What luck, it seemed everyone wanted out of this town. John glanced over his shoulder at the windows, and the silhouettes running frantically beyond them, and figured he couldn't blame anybody for looking outwards at this point. "I would hope cooler heads prevail; but you're right Griff. If there's going to be war it's best to travel together. All the better if we're all going to the same place," he said, happily looking between the members of the group. Saying another man's name reminded him that he hadn't introduced himself yet, and they probably hadn't overheard it while he'd been talking to Crom earlier. It wasn't a particularly hard name to guess, but still. "How rude of me, I'm John Wenigsten, by the way," he said, "pleased to meet you both, and even more to have you for traveling acquaintances." Quite so, Griff was confident in traveling through his own backyard, and the boy Adrian had an obvious enthusiasm for adventure. He recognized it as the same lust that had once driven himself to the road. Crom and Adrian seemed to be regarding the door, and it only then occurred to him that the guards would be making rounds if a ship really did explode in the harbor. His last experience with Arcarti hospitality was still enough to bring a scowl to his face at the memory, but these guardsmen were more northerners than they were imperial hands with any luck.

He didn't normally respond to drunken banter from men at tavern doors; they'd knocked down a few on their way into the establishments of Aldrun's port district today, but maybe that number was what put curiosity into him. A hot temper and a desire to know what exactly made people so god damn uncooperative chose his actions. "Aye, but the people of Aldrun pay me handsomely to keep the peace. You seem sober enough to me, so I'm gonna give you the chance to step away before I put you in the irons," the guardsman leaned in and said, his voice low and steady. He drew his sword and held it at his side, a battered broadsword of the rugged local make. A keeper of the peace did not draw his steel on a man who made no threat with a clear conscience, but there was little time before the Arcarti ex-sailors, still buzzing about with their heads full of wonder at the audacity of this attack, would start asking why he and his followers were not kicking down doors. The guards flanking him stood back and grasped their swords, eying Soah and praying their watch partner would opt for just pushing the man aside before a fiasco turned into a disaster.

"Looky here, princess. I'm going to take that sword of your's, and break your fucking face in if you don't back away right now." Soah said, as he slowly let himself succumb to the urge. Not fully, though. He didn't want to lose that much control. Besides, once they saw what he was turning into, they'd probably all run. Soah could feel his arms start to grow in size, just barely though, and under his cloak. He tried to conceal the partial transformation as much as possible, but it was getting more and more visible. His nose slowly turned into what could only be described as a muzzle. The changes were slow and gradual, allowing some kind of discretion. Soah clenched his hand into a tight fist, but still waited before making a move. A sword would hurt, but he could take a blow. He only need a small window. Soah was quick enough, and powerful enough, to rip the man's throat with a quick flourish, and the other two would no doubt run after they saw what happened to their friend.

Crom gripped the hand that was offered to him tightly and shook it. "Glad to meet you, Griff, Adrian." He nodded to each of his new acquaintances. They both seemed interested in joining them in their journey west. Griff had talked about the coming war and had mentioned the League. Crom had no stake in the coming conflict. He knew better than to believe every story he had heard about either side, having seen similar propaganda during Esterl's wars. Johnathon seemed content with the possibility of traveling with the two newcomers. "Aye. It's always better to have some company on the road." The grizzled man took a long drink from his flagon before placing it on the bar. The cup was empty. What was it now? Four, Five drinks? It didn't really matter, he was rarely able to keep track anymore. By this point, Crom smelled strongly of alcohol, but due to his almost constantly drinking barely felt drunk a all. He eyed the door again. He could still hear muffled voices just outside the door, but couldn't make out the words. The soldier's hand touched the pommel of his weapon briefly. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to having to draw his blade.

