Prologue
He was a fool. Every second of every minute he repeated it like a mantra, his flesh stung with the first kiss of Northgate's first months of winter. For a noble to wander the streets during winter was suicide, especially in one of the many brutal rainstorms that struck this city every year. Only the desperate, mad, and dying did so. He glanced at the nearest of the massive spires that served as clock towers and noted a little dryly to himself that he could consider himself a bit of all three. He waited nervously, thinking it rather suspicious that no one else wandered onto this street since he had. 

Suspicious or not, it was still a blessing and one he took gratefully. He took advantage of the gray sky's sudden calm to straighten his tunic and brush a windswept black lock out of his face, which one might swear was carved from ivory. It was to his credit that outwardly he looked utterly calm, his amber-colored eyes reflecting none of his own emotional turmoil that rivaled the turbulence that fell in sheets from the sky. This mask of tranquility was a gift from his father, one of the high born of Valessia. 

A sudden shift of wind direction had him retreating further under the masonry to avoid a momentary squall that threatened to soak his expensive but simple clothes. As suddenly as it came the wind left him, a shadow playing across the wall his only warning as the man he had been waiting for arrived. He stood undaunted by the specter of cloak and shadow that stood before him, making an effort to look the messenger in his red eyes. 

Offering a slightly apologetic smile the figure says, “My lord sends his apologies that he couldn’t be here to greet an old friend in person, I’ve already slipped you the payment. Assuming you’ll perform the task, we shouldn't have problems. Should we Val?"

The noble – Prince Valais of the Red Reaches – straightened his posture and offered his hand to his old friend, “Worry not, I’ll do my part just as your silver will do its own.”  Assuming a hurt look and tone Valais asked, “Perhaps you think my friendship not strong enough of a bond? Or perhaps you’re worried that I’ll discover the silver you gave me was false?”  His expression could only be described as mischievous as he asked that last question, flicking off a bit of mud from his cloak. “It’s a good thing I know how to sell your fake silver, otherwise I’d be in quite a bit of trouble, don’t you agree?”  

The messenger smiled widely while flicking a platinum lock out from in front of an eye before saying, “If we doubted you could, we wouldn’t have pursued business with you my friend.” 

A smirk danced across Valais’ eyes as he responded scathingly, “Perhaps ‘We’ should double my payment next time, It is overwhelmingly irritating going through the necessary channels only to receive a pittance of what it was worth.”


The messenger made a sour face, “Duly noted. Please excuse me, I have other business to attend to, my ever so mercurial diplomat." and slipped away, disappearing with a flutter of cloth into the darkness from whence he came. A blessing, Valais supposed; he could barely stand politics, much less the politics of Northgate. 

The deluge of freezing rain prompted him to hurry along back to his diplomatic mansion, his business on the cold streets of the dock district at an end. Traversing the streets swiftly, he nodded curtly to another of the city watchmen, smiling privately as he wondered how he would react if he knew the chaos that would erupt in the coming days.