((OOC: Okay, so, just an idea that's been bouncing around in my head for a while... exploring the "early, pre-Drasnia days" of Nyx Shyn'dyn and the folks he might have met along the way. Recent conversations with Celeste have inspired this latest "collaborative writing" experiment... Enjoy...))

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Salkad e'a anoron en I'sereg'wethrin (Dancing into the Assassin's Dawn)
Labaram, Vaharon
From behind a gossamer veil of clouds that streaked the night sky over Vaharon, the blue and white stars that were The Eyes of Uelaereene stared down upon the world and, on the edge of a darkness deeper than that of simple nightfall, just inside the shadow-strewn mouth of a small cave that burrowed into the foothills of the Idudir Mountains, found the moon-colored eyes of a lone mith'ganni gazing questioningly back. No words passed between the celestial representation of ‘She who finds the way' and the elf that had long looked to her for direction. There were no chants, no songs, not even a whisper to hint at the questions to which the Twilight Elf so desperately sought answers,

Perhaps it was that Uelaereene had come to expect these sorts of things and, for the lack of them, now, was unsure as how to guide the errant son of Shanurdir's steppes. She had the answers to give if only he would ask.

Perhaps it was that the mith'ganni, having followed those traditions and, in the end, seen them lead his clan to its doom, no longer found solace in those trappings and found only the cruelty of fate as reward for his devotion. Nyx Shyndyn no longer asked for answers, he demanded them.

,There was only a long, cold silence as the stars and the elf glared at one another. A set of all-seeing, celestial eyes locked in an angry staring contest with mortal ones that had once gazed back in awe and wonder, and the stars blinked first.

The gauzy veil from behind which Uelaereene had watched thickened into an ever darkening shroud as storm clouds roiled over the mountains and overtook the wispy cousins that had preceded them. The Eyes of Uelaereene only dimmed, at first, and continued to watch the mith'ganni in anticipation of his prayer even though they were diminished to negligible pinpricks. That supplication never came, though, and it wasn't long before the stars winked away entirely. When they did, the mith'ganni sighed and let his gaze drift eastward, ahead of the incoming front, and toward where Shanurdir and the life he had once had there were, now, years behind him. He had only an instant to lament the loss of that life and to be reminded of the fact that he could never go back,

Oh, no. There is no going back. You have already gone far beyond that.

,He had only just begun to imagine what the plains would look like at this time of year when his tired eyes, in search of that far-off point where he knew his beloved steppes must lie, let go of The Eyes of Uelaereene and skipped across the sky to glimpse the sharp, red flaring of the constellation known as Threadcutter's Axe where it hung over the human city not far away,

And no time for being tired, either, Shyndyn. There is work to be done and preparations to be made.

,His gaze dipped from the heavens, then, and framed the round-ear sprawl he had heard named Labaram. He had also heard that, in this town there was what humans called an inn or a tavern named The Lion's Pride. And the monkey-faced breeder who owned that tavern also owned a mith'ganni woman whom he made dance for the entertainment of his customers and, likely, himself, as well.

"It will be raining soon," Nyx murmured, huddling himself in the cloak he had draped over his shoulders as his eyes turned back to the sky, "it would be better to wait,"

Why wait? The storms will provide just the cover you need. The rains will come and send the humans scurrying for shelter. More than the usual number will seek out this Lion's Pride as their refuge on a night like this and, the more crowded the place is, the less likely they'll be to notice an unattended point ear has slipped in amongst them, yes?

Another sigh blew past the elf's lips and his eyes let go of the torch-lit town to trace back to the churning skies. The red stars of The Threadcutter's Axe still shown mercilessly through the scudding clouds, though, it seemed, all other constellations, along with the sliver of a moon, had succumbed to the demands of the weather and had abandoned their places, "The last stars in the sky," he muttered, drawing the cowl of his cloak over his head as he rose to his feet, "and their wisdom cannot be refuted,"

The phantom voice that had followed him since that day laughed softly, knowingly, and almost warmly. Of course not, it hissed amidst the patter of raindrops as they began to break on the stone lip of the cave's mouth, Keep following those stars, Nyx, and you shall get what it is you want. I have promised you this, already, yes?

"Yes," Nyx whispered, hands moving beneath his cloak to check the readiness and position of the blades secreted away there,

And I have shown you that it will be so, have I not?

