[piosenniel]

***** DALE - Jarl *****

Jarl sat in the back booth at the King's Inn drawing spirals with his finger on the dark, stained surface of the table. The wood was rough, and worn from the untold number of travellers who had sat here, faced with the same problem. A town he didn't know, no known contacts, and short on funds.

For one wild, brief moment he considered the man who sat, neatly dressed, sipping some small neat drink at the bar. There was sure to be a fat purse concealed beneath his vest, or perhaps tucked into the waistband of his pants. His fingers twitched and he rubbed his palms together in anticipation of the transaction. A small bump against the target, the quick dip, and off he'd go, leaving the pigeon a little lighter for the encounter, and none the wiser.

He caught sight of himself in the puddle of water he had carefully poured on the table. He laughed ruefully and shook his head. 'That was a long, long time ago, Jarl. Look at you. You're older, slower, and too easily recognized.' He laughed and sat back in the booth, watching the patrons come and go.

The door swung open. Letting in the last of the late afternoon sun. An imposing man, a Southron, walked in and looked slowly about the room. The sort of man who could walk into any room and command it as easily as he drew breath. 'An interesting man.' thought Jarl, as he sized him up.

The man's dark eyes fell on Jarl, and he made his way over to the table.