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

Ivan and his men were clearly arguing as Faen approached them, arms flailing wildly as each man spoke his piece, which was promptly ignored by the next. This could have gone on all night, had the assassin's sudden appearance sent them all into a gradual, heavy silence. The fact the mere sight of him had hushed their discussions, and that their fingers crept towards their belted weapons and their eyes twitched with nervous energy told Faen that he was more than likely they cause of their squabble. 

"Andraste's tits, that's him. . . " muttered one of the cut-throats, a subtle edge to his voice, an edge Faen recognised all to well. It was the outcome of when a man repressed fierce emotions, an audible shake, a precursor to violence. But the assassin wasn't here to fight, not yet at least, so he was careful. He kept his pace slow an measured, not too fast but not to slow either. His hands stayed out of sight, hidden within the long folds of his dark cloak, while his crossbow, wings folded in on itself, sat unloaded and holstered at his waist. His calm demeanour must have had a likewise calming effect on Ivan, as he slowly waved down his men, ordering them to settle themselves. Faen was close now to them now, so Ivan spoke up. 

"Ho there, old friend. Odd time of night to be out." Tiny Ivan was a giant of a man, standing a full head taller than Faen, with the kind of shoulders a bull would be jealous of and hands that looked like they could batter a troll into submission if he took a mind to it. His big face was round and open, and he wore a wide smile, one that didn't quite make it to his eyes. No, his eyes were the only thing wrong with his otherwise friendly visage. Blue, cold and empty, they were utterly devoid of emotion. 

"Late perhaps, but not odd if you have a reason to be out. Do you have a reason to be out Ivan?" Faen's reply was sharp, leaving little room for friendly chatter. Ivan's eyes narrowed slightly, but otherwise his mask of geniality did not slip. 

"No preamble eh? I always liked that about you Faen. I reckon you already know I get my pay from Caleb Losthill know. Now, Caleb hears rumours. Rumours that the merchants are starting to feel a bit hard done by." 

"Merchants always feel hard done by." Faen interjected breezily, with a casual wave of his hand. 

"This times different thought." Ivan continued "This time their mad enough to do something stupid. Stupid like hire an assassin. Ye wouldn't know anything about that, would ye Faen?" There was a significant pause, the silence so thick with tension you could have cut it with a knife. True, if you drew a knife in this company you were liable to catch a faceful of axe blade, but the metaphor still stood. The assassin was forced to pick his words carefully. 

"Are you asking me if I've been hired by the Denerim merchants to kill Caleb Losthill? You know I don't work like that Ivan. Complete discretion towards my employers, even hypothetical ones." The big man sighed at that answer, his hand going towards his belt. Faen stiffened, thinking a fight was about to break out, and even he would be hard pressed to beat seven men in a straight fight. His worry was unfounded for the moment though as Ivan instead produced a large coin purse, and offered it to the assassin. Faen accepted it without a word, surprised at how heavy it was. 

"Let me change tact." Ivan said as Faen opened the pouch. "One of the merchants had a change of heart, I wont say who, but he betrayed you and his comrades. Caleb knows you've been hired to kill him, and he knows who did it. However he knows it isn't personal for you, and he's willing to make a deal. In that pouch is twenty five sovereigns, a gift if you agree to drop the contract against him. He then asks you to turn on your current employers, and is willing to pay double your standard fee per head." The assassin, who had been absently counting the coins in the pouch, couldn't help but arch a brow at Ivan's offer. The amount Caleb was offering was staggering, a Teyrn's ransom in coin. Images of just what he could do with all that coin flashed through his mind. He could travel to Orlais, beg his pardons of the empress and live amongst the bright and the beautiful once more. He could take to Rivain, and buy himself estates in the sun. Hell, with that kind of money he could pay the Crows to stop hunting him. Caleb's men began to relax, assured the assassin would take the offer. 

"It is a good deal." Faen finally said, the last of the tension melting away from the cut-throats. Ivan laughed a good hearty chuckle. One man in the rear breathed a sigh of relief, as none in attendance had relished the thought of fighting Faen the bastard, there was a reason he warranted such a high price amongst prospective employers. 

Therefore it was even more of a surprise when Faen's hand swung out in a wide arc, coins flying from the open pouch in a wide spray, grunts and cries sounding in the night as cold, hard, gold struck men in unprotected faces, necks and hands. One cut-throat was struck in the eye, blood erupting as the coin burst his eye. The assassin's cloak flickered slightly, Mother's Kiss emerging from the cloth like a player stepping past the stage curtains, all of her savage beauty displayed in the night air for the briefest of seconds before she danced forward to lance into Tiny Ivan's belly, the big man making a pig like squeal as the dull metal pierced his flesh. Faen wrenched the blade right then left, warm blood squirting from the wound and spattering his fist and wrist, before he pivoted on his feet and shoulder barged Ivan, the wounded man staggering backwards unsteadily as Mother's Kiss slid easily from the gaping hole in his torso. The cut-throats behind him, still off balance after Faen's sudden attack, were in no position to brace the big mans weight, and could do little but curse as they were all pitched from their feet under Ivan's collapsing bulk. Without missing a beat the assassin darted forward, vaulting Ivan and the men trapped underneath him like a professional tumbler, his free hand flicking a throwing knife forwards as he hit solid ground once more. The blade flew through the darkness to punch into Ivan's archer's throat, the man falling to the ground making a wet gurgling noise. The assassin hadn't even stopped to watch the throw, instead sprinting across the bridge. 

All in all the attack had lasted the best of five seconds, left the archer dead, Ivan dying, and one man crippled, and had been so sudden and unexpected that the rest of Losthill's men were still struggling to make sense of it as Faen's pounding footsteps began to fade into the night. Ivan tried to order his men after the assassin, but the only sound he could make was a pained scream. The gang finally managed to turn and pursue Faen, but by then he was already fading into the shadows on the South side of Denerim. 

Caleb's deal had been a good one, but even Faen had some semblance of honour, and once he had taken a job he would see it through to the end. One way or another Caleb Losthill would die that night.