The stranger let the moment of uncertainty hang in the air, he retrieved something from beneath his cloak, it was but an apple, red and shiny. And he broke the silence as his teeth tore into the hard flesh. He turned away from the cleric and gulped down the bitter sweet pulp. "I have come a long way..." He responded finally. The figure slowly drew back the roughspun hood, revealing an unkempt shock of sandy hair that fell to his shoulders, his features, strong and youthful, but with sunken eyes, and the dust of the road etched into his face with the barest bit of stubble. A prominent scar ran across his cheek. It was the face that was plastered across wanted posters in the region. "They call me the Scourge of the Western Woods." He raised his free hand; a sign of detente commonly used between nobility and clergy. "But my friends call me Finch, and you may as well. I understand you have come to a bit of a impasse here, and I have come to offer you my services. I have come to offer you: options."