Vaerun drifted through the slums on the outskirts of Providence, looking every inch the beggar that he was pretending to be. In the slums, you never made it very far without an "accident" unless you looked like an accident had already befallen you. Fortunately, this wasn't his first visit to the tiny trash pile that so many of Providence's poor called home, and he had chosen his outfit appropriately. His shirt had originally been a natural white color, but a day spent rubbing it in mud and dust had changed that, including purposefully tearing holes in the sleeves in areas where he never bothered to conceal anything useful anyways. The shredded remains of his pants were more akin to shorts, their longest part stopping just below his knees and caked in mud. Vaerun deeply wished he could have worn his boots today, but most beggars lacked even the most basic of sandals, and he was not going to stand out as an exception.

Vaerun ran a dirty hand through his dusty, ebon colored hair, groaning inwardly at how much further he had to travel to reach the agreed upon rendezvous point. He didn't know why, but one of his oldest acquaintances had sent him a message he couldn't ignore, and Vaerun was determined to find out why. And so he continued to walk through the streets, eager to see this meeting over and done with, but at the same time trying not to draw attention to himself.

After another hour of walking, Vaerun finally pushed open the door to the Rich Joke, a tavern located even further on the outskirts of Providence. For some reason, the first owner of what was now one of the roughest taverns in the city thought that so long as he watered down the drinks and paid his workers in that same mead, he would make a handy profit from even the poor here in the slums. That owner was long gone now, his body buried somewhere in the basement after a card game gone wrong. The current proprieter was a bald, sickly looking man who smelled of things Vaerun tried his hardest not to contemplate as he approached him.

"I'm here for a meeting," Vaerun said.

"What do I look like, a skin merchant?," the man grunted back in reply, pretending to clean a filthy looking tankard.

"No, you look like a dog got drunk and mated with one of the ugliest crabs in existence," Vaerun retorted, slapping a gold coin down on the table. "I'm looking for Geoffrey."

" Well you should have just said so," the man replied, taking the coin and biting it to test its authenticity. Seemingly satisfied, he answered "Room eight. Upstairs."

With that finished, Vaerun turned and walked up the slowly rotting wooden planks that had been nailed together in a crude imitation of stairs. Continuing until he found the appropriate room, Vaerun checked once more to make sure the knife he had pressed against his side was still safely in place and concealed before knocking once and entering.

There across the room, was an old man clad in thick traveler clothing sitting behind an oaken desk covered in parchment. Leaning back in the chair, Geoffrey did not even acknowledge Vaerun's existence, leaving him to break the silence himself.

"What do you want Geoffrey?," Vaerun said, leaning against the wallnext to the door. When still he received no answer, Vaerun began to grow impatient.

"Do I look like I have time for your games old man,," Vaerun growled, and was answered once more by silence.

What was going on here, he wondered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He pushed off the wall, approaching Geoffrey cautiously, his instincts screaming at him from some unknown danger. As he approach, he noticed that not only was Geoffrey silent, the man wasn't even breathing.

Vaerun ran, pulling open the door in time for the first city guardsman to come barreling through. They slammed into each other, and instincts honed by years on the streets sprang into action. As the guardsman raised his cudgel, Vaerun jammed his fingers into the gap between the man's helmet and breastplate, smashing the man's Adam's apple. As the other man gasped, Vaerun rolled away from him, starting to sprint towards the door but drawing up short as the rest of the guard's patrol entered the room.

Vaerun began to step backwards as he came face to face with half a dozen guardsmen. One, a cleaner looking fellow with a long mustache and gold filigree on his helmet smirked and cast a glance at his fallen companion. "I suppose we'll add attempted murder of a guardsman to the charges then. Citizen Vaerun of Providence, you are under arrest for murder, assault, treason of he highest order, and conspiracy t assassinate highly placed members of this city's lawfully elected council. Please, resist if you dare."