As the Heart Sees Fit

The bounty hunter sat watching the room, as smoke, stench, and used up people drifted past him in nearly equal amounts. He frowned, brow furrowing over lavender eyes, as one particularly abusive patron slapped a young woman. Marking the man's face, the bounty hunter fought the urge to relieve the abuser of his hand. Not now--there was something else he had to attend to at present. Later though. Later always held such interesting possibilities.

Shaking out his silver hair, he turned his gaze back upon the door, still frowning. He was beginning to wonder if his quarry would show up. The thought had occurred to him that his quarry might already be inside, waiting, assessing him. The bounty hunter had chosen a table in a darker corner of the common room, one with a good view of the room itself, the door, and the stairs leading to the rooms above. But where was his quarry?

He had marked several possibilities, in his mind, already, and had received several stares himself. Dressed in leather pants and a purple silken shirt, he concealed neither his heritage, nor the two unpaired long swords that hung from his hips. Perhaps the cloaked and hooded man who sat at the bar, who seemed to be studying the room almost as diligently as the bounty hunter. And the two men talking near the stair--could this simply be a setup? Perhaps.

"You're getting paranoid Qal," he muttered quietly to himself. Of course with this particular quarry perhaps paranoia was warranted. Six months of nothing, searching randomly, looking for any clues to his quarry's location. And now this meeting, from out of nowhere, arranged by the man he was supposedly hunting.

The cloaked figure at the bar nodded to the bounty hunter, who returned the nod politely, professionally, recalling the words of his old sword-master: "A little politeness can avoid much unnecessary unpleasantness." It was a lesson the bounty hunter had never forgotten. The frown deepened as he muttered again to himself, "Poor Thras. You never knew how ironic that would become."

The bounty hunter sighed, musing slightly at the lateness of his quarry. He was certain the quarry would show--the message had been most specific and signed with a single letter. It was no matter, the bounty hunter was a patient man and he could afford to wait. Steepling his fingers above his half-empty mug of ale, Qaltessil Thassir, bounty hunter and dark elf, settled back into his chair--and waited.

He had arrived the day before, to map out the entirety of this tavern he already knew, to make sure there had not been any new "surprises" set up. 'You can never be too careful' was surely the most true common phrase ever coined, in his opinion.

This meeting place was one of his own choosing, set for his advantage. This day, he had immersed himself within the area of crowd that the tavern hosted upon a twenty four hour basis. The numbers only slightly altered during any given time. The waiting was, indeed, tedious, but he was not about to jeopardize his life for the sake of missing out on a little boredom.

A hour before the appointed time, a somewhat garishly dressed, silver haired, purple eyed drow bearing two mismatched long swords walked through the door, and soon took up a strategic position, sitting at a far table. Cloaked and hidden amongst the crowd, himself, he was able to observe the other undisturbed. He had no doubt that the other had glanced at him at many times, yet, having never seen him before, failed to

recognize his cloaked form.

Time passed in which the bounty hunter was due to become more watchful and expectant.

Some fifteen minutes after the appointed hour, he stood, and, seemingly heading to the bar, walked across the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the bounty hunter's attention shift, and focus upon the movement.

Good.

Suddenly throwing off the facade, he altered his course, heading directly to the table of Qaltessil.

The bounty hunter looked sharply at the figure walking towards him. Roughly Qal's own height, slender, yet moving with the dangerous grace of a great hunting cat. Dressed in plain black, cloaked and gloved. There was likely armour underneath, as well. About his waist were strapped two identical long swords.

Qal gave a mental nod to himself. This had to be his quarry. He must have passed his eyes over this same figure in the crowd at least a dozen times. The cloaking rendered the man nondescript when sitting, in this crowd of so many cloaked figures, so many people with so many things to hide. It was only when the man stood and walked that he revealed some part of the dangers he held. Qal wondered what the man looked like without the cloak. A face, a pair of eyes, could tell so many stories, reveal secrets.

His quarry was standing at Qal's table then. There was no need for an assessing moment here. Those had already been taken. Qal nodded, and gestured to the seat across from himself.

The reply was bland, neutral, yet spoken with a long accustomed, sarcastic edge.

Silently, Zaknafein Do'Urden took a seat across from the bounty hunter who had been hired to collect upon his life.