The mith'ganni nodded. "You have shown me vengeance, Prien, yes," he answered as he stepped out into the night, "but I have yet to find Lyssa."

Ah, but the vengeance is a start on that path, mith'ganni, the voice assured him, a flash of blue-white lightning dance amongst the thunderheads and the light rain broke into a rumbling cloudburst for emphasis, You have tracked the slavers that took your people this far by my guidance, have you not? Gotten the satisfaction of gutting more than one of the lot in attendance on that day, yes?

"I have," Nyx acknowledged in a hushed growl as he crept through the shadows alongside the Imperial trade road that snaked its way into Labaram, "but have yet to find Lyssa,"

But you are on the path, Nyx, that is the point. Mayhap this mith'ganni dancer at the tavern will be your Lyssa, or another of your clan, at least, who will confirm what I have been telling you,

It would be wisest not to focus on that, now, though. I have work for you, here, Shyndyn, and I need your attentions fully on that work. The reward you seek will be found in the performance of my task. Have faith in that.

"Yes, yes," Nyx affirmed, "Work to be done. Preparations to be made. Shhh."

~~~~~~

The storm had provided the cover Nyx needed to slip into Labaram without having drawn the slightest bit of attention and, even beyond the gates where the light of candles and torches pared shadows away to much smaller patches, the weather made recompense for anything lost to the light, When the shadows were forced to let him go the rain and the winds masked his passing and not an eye aside from those in the heads of gods and devils caught sight of the Twilight Elf as he slithered through the city's streets and found his way to "The Lion's Pride." There, he clung to the shadows, waiting until a knot of seven or eight round-ears, clustered close together, heads bowed, and cloaks drawn against the rain, tried to shove through the tavern's doors as one body. Taking advantage of the frantic jostling, Nyx loathingly interposed himself in the log-jam of human meat, and got himself worked into the place without so much as a glance and, once over the threshold, wasted no time in finding himself a dimly lit table which afforded him a view of the room but still some bit of anonymity.

The Lion's Pride, Labaram, Vaharon

Amcaria's eyes slide out of focus as she stared out of the little window in her room. Fortune had been on her side ever since Brumwell had deigned to give her a room of her own a little over two years ago. It was little more than a cupboard, but it had a window the size of a breadbox that allowed her to catch a glimpse of the sky above. Brumwell had decided to ‘upgrade' her living arrangements due to all of the revenue that she brought into the Lion's Pride. A small sleeping pallet was shoved against one wall, leaving just enough room for a rickety three legged stool, a chipped porcelain wash basin with pitcher on the floor, and a small table with a cracked mirror set upon it. An assortment of lip stains, rouge, and eye pencils were scattered upon its surface, along with a small porcelain vase holding a withered white carnation.

The breeder had insisted that the make-up would make the patrons think she was more attractive. The mith'ganni thought she looked more like a whore. The resultant bruise on her upper thigh was now nearly faded from the last time she had not worn it. Tonight the make-up was already in place, and she now searched the heavens. Amcaria had made it a habit to tribute a dance each night to a constellation in the sky. The view from the tiny window usually showcased one per night. The Eyes of Uelaereene winked at her before disappearing behind a veil of clouds. So it was to be She who finds the way tonight. On the nights that the mith'ganni was allowed to prowl the streets, she had meticulously tracked the progress of the stars. It was a dying tradition that she clung to; an attempt to maintain her identity. An attempt that was slowly failing.

Getting up from the stool, she let her tunic and pants slide to the floor before picking up one of her dancing outfits. She slipped into a black full circle skirt half done in white embroidery. The design was one of her clan's, but it didn't matter here. Only some would recognize the pattern as being ‘a filthy point ear's', nothing more. Her matching long sleeved choli also bore the same design, the tight fitting sleeves that hinted at the shape underneath swirled and thickened with thread the closer it got to the wrist. As she closed the small buttons up to plunging neckline, she remembered the amount of time spent embroidering the two items. Not that I had very much else to do these last five years. She smirked as she fingered the scars hidden underneath her sleeves. Except that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by three loud booms that resounded through the room as someone pounded on the door. The porcelain vase wobbled dangerously and she shot her hand out to steady it. A scowl shot across her face as she looked back to the door. Slime eating sweat doused metal loving pacher! The knocks indicated that it was time for her to hurry her ass up and get out on stage. Amcaria was sure that Brumwell enjoyed hearing her trinkets rattle to the floor; his pounding usually rattled the wooden walls. Occasionally the little window shuddered violently and threatened to break, but so far the fates had smiled upon her. Especially tonight, had the window broken rain would have poured in onto the sleeping pallet. As if to punctuate the point, lightening flashed across the sky, momentarily illuminating the Twilight Elf's slightly haunted face.

