Though only having been in Mamlak for a short time, he had already had some strange occurences that left him wondering just what he had gotten himself into.  The laws of Mamlak were reasonable, though the penalties of infractions were severe, to say the least.  Fortunately, he had no committed any offenses nor did he plan to do so under any circumstances.  The knowledge he gained of the world was extensive, at least compared to his previous knowledge, though he still sought a job.

Ever a wanderer, he had no intention of seeking any sort of permanent employment, but something short-term was acceptable.  After all, even a world he was new to held its own perils and injustices he had to correct, or at least a few souls whose cries were left unheard by those they deemed gods.  It was, in fact, the job of mortals to watch over their own.  There were many other things far more horrible to concern oneself with than worrying if one's life would end violently to highwaymen, for example.

There were times when Icarus had been a slayer of men, mercilessly cleaving men in war.  Though the days of the Black Swordsman ended when he suffered his second death, his thoughts concerning acceptable casualties in war had shifted.  Gone was the merciless punisher, this archangel of the vengeful.  Left behind was a weak man, the man who toppled kingdoms and armies alike with merely his cunning.  Such a man may not bear a weapon that cleaved through armor like warmed butter, but he was the equivalent of the acupuncturist.  

In his mind and in his acts, he was an instrument of precision, a knife an expert chef would wield to perfectly carve a poisonous fish without rupturing the poison organs.  It was difficult to accept that beforehand, he had been an axe cleaving trees.  He had never before been a man of that nature.  He wondered what happened.

Icarus' mind was full of partial memories and illusions from his previous life, faces and names not matching up entirely.  In his heart, however, there were those whom he recalled in great detail based on the effect their presence held on him.  He couldn't quite pinpoint the reason for his descent into such thoughts at the time but readily attributed it to regrets of his past life.  Here, though, he could make a difference once more.  With that focus in mind, he traveled to one of the taverns within the city.

As was common, a board was present that held offers of employment for men of his ilk.  He scanned over it with his eyes, looking for jobs that had not been taken.  Many of those on the board had names on them indicating they were accepted and a few others held stamps that stated they were completed.  He didn't understand why they were not removed, but it likely had something to do with groups of adventurers leaving them purposely as a means of advertisement to others looking for aid.  It was an effective marketing strategy, although Icarus knew from experience keeping a large list of successful contracts made others envious and those that did it would become targets for robbery eventually.

Eventually, his eyes came to the contact information for a merchant located within the city, to include an address.  For some reason, no one had taken it despite the fact it seemed to be an easy enough tasking.  Taking the notice with him, Icarus proceeded to the merchant's shop, seeing just what sort of wares he was peddling.  If things didn't seem to be on the up and up, he would not accept the contract.

Her latest contract had taken her to Mamlak - a bit of a trek from Adeluna, but the client offered a hefty sum for her to make the trip.  Apparently, her reputation preceded her and stretched further than the city she called her home.  Apparently, the city was home to a merchant who had upset a few too many people.  A hit had been put out, and the client had directly approached her, travelling all the way to Adeluna to meet her.  After the discussion had taken place, she promised to take care of the details herself.  The client was assured and left her with a sizable down payment.  

The merchant’s shop was located a few buildings down from the main tavern in Mamlak, which was easy enough.  Her plan was to head to the location, and ‘browse the wares,’ until there were no other customers in the shop.  At this point, she would make her strike, clean it up quickly, and return to the tavern for a quick drink while she awaited the client to return with the remainder of her payment.  She would then obtain a room for the evening, rest up, and head back to Adeluna by noon time the next day.

When she entered the establishment, she realized her fortune - the only living soul in the entire building was the merchant whom she had been sent to kill.  ”Evenin’ miss,” the man said.  She immediately became inquisitive.  Usually, when she was executing a contract, she could tell straight off that there was something off about the individual.  They were either shady characters or terribly rude - and this man seemed to elude both of those categories.  

”Evening yourself,” she said back to him, her voice taking on a lower tone.  She walked directly up to the counter, able to feel the weight of the dagger she had up the sleeve of her tunic.  The proper flick of her wrist would ensure that the dagger would fall into its proper place in her palm, so that she could grasp the hilt and quickly dispatch of the man.

