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?"