The gnome looks up at Kat for a moment, mouth opening slightly as he squints, then realization crosses his face, and he grins. As far as Kat can tell, it's supposed to be pleasant, but it isn't. "Ah, right! Right. Let me bring you to the front," he says, moving and gesturing for her to follow. "Yargin can talk to ya."
Assuming she follows, the gnome leads the way off the ramp and around the front of the building, opening the front door to reveal a musty, poorly-lit room. As he steps inside, the floorboards creak noticeably, but he doesn't pay the noise any mind, heading straight for the dusty desk in the middle of the room, from which a soft growl emerges a moment later. The room is bare apart from the desk, though several doors leave it - one on the left, one on the right, and two ahead. It's the right of the two forward doors that the gnome approaches.
"YARGIN! Get yer trash-eatin' rear out here! We got a 'spection!" The gnome shouts, hammering on the door as a scruffy dog emerges from the desk. The dog looks between the gnome and Kat, baring its teeth at her but keeping its distance.
After another bout of hammering, the door opens, and a blond human man is revealed, sneering down at the gnome. "You really do need to make noise constantly, don't you? Has it never occurred to you that the reason everyone hates you is because you never stop?" He says, before noticing Kat. "Oh, oh my! My apologies, ma'am," he flashes a smile. "It isn't often we get proper visitors! My name is Yargin."
"Yargin, it's a 'spection," the gnome repeats, stepping aside to let the man enter the room but seeming rather displeased.
"You mean an inspection, you uneducated - "
"No, a 'spection," the gnome hisses, interrupting the man, who pauses a moment.
"Ah, of course," he says with a nod, and turns to Kat again. "What is it you're here to, as he says, "'spect"?"
Looking down into the river, Xen spots a fairly continuous stream of bones and scales slowly drifting away from the fishery; closer to the shore, caught along long-saturated pieces of wood and similar junk not worth fishing out, is an odd collection of things. What seems to be the remains of a small leather purse, a hand-long length of filthy rope, a relatively clean piece of embroidered fabric, depicting something that doubtlessly made sense in the past, when it part of a whole design.