”Ye need assistance with anything, m’dear?” he asked.  He seemed so… so genuine.  Upon closer examination he was an elderly man, with laugh lines ‘round his eyes and mouth.  He seemed happy - perhaps it had been a mistake?  She mentally went over the list that the client had provided her and observed the shopkeeper.  He fit every description to the T, and there was no way that this was not the target.  Could she do it?

”I needn’t assistance with anything, sir,” she said, and began to step around the counter.  The man looked worried, and backed up toward the wall behind him.  

”Wha- what are you doing, girl?” he asked.  As she advanced towards him, she flicked her wrist, just as she had planned.  The dagger slid out, the hilt landing cleanly in her palm just as she imagined it would.  She could see his eyes catch the glint of the blade when she drew it out, and he began frantically looking around, his arms blindly searching for something the defend himself.  

”What am I doing…?” she repeated, her voice sounding slightly off kilter.  ”You know, old man, that’s a great question.” She paused, dragging the tip of the blade along the counter as she closed the space between the two of them.  ”I’m here to kill you, to be perfectly honest,” she stated bluntly.

”What!? No, please… please don’t,” the man begged.  Fear filled his eyes, and she advanced towards him until the gap had been completely eliminated. 

”I don’t have to,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.  ”But I’m going to, because… well, because you pissed someone off, I imagine,” she added.  ”Though, I’m a little confused as to how,” she continued, the blade now raising up to be gently against the man’s throat.  She wasn’t going to hurt him - not yet.  ”You seem like such a sweet old man.  So, do me the honor - I mean, I’m going to kill you anyway - but please, tell me, what have you done that would make someone want to hire an assassin to take you out?” she asked.

The man was sputtering nonsensical syllables.  His eyes continuously darted towards the door, as though waiting for savior to arrive.  She rolled her eyes as she could tell what he was doing.  ”No one’s going to come, old man.”  She wasn’t entirely sure how correct she was, but she was willing to take the chance.

It took a while, but Icarus was able to find directions to the man's shop eventually.  When he asked others about the man, they all seemed to speak fairly highly about him.  It seemed that many years ago, he had been less of a good man, connections with crime and the like labeling him as some sort of mastermind.  With the death of his son, however, his behavior had changed very quickly and thirty years passed with him taking strides every day to become a legitimate business man, pay off his rivals, and ensure the safety of his remaining family.  

For many, it was a hard path to travel to return from corruption given all the perks and riches that came from it.  Most were unable to make the transition but the man's love of family had seen him through.  If he required a guard, it seemed that perhaps some remnant of thirty years ago had returned to seek some sort of retribution for some debt more than a generation ago.  If necessary, Icarus would do this work pro-bono to ensure a man that had taken the high road could continue to walk it.

Arriving at the shop, Icarus listened for a moment against the door, gauging the establishment and trying to figure out what was going on with his guest.  From how it sounded, she was not there to purchase anything, seemingly causing the man discomfort with her actions.  It wasn't until the man seemed surprised that Icarus placed his hand on the doorknob, his other clutching the katana on his hip with a reverse grip.  

"No one's going to come, old man," the woman's voice said.  Icarus sighed as he took several steps back, placed his mask on his face, and kicked in the door as he ran, dashing quickly and sliding across the ground, slashing once in a circular flourish to aim at the woman's knee.  He followed the motion as he drew his longsword in his other hand, attempting to place distance between the woman and the owner whom he had arrived in time to protect.

Something of her face seemed familiar.  He thought of two women in a ship sailing in the sky.  Although it was a familiar memory, perhaps one of his more recent of the world they had left, it was still only a fragment.  Had she been onboard some flying ship, fighting rogues alongside him and another woman?  If he recalled well-enough, he could almost picture some drow he had counted easily enough as an ally on numerous occasions.  His voice was somewhat different from that time, younger, less weary of the world.  There was only a remote chance she could remember it if they had indeed met before.

"Except me.  Leave this man," he commanded, eyes piercing through her as though she were no more than a corpse already.  He had no wish to end her life, but he would not hesitate to do so in the old man's defense.  It was the purpose of accepting his position as a bodyguard, even if he hadn't officially acknowledged his employment in that capacity yet.