"Excellent, the journey should be much easier with the four of us." Griff said smiling to the man who had now introduced himself as John. John looked about the same age as Griff. His clothing was well worn, similar to Adrian's, although Griff noted that it appeared to have be repaired a few times at least. Griff's eyes flicked to Crom's hand as it brushed across the pommel of his sword. "That's quite the blade." He retorted, noticing the ornate nature of the hilt. The golden crossguard and pommel stood out greatly in the man's appearance. It was not the weapon of your common drunkard mercenary. A once great knight now fallen from grace or simply stolen? Griff favoured the latter of the two origins of Crom's sword. He turned to look at the tavern's door as the voices outside grew louder, when a loud scream pierced through the muffled shouts, the situation outside clearly having escalated. "Although it sounds as if now is not the best time to get to know each other." He said, knowing that he wanted no part in whatever was happening on the other side of the door. "There wouldn't happen to be a back door would there?" He asked, turning to the bartender.

Something accumulated over years on the watch told him that something was wrong. An imperceptible change in the situation that weighed heavily in his gut. He wasn't going to let some boy-faced barfly hold him away from his job, especially not if the man didn't look like he was from these parts. The guardsman reared back, looking to his fellows and nodding. One of the men drew his sword and the other produced a length of slim chain to serve as a restraint. He himself turned back to Soah and advanced on the man. The other guards seemed rather relaxed, given the situation, they had no intent to pursue the man if he ran and felt they'd only be dealing with a bowled over tavern patron come the fight. There was no point starting a bloodbath in the streets but he need into the inn before whatever brigand they were really chasing could slip away out, if by some stroke of luck he was actually at the Mast. "Warned you," he growled, and with one last step forward brought his sword arm back and forward, making a sharp swing with the pommel at the side of the man's head.

John continued to smile as the group affirmed an interest in traveling together. Griff called attention to Crom's blade and he found himself noting the ornate nature of the sword for the first time. He hadn't an eye for weaponry, so he wasn't sure if Griff was complimenting it or if all that decoration made it a show piece. Either way, the man was built like a castle, and he felt confident, rather dearly hoped, that his new guide would have been effective if armed with a twig. An inconvenient truth was that the mountains would soon be swarming with more banditry than usual, and if they got all the way into the heartlands, well, those were just myths. They could avoid the deep woods anyway.

The bartender appeared when called, cleaning a recently used mug with a ragged looking cloth. "Door eh?" He cocked his head, looking up and thinking primarily about how to answer the patron. It was no secret that something was afoot, half his customers had just run out and now there was some altercation taking place at this doors. The store room did open to the alleys through a set of heavy double doors, all the better to wheel in kegs with. He didn't know what had happened outside, but between lying to the guard and lying to someone who just might be the reason the bells were still ringing there was one clearly safer choice. "The ale room goes into the alleys, yeah. It's not my head, though. If the guard gets in here asking questions... well, I've got a family to look out for y'know?" He jerked his head towards the dimly let passage behind the bar in a simple gesture: Get out.

Soah tilted his head to the side, and the pommel struck true, striking Soah in the side of the neck. Soah didn't budge an inch. The muzzle on Soah's face was now growing, starting to form an actual dog's snout. Soah glanced down at the sword, and then turned his gaze towards the guard, his eyes now a bright yellow color. "I wonder how hard your family will cry when they see your fucking corpse." Soah said, as he grabbed the guard's arm. His hand was now revealed, veins nearly popping out of there place under his skin, and claws akin to that of a wolf. Soah tried his best to apply a death grip to the guard's arm, using enough strength to hurt the guard. The lust for violence, and the desire to see someone struggle started to overtake Soah. Soah attempted to push the guard's arm back, a little, with only a little of force. Then, with as much strength as Soah could muster, and with a fluid motion, he ripped down as hard as he good, trying to violently pop the guard's arm out of his socket. "Warned you." Soah snarled, in a mock voice.

Crom glanced down at the weapon and smirked. "Well thank you." He was surprised to not hear the typical "So where'd you steal it from?" It seemed they would be leaving the establishment sooner rather than later. The bartender seemed to be motioning for them to leave. Crom looked around, hearing the conversation outside escalate into combat. Probably best that they were getting out of the tavern. Crom threw down a handful of coins on the bar. "Two bottles of the strongest drink you've got, mate." The bartender looked a bit skeptical, but after noticing the pile of coins ran to the back and returned, handing him two bottles of a sickly-looking green liquid. Crom hadn't the slightest idea what it was, but it looked like it'd do the trick. "Right then, let's go." The mercenary said, while sliding the small green bottles into the pockets of his cloak. He stood up, without the slightest wobble, surprising considering his alcohol consumption. He looked over at his new comrades. Griff seemed to be the most concerned with escaping, perhaps he had a good reason... The soldier decided it was none of his business. Adrian, on the other hand, looked quite drunk. Crom hoped the boy could walk.

