As Moran listened she heard why he was looking for aid. And the pay. She even got enough detail to add to her earlier notes and put them together. As the man, Aaron Firebrand, finished his meal and headed out of the bar, Morgan watched a plan forming in her head. She slide her way through the tavern unseen, even snatching a thick winter cloak off the chair of a sleeping drunkard. Unseen and unheard she made it out the door, spotting the man not far ahead. Moving up behind him she could watch him shiver. Sliding the extra cloak around his shoulders watching him turn his head to see who had done it, she slipped into a stride beside him on his other side. "You're looking for the King's Heir. He's dyeing and the son is in Wyndia. If coming along with you as an aid is worth Fifty gold. Is doing it and not going to the enemy officials with this information worth another fifty?" She asked with an unreadable look on her face.