Essalena sits at her desk, looking over parchment papers and sorting them into piles that represent potential marks and profits to be made by selling said marks. The usually loud rumble of conversation and tankards colliding with each other from the bar just outside is muted by the thickness of the door leading out. A loud voice can be heard through the door, one of her associates denying someone entry, perhaps like. She sighs quietly as she watches and waits. A thump that makes the door shiver and a sound that can only be a body sliding down the wall can be heard shortly afterwards.
The door to her office opens, and in walks a male night elf, dressed in black formal attire. His hands are visible and have no weapons displayed. She looks up, and a shadow of fear crosses her face and whispers a single word; but is quickly schooled to impassiveness. A tough, obviously not knowing who he is, lays a hand on the elf’s shoulder as if to restrain him. “Boss, he refused to wait –” his voice is cut off mid-speech by the sounds of daggers stabbing into him. Letting out a low grunt of pain, the thug slumps to the ground immediately paralyzed and bleeding out from the poisons on the blades. The movements were so quick that one could say it never happened, but the night elf had unsheathed two daggers, stabbed the unfortunate thug four times then resheathed them in a smooth motion.
He looks steadily at Lena. “One of yours?”
Lena replies stonily, “He was.”
The night elf moves to stand in front of her, a whisper of sound the only thing heard. Reaching into a jacket pocket, he lays a golden coin on her desk. It is highly polished, and engraved with sigils and an image of crossed swords with a broken crown in the center. As she looks at the coin, her stony features turn thoughtful. He says in a low tone: “I will serve. I will be of service.” He sits down in the chair in front of her.
Behind them, the door closes, shutting off the office from the bar.