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Osanna, like any educated user of the Arcane, knew that darkness did not exist in the way that heat or electricity did. It could not be touched or called forth or created. It was only an emptiness, a lack of sense left behind in the wake of flames or sunshine, an absence of light the way silence is an absence of sound. And yet, as Osanna pulled darkness over herself like a second cloak, she was half-sure she could feel it, cold and silken against her bare cheeks and the backs of her palms.

In broad daylight, the spell would not have completely hidden Osanna. She would appear faded— a ghostly after image of a woman dark leathers, a black hood pulled up over her head. Now, in the middle of a cloudy night, perched in the deep shadow of a noble’s estate, she was invisible so long as she avoided torchlight.

The home of Jaquet Asselin was an old, finely built construction of cream stone with an enormous main building and a south-facing wing complete with a windowed tower, its rough facade boasting rich, red pendants only a little frayed at their ends. The grounds were simply adorned, plants and bushes kept well away from the walls to give passing guards a clear view, their torches spilling light over close-cropped grasses. The reaching fingers of light never touched Osanna where she sat crouched in the loam, her breaths full of the smells of dew-touched earth and smoke, and she smiled as she watched them leave, drawing droplets of power from the fire they carried.

When the night was empty once more, Osanna stood, slipping wraith-like along the side of the south wing until she came to the tower. The protrusion of the tower stone from the wall created a pocket of deeper cover, the darkness so complete that Osanna searched for toe and finger holds more by touch than sight as she began to slowly work her way up. It was a cool evening, wind stirring the long train of her cloak, but not cold enough for ice to be a concern, and the rough stone provided enough leverage that Osanna did not even have to expend Force magic to aid herself up— a good thing too. Tonight’s supplicant was a magic-user, and it was always best to go in with as many tricks as possible when facing a stronger opponent.

Near the top, Osanna moved, spider-like from the corner around to the front of the tower where a window sat latched against the chill. Flickering light from a single lard candle filtered from it, weak and tenuous against the night. She pressed her forehead to the glass, peering between the iron frame that held the individual pieces in place. It was just translucent enough to give an impression of the room— chairs, bookshelves, and a tall desk with what appeared to be a human sitting with their back to her. Excellent. The household servants had been correct.

With a tiny amount of telekinesis , Osanna flicked open the window’s latch and slid it open just an inch, a breath of warm air and the scents of paper and mulled wine rushing out to meet her. She perched in complete stillness for fifteen heartbeats, relaxing when she heard the shuffling of parchment within. Osanna drew a small, hard leather tube from a pouch at her waist and pulled it open with only a little resistance from the two pieces. Carefully she shook a single small dart onto the windowsill, leaning close to assure herself that it was dipped in white wax even as her other arm trembled from the effort of holding her in place. Another morsel of telekinesis was enough to wish the paralyzer into the room and the neck of the figure sitting behind the desk, but Osanna didn’t relax until she heard him slump.

There was no knowing why Jaquet Asselin needed to be killed. Such moral quandaries were best left to those higher within the church—bishops and archbishops and the occasional abbot or abbess. Osanna was merely a clever knife in Echeran’s hands. A blade very apt at blood-letting.

She slipped, shadow-silent into the room, taking in the friendly disarray of parchment, books, and scrolls. A quill still rested in the hand of the still-breathing man at the desk, its black-tipped feather resting gently against a signet ring on Jaquet Asselin’s middle finger. Voices came distantly from the hall, but those that passed knew better than to disturb the estate’s master. The door stayed firmly closed.

Osanna drew her long knife, pausing long enough to slip off the man’s ring before she carved open his neck, spilling a river of crimson gore over the beautiful hardwood desk. The poison kept him quiet— Osanna did not even know if he was aware until it all ended. [color=000000][b]“Safe passage, blessed of Echeran. May you find peace in the Pentad’s embrace.”
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The only thing to Osanna left for those who found the corpse was a hand print in dead man’s blood

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[b][color=000000]“It’s finished, your grace.” [/color][/b]

Osanna slipped cheerfully into the private office of the Archbishop of Relouse on a beautiful Stresian morning, her hair newly braided with a few small, white wildflowers and free of her dark cloak. There was a songbird at the window, and the smell of fragrant tea wafted up from the archbishop’s teacup.

[b]“Oh?”[/b] The archbishop looked up from his morning reading of the Menanne to take her in. He hadn’t been expecting her this morning, and as they had not yet formally met, he would not know why she’d come. Neither did he look particularly put off, probably assuming that she’d been let up by those meant to protect him.

To remedy his confusion, Osanna laid the signet ring of Jaquet Asselin on the desk before him, stepping into a patch of sunlight coming through an open window, and basking in the warmth. This was a young man for an archbishop, she thought, and he took his time examining the ring before looking up at her again.

[b]“Osanna Le’Noir, I presume?”[/b]

[b][color=000000]“Yes, your grace.”[/color][/b] She smiled at him winningly and gave a little bow.

[b]“I believe your abbess told you that your purpose here would be two-fold. One, to act for Aun-Echeran, and the other… Did she tell you what it was? I must confess you are not what I was expecting.”[/b]

[b][color=000000]“I find that I rarely am.”[/color] [/b]Osanna had only been told only that this would be a task that might take months or even years. It was a long time to be away from home for sure, but she found herself enthused by the prospect. Was she being sent to Eskand to make a difference in the coming war? [b][color=000000]“But no. She did not tell me.”[/color][/b]

[b]“There is a war brewing in Parrence, Osanna. Even now Eskandr ships make their way to our coastline, and the Church will stand with King Arcel against the onslaught. Monasteries and convents all over Parrence are sending money, supplies, food, and warriors. Your convent has chosen to send you.”[/b] Osanna couldn’t tell if he was impressed with this offering or not. [b]“King Arcel has already received word of your addition to his force. You will travel there and lend them your strength, and should King Arcel ask you to use your skills, you will treat each request as though they came from Aun-Echeran herself.”[/b]

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There was a rumor circulating camp of a welcoming force to harry the Eskandr as they sailed to the cape, and as Osanna had no better task to occupy her time, she left the fires of the Red Rezaindians she had recently befriended and set about finding her horse and a bow unless some other distraction came along first…