It took three days for Argo to arrive back at the assassin's guild. Built just a few kilometres off from the borders of the southern and eastern provinces, it was at first glance, nothing impressive. It had of course been designed with that purpose in mind. A small town, tucked away in the space between a large forest and a winding river. A typical sight, no one would ever suspect it to be under the control of the assassin's guild. People stood in the fields around the town, tilling the ground and planting seeds for the upcoming harvest in spring. None of them were truly farmers though, the town itself if entered would be found mostly empty. In the small town, only two buildings were ever used regularly and only one was ever truly busy. Those farming were simply being punished for mistakes they had made within the guild, the houses of the town themselves lay nearly completely empty.

Argo sat on horseback as he approached the town. The cold yet powerful breeze of mid-winter carried the smell of dirt and sweat from those who worked in the field. The methodical clang of farming tools striking dirt rang through his ears. His eyes sat heavy in his skull, he had only had a few hours of sleep on the travel back. If he had come with a crew maybe they would have been able to stop on the way, but a part of his deal with his master had been to complete this mission alone.

The horse turned around a bend in the dirt track which led forward, putting them on a straight shot path from the gates of the small town. One of the other members of the guild, who was working away in the fields stood up and moved towards the road.

“Sorry kid, we ain’t taking visitors today.” Hundreds of people made this town their semi-permanent home, though they rarely stayed more than a handful of days at a time, so it made sense that not everyone would know who Argo was. He pulled lightly on the reins of the horse, slowing it down to a halt by the man's side.

“No worries, I live here.” The assassin acting farmer seemed to eye him with suspicion however when Argo lifted off the side of his thick dark green cloak to reveal a branding scar on his shoulder he was swiftly let through. The scar was one that everyone who had undergone their initiation received. It held the shape of a circle, broken into three sections with small lines on the start and end of each of the segments. Whilst Argo had undergone his initiation trial a few years prior, most within the town had not yet undergone theirs and simply remained as apprentices to their masters, journeying with them on any of their missions.

Many within the fields had witnessed the short exchange between the two, for this reason, he was left alone in his approach to the town's gates. As the horse rode through them he was met with a ghost town. Houses lined silently along the two sides of the town's central street, their blacked out windows and dust covered porches only helped to illustrate their emptiness. If he tried to open any of the doors he knew that he would quickly find them locked. The rooms behind them were as barren as they had been when his master had first brought him to the small town about seven years prior. The houses weren’t off limits strictly, it was more so that few people ever stuck around long enough to require one. Only two buildings within the city were ever entered, only one of them was populated enough to be called busy, the other was a simple housing unit for the few permanent residents of the town.

He let his horse trot slowly through the town, each step kicking a cloud of dust off of the ground, leaving it to float slowly to the ground around the horse's feet. By the time he neared the centre, he could hear the noise of people cheering, singing and drinking. The horse came to a halt outside the town's tavern, it was booming with activity. Arguments inside fought each other for which could make more noise. The soft sound of a lute being strummed and a singer's voice undercut the sounds of the arguments, bringing a sense of peace to what most would consider a quite chaotic scene. Argo smiled, rare for him these days, though music always brought him back to what his life was like back with his parents. Days spent in front of a fire, attempting and failing to match their tones as they sang to him.

He pulled himself off of the horse's saddle and grabbed ahold of his reins. The horse's fur was a light brown, spotted with patches of white. Lady Erina had clearly kept him well groomed. “I’m going to need to give you a name, won’t I.” The horse eyed him in response and he sighed, taking the reins and tying it to a nearby post. “I’ll be back soon.”

He walked into the tavern and was instantly hit by the smell of cheap booze and cigars. The men here were all a part of the guild in some way or another, though there would likely be less than fifteen members other than Argo who had finished their initiation. The tavern's three floors represented the three grades of employees within the guild, the higher within the guild you got the higher the floor you were allowed to visit. The base floor was for contractors, people who may not serve directly within the guild but who were allowed to carry out missions in the name of it. Few of these ever continued to rise through the guilds ranks, they were merely here to make their coin and leave. The second floor required you to be an apprentice underneath an initiated member to enter. The final floor was for those who had been initiated. 

As Argo became acquainted with the smell again, he cut his way through the room. A few people glanced in his direction, but none lingered on him for too long. A good few would recognise him as his master's ex-student, they knew better than to pick a fight with someone who had such strong connections. The others simply didn’t care who he was. With each step, he could feel the burlap sack strung across his back, underneath his cloak, bounce into his back. The weight of the woman's head was a solemn reminder of those he had killed. He knew it had been wrong, but they would have gotten in the way of his mission, and then in the way of his escape. They had seen him for too long, he could not let his identity get out. Back when he had gone on missions with his master the two had always killed every witness. Still, he was all too aware that with each kill he further lost his humanity. The blood of those he killed with his master, just as the blood of Dalton, would stain his hands till the day he died.

“Welcome back Argo.” The stairkeeper, a man by the name of Galli, said. He shook his hand, the man had a firm grip. “Mission all done?”

“Got her head right in this sack.” He reached to his back and pulled the bag off. The base of the sack had been stained red with the woman's blood, it sagged with the weight of her head. Galli looked at it, then at him, and a smile crossed his face.

“So you're heading after the man who took your parents then?” Galli was one of the few mostly permanent residents of the town. He had a room in a housing block within the town, as did all other initiated members, however, few truly lived within them like he did.

“That I will. Though I have no earthly clue on where to start.” Though perhaps Galli would be a useful person to have go on the journey with him. He was one of the more intelligent among the initiated. He made a half decent Knower, and only the gods knew how useful a good one of those could be on a mission such as his.

“Well, good luck.” Galli stepped aside from the stairs, giving space for Argo to climb up them towards the second and then the third floor. He was the only guard needed, whilst occasionally a contractor would try to access the higher floors, never in the history of their guild had an apprentice tried to breach the third.

“If you are looking for a job you could always come with me.”

“Thanks for the offer Argo, but I’m not sure.”

“Just give it a thought, alright?” Galli paused for a moment, his eyes locking with Argo’s. A hint of determination seemed to burn within them, however it quickly extinguished as his shoulders sagged down. Argo knew not to push him any further. “Thanks anyways, now I’ve gotta head up. I’ll see you later.”

“That you will.” He replied curtly to Argo who had already begun to ascend the stairs. The three floors of the tavern were built like stairs. Each floor halved in length compared to the one below, providing a lookout onto those who ranked lower within the guild. At the edge of the second and third floor railings lined from wall to wall, allowing one to lean on them as they looked down to those below.