The newcomer caught Dalanesca completely off guard.  She removed her blade from her target’s throat when the door was kicked in.  A man, face obscured by a mask, came rushing in, a blade swinging directly towards her knee.  She attempted to jump back and almost made it, the very tip of the blade causing a deep gash in her thigh.  She made no sound of pain, no show of emotion, only drew her own larger blade from her back, completely forgetting about the target at hand and now focusing on a new threat.

She stood defensively as the man too withdrew another weapon, his a longsword.  She could not make out his face, due to the mask, but it seemed as though he was studying her – did she know him?  She had no way of knowing, until he spoke.  His voice had a resonance that seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she could not quite place it.  Presently, that was the least of her worries.  She had now switched from being focused completely on killing her mark, to being focused completely on this man that dare interrupt her hit.

”What interest do you have in this old man?” she asked, standing completely still.  The  old man in question still cowered against the wall behind the counter, though he was no longer staring at Dalanesca in terror – he had also turned his gaze towards the newcomer, though this time there was a small glimmer of hope in his eyes that perhaps this man was his savior.  

She allowed herself to cast her gaze downward once, surveying the damage that the man’s blade had done to her leg.  It had sliced cleanly through the leather leggings she wore, and gashed a good part of the flesh of her upper thigh.  The legs were done for, ripped down to nearly her knee as a result of her attempted evasion, and a good deal of blood still dripped from the gash.  She winced momentarily as she remembered the pain that was throbbing through her limb, but made no motion to touch it, only turning her face back towards the man who still held a sword at her, and she him.

His posture and overall frame seemed somewhat reminiscent to her, and she could not help but ask.  ”Have we met, stranger?” she asked, her voice low, and questioning.  ”Your voice strikes a chord in my mind – but perhaps that is for another time.”  She turned to face the man who she had come to kill, and barked a command.  ”Leave!” she yelled.  The man looked panicked, but wasted no time in bolting through the door to the storage of the shop, as she still blocked his path to the only exit.  Dalanesca turned back to her remaining company, lowering her sword form its defensive stance, holding a hand up in defense.  ”There, he’s gone… no harm can be done of him at this time,” she said.  Of course, she would probably hunt him down later, but now she was more concerned about why someone was trying to protect him – it wasn’t something she ran into often when executing a contract.

”So tell me,” she asked, hoping that he would see she did not plan to attack him, nor to go after the old man.  ”How well are you being paid for protecting him?” she asked, and awaited his answer with bated breath.  She still couldn’t place his familiarity, but she hoped he would perhaps remove his mask for conversation, and that would allow her to decide if she knew him or not.

Noticing that his blow struck true against the woman, Icarus took the chance to flip backward onto the counter, improving his position further and placing himself deliberately between the shopkeep and the woman.  He felt she was a professional and given the wound she now faced, pursuing the confrontation further would place her in even greater risk.  He was still weakened from his resurrection, but his skill was still likely on par with the woman, even moreso now that she had a wound that would hamper her mobility.

He cocked his head at her question, offering no sound nor reply aside from ragged breathing.  In addition to becoming used to his younger body once more, he'd been fighting an illness lately that had kept him sneezing the activity gave him the urge to cough but he ignored it.  Her mention of his familiarity confirmed his suspicions earlier.  Indeed, he did recall her and upon the old man's departure into the back storage room, Icarus stepped backward off the counter to where the old man had stood only a moment before.

Placing the longsword within his left hand into its scabbard at his hip, he drew his journal from a pouch on his hip.  At this moment, it was his greatest possession and although it may not be the wisest time to peruse it, he afforded it a glance as his eyes shot rapidly back and forth between the woman and the pages as he flipped through them with one hand.  Eventually, he paused on one of them.  It was a fairly detailed sketch of her face as he recalled it in their one meeting prior.

Most of his memories of Dae Luin were fractured, a side effect of his death and resurrection within this world.  The bits he recalled to the greatest detail were those concerning the faces of others as he knew them.  Several notes were scribbled along underneath the sketch, detailing the time as best he could.

"If this is you, there was a time upon a ship in the sky where you, a drow, and myself fought against men onboard it," he explained, keeping his mask on to gauge the womans reaction to his words. 

