"Aye. And then the morrow will show us what shit-heap we must wade through," Halam replied darkly, his eyes scanning the road ahead. The Aershirians were suspicious folk as a rule; the city's outskirts had seen more than a few bandit raids, given how much easier it was to hit than the populace within the walls, and truth be told he'd been on the giving end of a couple in his younger days. At the same time, the dwarf didn't bother hiding his face as they rode. He wouldn't be able to hide his stature, and as such he'd likely get questioned at some point anyway thanks to plain old discrimination.<br/><br/>It was a travesty - just because he was willing to take his axe to just about anyone, so long as someone was paying, didn't make him a criminal. And just because there happened to be a notorious dwarven mercenary unit in the region, didn't mean all dwarves were aligned with it. Except for blacksmiths - oh, dwarven blacksmiths were perfectly acceptable, of course! No one else could shape steel like a dwarf, but Halam would cut his beard off before he settled in for that kind of life. People were too damn narrow minded.<br/><br/>"I feel like Jhoran didn't tell us everything," he said quietly, watching a mounted trio of horsemen ride past. "Would be a fine job to end up on a gallows because of that old bastard." He hefted the coin pouch he'd been given, grunting sourly as he weighed it in his hand. "And we'll barely have enough to make it back. We should be sure to take what we can when we grab the bitch."<br/><br/>Of course, she was a noble, meaning her family had to have money - hence the ransom, but there was no harm in pocketing a little extra if given the chance. He knew Mercutio would be of similar thinking, as it was one of the first things a person learned in their line of work.