She slipped out into the hallway barefooted. The establishment was well enough off that most of the areas and rooms aside from the common room were carpeted. The result was that her footsteps were muffled in the empty corridor, and she paused outside the door that would lead to the stage area. The mith'ganni allowed herself a moment before subjecting herself to yet another night of cat calls and leering. She wiggled her toes into the carpet threads as she listened to crowd through the door, gauging the level of boisterousness that she would be subjected to. The maroon jacketed band had been playing for a couple of hours, and the noise level indicated that there was a larger crowd then would normally be occupying the Lion's Pride. Rain.

Kristopher Brumwell liked to keep Amcaria off stage until later on in the evenings to allow the patrons to get liquored up. The round ear had some theory about money spent versus liquor consumed and factoring in a mith'ganni dancer all at the right time to increase sales. The whole conjecture was explained to her upon arrival to the Lion's Pride, and after about forty five minutes of hand waving and loud punctuations, she thought the breeder was full of it. Apparently she had been wrong; the crowd had increased exponentially since she began her ‘career' of dancing, much to the delight of Brumwell. He had shown his pleasure in a few different ways, none being particularly pleasing for her.

The heavy wooden door creaked as she stepped out into the common room. She deftly dodged around a scruffy looking noble whose hand had reached up to pinch her and stepped nimbly onto the stage. A round of drunken cheering and whistling rose up from the crowd, and she dropped into a humiliating curtsey. One of the bards, Sam, picked up a gittern while the rest of his comrades trooped off the stage in search of drink. He looked up at her, gave her a small wink, and struck up a rather dramatic folk tune. That would make it easier. Uelaereene would respond better to a strong tribute of passion rather than a meek accolade. She raised her hands and gave the crowd one last look before allow herself to succumb to her dance. Scantily clad serving girls flitted in and out of an ever growing mob of people. A flash of lightening showed a group of men struggling to fit through the door, and their protests rose over the din in the common room. A glass broke as a well dressed man stumbled over an askew chair. Her skirt swirled away from her hips as she bent her knees and twirled on the spot. Then her body belonged to the music and the stars.

It was false light. The fires that were normally dosed by the height of night were still blazing. The sounds of drums and voices rose thick in the air. For those who could understand the exotic dialect, it was apparent that the clan was singing an ancient chant of guidance. The stars had been shifting dramatically over the last fortnight. Messages that had never been seen before were now etched in the sky above. Messages that spoke of separation. Messages that spoke of trials. Messages that spoke of loss. The ritual fires had been lit, and the shaman ordered all to participate in hopes that one might transcend mundane thought and come to a greater understanding.

She swayed next to the fire, moving with every beat of the chant. Music and song coursed through her veins, allowing her to succumb to the rhythm of the stars. With her eyes closed, she gently raised her arms towards the east as the sun began to rise over the horizon. The Queldstar believed that dawn was one of the two most sacred times of the day. A time when the celestial bodies of the heavens are in perfect harmony with the forces at work on earth. It was also the point when the light-eyed elves were the weakest.

It was dawn when it happened.

The Mith'ganni never did figure out how the breeders had gotten past their patrols. The most likely case was that the humans took advantage of the ritual, and sent scouts ahead to silence the outlying elves. Most had been distracted at the outcome of the Feanorelda; the extensive ritual took the better part of the week.

It didn't matter. The Queldstar had their answer. Most were killed in the initial wave. Only women and children were spared, and it was only a few at that. She was one of them.

Amcaria Elenmiel.

Was it destiny, or cruel fate that had spared her? At first she was convinced that she had survived to keep their traditions alive. It was what she had been cultivated to do. Years of training in the art of the heavens and in the ceremonies of her people. But now the twinges of despair crept into the corners of her mind. Nights that once were merely restless were now filled with terror and hopelessness. She would wake screaming as the struggle took over her entire being.