Qal looked silently for a moment at the hooded man across from him, and briefly wondered just who was the hunter here. Shaking off the thought, and never allowing it to cross his face, he silently regarded the figure, remembering the stealthy grace with which Zaknafein had crossed the floor. Like a cat. Hunting.

Qal's thoughts turned inward a moment as he considered what he knew about his quarry. Zaknafein Do'Urden. Patron to some noble family or other in some drow city Qal had never seen. Nor had he any desire to see it--one bastion of corruption and decay was much like any other. His own childhood had taught him all he needed to know about the depravities his people were capable of.

But that this man--this dark elf, for Qal knew him to be so--could command so high a bounty. He thought back to the meetings with his employer and pondered, suspicion entering his mind. Things were not always as they appeared. In this business, more than any other, deception was the norm and secrecy the watchword. Qal knew and accepted that, every time he took a bounty, but he detested being fooled.

Qal had evaluated the quarry in the brief time it had taken Zaknafein to cross the floor. He had not been what he expected, and Qal was pleasantly amused by that fact. He saw in the cloaked figure a sense of presence, that of an experienced warrior, one who would not die easily, nor without delivering much pain. The paired long swords marked him as a skilled warrior indeed, perhaps...no, definitely of greater skill than Qal himself. A walk--the way a man carried himself--spoke volumes. And Qal was an experienced hunter. He knew how to read the signs quickly and well.

Having spent less than a minute in quiet contemplation of the figure, Qaltessil looked at him across steepled fingers and spoke.

"Greetings to you Zaknafein Do'Urden, patron of the Family Do'Urden. I am Qaltessil Thassir. A pleasure, I'm sure."

As Thras had said, a little politeness. Zaknafein was his enemy by contract only, and Qal could break a contract if he discovered the facts did not meet what his employer had presented. He had done it before. This man need not become an enemy on the field of battle at this early stage.

And thus it began.

Zaknafein was impressed, but only mildly so, by the young drow's calm exterior. Like a predatory animal, the bounty hunter stared at him from across the table. No matter, Zaknafein thought silently, he had dealt with animals before. Zaknafein was only mildly interested in this drow. It had been a merry chase thus far--six months of dropping solitary clues and leaving little hints scattered about. That the hunter had followed them at all told Zak he had at least some skill, both with his brain and his swords. But now the hunt wore on and Zak had to return to Menzoberranzan. Matron Malice had sent for him, and though he disliked coming at the beckon of a priestess, he would go.

Zaknafein briefly considered what he knew about the hunter as he stared out from beneath his piwafwi. Qaltessil Thassir, a houseless drow, selling his skills to those with the money to afford them. Zaknafein had made some discreet inquires and knew exactly how much this young drow had collected on his last bounty. The sum had impressed Zaknafein, and he briefly wondered what his own life had been valued at. Zaknafein had considered simply killing the houseless no-name several times during the hunt. Had even once had the dagger drawn and not a foot from the hunter's back in a crowded street. And yet, something had stayed his hand. Zaknafein did not enjoy mysteries, but he wondered about this drow who chased him. The openness of him. The lack of any concealing garments, the lack of armour, although Zaknafein surmised the bracers and ring the young elf wore to both be enchanted, spoke to both the hunter's confidence, and his cockiness. The former interested Zak. The latter he despised.

Zaknafein now listened as the drow spoke.

"Greetings to you Zaknafein Do'Urden, patron of the Family Do'Urden. I am Qaltessil Thassir. A pleasure, I'm sure."

Zaknafein nodded from within his concealing clothes. "Greetings to you as well Qaltessil Thassir, houseless drow and bounty hunter. It is indeed pleasurable to make your acquaintance at the end of our game."

The drow spoke again, and what he said shocked Zaknafein, although he was far too experienced to let such show.

"But whatever do you mean, sir? 'Tis only the journey that is over. The game has only just commenced."

Zaknafein considered that statement as he steepled his gloved fingers as well, mimicking the other.

And thus, it began.

"Indeed. Perhaps you are correct," Zaknafein spoke with the tones of one long accustomed to such games, of both word and test, yet the stiffness of one who disliked them, preferring instead a more straightforward approach. But he had not survived these centuries by leaping into situations unheedful of the consequences. He would play the words, for now, to measure the hunter's own approach. Qal raised a brow at that, but did not further comment on the subject. Instead, he remarked, "You chose this meeting. What was it you wanted to discuss?" It was a leading phrase, meant to measure the other in response, rather than to glean any real information.