He found himself to be a fair judge of character and although he didn't find her to be quite a threat immediately, he'd rather not chance the distraction and the slight loss of sight that came when removing his mask.  It would give her the opportunity to even the odds if his belief was incorrect and she was as skilled as he believed.  Her question pertaining to his willingness to protect him was a delicate one.  

In all honesty, Icarus owed the man nothing, no allegiance, no boon to grant.  In fact, all that gave Icarus reason to protect him was his moral code and a sense of justice.  The man had lived many years of his life attempting to atone for his actions when he was younger.  As a result, Icarus found he was no more willing to condemn the man than he was to condemn himself for the actions he had taken to protect others in the past.  

"That man made mistakes in his life.  He has since striven to correct them and left the ties binding him to the corrupt more than three decades ago.  Your employer is likely one of those that he had wronged or a former ally that wished his secrets of tradecraft go to the grave with him.  I'll not permit it," he said as he sheathed his other blade, taking a chance for a moment and hoping the distance would allow him to draw quickly if need be.

Pulling a bit of cloth he had shredded in the event he needed to bandage himself from his side, Icarus tossed it onto the counter, fairly close to where the woman could reach it if she took a single step forward.  He didn't intend to continue fighting her and also placed his journal on the counter so she could see the portrait herself for extra validation.  He backed completely against the wall to give her a bit more breathing room and crossed his arms.

"He owes me nothing.  I'm not currently under contract, but I've spent most of the day gathering information on him.  If I were not certain he was deserving of my protection, he would be dead by your hand right now.  I'll permit you to bandage yourself and leave without further trouble on my account.  I've already interfered once and will continue to do so only so long as you threaten him.  If you wish to contact me further, I'll be moving this man to a safe location only I will have knowledge of and then you may find me at the tavern," he explained, voice not giving away any emotion.

He wanted information from her as well, but this was not the proper location for such idle prattle, especially when he had caused grievous injury only a moment before.  If nowhere else, the tavern would provide a suitable and safe environment where they could discuss matters further and hopefully find a means of voiding her contract or terminating it if necessary without bloodshed.  Her type were extraordinarily resourceful when it came to such things.  Often, the terms of a contract were absolute garbage unbefitting of their nature and they could find loopholes within it if they wished to void it.  He would appeal to a sense of honor that most of the elite professionals in the assassination business had.

She watched, bemused, as the man tilted his head at her question.  She could make out a labored sound to his breathing.  Was he ill?  She brushed off the thought, for even if he was ill, the man still looked as though he would prove to be a formidable opponent.  She watched as he sheathed his own weapon – and she proceeded to do the same with hers, as the position that she now held the blade in would be of no use to her in an offensive manner.  With her blade safely stowed, she watched him, intrigued, as he pulled out what resembled a small journal and flipped through the pages, switching his gaze from the contents of the journal to her face, and back again.

He stopped on a page, and it seemed that he had found what he was looking for.  She couldn’t see the image from where he stood, but she assumed from the way he spoke that the image at least resembled her, and there was a definite chance that it was.  This brought her back to her earlier mention of his voice sounding vaguely familiar and solidified the fact that it had.  She found herself wishing that he would remove his mask, but it seemed that was not going to happen and there was nothing at the current moment that would compel her to request him doing so.

She listened intently as he began to discuss the man in question – her would be target, who clearly was no longer going to be her target.  Watching him sheath his remaining blade, she nodded, if only to indicate acknowledgment to what he was saying to her.  She did not necessarily agree with what he was saying, but he seemed to be intelligent and he was respectful in their meeting – though he wished for her to stop what she had been doing he did not come after her with his blade even after she had technically surrendered.  

”Mistakes are generally what lead to people being the subject of my contracts,” she replied, meaning no ill blood. ”I have no personal stake in this manner and mostly I don’t ask for details – if the pay is good, I take it.  If I’m given a better reason, I’ll pass on it,” she continued.  She shifted slightly on the floor and winced as more weight was placed on her wounded leg.  

As if on cue, the man tossed a shred of cloth towards her.  She looked at the place it landed, on the counter, just a step in front of her, and found herself contemplating whether or not she should take it.   Shortly, the man also tossed the journal he had been looking at, and she could make out a sketch on it – was that of her?  She watched the man steadily, and he took a few steps back until he was pressed flat against the wall, so as to give her more space.

