Constantine Adana

The name had been roughly scratched onto a small brown sheet of paper in a cheap blank ink. Varus found it in the morning after he awoke from his slumber; the note had been casually slipped under the door during the night by who ever his contractor was. There was no other information about the target, just a name; it was up to him to find the target and his whereabouts. He held the small sheet of paper over to a candle sitting on the dresser next to him. The paper was engulfed in flames and Varus dropped it before it could burn the tips of his fingers. He made a mental note of the name again so he could remember it. He could not leave any evidence behind anywhere, even if it was so discrete and meaningless.

Varus gathered his gear and moved out of the door of his room. His target was most likely a wealthy merchant or noble, the always were. He had a strong dislike for the wealthy upper-classes of Lomedor, which is why he took up this job up in the first place. He never really gave thought about his employer or ever even cared. They contracted him out to do a job and he did it without thinking twice. It was necessary to get paid and put food in his mouth. Plus it was not like the people he killed were anything of real worth to society. Each one was a fat man who used his father’s wealth, and not his own skill or intelligence to become of Lomedor’s prestigious class.

Varus exited the inn and pulled up the hood of his cloak. He quickly made his way to the town hall, a place where he could likely find information on his targets. It did not take him long to get to the town hall, the day was clear and traffic in the city was light and calm. He proceeds up the fine marble stone steps and into the elaborate wooden structure that was the hall. As soon as he passed through the main entrance he crossed the main vestibule over to one of the clerks working over a desk.

“May I help you?” The clerk a, a young lady, asked.
“I’m looking for Constantine Adana. Have you seen him around lately?” Varus asked.
“Em…” The clerk said unfamiliar with the name. “Let me ask one of the other assistants.” She said. “Simon!”
A man standing over by a group of people turned to look at Varus and the lady.
The man the clerk called to, Simon moved over towards them.
“Simon, do you know a Constantine Adana
?”
“Yes, he is at his office down by the docks. Running his shipping business as usual.”
“Thanks Simon.” The clerk replied and turned back to Varus.
“Thank you,” Varus said. “I’ll be on my way.”