Giving an unseen, hard little smile, at the test, Zaknafein said, "You agreed to the meeting. Have something to discuss, yourself?"

They were circling, poking with verbal blades, looking for openings, and barely yet past introductions. It seems this conversation was to be as much a battle as what could be waged with swords of metals. It was not going to be easy, with both so reluctant to give up anything that could be used against themselves, should it come to physical battle.

Qal mentally settled back for a grueling day, whilst Zaknafein give an inward grimace of annoyance. He despised dancing around an issue, but there was no help for it here. He did not know this hunter, and thus, needed at least some experience with the other's responses. This little game would provide that, no matter how annoying it may be, personally. But he was not here to simply fence words. He was here to end this, one way, or the other, and was quite sure that Qal knew it, and was preparing to do so, as well.

One way, or the other.

"You've led me on quite a merry chase, Jabbock Do'Urden. But you seem to have me at a disadvantage. Thus far you've led me along, while I have had to blindly follow about from clue to clue. I'm afraid I made quite of few of your former associates angry with me."

Zaknafein frowned within the surrounding darkness of his hood. Jabbock indeed. But the rest of what the drow had said piqued his interest, and confirmed what he had believed before. This drow, this bounty hunter, was very good at what he did.

"Former associates?", Zaknafein asked, quietly, knowing the likely response, but wanting the other to speak it. To reveal more of his character.

Qaltessil sighed, and replied in a bitingly sarcastic tone. "Yes, I'm afraid having one's head removed does nothing to improve one's lifespan." Qaltessil gazed directly into the depths of the hood, and wondered what exactly Zaknafein was hiding in there.

Zaknafein had not been at all shocked at the drow's response, nor with the callousness or openness with which he spoken. Such was the way of the drow, the way of darkness. But there was something different about this one. There was a...hatred. Yes a hatred about him. Zaknafein was pleased with that insight and replied lightly.

"It was of no matter. They served their purpose. What happened to them after that concerns me not."

"How typical," Qal replied. He had expected nothing else from a dark elf.

Zaknafein smiled within the concealing folds of his hood. My, but this one does hate our kind, he thought. Perhaps I can use that to my advantage, Zaknafein thought.

"But why is that houseless one? Had you concern over their fates? They were obstacles to you--you did only what any true drow would."

Qal frowned at the backhanded compliment. On the one hand, his quarry had complimented his skill in overcoming the difficulties of this hunt. On the other hand, Qal considered himself anything but a true drow.

Zaknafein smiled as he saw the frown cross the young drow's face and knew he scored a telling blow in this battle of words.

Qal's frown evaporated almost as swiftly as it had descended, but he knew he had lost that round. On to the next then, he thought. Always the next round. And when the time was right--to the final round. Staring fully into the concealing shroud of the other's cloak, the bounty hunter spoke once more.

"But tell me Patron Do'Urden--don't you wonder whom you have offended so greatly that they would pay me to hunt you?" Looking past the other, Qal saw the hooded stranger at the bar had taken a discreet interest in their conversation. Qal was not noticed in his scrutiny, mostly because Zaknafein's cloak concealed him now as well as it concealed Zak himself.

Zaknafein considered the young drow's question, and caught the momentary shift in the young drow's attention. He wondered what had caught the other's eye. From all he had learned, the bounty hunter was honorable in his work, and was not known to be backstabber. That was one of the reasons Zaknafein had been so honorable in his dealings with him. Were he to discover that not to be so, not only would the hunter die here, in this spot, but Zak would also kill the man who had sold him the information about the hunter.

Zaknafein Do'Urden detested people who lied to him.

"I have offended many people. I'm sure that of those that remain alive, many would love to see me dead. One is much the same as the other," Zaknafein remarked with stade indifference.

"But if you do not know who they are, how are you to possibly overcome them?" Qal retorted with an uncharacteristic lack of thought.

"They have sent you," was the reply, amused.

Regaining his composure an instant later, Qal replied, "If I were to possibly decide that you deserved to go, would you not want to take vengeance upon those that sent me to begin with?" The tone was breezy, arrogant, as though Qal had the right, and power, to make every decision that could possibly be made. It was a tone intended to deliberately provoke.

"I have no need for such," Zaknafein replied, tone disdainful. "If another attempt were to be made, then I would deal with it. I have no need to prove myself."

