Blood Moon
[Somewhere in Perdan City, six days before the Briarwood Ball]
"Walk not only in the grace of our sun..." a voice says from behind a veil of shadows, "...but also in the light of the moon. For both shine upon the duality of our nature."
Chiming in from the lone doorway of the dimly-lit office responds a man hidden under the cover of a large, black cloak. "I didn't take you for the religious type. Tell me, what do your scriptures say about the moon when it is bathed in Crimson?"
For a few moments, silence reigned supreme, suspended within air thick enough to cut. Finally, a response echoes forth, "Walk. Or find thyself incapable."
A smile forms under the hood of the rogue man, now stepping into the office with an air of confidence around him. He reveals a small piece of jewelry that he places on the oak desk separating him and his companion. It was a signet ring, a gold band with a broad, flat head. Inscribed upon it was overlapping lines akin to a den of snakes, and in the middle was a small peridot that had been neglected of a shine for far too long. Within the band were engraved initials. A.F.C.
In response to the presentation of the ring, a heavy purse is slid across the wood surface to be snatched up and evaluated. The man in the chair takes the signet ring and says, "I have three more. Five. Twelve. And Fifty."
"Fifty?!" Is echoed loudly in immediate response. "Please, take my money, ser."
That heavy pouch is tossed right back across the table, and in exchange an envelope is extended to the rogue. "You'll find your mark in Aix. The contract says all you need to know. Sign in blood, please."
Pricking his finger on an exposed needle, the rogue drips his blood into an inkwell, then uses a clean quill to dip, and sign his name on a presented ledger. "A five-hundred gold contract. This is exciting."
"Indeed. May she favor you, Mr. Silas. Oh and...Thank you for the ring. It's quite charming."
