Huddled against the side of a house, Matthew cradles both of his hands in the pit of his arms. He allows himself a moment's longing for the warm fires of the surrounding houses and steeled himself to the cold. It was with mixed emotions that he returned to his hometown. It couldn't have been more then simple coincidence that his employer chose this town for a meeting place. At the very least he hoped it wasn't anything more — he had heard more then enough fairy tails where a long lost relative surfaced when least expected. But, in his opinion, the stories didn't go far enough. No doubt the relative in question would be destitute and demand monetary compensation on some "familial" terms. He scoffed. Ya right.
A lone figure — lone, simply in the sense that he has made himself stands out amongst the crowd of fur enveloped people — approaches Matthew who shakes his head despairingly. First rule: one does not "act" common he simply is. The approaching man was so obviously acting that it makes him stand out all the more. Noticing Matthew he motions for him to follow him into a contiguous house. Once the pair of men had broached the threshold the rounded Araxian man, Ryerson — though he still believed himself nameless — relaxed visibly.
"Matthew" he says with a smile, "my favorite little Empath." He refrains himself from correcting him: Only little Empath.
"I have my report Sir." There is no hint of jest in his voice, direct, to the point.
Ryerson's smile slips and with a an "Ah." that could only be described as dejected he indicates for him to continue.
"The Duke remains inundated in his whiskey and seemingly oblivious to the troubles of the realm. Recently however he has sent a messenger by the name of Thomas with a letter of currently unknown contents to an unknown recipient." The employer seemed to darken slightly with disappointment. "I work with facts sir, of which I have very few." The man had the decency to blush lightly. "I can, however, offer some postulation. The messenger had his mind fix quite firmly on two subjects: Khan Osmani, and, presumably, Lady Allot. Either he was addressing the letter Isabelle the subject of which was the Khan, or visa versa. Both seem equally plausible."
Ryerson assumed a contemplative look which seemed quite out of place on his face. "And the fate of the messenger? Should it not have been obvious to whom it was addressed if you had followed him?"
"That had been my initial plan Sir, but the cudgellers got to him before he even left the city." — an indignant splutter — "It seems like common sense that this being the first major political action from our Duke that it might attract attention of the neighboring nobles."
A moment of silence ensues. Internally Metthew kicks himself for that last comment of his. Never insult the client. He waits.
"Understood Matthew." Ryerson now adopting a mule's disposition of masticating every word. "In any case, the safety of the lady Allot is my prime concern. Your price for a mercenary's commission?"
Matthew smiles. This was man he could get along with — at least as long as his purse stayed full.