Her attempts at freedom grew less and less frequent. The stars were ambiguous at best, or was she clouded by her own mind? The nights she spent outside of the tavern grew more akin to stalking the stars rather than following them. Nevertheless she still watched them, and in doing so slowly fed the dying fire inside her soul.

...but it still burned...

She stood watching the storm outside her little window in the aftermath of the evening. The din of the tavern had died down in the last hour or so, and the Twilight Elf was able to give the stage the slip without much trouble. Brumwell had managed to attract a human female for the evening, so she was mercifully left alone. It also meant that it would be easier to exit the establishment. Skirt and choli lay discarded next to the rickety table. Amcaria couldn't peel out of them fast enough; she highly doubted the human stench would ever leave its folds.

The Mith'ganni scrubbed herself every evening with tallow soap, leaving her skin slightly raw but thankfully free of the breeder's smell. Well, at least as free as she could be from it. Their reek permeated every fiber of the building, lingered on every corner on the street, and saturated the tallest of eaves. It was hardly her concern this evening. She stood barefooted in her flax tunic and pants and attempted to gauge the weather. She had been bereft of any additional coverings as punishment for her last foray outside the Lion's Pride. Or at least, the last time she was caught.

Would the gale subside? Would it rage on? When would she get the next opportunity to leave her small prison to the larger one of the city? Dare she risk the cold, or stay in the comfort of her little hole? Amcaria glowered at the sky with that last thought, and resolved to head out, cloak or no. Long, silvery grey locks were gathered up in a bun secured by two thin wooden dowels; with that at least she could keep her neck free of sodden hair.

As the knot of round-ears that Nyx had slipped in with untangled themselves one from the other and doffed their sodden cloaks before seeking a spot at a table, the mith'ganni chose to keep his own cloak gathered around him and didn't hesitate to find himself a place amidst the throng of patrons that had sought refuge in the Lion's Pride, tonight. He clung to the shadows, both those that fell between the patches of candle and lantern light in the room itself and, when he was confronted with a lack thereof, those less substantial ones provided by the depth of his cowl and the fall of his cloak, as he made his way toward a small table nestled in one corner of the room.

It had become the way of things since he had left Shanurdir behind, keeping to the shadows, staying wrapped in the cloak of darkness, be it physically or otherwise, and a thousand other little "tricks" that were employed to keep him from being noticed overmuch. The economy and brevity of movement, the subtle sidesteps and intentional misdirection of gestures, the making certain not to hold anyone's gaze for longer than the flickering of a star. Nyx was skilled in these things even before the stars led him away from the steppes, they were, after all, the same skills used in the hunt, weren't they? The only difference, now, is that his prey was seldom buffalo or wolf or any other beast of the plains; now he hunted beasts of a different and more treacherous sort, Now he hunted men,

But despite the game having changed, you refuse to follow those rules that are so familiar, hm?

,Nyx blinked as the phantom voice invaded the privacy of his thoughts and made him realize that he was, in fact, violating the rule of keeping eye contact to a minimum. Since he had entered the place his eyes had been drawn repeatedly to the mith'ganni dancer who had taken the stage just as he had slipped in. He had known at a glance, of course, that the dancer was not Lyssa. He hadn't even needed to see her face to know, but, despite that (or, perhaps, because of that) Nyx could not keep his gaze from drifting back to her, and absorbing her as she stood there, blinking almost uncertainly at the crowd before her while the maroon jacketed musicians behind began to coax a tune from their instruments,

Mind to your work, Shyndyn, the inner-voice prompted as one of the musicians began plucking a nearly familiar tune from his gittern, Surely you didn't expect your Lyssa to be dancing in a hole such as this?

No,

It was a lie. He knew that as much as Prien likely did the moment he conjured the denial in his mind, Knew it even as he slithered behind the table, let himself to sink into the chair that allowed him to place his back to the wall, reached out a gloved hand to pinch out the flame of the tallow that sprouted from the table's center, and found his eyes drawn to the mith'ganni dancer, again,

You didn't expect, he chided himself, his eyes a little more than hesitant to wander away from the woman as she began her dance, but you did hope, didn't you?

