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.