OoC: I've decided you may comment before I'm finished.

IC: Marcus lived in a tiny one-room apartment in the slums of Putyr. It was on the very top floor, the least desirable location for any apartment for a multitude of reasons. The walls were a cheap, flexible wood and were bare. The thatch roof leaked and was, in itself, an ecosystem home to hundreds of insects and rats. The only apparent furniture in the room was a single, metal-framed bed with a cardboard-thin mattress, and a small dresser in the corner. The window was devoid of glass, covered only by a tattered cloth tied to the frame. The first, most obvious question that arises is: Why did Marcus, a highly-paid assassin, live in squalor such as this? And the answer is: Everyone knows the most likely person to be assassinated is the assassin. He was simply trying to keep a low-profile.

The creaks of the floorboards outside the crooked door announced the return of Marcus. He pushed open the door (no lock on the door, either), and sat on his bed. He sighed deeply and took his cloak off. He flung it in the general direction of the dresser, and the scruffy paper fell out and landed on the floor with a silent thud. Marcus reached for it and realised it was that man Johnson had given him. He decided it might be good for a laugh, and opened it.

No. 23 Cooper Street, Just off Belangrist Square
Target: John Brady Task: Assassination, Make it look like an accident
Reward: 1700crns

Johnson, Mitchell

Marcus read it three times, just for belief’s sake. Seventeen Hundred Crowns!? He thought, That’s enough to retire on! But then he noticed something, Assassination… H’mmm… He said “Just a scare”… But then Marcus’ greed overpowered his common sense, Ah, it’s probably nothing. He dropped the paper and got up with a creak of bedsprings. He carefully stepped on one loose floorboard and the other end rose up, like a see-saw. He took only one item out of the hidden cubby-hole: A knife, with a plain wooden handle and a blade so sharp you could swear it went ting when it caught the light. Marcus had always liked to challenge himself on his assassinations, he felt it was the only thing he was really any good at.

Marcus opened his window (that is, he pulled across the rag from the hole), and climbed out. It was naught but a step out onto the next roof. He always used the roofs during an assassination, he was faster and unnoticed when he was on the roofs. It was more or less straight to Cooper Street. He began to walk his special way, his feet went in front of him first, and the body floated over. This not only made no noise, but also allowed him to test the floor in front of him. But he did it so fast and smoothly, you‘d think it was just a form of tip-toe running. He made sure his weight was supported on the wooden crossbeams. It was darkening now, and more fog was creeping in from the highlands. The streets looked like they were miles below, below the clouds.

He jumped across an alley, and landed heavily on the roof opposite, and continued. He shimmied onto a taller building in front of him, and from that, he jumped onto a roof across the street. The people would only have thought it was an overly-large bat. He was on the Cooper Street now. Or rather, high above it. He walked along the row of buildings, counting. He stopped.

“No. 23,” he said to himself.

He produced his knife and embedded it into the roof. He quickly cut a hole into it, and let the disc of thatch fall down to the floor below with a fwump.

He followed it.

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