"Thank you." Griff said to the bartender, nodding in appreciation. He quickly reached into his pocket and tossed the man a coin. Stamped with the League of the Edict of Tovasel it probably wouldn't be too much use to the man but it sent a message. "Let's go." Griff added, making for the ale room and ushering for the others to follow. The ale room itself was a dark dank room with barrels of ale lining the walls. Sawdust lined the floor mopping up any spillages, of which there had certainly been many over the years, the place reeked of alcohol. Griff made his way through the room towards the door on the other side. Reaching the door, he drew his dagger from his jacket just in case and slowly opened the door. With a loud creak it opened, lighting up the dark room with sunlight. Griff ducked through the low doorway and into the alley. Deserted. That was a good sign. He stowed his dagger away and moved out of the way of the others. The alarm bells had stopped ringing now but the clink of guardsmen running in their armour could be heard from the main road and smoke from the harbour was still billowing up into the clouds.

The guard was surprised to see the man take the hit without so much as a flinch. He turned his wrist, trying to bring his sword around to a fighting stance even as his arm was extended, instinctively and now quite lucidly he understood that nothing was right. The man's hand had stopped his own, and it hardly looked human. The guard's eyes dashed over to the man's face, and he froze to see the radical changes that Soah had undergone. His expression didn't remain locked for long though, as his arm was pulled down and snapped out of place with an ear-rending smack emanating from his shoulder. He groaned in agony, his left hand racing to his hip and fumbling for his knife. He dropped the steel instrument onto the floor, still reeling. His compatriots were dumbfounded by what they were seeing. The younger of the two greenish constables dropped his length of chain and ran off down the road, screaming hysterically, "Wolf man! Wolf man!" The other man stood there, holding his sword out at length towards Soah. An absolute silence had fallen in the bustling street, as several groups of shocked Arcarti sailors watched the spectacle, not quite sure what they were looking at. The remaining guard trembled but remained firm. "A crew of the crown's men is right over there. I don't give a damn what you are, you kill that man and we'll see your head outside the the wall." He lowered his chin, glaring defiantly at the turning werewolf.

Johnathon had no idea what they were getting into but it seemed dangerous and he ill-wanted to spend another turn in Arcartus' 'hospitality'. He quickly made his way around the bar, following Griff into the ale room. The smell of alcohol was revolting to the man, but he tucked his head down and kept with the group. In a way it was relieving to see that the rest of the building was just as beaten up at the front, and he cursed the sawdust on the ground for getting inside of his shoes. He could finally breathe again when he staggered out into the alley, looking around nervously and half expecting a company of regulars to be waiting for them. Much to his surprise, they were alone. A man blabbering incoherently about wolf man ran by the entrance to the alleyway, and John seized momentarily until he realized that the man hadn't seen him. He settled up against the wall of the alleyway, trying to cut a low profile, and looked to the others. "If we just get onto the streets they'll take us for normal citizens right?" His eyes finally caught sight of the smoke and he stopped talking. There was an impressive fire at the foot of that column. No wonder the guards were out in force.

Soah grinned as he tightened his grip on the guard's arm. Soah paid no attention to the man whom ran off screaming, but when the man who had leveled the sword at Soah spoke up, Soah turned his gaze to the man. Soah's previous boyish face was now covered in a good amount of hair, and canine teeth poked out from his mouth. A wicked grin started to spread across Soah's disfigured face. Soah glanced at the guard, and took in the pained expression on the guard's face. He memorized every strain on the man's face. He wondered, momentarily what thoughts were racing through the man's head at this point. Was it thought's of family? Maybe he felt regret for ever signing up for the garrison. Soah reveled in the idea of how distressed the man was. "Looks like it's going to be a closed casket funeral." Soah snarled, his voice deeper than before, and disjointed in speech. Soah raised his other hand, while turning his gaze to make eye contact with the guard with the leveled sword, and plunged his hand towards the guard's throat, whom he still had in his grip. Soah intended to plunge his hand deep into the flesh of the man's throat, and rip out whatever he could, all while staring at the man whom still stood his ground. Soah had almost completely lost himself in his lust for violence. At this point, he couldn't even fully comprehend words, much less be coherent enough to formulate a sentence.

