"Fifteen sovereigns. A week." "Are you sure about that? McClellan offered me twenty." The noble, Cyril, was exasperated, convinced he was dealing with the most difficult rogue-assassin in all of Thedas. "Look, there are… Fringe benefits that come with this position." "Oh? And what would those be?" The rogue looked up from the shadows, previously flicking dirt from under his nails with a knife. His face was hidden, but he was obviously tall and a wisp of a man, not heavily armored, but that made him all the more dangerous. "Along with the errands I'll have you run and the spying you'll be doing, I'll need you to look after the Duchess. Now is as good a time as any for an unsuspecting party to lay an attempt on her life, with her being eligible for the throne and all." Although it was impossible to see, the rogue raised his eyebrows a fraction of a degree. "Oh?" He couldn't determine whether he would end up wanting to bed her or kill her, knowing the maintenance of… teenage girls… Anyhow, he needed a new adventure in his life, bored with the day to day lyrium smuggles and secret drops.
"You have… A deal." His grin glinted in the lantern light as he leaned forward to shake hands, molten amber eyes glowing. The nobleman shook fiercely, almost frightened by the presence, which dissipated the instant after their hands parted. He turned, regaining his composure, and carried on with his head held high.