To an outsider, their conversation might have seemed utterly strange. Every other question was interrogative, designed to learn more about the other's motivations, if they were traveling with anyone, what kind of mentality they possessed and how they preferred to fight. They were innocent enough that one could argue it was simply an awkward kind of small talk but anyone in the mercenary lifestyle knew such approaches to new acquaintances was necessary. The life often involved putting your life in the hands of relative strangers all because you both had an unwritten and unspoken agreement to put the eventual payoff for the job ahead of double crossing one another for a quicker payoff like robbing the other's corpse. You had to know who you were going into battle with and sometimes you couldn't figure that out simply by asking.<br/><br/>Norin nudged the saddlebags with his foot. "Carried them here. My horse got injured on my last job. Not fit to travel much anymore. I sold him to a farmer to pull his plow on my way to the waystation." Again he adjusted the weapons on his belt. "And I'm stronger than I look." It was true. For a half-elf, he was actually quite strong. They tended to be a bit weaker than humans, on average, more fit for faster, more graceful styles of fighting. But he'd grown up a farmer's son and later a blacksmith's apprentice. He had strong arms and the kind of resilience and endurance that came with hard work in hot sun or beside a hot forge. "We can't all be walking walls of green muscle," he said with a grin, looking her up and down again. It was definitely meant to be a compliment.<br/><br/>Norin grinned into his drink as she challenged him to prove himself. So it was true that orcs valued deeds. It wasn't enough that he was pretty. He had to prove his might. Well, he certainly wasn't on the level of an orc male but he knew how to do his job. If it was a display of proficiency she was after, she could certainly get it from him. "I may be a lone wolf but even I get lonely on the road," he said as he reached into a pocket inside his jerkin. "And I could use some help with this one," he said as unfolded a piece of parchment and placed it on the counter. It had a somewhat crude drawing of a man's face with a scar through his lips, little beady eyes and a good amount of stubble. It was a wanted poster for a bandit gangleader named Gargash Haim with a sizable reward. "I was going to hunt around for a few sellswords to act as fodder for me when we raided his stronghold but I think I'd rather have that orcish bow backing me up and it would mean fewer ways to split the reward. You interested?"