”Thanks,” she said quietly, and took a step forward to grab the cloth.  She winced, putting weight on the injured leg again, and took the scrap into her hands, tying it tightly around the wound.  The pressure hurt at first, but began to let a wave of relief over her injured limb.  The blood wasn’t coming as freely anymore either, and that definitely helped.  

After she had bandaged her wound, she took the journal into her hands, studying the page that the man had sketched.  The face was definitely hers, and the scribbled notes of remembrance he had written below the sketch all seemed so familiar to her.  She could not quite recall – she was still working to regain her memories, but the mention of the ship and the drow made sense to her, as though it had most definitely happened.  Perhaps this was something the two would discuss at a later time, for now it seemed as though more pressing things were at hand.  However, she did feel that she could trust this man’s judgment a bit more – he was, after all, someone she had apparently come across in the past, and she was still alive, so there was that.

She set the journal down, not commenting on it at the moment in time.  She nodded in agreement with what the man said to her.  ”Very well,” she said, respectfully.  ”Clearly you have more honor than I, but I will not attempt to take his life again,” she said.  With a quick laugh, she added, ”Besides, the man that put the hit out on him?  Squirelly little bugger and I’d rather not deal with him again, anyway,” she said.  She shrugged.  ”Coin’s nice, but don’t really need it,” she continued.  

”I’ll see you there later, then, and we can figure out where to go from here,” she responded.  She knew she could get out of the contract somehow, but it might be a bit more work than she wanted to deal with.  Perhaps, as part of his goal of keeping the shopkeeper safe, this man – this man who she had met in her past – could be of assistance to her.  After all, according to his sketch and notes, the two had somehow worked together before.

With that, she turned to walk out of the shop, allowing her back to turn to the man.  To her, this was her way of showing him that she was trusting him enough for the next meeting to happen, as turning one’s back to an unknown was a movement of vulnerability that assassins knew better than to present.  She wavered slightly as she walked, pain rippling through her injured leg, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.

-

A few hours later she had visited a healer and been patched up, an actual bandage having replaced the scrap of cloth the man had given her earlier.  She still limped a slight amount (the healer informed her that the pain would subside after a day or two), but could already sense a change for the better.

She headed to the only tavern she knew of in Mamlak, assuming that was where the man had meant.  She headed to the barkeep, grabbed a flagon of ale, and looked around.  Deciding after a sufficient amount of time that he was not there yet, she  headed to a table near the center of the establishment – none of this back in a dark corner nonsense for her, this meeting was going to happen out in the open.   She didn’t care if people overheard – she still had her own safety to worry about as well.  Being in an open area would afford her a bit more security, for what it was worth – though she was quite sure that the man had no intention of harming her.  It seemed as though he really just wanted to discuss a way to keep the shop keeper from being harmed, and she was fine with that. 

The woman was fairly easy to deal with.  Her hit wasn't truly an important contract and she hadn't had the sort of rapport with her client as many others had.  Normally, there were quite a few individuals that kept assassins on retainer, providing frequent contracts for a fair amount of money in exchange for a higher than usual loyalty and a much higher completion rate.  Freelancers like this woman were less common in the major cities, but they were also less likely to cause a fuss over a contract.

Icarus could determine there was a fair amount of truth to it, even if she may have been in need of the money.  There was some sort of trust that he couldn't measure or understand when it came to an assassin, but for her, it didn't seem too big of a stretch.  As he waited for her to leave, he remained against the wall, contemplating further on the situation and just how he would be able to ensure the man's safety in the event she or another assassin came for him.  The store front would likely be watched and he would need help to keep him secure.

The woman's response intending to see him later kept him a bit at ease and he allowed himself to cough at last, a sneeze following right after.  He had been fighting a cold for a few days now and given the tension had finally worn off, his immune system was kicking in full effect.  He groaned from beneath his mask.

"Great, now I have to deal with cleaning this damn thing.  Ugh, I'll see you later, then," he said as the woman departed, showing her back to him as a means of showing her trust.  It was a risky move, but as the door closed, he could at last remove his mask.  

