"Are you a member of the band of the red hand?" Aemond asked. The man replied "Well that could all depend on what you want with the band, but supposing I say yes?" The man tugged his cloak tighter and Aemond saw his heavily bandaged hands. He sighed, a cripple, who seemed to be resentful, this man could be annoying. And Aemond's temper was shortening, brought about by the cold rain.

"I wish to join the band, I heard about them during my travels. Do you know how I can join them. Or not?"

OOC: Sorry I took a while to respond, work's kinda hectic.

It was raining. Hard. Aemond snarled under his breath, he hated the rain. No, not the rain itself, but the feeling of cold, wetness slipping down between his eyes, down his shoulder blades, over his back. He had seen too many wet days before. Aemond pulled his cloak tighter about him and tucked himself further into the hood. His clothing underneath the cloak would do him little good against the rain.

He wore a pair of black leather trousers tucked into heavy weather-worn tan boots, and topped by a belt that held his long-sword, a two foot length of steel shaped that was light enough for him to hold the hand-and-a-half hilt with one hand, leaving him free to wield his long dagger. He wore a loose faded red tunic over top, tucked into the belt, with tie strings at the throat. He had leather gauntlets atop the tunic over his forearms and tight black leather gloves over his hands. His short, close-cropped dark bronze hair did little to stop the chill in the air from reaching him.

Aemond stopped, looking around him. Someone was nearby, following him. He squinted and reached up, scratching the two-day growth on his chin. Perhaps he had found the Band of the Red Hand's encampment. He turned to face a scout, his or her gender hidden by the cloak that it wore.

"Are you a member of the Band of the Red Hand?" Aemond asked and waited patiently for a response.

Ok. That does make sense. It is changeable, as with all things written, it can be rewritten.