His eyes flit across the space, mildly curious, but the mess does not especially bother him. He moves, restless still, finally stopping and leaning up against a wall. Wrathion forces the tension to drain from his body, his expression to fall as neutral as he can manage.

"Were you aware the three villages in this area have a patron?"

An open start, because perhaps Wrathion was late to discover this. Perhaps nobody else is as disturbed by the information as he is. Perhaps he would be showing his hand in some way by admitting his unease.