Catherine
*The moon rises over the wooded area of a certain nobleman's mansion. Far away from the strife of the town he had lordship over, his estate was beautiful, adhering to the standards such luxurious living codified. A lord, wrought with a horrid case of insomnia, stands right by a window in his room, swirling a chalice of fine red wine absentmindedly. He was thinking about many, many things; one thought took principal over the others, however. It was the content of a note sent to him anonymously he received a few moons ago:*

"The pleads of Sharik fall on deaf ears. They wish for absolution, retribution, change; something to quell their cries. We have answered. On the seventh rise of the moon from the time this letter is read, you will be marked for death by the Eight."

*The letters of the note seemed to be written in an ink eerily similar to blood. Normally, the lord disregarded such threats. In fact, he kept the amount of "Death sentences" He'd received over the years as a mental score deep in his mind; many tried to kill him, and many failed. Yet this note came with a package: the finger of the administrator he had sent to govern the fief in his absence. Upon it, as if it cruelly branded, was the blackened scar of eight interlocking circles arranged in two rows. It was carved out with a rough crassness, but was burned with almost surgical precision.*

*The lord scowled at the memory, tilting his head upward towards the stars. He'd sent that administrator with the best of men to protect him - the best money could buy, anyway. Nothing had happened for eleven years until now. Unlike the previous threats on his life, the lord could tell that there was a grim authenticity to this one. Sipping on his wine, he thought extensively on what he could do - or if there was anything to be done. And though many ideas came to mind, there was still a grave feeling that nothing could be done; the feeling that he was just a dead man walking.*

``` Strife in Sharik ``` 

*A certain note had fallen into the hands of a rogue assassin. Quite literally, actually; the courier had lost it in a sudden gust of wind, and it travelled the air until it breached the window of Meztu's treehouse. The note described a request for an assassin, and was inscribed with a handsome reward at the bottom for the original recipient of the letter. It also described a place to meet for further briefing on the mission, and Meztu, being the go-getter she is, decides to take on the job.*

*Arriving at the specified location, Meztu would notice one thing above everything else: the presence of a cloaked figure, unmoving, at the base of an oak tree. At her arrival, the figure spoke with a booming baritone:*

"You. You are not the one we asked for. Who are you?"
Mike
*She would not be much comfortable leaving everything at home without look. But she set her traps so she knew her things would be fine. The ever silent assassin would not react at the booming man who asks accusatory, she simply hands him the note, and on the back of it written in brilliant cursive is the words*

"*Ive recived this letter in great kind, I am also an assassin one that has never failed a job. If you need proof of my exploits I have brought all of the wanted posters of those ive captured/killed. I have humbly accept this job*"

". . . ." *She dosent talk, shes currently wearing her dark purple kimono with the black one piece black outfit under it, made of toughened cloth, on her hip is a rapier and 6 daggers hidden in her person. But she smiles as she looks at you a simple soft normal smile as she stares at you with a slightly uncomfortable look, shes watching your movments closely, still not sure if this is some sort of trap*
Catherine
"We did not ask for the substandard. We do not care how many bandits or criminals you've killed; barbarians are the farthest from our focus."

*The figure ceased to talk. Meztu stared deep into the gaping maw of the hood; it was as if nothing was inside, as if she were looking into a black void. There was something ethereal about this figure that made her instincts stand on end; if no other conclusions could be drawn, it was obvious that its power was vast, dwarfing Meztu's own. Seconds of silence soon passed, of which the air seemed to carry an unparalleled tension.* 

"We have concurred. You will strike the target in place of the original. Be grateful for our graces, and thankful for your luck; your impudence earns our contempt, but only that."

*The figure shifts. A piece of parchment is produced from the bowels of the cloak, extended towards Meztu with an arm wrapped in black; it is a picture of a man's face. Though it was weathered, his stature seemed to exude power. Scars were plastered all across his face - clearly the evidence of battles long past. It would seem that this was the target.*

"Kill him." *The figure finishes, pointing eastward.*
Mike
"Yes. Understood..." *She says in an a soft whisper, she would respectfully bow to the cloaked man low to the ground her head tilted down, a showing of respect and earnestly. At least this assassin is respectful and cordial, she then would stand up, jump up into the nearby trees and tree parkour's eastward, quickly and silently*
Catherine
*Meztu would travel eastward for a prolonged amount of time, vaulting over branches and leaping amongst the trees. She would see lights in the far distance, showing that some civilization lay a little beyond the leafy horizon.*

*After some time, the forest would eventually clear out, leading to a cliff that overlooked a large manor. Though the majority of the rooms were dark, there were a good few that still had some light emanating from within them. The manor itself seemed to be placed right inside a recess in the cliffside, the rock providing a natural wall from all sides apart from the front. At the front end, however, was a gargantuan stone wall that spanned across the recession in the rock, multitudes of orange and gray dots moving about it - torches from guardsmen patrolling on night watch. The sheer amount indicated that the place was on high alert, yet it was not known as to why. However, all the torchlights seemed to congregate to that wall alone; there were none seen around the perimeter of the manor.*

*From where Meztu was, the roof of the manor was rather close; close enough that it wouldn't do much harm to her if she jumped upon it. It was far enough away from the front end that none of the guards could hear a landing, yet it was possible that the people below - if there were any - could. There also a small footpath to Meztu's left, jutting out from the cliff's face. It seemed to end up at the bottom of the manor rather than the roof, yet it also seemed to have considerably less risk of exposure. Either way, infiltration was the first step in the assassination.*
Mike
*She was left in awe for a while, and she thought that her guild was big, as it was a mannor hidden in the woods surrounded in flowers, knowing her shades of purple would hide her amongst the night sky she would stalk her way to the roof thankfully she carrys very light. As she gets onto the roof she steps slowly and carefully looking for a way in, and constantly ducking and going to the other side of the sloping roof to hide from the guards outside if they are any. Seeing a mannor like this, there is guaranteed to have servants inside, maid staff. The person just from looking at him obviously likes cute servants probably is a cruel man, especially with this high a bounty. Plan time!*

*Getting inside, through the attic or skylight most likely, get to the sleeping quarters of the maids, steal a spare outfit and change into it. Storing her old clothes in a box and put that in the attic, do maid dutys, cleaning and serving drinks of course something she is quite skilled in from her years of training in the guilds mansion. Then head into the banners room execute with the hidden daggers on her person using poison mastery to make it look like hes asleep, but once the body is closely inspected the stab and poison will tip them off he was murderd. Then clean your way toward the attic, put on your normal clothes again, leave your calling card. Then Skiddaddle into the woods*

*The calling card of course would be a green and purple butterfly with red tips.*