Flames burned bright as a man held a piece of parchment above lapping fire, having accepted and read the contract. It was a straight forward job. He glanced at the parchment again, noting that the flame was eagerly gobbling up the bottom and making it's way to the top. 

[b]"Target: Kray

Mission Parameters: Currently located in, or headed too, the recently revived Hallowed Halls for some unknown reason. The target is preferred alive, but accepted dead without any deduction or change in pay. Reason being his extraordinary abilities in drug enhanced state. Also  apparently ability to craft debuffing drugs that affect targets.

Reward: Recently discovered Book of Secular Runes by Unknown Author" [/b]

He finally let the flame have the parchment. It was his third time reading it, but he had committed it to memory the first time. It was the reward that had called to him, he needed more runes if he were to complete another mission - gaining entry into the Way of the Warrior tournament to find a highly sought after combatant, who was rumored to be vetted for the next tournament. It would be revealed to him when the time was right, but for now, he could only prepare himself. The reward for that was immense as well. 

The Midnight Stalker watched the flame, and the dancing shadows it cast, for another moment. Despite being indoors, there was a slight breeze that blew the flames on a slight south westerly track. He had been within the confines of the building for two days now, time kept track of by way of the sun outside of the windows he passed. There had been no sign of Kray, but he was confident the man was either in the monolithic building already, or he had decided to go to another area. 

It mattered little; the Stalker would have his prey and pay. 

Brushing his hair out of his face, the flames revealed the dark smile that often painted his lips. It was a smile of his that often insinuated that he was about to make a kill, something that was immensely enjoyable to him. Cutting quickly across the room, he darted out into the halls, and made his way upward, towards a large intersection; the flames at his back quickly being consumed by the shadows, as he would be in just another steps.
 
His swords on his back, and at his hip, sheathed in hard boiled leather and wrapped in twine and hair, bounced noiselessly. The shield at his back scarcely moved. The light of his ominous, Light at the end of the String, concealed by his hand and the roped wrapped up his left wrist. 

With a lick of his lips, he settled on the hall to his right hand side. Foot over foot, the assassin made his way down - if for nothing else - to find another place to set up camp and wait for the prey to come to him.

If one were spiritually inclined; they'd swear that behind the man, the spirit of a Trap door spider followed the man, as if stalking him as it's own potential meal.