As the other two members of the party rushed towards the ale room, Crom took notice of their younger companion. In his drunken state, he was in no real condition to walk, much less run. "Cmon lad, we've got to get out of here." Without hesitation, the bulk of a man tossed the boy over his shoulder and followed his compatriots through the ale room and into the alley. He sincerely hoped the boy would refrain from vomiting on his cloak.The mercenary's eyes raced up and down the alley. Johnathon's strategy of hiding in plain sight seemed decent enough, still, keeping a low profile would help them. "Maybe, but we should stay on the backstreets if we can." He motioned to the boy he had thrown over his shoulder. "This might look a bit suspicious." The sounds of a rather loud fight could be heard from the other side of the tavern. "Maybe whatever's going on over there will cause enough distraction for us." Crom eyed Griff quizzically. "Griff, do you know who they're looking for?"

"No idea." Griff responded to Crom. "Although you're right about sticking to the back streets, I don't know about you but I'd rather not get caught up in what's happening outside the tavern." He added as more shouts and screams could be heard. The one of wolfman worrying Griff, they'd only ever been stories to him but in broad daylight it would be hard for someone to confuse what they saw. "We should get to the gate out of town quickly, hopefully word won't have reached them yet and they won't have closed the gates. We could be stuck here for days if that happens." He added before starting down the alleyway, away from the pier and in the direction of Aldrun's main gate.

The young guardsman raced forward as he saw Soah rear back, aiming to protect his crippled leader's life. Even at the distance he'd been standing from the two, he was too slow to intervene. It was suicide to look away, even for a second, and the only thing he could take solace in was that the man died quickly. He backed up even further, pulling away and keeping his sword raised. No words now, not that he could have spoken through his chattering teeth, gagged by the smell of blood that now filled the street with the dying rasps of the senior guardsman. Nothing he'd ever seen before compared, the grizzly, hairy man before him was from the stories of the drunken sailors and wanderers, the stuff of myths and those dubious folks that meddled with the spiritual. Composing himself was too generous a term, but the new guard made himself ready, taking his sword in both hands and waiting for the best. Shouts sounding around them signaled that help was coming. The Arcartis didn't quite understand what they'd seen before but they understood the sight of a town guard with half his viscera poured out over the ground. As the rookie guard held his ground, the few among the sailors that had their straight swords pulled their weapons and ran towards the two at the behest of their officers.

"I've seen parts of the town's stockade from the pier. If the front doors are closed we could double back and climb out," John chuckled nervously at the very idea. That wasn't going to happen with the guard as alert as it was, but it was something to do if their plans fell apart. He followed after Griff as they went through the alleyways, weaving around building supplies and trash left in the pathways. At the end of the alleyway, a quartet of armored guards sprinted by down the narrow road, not even glancing in the group's direction as they raced for the harbor. Apparently, there was less focus on the perimeter of the town than one would expect. "Something terrible must be happening. I almost feel bad running off but I've seen an Arcarti stockade before and I can assure all of you that we'd be better off leaving," John said, surprised at how out of breath he was simply running through alleys and side roads. Finally, their minor road spilled out onto a plaza in front of Aldrun's main gate. Several guards stood in the passageway through the thick wooden palisades, looking out. Most of the guard had displaced and ran towards the center, either fighting the fire or what else, John didn't care to contemplate. Thankfully, they weren't alone. Several bands of rugged looking civilians, obviously travelers, mercenaries, or the other people expressly interested in leaving Aldrun were gathered around and slowly filtering towards the gate. The guards were checking over the groups loosely, asking a couple of questions, but so far there were no signs of violence at the gate. John looked around, waiting for the group's decision, both Crom and Griff seemed to know their way around unpleasantness like this far better than he did.

