The letter was like dozens of others Izvilvin had received over the years, and yet it was a shock to find. Sitting precariously on the rump of his midnight steed, the envelope, shut with a crimson seal, awaited the Drow as he excited the inn where he’d spent his night. He knew what the S on the seal represented, but knew not what orders it could contain.

His fingers tore open the envelope with experienced speed, and he whipped the paper out to examine it. It was, as always, written in dark ink in the eloquent language of the dark elves, and was short on details. The handwriting was always the same – plain, almost drab – and the letter was a mere two lines long. It said to go to Radasanth, by the town fountain, and kill a sailor who fit a brief description.

As was typical, the letter ended abruptly and showed no signature or sign of farewell.

He crushed the paper in his ebony hands, and stuffed the crumpled mess into the packet by the side of his horse. The warrior didn’t need to worry about anything but the end result, for Step would organize the circumstances in a way that would pull the two subjects together. As willing as they were to organize someone’s death, Step never really did the dirty work, and viewed themselves as too proud to resort to poison and the like.

He’d done enough work for the group to know that he needed to get to Radasanth as quickly as he could, so Izvilvin mounted his horse and made his way west, away from the outpost and forgetting the plans he’d had for the day.