Qal paused. His own provocation had drawn forth not another word-blade, not another playing statement, but a piece of the truth. He had been given a glimpse of this man's true character. In that regard, Qal had won this round, but in another regard, this gave him something to think about. This did not fit the picture Qal had been given. Shifting his eyes a bit, he noticed the man at the bar was focusing even more attention upon them, holding himself in a frozen posture, right ear cocked in their direction. An itching feeling shivered across Qal. Something was not right here. Shifting his gaze back to Zaknafein, he noticed the older elf watching him with a piercing intensity, the crimson glow of his eyes shining forth in sudden infra-red spectrum view, orbs are piecing as fire.

Qal thought for a half moment and made his decision. Something was very wrong here. Zaknafein's own words confirmed Qal's prickling instincts. Making a decision, he placed his life in the hands of the other drow, depending upon Zaknafein's reputed honor to keep him alive long enough to get out of what he now knew to be a death trap. Leaning forward, hands concealed by Zak's own body, Qal began signing very rapidly in the silent language of the drow, staring intently, openly into the other's eyes, willing his own eyes to convey the truth of what he was saying.

<I don't think you're the real target here Patron Do'Urden. I think we have both been had.> His hands stopped, wondering what to say next, needing to convince this other to believe him.

But Zaknafein was no untrained whelp, he had seen the sudden shift in the other drow's attitude and temperament. He responded to the other's change in attitude with caution. He had learned things about this drow, but Zak sensed wheels within wheels in the young drow's mind.

<Explain.> Zaknafein's reply was terse and sharply delivered. He despised being played for a fool, and had a feeling he would be paying someone else a visit before this day was over. A lot of questions remained unanswered to Zaknafein, but the sudden openness on the face of the bounty hunter interested him.

Zaknafein chuckled. <Then it seems you have a problem, bounty hunter. And it is no concern of mine. However, I invested a great deal of time in keeping ahead of you. And that lost time is my concern.>

And suddenly the world fell apart.

The assassin sat, waiting. He too had seen the drow; his target, enter and take up his position at the far table. He could have simply killed him then, but he knew not if the target would have any friends in the crowd. When the cloaked figure stood and walked to the target's table, the assassin smiled. He had readied his small crossbow beneath his robes and waited until they were well involved into their conversation.

Qal had caught the assassin's nod and saw him stand, raising the bow, and reacted with the reflexes of a warrior. Kicking Zaknafein's chair out from under him, at the risk of seriously angering the other drow, he did the only thing he could, he ducked and left Zaknafein to his own devices.

Zaknafein was infuriated for a full two seconds. Then the dart whizzed through where his head had been and thudded into the back of Qal's chair. Instantly he was on his feet, swords out, and turned to regard the room, noticing in a glance the crossbow, the two men now advancing from the stairway, and the man in the crowd who was also standing, hands waving in intricate patterns. It took Zaknafein no time at all to realize what had happened, and he crossed the room swiftly towards the wizard, intent on relieving him of his voice. And his head.

Qal had followed his duck with a roll, and came up swords in hand as well. And saw Zaknafein already advancing on a man halfway across the bar. Once again amazed at the other's skill and speed, Qal sincerely hoped that they would not have to fight. He knew at that instant he would lose without question to Zaknafein if they did. Since Zaknafein seemed to have the man in the center of the room taken care of, Qal turned to scan the rest of the room, and started moving toward the crossbow-wielding assassin.

The crowd of patrons in the tavern was not idle either. Recognizing that someone was about to die very messily, very soon, several of them began jumping up and running for the door, while others moved upstairs or out through the kitchen. One of them jostled Qal, and he momentarily lost sight of his target. But it was long enough. Qal stopped, turning to scan the pandemonium in the room, trying to spot the man.

Zaknafein hardly noticed the crowd. Around him existed a sea of tranquility, since no one was foolish enough to get within range of his slowly twirling swords as he advanced across the floor. The mage watched Zaknafein advance and continued chanting, increasingly faster and faster, until disaster struck. A patron, running by, tripped and fell, nearly bowling the wizard over, ruining the spell. The mage cursed and began again, but realized he was much too late when Zaknafein's sword tore out his throat.