,One corner of his mouth twitched at that, though, even he couldn't determine if it had tried to draw his mouth into a scowl or something more akin to a sheepish smile. Smile or frown, though, it didn't matter. Even though the beginnings of the expression were masked from the others in this place by the shadows of his cowl, Nyx forced it from his lips just as he forced his eyes to let go of the woman on the stage, again; this time, it was just long enough to glance up at the scantily clad, round-eared serving wench who had approached his table during the course of his most recent distraction.

"G'evenin', m'lord," the human girl cooed, all smiles and perfume and coyly suggestive posturing as she hovered at the edge of the shadows surrounding his little corner, "What'd be your pleasure this evenin', then?"

"Wine," Nyx answered simply, the contempt in his voice cloaked by his accent just as the sneer he offered the breeder-wench was veiled in the shadows of his cowl. "Something with a bit of spice," he added, sliding a couple of silvers across the scarred tabletop as his gaze let go of the human woman and wandered back to the mith'ganni on the stage, "bring the bottle, yes? I may be here a while."

"O'course, m'lord," the human girl purred, her fingers quick to pluck the coins from the table and secret them away in her cleavage before she sauntered off to fill the order. She had no idea that the wine he had just ordered had also been a signal of his arrival to a prospective employer.

Very good. You've come to understand human habits quite well, my disciple, and you quickly master the nuances of your new trade, I admit, I am impressed,

Nyx's gaze, still shadowed by the cowl he had deigned to remove upon his entrance to The Lion's Pride, turned toward the stage as the room swelled with a cacophony of hoots and whistles. "The nuances serve a purpose," he murmured in reply as he watched the dancer step onto the platform, "and these round-ears are not as complex as they should like to think,They treat us like animals and, yet, it is they who act like this, their habits are no harder to learn than the paths of fasse'taruku."

You keep that in mind then, the voice whispered in his head as his eyes absorbed the mith'ganni woman who had, despite her humiliation at having it required of her, so gracefully took the stage and presented herself to these foul-smelling short-lives, and let us not have a repeat of that incident in Tana Harrow.

"She is not Jolbani," Nyx whispered, noting that the embroidery on her skirt was a motif particular to the Queldstar Clan,

There is nothing to be gained from killing your contact,

,and Queldstar had been the first of the Great Clans to be lost from the steppes. Before Clan Jolbane. Even before Hoskaar, His heart leapt at this realization and, at the same time, broke. He had known at a glance that the dancer wasn't Lyssa, of course, even before the Queldstar embroidery confirmed that the woman wasn't even of his clan, but, had anyone been able to notice, his disappointment would have been evident. The fact that a daughter of Queldstar still lived, though, gave Nyx hope, and additional determination,

Are you paying attention, mith'ganni?

"Yes, yes," the Twilight Elf answered in an almost distracted manner, his voice less than a whisper as his eyes followed the dancer, "I may have lost my temper. He was one of them, though. He deserved it. Besides, I killed him only after I had the information I needed, the contract was fulfilled."

But you did it publicly,and, likely, at the cost of being unable to take contracts there again for quite some time,
"Psh," Nyx snorted, "There is no need to take work there, again. What I seek cannot be found there." His eyes were still following the dancer, watching as the embroidery on her skirt rose and fell and whirled about her, the designs spinning a deeper meaning into the story she told with her dance, a story that was likely lost on the sweaty monkey-faces that saw only the body and not the meaning.

What you seek is all around you, Nyx, the voice whispered as the scarcely-dressed serving wench approached with the bottle; You simply need to be more selective in how you choose to take it, You sever those threads that I choose, my disciple, trust my guidance, and you shall see this,
"Of course," Nyx murmured as the wench dipped into his view, making sure that, as she did so, she presented as much cleavage as wine,

She likely didn't notice that her display failed to capture the attention of the yellow eyes that hid in the shadows of the cowl, though. No, those eyes strained to see around her and re-frame the whirling Queldstar woman even before the cloaked stranger nodded a curt thanks and waved her away with little more than a muted grunt. He hadn't even asked her to pour for him. Hmph! Boy-lover, most likely!
, "You have brought me all the way to this, after all," the mith'ganni smirked as his gaze, somewhat reluctantly, let go of the dancer, again, and danced a circuit of its own around the tavern, "What is there not to trust, yes?" He allowed himself a small chuckle at that while he tended to pouring.

Insolent Twilighter, the voice snickered in reply as Nyx filled the wine cup and nudged it across the table to wait before the empty seat there, Still more faith in your stars than in more enduring and reliable powers, I still find myself uncertain as to whether your audacity might be more benefit than detriment, Shyndyn, but it does amuse me, at times,