Knocking on the door to the storage room, Icarus let the old man know that the assassin had departed and the circumstances of the situation that followed.  He was fearful that others would come to claim his life and devised a plan to keep the old man safe for the time being.  Icarus departed, bringing in a few other people of roughly similar build to give him the option of how to best go about this.  The following work would take a few hours to manage, but he felt confident in the end result.

When his plan was carried out and he was satisfied with the result, Icarus removed his gear, now alone in the main area of the shop.  He left his weapons, armor, and mask behind, leaving only his clothing and a few throwing knives tucked up his sleeves and bound by customized bands that held them in place along his forearms.  He wasn't keen on leaving without his weaponry, but the risk seemed fair given the public meeting he determined was the best course of action.

With a sigh, Icarus left the shop and scanned the area outside of the door, noticing night had come.  Fairly secure in the thought that his plan would keep the man alive, he locked the shop up behind him.  No reason to let his goods be stolen when he was incapable of protecting them, after all.  Turning toward the tavern he recalled finding the contract board, Icarus hurried his pace, perhaps a bit upset about leaving his contact waiting for him. 

Entering the building, he noticed as she went to sit down at her table.  He stopped at the barkeep and ordered at least a handful of hard drinks to ease himself, in addition to providing him enough cover to figure out if she were playing at something or if there were others that were shadowing her for not completing her task.  That was his primary concern.  Other assassins that were involved in the contract and competing for it without her knowledge.  

After perhaps another hour, he felt it was time to at last go to her.  Several figures there drew his attention, but none seemed like a compentent enough threat for him to become too concerned about.  The few drinks he had left him slightly bubbly, although they did not cause him to become any less effecient.  His cover as a commoner enjoying a drink was fairly intact to all others.

Wobbling a bit toward the woman's table, he put on a drunken smile, all part of the act.  Sitting down across from her, he placed his ale on the table after taking a deep chug of it.  Within his peripherals, he caught sight of yet another person that had their eye on the woman, a scowl on their face when they saw the young and somewhat attractive man sitting down across from her.

"So what brings a lovely lady like you here?" he said boisterously enough to cause the man to lose his patience and walk over.  

"A woman like that ain't got time for a boy like you," he interjected as he glared at Icarus with a look on his face amidst several scars that indicated he had years of experience.  Whether it was one of those that chose to shadow her or just some drunk ruffian that wanted the woman to themselves, Icarus was quick to handle the situation.

"Oh my, sir.  I apologize.  Can you help me up?" he asked politely as the man grabbed him by the collar from his left.

Holding onto the man's arm for balance, Icarus stood up, wobbling before he lost his balance and fell back, still holding onto his arm and pulling him down with him.  The table, however, seemed to have other ideas as it stopped the man's face and he went limp with a broken nose and missing teeth, blood streaming down his now grim visage.  The barkeep had a few of his people come over and help the man out of the bar, waking him up outside while he was still woozy from the ordeal.  That would likely buy him some time.

Stumbling back into his chair, Icarus sighed as he called for another ale and paid handsomely for it.  Under normal circumstances, he would have been asked to leave as well.  Fortunately for him, however, it seemed the other man was known as the sort that regularly engaged in bar fights and was only allowed in provided he didn't cause issues.  Finishing his first ale with a quick chug and taking a hearty drink from the next, Icarus turned his attention back to the woman, continuing his ruse.

"Terribly sorry, ma'am.  I haven't any idea what happened to him.  Poor guy was just trying to help me up.  How are you?  You seem a bit glum.  Something happen you would like to drink to that would cheer you up?" he asked, still keeping in mind the others that were still in the bar he had made note of earlier despite his drunken appearance.

Annoyance began to creep into Dalanesca’s mind.  She had been sitting at the tavern for quite a while, and had nearly finished her ale.  She contemplated retrieving another flagon, unsure of how much longer she would be willing to wait before giving up on the shopkeepers would-be savior.  She really had no problem with the fact that she had been unable to fulfill the contract she had taken out.  The coin would have been nice, but she didn’t need someone following her around, trying to take her life, while she was in turn attempting to take someone else’s.  It just wouldn’t work.  

She drained the flagon and flagged down one of the barmaids, flashing silver at her.  The woman wasted no time in bringing her a refill, and she paid her handsomely for it.  She shifted in her seat as she set the drink down on her table, wincing at the pain in her thigh.  She did not hold it against the man she had met earlier – he was in the same situation as her, only on the opposite side:  trying to earn coin and adhering to the job – he just seemed much more concerned about fulfilling his contract.  Such was the life of an assassin – some contracts weren’t worth fulfilling.

