He studied the man, meeting his gaze without any sort of hesitation.  Poets and philosophers always said the eyes were windows to the soul, but few poets and philosophers shared a table with men such as this so-called Messenger.  He was a professional man, there could be little doubt of that.  Confident, certainly, bound by his own codes of honour and belief.  A good man, in his own way...but dangerous, no doubt about it.<br/><br/>Few would really know what the two were doing; sizing each other up, taking a weight and measure of the other man.  And he couldn't help but wonder what this man saw in him.  There seemed to be the tiniest flicker of hesitation, a realization of something that seemed to shock the man.<br/><br/>And all he could do was offer a ghost of a smile, one that never quite touched his eyes.  The silence only lasted a scant few seconds, but he noticed it.<span style="font-weight: bold">"I fear few realize it, but I've always felt it was the Messengers that allowed the Dales to survive the War."</span>He didn't say win the war; he had no doubts that, had it lasted another year, months even, and the Dales would have been naught but another province of the Empire, had it not grown distracted with other, more pressing issues elsewhere.<br/><br/>He somehow doubted this man was truely a Messenger though...he simply didn't have the bearing he associated with them.  Messengers carried news, both as decreed by the Council and those the sort shared by housewives over picket fences.  This man, he had the determination for it, but not the...personality.<br/><br/>The smile faded as the topic switched to more pressing matters.  He had no reason to pry, no reason to second guess or call out the stranger, because he hadn't been exactly honest either, after all.  It grated his nerves, but was out of necessity more then any desire to lie.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Cutthroats and highwaymen aside.  There is no shortage of work for guards and hunters in these parts.  Fell beasts, wild animals, monsters.  Rare enough, but there is still enough demand for skilled warriors to earn a living."</span>He didn't exactly ply the trade as aggresively as a true mercenary however.  Most jobs were ones of greed and power, not the sort of thing he could lower himself to.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"I hunted a raiding party just a few nights ago.  They had attacked a small village, but took coin and treasures, not captives and feed animals.  It hadn't struck me as odd at the time.  There have been rumours of other attacks, but there are always such rumours in these parts."</span>