The elven woman never lifted the crossbow, despite reaching for it.  Instead she sat transfixed, half turned on her bench to regard the man behidn her.  A demon touched roguish sort, moving with stealth, and practically dripping in death volunteering directions.  The elven woman wasn't entirely convinced.  Directions, to a place even this demon touched man admitted was along the path she was on and would come to eventually on her own.  Such decried an ulterior motive.  Men such as he were normally chased out of towns with torches and pitchforks at first sight.  She rather imagined a deformed creature such as he was might be eager for a little companionship but you could never trust one.  The woman didn't trust demon touched folk.  They had a tendency to go insane and those that didn't go insane were worse.

Giving a slight tug on the reigns to slow the horse pulling the wagon to slow him down and hopefully keep him from running them into a ditch the woman kept her blue eyes on his unnatural yellow ones.  This one was definitely a second story man.  He'd be useless as a proper assassin, too many bits he couldn't hide, too much magic.  He'd have difficulty hiding in plain sight.  This man was more of a blunt instrument than a scalpel and the last thing you wanted to do was have an argument with a hammer.  They always won.

"By Myrkul's black and shriveled balls", she said as she turned to face the intruder, seemingly seeking to hitch a ride on her wagon, "What are you doing out this late at night?"