Floyd
*Garbed in armor sewn from leather and fur, a beautiful young woman rode on horseback along the road to Whiterun. Strapped to the saddle was a travel pack, tent, and a flute and lyre, all secured tightly. The horse trotted steadily along the dirt path, and the woman scans the general area - one of the few, tiny wooded areas of Whiterun hold. Suddenly, the horse slows its gait, stomping and whining anxiously. The woman is startled out of her concentration and steadies herself upon its back. She glances toward the general region of the horse's concern, narrowing her eyes.*

*Sliding off the saddle and landing graciously, she unstraps her weapon from its back sheath, holding it steadily at her side with calm familiarity. Before turning to face the direction of concern, she whispers a faint word in an arcane tongue. The horse's eyes glaze over slightly, and it calms down, assuredly not intent on running away. Seemingly satisfied, the woman turns back to the tree line and walks off the path. She scans her surroundings, alert for sound and sight. Until, that is, she sees a trail of mud. She follows the trail, not needing to go far, and lays her eyes on a sick-looking man and a recently deceased deer hanging from a tree.*

*Nodding at the understanding of her horse's fear, she relaxes her posture somewhat, though not entirely unguarded.* "Hail, stranger. How do I find you on this day?"
Richard
*Herickin looked up from his distant stare at nothing, now towards the woman who addressed him. His furred, warm clothing that covered him from head to toe was not armor, but still rugged in construction. A faint red still stained his clothing and his eyes seemed lost and distant.*

"You find Herickin well, rider." *His accent was odd, and his Tamrelic was poorer than average. It was apparent he was never formally educated.* "You buy fresh elk meat? A clean kill, good jerky making." *He motioned to the still bleeding carcass, it was not ready to be prepared just yet but he was still offering to sell it.*

*The veracity of the 'clean kill' was debatable, considering the faint blood and dirt on his clothing and hands showed someone more akin to a fistfight or random stabbing. However, the elk looked intact enough and seemed to be being processed properly. However, the not-quite Nordic hunter with something off in his eyes and poor Tamerelic could be enough to change opinions.*

"Perhaps antlers? Big and good quality. Bone offered too if the rider wishes." *Herickin stood and moved towards to the elk carcass, reaching for the knife on his hip while looking at the Nordic woman expectantly.*
Floyd
*As the man spoke, Regan studies him, her eyes filled with intrigue and curiosity. Her eyes flicker to the butchery of meat still hanging from the tree. Her head tilts slightly and she looks back to the man. After a moment's consideration, she says,* "The antlers would be preferable. I have no use for it's hide nor its meat." *Her voice is thick and rich, like a drizzle of honey over warm bread. Her voice easily carries across the small distance between them, despite speaking softly.*

"I did not know there were hunters here in Whiterun Hold. Not of elk, at least. Many more wolves, foxes, and coyotes fill these plains." *She lowers the butt of her spear into the dirt with her left hand, relaxing her posture. Her shift of weight fills her nostrils with the aroma of freshly-mashed grass for a moment before quickly dispersing into the air.* "I had thought there are better opportunities for game further south near Falkreath. Tell me, stranger, what attracts your interest in these lands? It could not simply have been the local elk population."

*As she speaks, she uses her left hand to search for the small gold pouch on her waist, beginning to guess at this huntsman's price.*
Richard
*Herickin nods a bit as he crouches down to pry the antlers from the skull using the carved bone knife and his strength* "Elk wanders. Reach, as you say, has prey. Much prey." *The hunter dislodges the antlers, only slightly chipping the blade of the bone knife* "Tracked it from-" *He pauses, freezing slightly as if carefully considering his next words* "Current home." *His dull red eyes aren't telling much. He seems neither happy nor sad, nor scheming or ernest. He seems just, oddly dull. His eye color on its own is odd for a nord or perhaps breton to have. Its unclear what race this hunter is and combined with his odd state of being, only questions seem to crop up.*

*Standing, Herickin sheathed the odd knife. Binding the antlers with a cut of rope, he turned to the Nordic woman.* "I... Need few septim. However, taking trade. Seek wine, learning or if choose, a good story." *The hunter seemed insistent on bartering rather than selling the antlers, although he then adds,* "Take 4 coin for both. If no wines or story or lesson offering." *Four septims was a little high for just some antlers, and his insistence on bartering seemed to suggest a bit of price gouging. Even with his poor Tamrelic, it's clear the hunter isn't simply just dull.*

*In fact, other than his odd speech and indecipherable race, the hunter was fairly standard as far as those who live off the land. He is draped in warm clothing, wielding a spear and bow depending on what his hunt needs. He has rope, and the strange bone knife for utility or finishing off game. He also seems to have come from the neighboring province, from The Reach. Yet why would a hunter be coming from the Reach, seeking more scarce larger game instead of the abundant, smaller game such as wolves or foxes? The hunter was certainly an oddity.*
Floyd
*Regan's chin tilts upward at his hesitation to her first question. Her gaze never wavers, as if she's constantly assessing the man before her or simply giving him her entire focus. However, it was at his answer to her second question that made her release a physical reaction. Her eyebrows rose a fraction of a centimeter as she blinked hard. She quickly regained her composure and her typical grace returned.* "A story you say?..." *Her face falls briefly, looking to the side in deep contemplation. After a moment, she pursed her lips and slid her eyes to gaze out to the side of her eye in the direction of the huntsman.*

*A smirk formed on her face, and she slowly straightened her posture to cast a playful look at the man.* "Very well then, hunter." *Her honey-rich voice now stirs with the alluring hint of an alluring buzz.* "Let me fetch my steed to ensure she hasn't wandered off. I'll be back in a mere moment." *She slowly turns to head back the way she came, her eyes not leaving the hunter until her head finally whips forward before her departure.*

*After a few moments, she returned, leading a horse with a beautiful sheen of brown hair down to its knees, where it promptly changed to white, by its reins. After tying off her horses reins on a branch, Regan sheathed her spear and procured her lyre from her horse's saddle. She flashes the huntsman a thin, wicked smile as she daintily sits on a tree stump with her lyre in-hand.* "Any specific requests, huntsman?"