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.