Qal spotted the assassin again then, but something in the way the other seemed to look past him put Qal on his guard. Spinning quickly to one side, he barely avoided the plunging sword that would have passed through his back. Facing this new attacker, he saw it was one of the men from near the stairs. Momentarily surprised, he went on the defensive, blades parrying the other's attacks, while he recovered. Then the opening Qal had been hoping for appeared. The other dipped his sword a touch too low, and Qal trapped it with his own left sword, while the right bit deeply into the man's leg. The man collapsed and Qal kicked his sword away, leaving him lying on the floor, and turned to find the assassin again.

Zaknafein spun away from the wizard's body, spotting, as he did, one of the attacking men. Narrowing his eyes, the elf quickly sheathed one of his long swords, drawing a slender dagger from within his piwafwi.

An instant later, the dagger buried deep in the man's chest. He looked up, a shocked, disbelieving look upon his face, as though it were simply beyond comprehension that this blade had found his heart, an instant before he fell over to the floor.

The assassin had slipped about Qal. Even as one of the men from the stairs had attempted to kill the bounty hunter, the assassin was refitting his crossbow with another dart, waiting for a clear short. Soon, the man from the stair was put out of the fight, and the assassin had his chance. Aiming from the shadows, he narrowed his sight to--Gone. The bounty hunter was gone. His gaze shifted in sudden panic. Where was the drow?

A slightest stirring of air marked passage behind the assassin, as a soft voice laughed, "Surprise," as a dagger found his back.

He had failed.

Qal looked down at the body of the assassin he had slain, with something like disgust, something like curiosity. He was wondering just what this had all been about. Obviously, a set up, but still, a set up from who? He felt the need to know more, know what had brought these events to life.

Shifting his gaze, then, Qal noted the dead wizard, and the dead form of the other man from the stairs.

A low groan sounded in the room. Both Qal and Zaknafein shifted their attention to the pain-filled form of the man that Qal had disarmed, so to speak. The figure lay on the floor, injured leg bent at a painful angle, as he moaned in an unconscious reaction to the feelings coursing through him. Had the man been in a more coherent state at the time, he would undoubtedly have kept quiet, in hopes of being left unnoticed. But he was not in his right state of mind at that moment, and so, the noise came forth. Qal lifted a brow, and stepped forward, the dagger that had found the assassin's back in hand, to quickly cut the man's throat. There was no remorse in the act. The man had attempted to kill him. There could be no mercy shown under such circumstances.

As Zaknafein moved to retrieve his own dagger from the corpse of the other man from the stairs, Qal riffled through the assassin's cloak, hoping to find some clue to the situation, but not really expecting to find much. A lockpick, a set of daggers, a case of poisoned darts, a coin pouch. Frowning, Qal tossed each item to the floor beside the corpse as he found them, continuing his search.

Zaknafein had wiped the blood from his blades, and resheathed his drawn weapons, straightening his concealing garments as he did so.

A silence reined in the room as both elves worked in the aftermath of the fight. Here and there, patrons began to trickle back into the room, taking their seats again, studiously ignoring the corpses, and carefully avoiding both drow.

As Qal and Zaknafein faced off across the still unnamed bodies on the floor, the slow trickle of patrons gave a wide berth around the two drow, and a wide space in between the two became a no-man's land. Qal and Zaknafein approached each other slowly, warily, each having seen the other's skill, and wondering if they themselves would come to blows now.

Staring always into Zaknafein's eyes, Qal slowly nodded his head to the other slowly, respectfully. "Forgive me Patron Do'Urden. It appears we have both been played for fools in this matter."

Zaknafein considered that statement, with an almost smile on his face. "You fight well, for a houseless bastard."

Qal winced at the stinging bitterness in those words, but had seen the other fight, and was not foolish enough to allow himself to be baited into attacking him. Instead, Qal replied, in a neutral tone of voice, "Not as well as you."

As Qal watched, Zaknafein's hand flashed, his sword appeared and a long stinging cut drew its way across Qal's chest, the sword gone before he even had time to really register it's presence. Wincing and gasping in pain, he none the less stayed standing, coolly regarding the other, the shallow cut on his chest seeping blood. "Remember that in the future Qaltessil Thassir. We will not discuss this again."

Zaknafein turned on his heel and stalked out the door of the tavern, silently respectful of the other drow's honor and skill, and the crowd parted before him like the sea before the bow a ship.

Qal watched the other go and looked down again at the bodies on the floor. Shaking his head ruefully, he too turned to the door and slipped out into the afternoon, in search of answers.

