Geod hopped off the merchant's wagon he had hitched a ride on, landing a bit awkwardly as his pack of equipment shifted to the left. A nice, soft bed (or at least a clean floor) would have been nice after two days of hitchhiking across the continent. Unfortunately, judging by the commotion in front of what was probably the inn, that seemed unlikely - and more than a bit unusual. In a small town like this, the only reason for the only inn to close would be for a major event or disaster.
"Curious. This makes no sense - the only inn in town closes when there are obviously enough patrons for a roaring trade, which should be more than enough to entice the innkeeper to keep at least the bar open. I wonder what really is going on....."
With that thought, Geod quietly drifts over to the crowd, in hopes of getting clues to this mystery. Or at least he would if he didn't trip over his staff in a brilliantly klutzy manner. He manages to catch himself by grabbing onto a warhorse's tail. Which might be a worse fate.
"... Oh bloody hell...."