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It was small, just a slip of paper buried under the scrolls, books, and papers littering his desk. Tarquin looked at it curiously, setting aside the report he had been asked to file in favor of the small scrap.
Saw what you did last week at the docks. I wanted to inform you our mutual friends made it to their destination safely. If you would like to know more, meet me just after sundown outside the lamplighter. There's no signature, just a little squiggle doodle of something near the bottom corner. Tarquin couldn't quite make out what it is—like a backwards S—perhaps a snake?
He glanced up, trying to make the movement imperceptible. There was no acknowledgement from his coworkers, nobody watching him intently, no knowing eyes or small nod of acknowledgement. It could have been anyone. The Revered's visit pulled everyone from their stations so they could look more impressive as he toured the archives with some other fancy highbloods and examined some edicts from the Archon and previous Divine. It would have been easy, during the commotion, for any number of his coworkers to slip something small onto his desk. Tarquin crumpled the paper and slipped it between the folds of his uniform into a pocket before pulling over the next report.
It was almost dark outside when the cloaked figure drops down from the roof across the way. Tarquin had been loitering here for a little bit now, enough to finish his smoke and for his hand to start to twitch nervously on the hilt of his sword. It wasn't something he carried often anymore, particularly after being pulled from patrol about a week ago, but he learned quick that the shining city of Minrathous was just a facade. The figure nodded him towards the docks before walking away, Tarquin following several paces behind. They stopped at a wooden railing along the peer, the man propping his elbows against it and staring out into the sea. Tarquin followed suit.
"Was wondering if it'd be you," Tarquin said idly, glancing at the masked man out of the corner of his eye. He was hard to distinguish, but Tarquin did his best to observe the features he could see—close cropped hair, darker skin, bright blue-green eyes, that little scar by his eyebrow. None of it quite matched any of his coworkers within the archives.
"I've heard you've been demoted since we last crossed paths."
Tarquin's laugh was harsh and sharp. "Yeah, well. Magister Corin wasn't too thrilled that I lost his property. Lucio somehow got off easier, despite the fact he was knocked out for most of it. Still, don't think he was paying enough attention to realize it was my pommel that did it." The eyes crinkled above the mask, and Tarquin could imagine the smile accompanying them beneath.
"I thought you may be interested to know that our friends have left the city. They're on a boat to Fereldan as we speak, and we have a few ties there to help get them set up once they arrive." Tarquin nodded, pleased at the confirmation, though he was unsurprised. The quick note basically told him as much. That wasn't the reason he was here though, and he knew it. After a moment the man spoke again.
"There's more of us out there. Slavery, blood magic. Minrathous makes itself unsafe for those who tread her streets. We do our best to protect them, to put a thorn in the side of those responsible. To change things. You could be a part of that. Your skill with a blade, your military training and tactics, your new position in the archives. You could prove invaluable to us, if you're interested."
Tarquin's hands twitched on the handle of his blade. It sounded good, he had to admit. Still, a lifetime of scraping by builds its share of distrust.
"So, what? You know my whole history. My name, my background, where I work. You want me to run illegal shit for you, something that could get me thrown in a cell or killed in some back alley, and I don't even see your face? 'm not that stupid."
The man across from him sighed. "I'm sure you can imagine being the figurehead of something like this is risky. People call me the Viper. It's a name that's chosen to match, to invoke fear and hope. It's not my given name, but my friends, those I trust, call me Ashur. I know it's hardly a fair exchange, but unfortunately that's all I can offer you."
A long silence settled over them. Tarquin's hand still and he moved it off his sword. The waves were choppy in the distance, and Tarquin watched the swell and fall of them for a few minutes. A storm on the horizon, though not here yet.
"Alright then, Ashur. What do we do?"