Soah's clawed hands found it's mark, but he didn't stop there. The man would still be alive for a few more moments before suffocation and blood loss took his life. Soah pulled his hand out of the man's throat, and grasped the man's head with both hands, now. Soah forced the man's last moments of life would be staring into the eyes of Soah. With a mighty tug, and a crunch as Soah crushed the man's skull, Soah pulled the man's head from his bottom. Soah wielded the head in one hand, now, as he turned his attention back to the rookie guard. He lifted the head up for the whole audience he had gathered to see. Soah then dropped the head, and slowly advanced towards the guard, until the rookie's blade touched Soah's chest. Soah glanced down at the blade, and pressed his chest up against it, until it torn through his fabric, and drew blood. Soah grinned at the man holding the blade. His heart pumped faster as Soah thought of all the ways he could twist and tear the man's face apart. Soah went for a quick slash, with his left clawed hand, aimed for the open flesh on the guard's face.

Crom followed the other two members of the party, lugging the third over his shoulder. The town seemed to be slowly but surely being engulfed in chaos. Crom wondered just how serious the situation had gotten. The weight of the boy slowed the mercenary down, but only barely. They left the narrow alley into the opening near the gate. A motley group of townspeople seemed to be leaving without a great deal of difficulty. Crom had no doubt he could manage with any questions the guards might have. He could make an excuse for Adrian, at least. The mercenary looked to the other two. Johnathon seemed content to try to go straight through the gate. The guards didn't seem too meticulous in their searching, surely the group would be able to make it through without incident.

The guardsman staggered back, he was green but he wasn't going to let some monster walk up his sword. Anger cleared his mind in a refreshing way. The spite it had shown his captain would have drove him to lash out if he wasn't having a hard time standing up. Before he could even pull his sword arm back and make a swing at the monster bearing down at him it was upon him. He yelped and tried to leap backwards, but Soah's strike landed across his face. His sight was all at once red and his mind scattered by pain. A sickening warmth ran across his face and his extremities immediately felt cold. The guard was staggered back and he fell with a tremendous thump and rattle of his chain to the ground. He writhed there, hands flying to his mangled face. Before the fight could progress, newly summoned guards arrived, bearing crossbows and spears at the report of 'By all the fucking gods get to the docks.' The men at the front knelt down and fired their volley of bolts immediately in the general direction of the monstrous looking man standing by a butchered guard and a screaming one. The other set turned away the lightly armed Arcarti sailors and prepared spears in the event that crossbows weren't enough to detain whatever it was that had sent a soldier of the guard in utter hysterics to the barracks.

Pain flashed across Soah, as the bolts from the crossbows struck Soah, causing him to stagger, and taking a step back. Soah turned to face the man, bleeding, but seemingly unphased by the bolts. Soah let loose a might roar, one that could shake the very foundation of people's souls. The roar was long, and loud, echoing across the small town. Soah's head darted around, seeing all the reinforcements that the garrison had brought. In a swift motion, Soah gripped the body of the decapitated guard, and hurled it at the line of crossbowmen that had formed. Soah then took off, full tilt, into the nearest alley. Soah's itch for violence had been somewhat satisfied, but taking that many bolts from a crossbows, and getting speared, wasn't worth it. Soah could take them, if he let the full transformation take over, but that would be at a hefty cost. Soah sprinted with all the speed of a wolf, down multiple back streets, before reaching the wooden palisade wall. It was nearly 12 feet tall. With his speed, and a might push from his legs, Soah attempted to clear the palisade wall. He looked down and saw a whole collage of people gathering, attempting to leave the town, not far from where he was now in mid-leap. His instincts recognized a couple of familiar faces. As he dove over the top of it, pain racked Soah, as he noticed that the spikes on the top of palisade had cut him along the leg. Soah landed on the other side, with a soft thud, before sprinting off towards the direction of the wooded mountains.