Nyx replaced the bottle's cork and withdrew back into the deeper shadows on his side of the table. "At times," he whispered in reply, his gaze skittering across the crowd of round-ears and, once again, lingering on the Queldstar dancer, "it keeps me from being too, how is it you said... amused."

None in this place, save for him, understood or appreciated the mith'ganni woman's dance for what it was, appreciated nothing about the performance outside of the way her slender body undulated (like the grass of the steppes, driven by the summer winds blowing in from Garangrad) and the way her movements seemed to beckon the audience to her, promising a passionate welcome (but the desire in that dance was for guidance from the stars, not the embrace of a lover), and it made Nyx angry. He wondered, too, as his moonlight gaze continued to frame the whirling Queldstar woman, if she knew that the stars she danced for could no longer see her, and wondered, even more, if those stars had ever seen any of the mith'ganni, and it made him sick, he could feel the knot tying itself in his stomach, feel a familiar heat building at the base of his spine and creeping toward his skull, carrying with it a spark of vengeful rage that the voice in his head often urged him to keep dampened,

Mind to your work, mith'ganni, that voice whispered just then - as if it knew - nudging Nyx's attentions away from the dancing woman once more, Here comes your man,

The Twilight Elf sighed as his eyes flickered over the human male who approached the penumbral corner where Nyx had been waiting. The man was heavily built even by human standards...

"Fat" was the first human word that came to Nyx's mind.

,Nearly as wide as he was tall and almost ridiculously round with rolls of wobbling flesh massed atop a frame of bones that surely suffered under the weight of it all, rheumy, porcine eyes darted nervously between the darkened corner and the throng of other monkey faces that sprawled away from its fringes, fingers that looked like over-stuffed sausages squeezed forth from the ham-like hands that the man wrung apprehensively together as he finally plodded into the gloom around Nyx's table... Had the stench of the man's sweat not choked it from his lips, the mith'ganni's sigh might have given way to a disgusted hiss as the monkey-face eyed the cup of wine that sat untouched upon the table, licked his thick lips, and rested one of those pudgy hands on the back of the empty chair before squinting into the deeper shadows where Nyx sat.

"This seat taken," the man nearly squeaked the question into the darkness.

A gloved hand slithered forth from the gloom and, with a subtle gesture, indicated the cup as a curiously accented voice answered the query with one of its own. "Is that not your wine?"

It was difficult to tell if the change in the man's expression was caused by the waning of his apprehension or, rather, its escalation. Either way, the breeder's lips seemed to stretch into the semblance of an anxious smile as the corners of his mouth dug deeper under the fleshy jowls. "So it is," the man answered, drawing the chair away from the table and, then, under groaning protest from the thing, settling his considerable bulk onto the seat. The wine cup vanished in the clutches of one meaty hand as the human took it up and drained its contents in a single tip. "Hells of a night, out there," the man tried to chuckle as he wiped his mouth on the back of a sleeve and returned the cup to the table, "A man could catch his death."

"A man might also catch his death on the warmest day of a summer," Nyx murmured in reply, reaching for the bottle and refilling the man's cup, "I would not factor the weather into it, yes?"

"You, you seem to know a lot of death," the human smiled, the angst in the expression more obviously increasing, now, as he, again, took up the cup and drank.

"Death is an old friend," Nyx answered.

Very good, mith'ganni.

Despite that reply nearly having caused him to choke on a swallow of the wine (and, perhaps, despite a phantasmal voice of his own screaming in his head not to go on with this meeting), the human nodded faintly, stared into the depths of the half-empty cup for a moment, and then lifted his dark little eyes to the darker shape that lurked in the shadows across the table; "Perhaps, then, you might introduce him, to a certain friend of mine?"

"Perhaps I might," the assassin responded with little more than a whisper, "but these introductions come at a cost, yes?"

"Of course," the fat man said, daubing both the wine from his lips and the fresh sweat that had broken on his brow with the back of his sleeve before producing a small coin purse from an inner pocket of his vest and sliding it toward the darkness opposite him, "one hundred Imperials in advance, correct, and another hundred once the,uh, introductions, have been made?"

Nyx offered a nod of his own, then, not that the fat man noticed. "Should there be no other expenses incurred," the assassin said, retrieving the purse from the table and testing its weight with practiced fingers before drawing it fully into the shadow with him, "yes, that is correct."

"How will I know if you incur extra expenses?"

"I will tell you so, yes?"

"Y, uh, yes, Sure, uh, is there any more wine?"