Qaltessil Thassir stood in the rain outside the house of the man he thought had employed him. He was waiting for the lights on the ground floor to go out. The final light went out and Qal waited another full hour before he approached the door. Muttering an incantation, Qal stepped through the door as it unlocked and into the room beyond. His eyes flashing through the infrared spectrum, he slowly searched the room and then stopped, focusing on a large slightly heated mass lying slumped over a desk. Frowning Qal stepped forward to the mass and reached out, touching it, knowing what he would find. Relighting the wick in the lantern, Qal shielded his eyes until they could adjust to the light, then looked at the body of the man he had come to kill. The dagger that had claimed his life was still in his chest, and propped against his supine head was a note with Qal's name on it.

Frowning slightly, Qal looked around carefully and took the note, opening it. It was a very short note, and Qal recognized the distinctive spidery script almost immediately. It read, "Surprise. I didn't know you had a sister. I wonder why she hates you enough to pay someone to kill you. Z." Qal smirked, knowing Zaknafein had been here already, but Qal had his answer. It made sense, his sister certainly had reason enough to want him dead. Qal sighed, knowing he had stayed in this place too long, and turned the lantern back down. Stepping back into the night, he melted into the darkness and the rain, becoming one more shadow on the street, one more piece of night, unknown and unrecognized.

Zaknafein's momentarily ungloved hand swept in the final arc of the note, penning an intricate, yet simple, letter Z. Glancing but once more at the body of he whom the trail had led to, the drow regloved his hand, and slipped out of the small abode.

The small man glanced up from his careful carving of the rock piece, as a hand appeared over his own, effortlessly prying away the tool he was working with. Shocked, he glanced upwards, viewing the sharply chiseled, handsome features glaring down at him. A gasp escaped him.

"You were expecting someone else?" came the half-teasing reply, lilting with dangerous inflection.

He knew he was doomed, but, there was still a chance to talk himself out of this, somehow. There had to be. Play dumb, that was the thing to do.

"I'm sure. Indeed. I am wondering, now, about a certain man who gleans his main income by selling information to parties in need of said information. Yet, it seems that, of late, this man has let his greed get in the way of his common sense."

"Indeed, sir," the other said, eyes wide, "Could you be a bit more specific, sir?"

"Gladly," came the murmured reply, an instant before the knife slash across his throat.

He did not bother to recloak his features, now. He simply exited the house, after cleaning his knife and resheathing it. This incident was over. And now, it was time to return to. . .Home. Sighing, he reflected that, in retrospect, he almost preferred the bother of dropping little clues in the last six months, to confinement and tedium of life in Menzoberranzan.

The bartender silently frowned as his two son's carried the last of the bodies out of the tap room. He'd never get the blood out of the floor, he mused, and it was sprayed across several tables as well. Of course, not even he had been foolish enough to argue with the two drow as they left, but he was not happy about the mess. Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he turned, staring straight into the throat of yet another drow elf. Taking a single step back, a quick cursory glance caused him to groan inwardly. Not only another drow, a female. Her black chain mail glinted on her body, and the wicked looking broadsword on her hip gave the barkeep reason to listen very respectably as she spoke.

"I am looking for someone," she began. Her voice was quiet, almost musical, and her eyes seemed to trap his own.

"Well, I'll certainly help if I can, milady," the barkeep replied.

"A silver haired male, not much older than me, perhaps a few inches shorter. He would not have been wearing armor," she said.

The barkeep nodded. "I remember him. Him and his friend caused this mess," the barkeep said as he waved about the common room.

The drow never even bothered to look at the mess. She had seen worse, and caused some of those. Trapping the bartender's gaze once more she asked, "Where is he?"

The bartender saw something in that gaze that kept him from snapping out a foolish answer. Instead he respectably replied, "He's left. He and the other one. They sat at that table over there, "he said, pointing, suddenly wanting to be anything but the sole focus of this drow's attention.

Turning her gaze upon the table, the drow forgot the bartender, who promptly slipped away, and walked across the tavern. She saw the dart, the black congealing ooze running down the back of the chair telling her everything she needed to know. The assassin had missed, and paid with his life, she surmised. Good. That would save her the trouble of having to find and kill him. Running a hand through her blood red hair, Aldesil Thassir smiled, a smile of evil and hatred. "Very good, brother. The hunt continues then." Turning and slipping from the common room, she set out to find which gate her brother had left the city through.