Balthazar continued his casual consumption of tobacco for several moments, before emptying his pipe outside the window, letting the cold breeze scatter the remaining ashes to the four winds. As he watched the town from a distance, something alighted upon the windowsill:

A white bird, with skin of paper, and feathers of ink. 

The irony of a Record-Hunter --a familiar that makes no sound-- taking the form of a songbird was not lost upon the man. Balthazar neatly tucked away his pipe, before raising a hand to allow his familiar to come closer. The origami figure hopped onto the palm of his hand, before unfolding into several sheets of parchment.

"[color=#239C89]Now, what have you found?[/color]"

The spymaster quickly scanned the document, reading it twice over, before committing it to memory. Balthazar then set the parchment down, picked up his tome and cane, and then snapped his fingers; casting a spell to extinguish the candles in the room, leaving only the one on his desk. His bedroom was soon engulfed in darkness, save for a single flame, flickering in the wind.

His preparations were only half-complete, though. Were he in his prime, he would have been able to set a proper magical trap, but his old age has limited his repertoire. Instead, he must improvise. Balthazar walked over to the darkest corner of the room opposite the desk, uttering an incantation underneath his breath. Soon, he was shrouded in shadows, wisps of blackness emanating from his body like fog. In this light (or lack thereof), he was nigh-invisible to those without the ability to see in darkness.

The old man then simply stood there, an ominous figure in the blackness... and waited.

Several moments later, they had arrived, just as his familiar had reported. As the door creaked open, the spymaster made no sound-- he would have one chance to turn the tide. A man dressed in a black hood soon entered the room, dagger in hand. The assassin looked about the room and failed to spot anyone, instead opting to read the papers strewn about the desk-- likely to see if this was the room they were searching for.

"This is his room." The assassin confirmed his lookout's thoughts, beckoning the other to enter the room. "Let's grab his files and start looking for him."

Even so, Balthazar was silent as they rifled through his things. He had been careful enough to leave nothing particularly valuable upon the desk, yet incriminating enough to catch their eye. The true trap, however, would reveal itself momentarily. As the lead assassin stopped to inspect a stack of parchments, he became entranced with the various esoteric symbols written upon its surface. Although he could not comprehend the language, his head began to hurt.

"Ngh... what in the Nine Hells?" He said underneath his breath as he averted his eyes.

He did not notice the symbols grow brighter until it was too late.

In an instant, the pain had intensified-- a mental attack! This elicited a grunt of agony and caused the man to drop the stack of papers. The parchments then reformed into a miniature origami figurine resembling a winged serpent, and leaped at the intruder who had read its master's work. Meanwhile, Balthazar stepped forth from the shadows and took aim, quickly releasing the spell he had prepared beforehand, firing off a blast of inky darkness at the other assassin, clipping the man's lower leg and causing him to stumble.

"[color=#239C89]Surrender quietly.[/color]" The old man said ominously. "[color=#239C89]For your own sakes.[/color]"

Although initially caught by surprise, the assassins quickly reoriented themselves--it seemed they had little interest in going quietly. The first assassin tried to turn towards Balthazar, but with the Record-Hunter running constant interference, it was difficult for him to lend any meaningful assistance to his comrade. The second assassin rose to his feet, blood seeping from his injured leg, and raised a dagger towards the warlock, before charging forward. The old man leaned away from the first swing, before ducking out of the way of the second strike.

The familiar then wrapped its long, serpentine body around the man's feet to try and trip him up, finding moderate success in binding those appendages together. The warlock, not to be left undone, then fired off another blast of dark energy at his assailant, the ray of shadows only managing to graze the assassin's shoulder.

All this ruckus, however, could be heard from outside the room, in the halls. If Balthazar wished to force a retreat or dispose of these assassins, it would be as simple as using some of his more powerful spells... but he needed them alive, and for that, he needed help. He did not say it, but he was counting on some reinforcements.

Whether or not they would arrive on time, however, was up to Fate... and until Fate would provide him that opportunity, Balthazar would hold out as long as he could.