[hr][hr][center][color=slategray][h1]Damon Tardif[/h1][/color][/center][hr][hr]
There was a pause, long enough to sow somehow more tension in an already tense atmosphere. It was as if the woman were hesitating, though Damon was uncertain as to what. She had been brave enough to approach, speak to him alone; surely that fire had not faded yet. But then she spoke, renewing confidence in her voice as each word passed her lips. A missing persons case. The idea caught him by surprise, if only briefly, a quirk of the eyebrow, a twitch at the corner of his lips hidden by his concealment. In a way, he found it oddly amusing. Indeed, one could say he specialized in missing persons cases. But only insofar as what to do when the missing person was [i]found.[/i] A rescue, that was new. 

But then came the caveat, the reason the woman was desperate enough to track him down at the last hamlet of civilization before the deep, dark wilds. Taken by bandits, not seen in months. Gods above, she wasn't tracking her sister, she was chasing a memory. Part of him wanted to laugh in her face, out of inn and out of town. But the woman offered coin, and he'd sooner blast himself for a fool than refuse paying work. The woman was at least sensible enough to understand that the chances of her sister being alive were slim, and was willing to accept even a corpse, long as it meant closure - and vengeance. Damon could see as much in her eyes that seemed to glow bright in the warm orange firelight. That kind of anger was one he understood. Went beyond the civilized mind, into man's own nature. Whether it was the time he lost his favorite hound to a pack of wolves; or the hunt for a man--no, monster--who butchered and ate children in one of the nearby villages. Retribution, he understood it. 

Which is why, instead of laughing, he replied as coolly and professionally as ever: [color=slategray]"Five-hundred gold. Two-fifty up front, two-fifty when we find your sister."[/color] At that moment, Agnes returned, bearing a tankard full of mead, which she placed at the table. Dismissing her with a blunt wave of his hand, Damon once more removed the fabric covering his face, taking a deep swig from the tankard before returning it to he table. [color=slategray]"We leave at dawn. Fresh eyes on a fresh trail. Bandit gangs are as common as rats in a sewer. But Dengores aren't. Finish any business you have tonight. Doubt it'll be a short journey ahead of us."[/color]