'm headed over the mountains towards the border. My family is from around there, on the edge of the Empire." He added. It wasn't a complete lie, his family had lived on the edge of the Empire and he had decided to head west. From the commotion outside it sounded like it would be best to leave town and in a party would be much less suspicious. Also it was a proven fact his job had a greater impact where there was already a strong resistance and the regions near the border with the League had just that.

Griff tried to make out as much as he could of the muffled conversation coming from the door, however he could make little of it out through the thick oak door. Wary of the tavern being searched, Griff downed the remainder of his drink and lightly patted his chest, making sure his dagger was where he would expect it to be should trouble arise. His long sword would be far too clumsy in such a small space.

"My name's Adrian. Adrian Brady." Adrian replied to Crom with a slightly slurred speech. At the newcomer's question, Adrian's ears perked up. "Yeah! I'm heading west! I could come with you, and help you over the mountains." Adrian replied, excitedly. This was his chance to strike out and actually earn something for himself. As Adrian took the last gulp from his drink, he was practically fully under the effects of the drink. Due to Adrian's state, he didn't hear any of the commotion outside. Adrian then turned to Griff, "The edge of the Empire? Over by the League? Isn't it fairly dangerous to live in that area?" Adrian asked, as he titled his head to face Griff, whom Adrian was now seeing double of, due to his state. Adrian grew up on the horror stories of what rebels did to children and women, and because of his otherwise sheltered life, Adrian believed them for the most part. People of the League might as well be trolls and ogres, as far as Adrian was concerned. Adrian noticed Crom taking a sharp look at the door, carefully watching it through the corner of his eye. It was at this point that Adrian could now hear the tense voices coming from behind the door. He craned his head, slightly, and turned his full attention to the door, now.

Griff chuckled slightly at Adrian's remark. "Yes over by the League." He said finding the boy's naivety amusing. "It can be dangerous, but not always for the reasons you might think. The League aren't monsters like you'll here in most of the East. They just believe the Empire has had its time. Lots of people on the fringe of the Arcarti's influence want the Empire gone and the League is willing to fight for those people." Griff said, hoping he had stopped soon enough. People this far east could still have a negative view of the Empire but Griff preferred not to expose his allegiances in front of complete strangers. "It's all a matter of opinion, the only real fact is that war is coming. That's why I'm heading home, I want to be able to protect my family." He added. In truth, what remained of his family had lived on the edge of the Empire but now that land was part of the League and the others didn't have to know that.