Adrian wasn't fully aware of his surroundings, but was aware that Crom had graciously picked him up, and taken him. Had Adrian had the strength, he'd resist this current predicament. Adrian bounced along, and could hear the buzz of people talking, but couldn't make out any of the words. Suddenly, a loud roar, much like that of an angry wolf, pierced Adrian's hearing, sobering him up slightly. The roar sounded as if he came from a large creature, bigger than a normal wolf. "Didja guz hear hat?" Adrian slurred, as he tried to tilt his head and look around, but it was difficult considering his current position. Then, it came. Adrian felt the overwhelming urge build up inside him. Like a arrow being knocked and fired from a bow, it sprang forth like a fountain. A stream of vomit erupted from Adrian's mouth, most of it landing on the ground, but some of it getting on Crom. "I don't lish benen drunk." Adrian managed out, still mind-numbingly drunk.

Johnathon stepped into the line of groups heading towards the gates, motioning for the others to follow him. They'd moved up a few spaces and the guards had begun to relax a little when an ungodly roaring seemed to shake the ground beneath them. Preceded by a chattering of nails and a beating of feet something akin to that of a horse, a shadow passed over the group. Reflexively, John looked up to catch what looked to be a furry man soaring over the palisade wall. For a moment, he was jealous that their own exit wasn't so simple, and then realization of what he'd seen had kicked in. Was that monster the cause of the fire? It was certainly responsible for the strange movements of the guard they had observed. The man crying wolf suddenly made a lot more sense. His attention was called away from the sky by the sound of something splashing against the cobblestone, and when John looked down he was almost sick at the sight of Adrian vomiting. He turned away sharply, with an exasperated groan. While he reeled, a panic had overtaken most of the crowd. Some rushed back into the town, others rushed the gates, all trying to get to safety after seeing, of all things, a werewolf in their vicinity. A veritable torrent of guards arrived late behind the wolf, flooding the plaza with some groups demanding passage in order to chase the monster. The quiet, tense air of the plaza was gone now, replaced by the shouting of several factions all desperately vying for the door. The poor handful of guards actually manning it had given up or been forced to, and John called to the group, "If we're leaving we'd best shove our way in now!" He hoped the others would keep up, and joined the chaotic mass of people on their way out the main gate. He jostled past a few armed guards and some rough looking gentlemen who gave him a foul look, and ended up safely on the other side. He pressed his back against the palisade, breathing out, and began to scan around for his comrades in the mess. The guards, meanwhile, were not stupid enough to chase into the forests but began to fan out in small squads along the palisade. Their attention was far away from catching any rogues and brigands in the city at this point, but rather making sure whatever beast had attacked them didn't make a second pass at the walls.

Crom had been trying to manage his way through the mass of peasants when he heard an unearthly roar from behind him. Seconds later, a monstrous creature came barreling down the street, clearing the palisade in a single bound. Crom instinctively threw his hand towards the hilt of his weapon, but the creature was already gone. He was thankful the beast had decided to clear the fence instead of coming straight through the group. For a brief moment, the crowd was silent. What followed next was a cacophony. Panicking townspeople began rushing towards the gate. Crom began struggling through the crowd, Adrian still over his shoulder, and trying to keep an eye on the other members of their party. The boy began to stir. The boy slurred his words, clearly heavily intoxicated. Seconds later, Crom felt the boy lurch and heard the vomit spew from his mouth and hit the cobblestone. ~Damn it.~ He had no doubt some had gotten on his cloak. Thankfully, the disgusted townspeople around him backed off slightly, giving Crom room to maneuver through them. "Hold on lad, we'll be out of here soon." The mercenary began shoving his way through the remaining townspeople, eventually making his way through the crowd and through the gate. The mountains stretched out before him, covered in thick blankets of rich evergreens. The snow-capped tops of the geological behemoths were visible in the distance. It seemed as if they went on forever. The mercenary walked for a bit, escaping the crowd that had rushed from the gates, and stopping at a nearby tree. He motioned for his two companions to regroup with him. He heaved Adrian down from his shoulder. "Do you think you'll be alright to walk now?"