[b][u]The night before Krios arrives in Denerim[/u][/b]

The darkness was full and encapsulating, no moon or stars to illuminate the streets of Denerim tonight. It was the kind of darkness that made most people thankful to have a lock on their doors, or make children insist that their parents leave a lamp burning through the night. The kind of darkness that men like Faen lived for, one that would wrap them up like a warm blanket and hide their acts from prying eyes. A dark night made for darker deeds.

The assassin made quick time through the streets, his time as an urchin living rough giving him an insight of this city's twisting thoroughfares that would turn a guardsman green with envy. Even at the dead of night he was still more confident traversing this place than most people were through the day. He had an appointment to keep tonight, and he hated to be late. 

Faen had been hired by a collection of Denerim merchants to deal with a problem they'd been having of late. That problem was named Caleb Losthill, a former mercenary lord who had been squeezing the merchants for protection money, claiming if they didn't pay him then their livelihoods good very well be in jeopardy. Two weeks ago one merchant had refused to pay Caleb's extortionate fee's, taking a stand against the former mercenary. The merchant went missing, and still hadn't been found, but word had got round that it was Caleb's doing, and anyone else thinking about skimping on the payments would meet a similar ignominious end. The rest of the merchants had nearly tripped over themselves in their attempts to ingratiate themselves with Caleb, but had secretly contacted Faen with their problem. Faen told them the same thing he told everyone wishing to contract his services. Two hundred and fifty gold sovereigns up front, then another two hundred and fifty sovereigns when the deed was done. It says a lot about how much Caleb was charging them that they were only to happy to pay.

Not that Faen expected this job to be easy, he had no allusions as to that. Losthill was an old mercenary, and as Marco used to say [i]'The only way you get old in that profession is to be as sharp as a executioners axe.'[/i] Couple that with the sort of security systems only an over abundance of money and caution could afford, a small private army, and the rumours that Caleb had somehow managed to procure the services of a apostate mage, then this job was shaping up to be interesting indeed. 

He was approaching the Eastern bridge across Drakon river now, Faen residing in the Northern quarters while his quarry lived in the South. This time of night the bridge should be quiet, save for the occasional drunk or gold-wife, so it was with no small amount of surprise that he heard voices in the night air. Sense's honed by years of training with Marco instantly told him that something about this was not right. He approached the bridge slowly, as soft and quiet as a whisper of the wind, flitting between the shadows, never straying into the light. It took longer, but eventually he had worked his way to the edge of the street overlooking the bridge, the source of his disquiet revealing themselves to him. 

A group of seven men were stood at the mouth of the bridge, arguing amongst themselves in the light of the torches they carried. They were armed well, five carrying clubs or axes, one had a bow slung across his shoulders, and the last, the biggest of the group and probably the leader, had the hilt of a sword showing at his belt. Faen made a noise, between a groan and a sigh, when he realised he recognised the swordsman. Tiny Ivan. Faen and Ivan had been part of the same gang when they were growing up, street rats together. While Faen had eventually left Denerim to pursue other 'interests' Ivan had stayed, upgrading from petty thievery to becoming a full on ruffian and cut-throat. Word was that Ivan had been recently hired by Caleb Losthill to be his man on the streets. Faen's sense of unease grew at the sight of him. 

The fact that he was headed to Caleb's to assassinate him, while Caleb's men were out on a midnight stroll was far to suspicious to be a coincidence. It could only mean one thing, that someone had betrayed him. That was galling in the extreme, but hardly important at the moment. First he had to deal with Caleb's lackeys, then Caleb himself, then he could find out who had decided to knife him in the back. But how to circumvent Ivan? The first option was just to go back the way he had come, then travelling to one of the other two bridges, but chances were they would also be guarded. Second option would be to try and sneak past the men, but that ran the risk of being spotted by them while he was on the bridge, were he would be a sitting duck for the archer in the group, so that was out too. No, as Marco used to say [i]'when all the logical paths are closed to you, all you can do is take an illogical path'[/i]. 

So, Faen did the most illogical thing he could think of. He walked into the light, straight for the Ivan's men.