[h3] Drostan Welm / "Osmund Griff" - Dalenham, Ethora [/h3]

[hr]

Drostan didn't acknowledge Edon beyond a grunt. He didn't have a terribly strong opinion of the man, but there was something about him. Drostan could almost smell the high society on him, as far as his mannerisms went. If he wasn't blue-blooded, as Drostan had the feeling he was, then he was sure that Edon [i]wished[/i] he was. His stiffness and formality when talking to Varian and his lack of a greeting for Drostan didn't much help his distaste. But at the moment, it was just that, distaste. He couldn't bring himself to hate him, certainly not yet. At least the man had proved himself a capable warrior. He'd never turn up his nose at the prospect of a skilled halberdier on his flank.

He raised an eyebrow as Edon took the money without counting it. Odd, but he understood. When he first started taking jobs on his own, a few years ago in Falke, he had never wanted to count his money in front of his clients. It felt rude, but after the second time, he'd been cheated he'd made it a habit. As such he made sure to count this, too. But he did it sort of lazily, just opening the bag and doing a quick count with his eyes, shifting the coins around to be sure it looked right. If he was dealing with a contractor, he'd have dumped it out on the table and made a show of counting each coin, but Varian had shown himself a decent sort so far and, besides, company commanders, in general, were good about this sort of thing. Most realized it wasn't wise to cheat the people who traveled, slept, and ate with you, all while armed. 

He frowned as the short man found them and started speaking to Varian. Jobs for anonymous clients were always on the shadier side. He had his doubts that the brigands were actually brigands and that the man's daughter was actually his daughter, but there was no way to know for sure unless they did the mission. The way he figured, either they were hired and they did the job themselves, or they turned it down and the man found some even nastier bunch of bastards to do it. 

"Could always do with a bit more silver." Drostan said, without much expression. He took a drink of his ale, but kept his eyes on the man. He was rich, plainly. If the robe and the garb concealed beneath didn't give that away, the payment he was offering did. He didn't trust the man, didn't trust the job, didn't trust the money. "Your daughter, sir. What's her name?" He locked eyes with the man, trying to read him. "It's just, the way I figure, might be hard to find her if we don't even know her name."