It took him a while to find the Virgin Blood Inn within Dravensqel, but when he did he had purchased himself a room and slept soundlessly that night. Just a few weeks earlier he had been within Everdawn, lingering among the good loving people there. One Elf had lead him to the Raven Wing Inn, though he didn't remain there very long. He could only stand the city for so much time. With some of his belongings still up within the rented chambers, he had came downstairs to first check up on his horse. With the hood of his piwafwi pulled up to block sensitive eyes from the rays of the sun, he had headed out to the stables and entered the alcove that was occupied by the dark furred steed. Checking the water as well as meal to ensure the stable hand had taken care of such things, he gave a pat of gloved hand to the haunch and returned to the tavern through the side door.
            Seeking out a place to settle, he rested somewhere near the fire and rose a hand to motion a server near. She was hesitant, of course. Just as hesitant as the inn keeper when he was renting out the room. It had been nearly three months since he left the Underdark. Gorin had done well within his task of using the soothing oils that Istovir had given him. The man was cautious at first, but after some of it was placed to the Assassins tongue and skin Gorin was convinced that it wasn't poison and was more than happy to use the substance. Often he had chuckled to himself while wondering just what happened to that man. Nonetheless, Evanshalee and Nathrae were dead. He should have been, yes, but the Dark Elf female had failed to realize that he might have an antidote within his chambers for the poison she used upon him.

            The bone handled pick was slid back into its sheath with a silent efficiency and the tumblers of the locked room opened as easily as the abyss for Yathrin. Smiling features hidden beneath the cloak of the concealing piwafwi, she pressed against the wooden door gently, and headed into his room. Allowing her senses to open to the scents, sounds, movement, everything that the room would proffer. The information she'd received so far, was sketchy. Rizzen, his name. Teken'duis his family. Something wasn't quite right, some detail with this male she had met a little over two days ago. And now, curiosity lit, she couldn't help herself, could she? The quiet, cold jingle of chain mail was soft and sensual compared to the soft creak of old floorboards. Even the most stealthy couldn't get away here with silent step. One or two were bound to make noise. A satchel, or other personal belongings were searched for diligently. Odd silvery eyes performed the search for her, crouching near the bed frame, she slid her hands over the night stand gently, checking cautiously for traps.
            Most would say that his hearing was keener than that of many of his own kin. So keen that he would be able to hear a door crack open three floors above him. Unfortunately for her, the room was a floor above where he currently sat. Fortunately.. the tavern's den had other patrons within it as well. While he was good, he wasn't good enough to hear the creak of the floor boards with a drunken lout singing at the top of his lungs two tables away from him. Finally the woman had neared, trying hard to keep from shaking. The hood tipped up slightly for him to focus upon the woman of half Elf linage, and from his pouch he pushed forward a duo of coins then tossed her his flask soon after. With the coins taken, she hurriedly went to fill it, knowing what it is he drank.
            The room was meticulously clean with only a chest within it. With Drow able to sense magic, she did indeed note that it was warded, and most likely trapped. "Vithing..." The curses were curtly stanched and she lifted back to a stand easily from her crouched position. The hooked end of a gloved finger pressed back a white curl behind cuspidate ear, and silver eyes roamed over the room again. Chances were, he was as skilled as she. Though most of the Black Hand would frown to find out, she smiled to herself, a crooked twist of dark lips beneath the cut of cowl. Avoiding the floorboards that creaked badly, like a numbered puzzle, she headed back for the door, only halting to listen. It wouldn't do her any good to get caught in his rooms. A glance back over a shoulder had her searching for a window. Second floor, getting down and out would be fairly simple, wouldn't it? And then, she would just bother to come into the Tavern itself? And why did she care? Something was eating at her, that's why.
            Skilled indeed. He knew how people in this city were, and so took the needed precautions to keep from being caught off guard. None of his weaponry was in that room, not even in the chest. Nothing of importance, or what would give away his identity was there either, or even on his person. Fine was the bit of hair that had fallen to the ground when she first opened the door. While some used signature knots, he used a more primitive method to find out if anyone had been within his room. When the flask was returned and set to the table, he pulled it closer to him and opened it up to take a faint sniff of its contents. Always did he test for poisons, it was second nature by now. Dipping the tip of nail within the wine he touched it to his tongue and rubbed its top against the roof of his mouth. Satisfied he pushed up, rescrewing on the top, and made his way in the direction of the stairs.
            The window casing was most likely trapped, so then the only way to come was the way she'd entered. The door was opened again, and she eased into the hallway, peering around at the floor for signs of her own entry that would need to be erased. Though she had serpent sight like her many cousins, she certainly wasn't looking for anything as fine as hair. The cloak seemed to shimmer and breathe of it's own life, separate from the one that sheltered her beneath. Double checking once more, the room was left, and she headed down the hallway towards the room with the careless and drunk owner who'd left his window wide open. Most likely to rid the room of the foul drink sickness stench that filled it. Though he was quite passed out, he wouldn't stir to the silent wraith that was she upon passing.
            Soft soled boots laid a silent caress against the stairs, ascending him to the second floor. Another that was traveling down moved out of his way without so much as hesitation. He always did enjoy that reaction, the nervousness and terror one possessed upon seeing one of his kind. Stepping casually over one of the broken floor boards he made his approach to his room, all the while ignoring the animalistic sounds of grunting and growling across the hallway, mirrored within a lighter lilt of whimpering voice. Coming to his door he tilted his chin up, glancing to the top where it met sill and faintly rose a brow. Pursing his lips faintly lithe fingers curled about the hilt of dagger as his other hand turned the knob to push the door open slightly. He had stepped out of the path of the door, in case a bolt might shatter its way through. Only slightly his head canted for him to quietly listen.
            His room was quite empty. Unfortunately, the room she'd come into the Tavern in the first place was not quietly occupied. A thief, and a rather bad one at that, was jostling the sweating, stinking rivvil frame upon the bed. Overturned drawers, rifled through satchel. Yes, all of the many signs and clues that the place was being ransacked. And she walked right into the middle of it. Startled as the door creaked quietly, the human glanced up. And already the dark, gleaming metal dart gun was lifted. He moved faster than she expected and launched himself at her. Fortunately for her, he was not quite so graceful. His body heaved and telegraphed his movements badly. Lithe as a cat, she sprung upwards from her stance, hand slapped to a dresser top, and hit the edge of the bed's large railing. A sharpened heel met with the bridge of his nose. Making that wonderful cracking sound. She'd bet that smarted. But he wouldn't even scream as the gurgle of his own blood followed the hiss of release with the daggers swipe across his throat. Lovely, the human eye when it was widened in horrified fear. She even dangerously lingered to watch, before pushing the body forwards onto the other in the bed. Haste was of necessity now.