A few minutes later, she could see another patron of the tavern quite noticeably making his way over to her, wavering slightly as he did.  She mildly rolled her eyes, this situation of no surprise to her.  She was a decently attractive woman, and when one hung out in taverns as often as she, one became the object of unwanted affection or attention more than once.  She was never rude, only curt, always politely trying to get her point across that she was not interested.  Most of the time it worked, but on the rare occasion it ended in a bit of bloodshed – never death, only enough to deter them from continuing.

She gave the man a quick nod and brief smile as he sat down uninvited.  He was young, probably near her age, or perhaps a bit younger, and attractive enough.  She had no idea that it was, in fact, the man that she had been conversing with only hours ago – the one who gave her the wound on her leg, which was now down to the pain level of a dull throb.  His voice did not give him away, as when the two had spoken previously, it had been muffled by the mask that he wore.

”Just needed a drink after a strange day,” she said, mildly raising her flagon before taking a deep drink.  She set it back down, shrugging.  Her answer was quite honest – the ale helped to dull the pain in her leg without dulling her mind too much.  Within seconds, however, another had ‘joined’ the two of them, mentioning that she did not have time to them.  She backed away from the table, hand at the ready to drop a dagger from her wrist sheath if need be.  What happened instead was enough to illicit a chuckle from her.  

Her companion from earlier, unknown to her, caused the newcomer an ordeal of pain, which elicited his ejection from the establishment.  Within moments of him leaving, the earlier man came back over to her, flopping back down into his chair.  She raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what he was going to say.  When he apologized, she nodded.  

”No harm, no foul,” she said, with a bit of a laugh.  He commented on her overall demeanor and she realized that she did feel a bit down about what had happened earlier, without actually knowing it.  It actually bothered her.  She was never bothered.  It was that feeling again – that weird, gross feeling in her stomach that she had been getting as of late.  She was starting to doubt herself, and she couldn’t have that.

She shrugged, intent on answering him enough where he would possibly leave her alone, still no idea who she was actually speaking with.  ”I’m fine.  Could say I just had a bad day at work,” she said, dully.  It wasn’t entirely a lie – she did have a bad day at work.  ”Disagreement with a colleague, wouldn’t let me do my job,” she said with a sigh.  ”Same old, same old.  But he was probably right, you know?” she said, rambling a bit.  At the mention of her drink, she looked into her flagon, which was running low once again.  She hadn’t realized how quickly she had downed her latest order.  ”I suppose another ale wouldn’t hurt,”[p/b] she said.  Her brain was still quite clear and she saw no harm in another drink, and maybe conversation wouldn’t be so bad. 

”I think I might be in the wrong line of work,” she admitted, candidly.  ”Wait, why am I telling you that?” she asked, with a bit of a laugh, and drained the remaining ale from her flagon.  

It seemed all the preparations Icarus had laid out ahead of time seemed to work well enough in maintaining his anonymity when it came to her.  In fact, it seemed more likely he could get her to speak fairly candidly, albeit cryptically, about the entire situation.  It was likely her words would have been somewhat more guarded had she positively identified the masked swordsman from before.  He took another swig of his ale as he listened to her talk more about it.

"Sounds like a right prick.  What did you say his name was?  The bloke what did that to you?" he said as he leaned haphazardly, pointing at her leg as he tipped over, chair and all.

He couldn't help letting out a bit of a laugh at the whole thing.  Here he was looking like a sopping idiot that couldn't keep his balance atop a chair with four legs.  The last bit was less of an act and more the alcohol starting to take an effect on him at last.  Icarus placed a hand firmly on the table and righted the chair once more, placing his rump firmly in it as he paid for yet another drink.

"Well, no harm, no foul and all that, right?  Tell me you at least got a good shot in on him, at least," he goaded, joking with her now that she seemed a bit more at ease and was even questioning why she would share such a thing.

