Leon began to quietly move through the crowd, feeling the pull of Mask as Lord Hastlon began his speech. To those nearby he was simply another face in the crowd, perhaps a guest suddenly feeling a need for the bathroom or moving for a better vantage point, but it was the whispers he left in his wake that began to separate the wheat from the chaff. It was a simple skill, looking like you were speaking to someone else deeper in the crowd while allowing your words to overheard by those around you.

[b]“My reason for having you all here is because… there is a matter of grand import to me. Me and the folk of this dale.”[/b]

"More like important to his pockets. He'll always be the man in charge, collecting his dues from those who break their backs doing the work," he said, leaving the poisonous words in his wake as he passed by some of the more shifty looking individuals.

[b]“I have need of… worthy and capable sorts for an expedition, if you will. Perhaps it is better to call it a ‘plot’, but that is an ugly word, isn’t it?”[/b]

"Ugly, but accurate. What goodly god or man would approve of this shadowplay?," he muttered as he passed by the human who's shoulder bore the symbol of helm.

[b]“My interests lay in Scardale Town. Which some of you most likely know, if you pay any mind to affairs of the dale these days.”[/b]

"The old capital? He must be mad, the shaking plague is still ravaging the city!," another whisper left drifting into the ears of the man he had spoken to earlier. The rumbles of whispers were already gathering in his wake, and like a conductor he slowly let them build, overlapping stories and voices until they built into a symphony of stressed whispers that plucked at the minds of the weak. It wouldn't do much, but for those on the edge of the fence, it would give a good shove over the edge. Already he could hear the boot heels of at least two people beginning to head for the doors. Good riddance.

[b]“I will spare you all the pomp and grandeur. I am sending this little… ‘effort’ east, into Scardale Town. That is of course, those of you who think yourself capable and willing of such a dangerous undertaking. Dangerous but very profitable, I assure you.”[/b]

Leon turned back to face Lord Hastlon, though his own face was lost in the crowd. He took this opportunity to do his own scan of the crowd, watching their face and body language as individuals began to clump into groups. The small smiles on some of their faces spoke of the great greed that motivated them, others displayed wider grins showing their teeth and outwardly displaying their taste for violence. Very few actually seemed excited for the prospect of helping their beleaguered town, and Leon would be lying to himself if he couldn't help but share a similar sentimentality. It was a remnant of his old life before the temple. Of a man who existed only as a mask now.

His eyes settled once more on a face in the shadows. The elven-blooded woman he had spotted earlier was curiously standing alone, no companions or bodyguards nearby from what he could tell. Following his earlier instinct he made his way back towards her, stepping out of the crowd and then turning back to face Lord Hastlon as though he were the primary focus of his attention.

"Do you believe him?," he asked, "Scardale is a mess right now both in terms of man and monsters."

He pulled a single gold coin from his pouch, the simplest sleight of hand making it appear between his fingers and roll over the back of his knuckles like a common street magician. "Coin for your thoughts? You look like the only other person here with a far bit of sense."