A tattered letter.

[Cazalet]

The rogue moves through the crowds of Orgrimmar. He looks at the faces of those he passes, the laughter, the general jovial nature of those protected amongst the walls, he shook his head in disgust.

"Cattle, waiting to be slaughtered."

He continues talking to himself, subtle murmurs being heard from someone that many would turn their nose up at. Moving down several alleys, he finds himself in the Drag. Connor had pondered contacting this recent "cult" that was rumored to be operating around the capital. He knew they weren't simple soothsayers, but ones that may need his skill. Having found some of their possessions in the past, he clutched a parchment, meant for one. Moving to one of the many taverns, he found himself sitting in a shadowed corner, parchment placed onto the table. Penning out a response, he would make sure it would find his target.

-----------------------------------------------------

There have been rumors of your formation. Your supposed creed to serve the people, us... underdogs of society. Where our leaders sit lazily and grow fat, you speak of moving to action. What would this...

The letter appears to have stopped, ink splattered on the parchment. There were several dots all over the parchment, almost as if Connor was having difficulty writing to someone he has never met. Nonetheless, the letter continues towards the bottom of the parchment in the only writable area.

Simply put, I'm interested in what you have to offer. A first-born in the Forsaken, I have watched kingdoms, my own kingdom... rise and fall. Those that would originally call me brother have turned their blades towards me. My apologies if I pen this letter rather... hesitantly. Nonetheless, allies against a common foe would always be welcome. If the "Grim" would have me, I assure that my poisoned blades would find our enemies heart.

Regards,

Connor Cazalet

-----------------------------------------------------

He looks at the letter he just wrote, nodding in approval at his words. He rolls it up and makes his way over to where there had been "Grim" activity.

"Skull and daggers... skull and daggers."

He looks around, trying to find one openly displaying the cults colors. Finding one doing as such, he moves behind them, slipping through the shadows available at his disposal. A simple reverse pickpocket of his letter and Connor was on the way.

[Qabian]

On his way between the auction house and the bank in Orgrimmar's crowded center, Qabian distractedly takes out the several sheets of paper he keeps on hand for such, only to find one already written on at the top of the pile. He blinks, shaking his head at the ease in which it had been placed in his hands without his notice, but it has a name on it, so he sets aside whatever else he was doing and sends a reply.

Connor Cazalet,

Though of course I'm curious what would have led your previous brothers to betray you, if the common foe you seek to fight is the Alliance or those who would stand against the Horde, then the Mandate may indeed be your answer.

Find us in Razor Hill on Friday at the 6th bell.

Magister Qabian Grimfire
High Inquisitor of the Grim

((If you can't make Friday, August 31 at 6pm server let me know and we can arrange a different time.))

[Cazalet]

The letter had found its way back into the rogues possession. A brief smile moves across his disfigured face before placing the reply letter in his satchel.

"Friday at the sixth bell..."

(( Friday at 6 should be fine. I may be coming in right before it but I'll place Cazalet there the night before! ))