[i]Reinold Sul'athar, 

Gods' Fury and unfailing warrior, 

I charge with the protection of a woman, with whom the fate of Erelith rests upon. Upon completion of your contract, you will find your price more than satisfied. 

Find your charge in the [color=ed1c24]Burning Mare Inn[/color].[/i]

[center] [color=f26522]Reinold Sul’athar[/color], the[color=fff79a] Outcast[/color]. [color=00aeef](MAIN)[/color][/center]

[center][h1]Artis Port[/h1][/center]

Reinold groaned as the port of Artis came into view. Perhaps he spent too long in the cold climates, but the warm air cut through him. It sapped his energy, and made him sweat in his armor. He had longsince abandoned his coat. Many aboard the ship had complained about the sunlight shining off of his mail, but between overheating or being an eyesore, there was little choice.

“Can’t y’find somethin’ elsewhat to wear?” one of the crew asked. When he received nothing in response, he set down what he was doing and approached the Templar. “Did y’hear me? Or’re ye deaf?” He chuckled, and reached out to give Reinold’s shoulder a shove. “So you’re-“ the sailor was cut short by his own tongue as the Templar turned around.

“[color=f26522]Sod off.[/color]” Reinold towered over the man; his glare far more intense than the sun. He flicked his eyes to the rest of the crew, which sent them busy into their own work. Turning around again, he looked at the oncoming port. He had plenty to think over, and the letter in his hand did little to quell his thoughts. It had found him by name alone; he had no true home, and few his name or whereabouts. For him to be tracked down… the thought baffled him. Perhaps he had let something slip.

The ship reached port, and Reinold stepped off. The boards creaked underneath his boots; prompting him to move quickly. The port was not a far cry from Perona, spare that there were not as many walls. Life bustled through the streets. Merchants shouted over one another in a bid to garner interest. Urchins raced through the crowds to prey upon unattended coinpurses.

Stepping into the crowds, Reinold looked around at the buildings that lined the streets. The letter described one named ‘the [color=ed1c24]Burning Mare Inn.[/color]’ It was there that he would find the beginning of his contract. A woman. While ambiguous, the letter detailed the job of protecting her, no matter where they went. But, why go through the trouble of finding him? Why not anyone else? He was always hired to kill, often discreetly. Bandits were akin to business competitors. His price was not so cheap, but he had yet to fail an agreement. Perhaps that was his draw. 

Reinold stopped as he found the Burning Mare; a building indistinguishable from the others. The place was well-kept to the eye, and there was little to suggest elsewise. There he was, yet something left him hesitant. This was no ordinary job. Resting his hand on the grip of his sword, the Templar pushed open the door. There was nothing but silence to greet him. Stepping inside, he found nobody else, spare at a table in center of the room. Though hidden away under a hood, the figure sitting at the table was clearly a woman; her figure gave it away. 
“[color=f26522]Who are you?[/color]” Reinold asked, stepping inside. The door closed behind him; muffling the noises in the streets. He approached the table, yet stopped a couple paces away. “[color=f26522]If this is a trap, don’t leave me in suspense.[/color]”