I know- I know- I haven’t posted in waaaayyyyy too long. I’m sorry. I really am. Really really sorry. I hope none of you hate me, or refuse to read my story, or whatever but here’s the next chapter: hope you like it….

Rosto went down the stairs, still smiling from his sister’s gift. She had been generous that was plain. She must truly still want to see him. That bit Rosto, slightly, though he could never see her again. But, she was just 15, not even married yet, her views of his life would soon change.

In the bar, there were many people; still it was not as busy as it would be, several hours later.

Rosto sat down at one of the wooden stools next to the bar and waited until a pretty mot came up and asked him what he wanted for his drink. He laughed and flirted, he knew this woman well.

He was through is second glass of ale when a woman tapped his shoulder with a hand. She was of medium height and looked like a cat. She was sleek with brown hair.

“Do you know where I can find Elthina the hedgewitch?” She asked softly.

Rosto scoffed, “I know not of Elthina. Perhaps I can help with some other thing?”

She gave a tiny smile, “I will be fine,” she turned and blended into the crowd.

Rosto laughed, then looked around. Based on the bells ringing, it was past midnight. He decided it was time to go to the Court of the Rouge; mayhap there he would meet a person who could direct him to a new job.

The Court of the Rouge was a lavish tavern, based off of a large block of homes. Rosto was admitted quickly, he was known here. The Rouge was a tall man of around thirty. His name was Hadan Tyrsra and he had been the Rouge for just over a year.

He was Scanran that was obvious, most of his hair was cut short and the pieces that were still long were braided with jeweled beads.

Rosto knew that he had no need to meet the Rogue; he was just looking for work.

He settled himself off to the side and started up a casual game of dice with some other men. He wasn’t up to betting much, but it was fine sport.

It was late, much later when there was a sudden commotion over by the Rouge’s dais.

A young drunkard had walked in and was shouting something. It sounded like, “Down with the Rogue. Pox rot him, he’s curst us all.”

Rosto stood and tried to move closer. Most others seemed to sense the danger and skirted to the edges of the large room. Only a few of the larger coves and the Rogue’s chiefs moved towards the dais.

Hadan stood up. His figure was still young and imposing and when he drew a knife, the room fell silent.

The foolish cove was now silent, knowing in his drunken state that what he had said had doomed him.

“Do you contest my rule?” Hadan spoke, advancing down the steps, words punctuating movement.

Now the drunkard moved back, face slowly looking panicked. He glanced behind him, searching in vain for a way out. But people surrounded him, encouraging a fight.

Hadan looked furious, eyes darkening, a rage crossing his face. He was not a berserker, but he was still dangerous.

Hadan stepped forward and in a flash of his velvet clothes, cut the cove’s throat. There was no chance for the foolish challenger, the Rogue was fast and used to defending his life.

The bloody knife was wiped clean on scarlet silk, then stuck back into a belt. Hadan wanted to flaunt his victory. He needed to assert his control over his court.

Rosto stood off to the side now, musing over the quick sequence of events. He had not encountered another Rogue before, but he quickly stored away the information that a rogue must be cunning and ready, ready for attack.

Rosto had much to learn. He hoped he would rise high.