He had been approached once or twice in recent months, offers of Captaincy in militias or House guards.  He had turned each down after a few scant days of training with the men.  Their employers, each time, had been more interested in forming a band of fighting men to protect their own interests, not their lands and people, and he had little interest in holding up in some rich man's home while villages burned.  He had had no reason to expect things to come to that, of course, but the thought of growing old as some pompous ass' Captain of the Guard was not appealing.  Death of old age was not what he sought.<br/><br/>He gave the man's words a few moments thought.  Indeed there was no worthy information to be had; rumours, no matter how rampant, were not the sort of thing to base battle plans on.  He, and his Brothers, had learned early the value of good information, whether gathered from inside the Enemy's camp or through exhausting recon.<br/><br/>"If one were to believe that the Orcs are truely on the move, readying for something, then it would be wise for someone to find out just what was brewing in those ancient woods.  No mere village woodsman, no matter how bold, ventures too deep into that forest, and few and far between are those that would be willing to poke their nose into Orc affairs."  Those few with such bravado or sense of duty had marched off to fight in the War.  And few had returned.<br/><br/>The border provinces were not hurting for young men, most of it's generation had ignored the calling to fight the Empire.  It had always been a distant problem, their sense of connection with the Dales as a whole was looser then most.  But for all that, it still did not have any form of military might, and an unexpected assault by any determined Orc force would likely roll over the region.