Icarus glanced around once more casually, as though he were appreciated the ample bosoms of the wenches both working and meandering with the customers.  The look he noticed one or two of the men in the establishment give him was more an appraisal than anything else.  They were sizing him up and couldn't quite tell what to make of him given his clear clumsiness and the way he dispatched the first man to come up to him.  In fact, one could say he was just a drunk with incredible luck and a blank mind.

"You know, I'd really hate to rain on your parade and ruin our fun, but there are at least two people here other than me that had their eye on you.  They don't seem like that guy.  Don't look around.  One is sitting in the corner behind and to your right and another is near the front door," he explained, his eyes returning back to her.

She blinked at the man in contemplation, wondering if she should indeed indulge any further information.  After a moment’s thought, she decided that no harm could come of what she would share, as long as she was to limit it.  ”I wouldn’t necessarily call him a prick,” she said, a slight smile coming over her mouth.  ”Never caught his name.”  She shrugged, and looked down at the bandaged wound on her leg, which she now realized was in fact quite obvious.  ”I kind of deserved it,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.  Her voice held a tinge of sadness, as was usual when one realized that what they had been doing with their life was no longer what they felt to be right.
 
She couldn’t help but release a full blown smile and a laugh as her companion seemed to lose his balance on his chair and completely tipped over.  She shook her head in amusement as he righted himself, ordering himself yet another drink.  She ordered one from the barmaid as well, realizing that she was actually enjoying the conversation – something that would not have entirely been true if she had known his true identity.  When their drinks were returned, she took a hearty drink of her own and placed the flagon down upon the table, nodding in agreement with him
 
She shook her head in response to his question, the laughter dying from her voice – yet the smile remained.  The curls in her dark hair bounced as her head moved back in forth, coming to a rest on her shoulders. ”I didn’t even attempt to land a hit on him,” she admitted, her answer fully truthful.  ”I think he was just… well, he was just doing his job, same as I,” she continued.  ”Except… I think his job to be a bit more admirable than mine,” she commented.
 
She watched him for a moment as he looked around, thinking nothing of it.  She gave her head a little shake and took a sip of her ale, wondering if their conversation was going to continue, yet unsure of his true intentions.  He seemed a nice enough fellow, but his antics were off kilter enough to cause her suspicion.  After a moment, she waved the thought away.  He had stopped looking around and was now looking back to her.  He began to speak again, and she listened with one eyebrow cocked.

”I would assume that this fellow would come speak to me directly,” she said, without turning to look at the men that he had indicated.  ”Not to sound vain, or full of myself… but I am quite used to men eyeing me up when I am in taverns, especially with as much time as I spend in them.”  She shrugged her shoulders, leaning back.  Scanning the area in front of her, still not turning to face the direction that her companion had indicated, she frowned.  She was too curious to heed his warning, and craned her neck ‘round to see the characters that he had pointed out.

Her frown turned into an angry sneer.  ”Son of a bitch,” she hissed under her breath.  Both of the men were quite familiar to her - competition, one might say.  They were the kind to follow her around and pick up her scraps, and on a rare occasion attempt to get to a target before her on an open hit.  She had managed to turn back around to face her companion without either of the men noticing that she had seen them.

She opened her mouth as though to say something, and snapped it shut soon after.  After a moment’s pause, she spoke, having decided that what she was going to say was worth saying after all.  ”I know the both of them,” she muttered, the distaste clear in her voice.  Her eyes had darkened, anger shadowing her face.  ”They’re damned vultures, that’s what they are,” she hissed.  ”No doubt they’ve heard that I didn’t complete my task, and they’ve come to town to gather information that will help them to snatch it out from under my nose,” she said.  Her brow wrinkled in frustration, and she scanned the bar, looking for the masked individual who had dealt her the injury on her leg.  

”Would be a good time for you to show up,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough so he could hear her - though, of course, she did not know that the person she addressed happened to be the one that could hear her.  ”I’ll fix this,” she said, standing up from the table.  ”Excuse me for a moment,” she said, a slight waver to her voice.  The ale had a stronger effect on her than she had imagined, and she could feel it much more when she stood.

 She had chosen not to take the contract for two reasons: one, respect for the individual who had an honorous way of requesting, and two, it just wasn’t worth the risk.  She didn’t need to second-string assassins picking it up.  She began to make her way towards one of the offending individuals, though her first step was a bit of a stumble.