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A dirty, crude note is pinned to the entrance of some lair south of trollsbane. The lair is clearly somewhere only the more murkier elements of Gobaith would survive, or even have knowledge off.

Brothers, sisters, and anyone-else interested in gold.

Too long have those who would seek gold through 'illegal' means remained unorganised. Its time to make a choice: WE MUST BAND TOGETHOR, OR DIE.

I promise gold, entertainment and loot. I dont care about your race, sex, size of manhood or strength of arm. I dont care about your religion. So if you have sense, join me, and we will be strong. The more of us there are, the safer we are. Damn the nobles, Damn the knights, and Damn the laws.

Leave your mark, or however you want to be known below this message if you agree.

The message is unsigned.

At least the above parchment is more eye appealing and catchy then "Bandit Hideout". However, I fear, the end result of this.. new movement shall be the same as all the others. Please continue to humor me.

Signed,
Sir Julius Rothman
Noble of Salkamar
Knight of Kallahorn
Protector of the Law

A goblin slowly limps his way toward the note, his features hidden under the mantle of the night. In his wake walks a wide-eyed hobbit child wielding a torch. At the goblin’s direction the child reads the parchment aloud. After a brief exchange of words the halfling withdraws a quill and inkwell from his bag and scrawls a response below the note. Nodding, the goblin turns and makes his way back from where he came, the hobbit boy scurrying behind at his heels.

I has been wishing nobles damned since I was been born, and I is been mad for the silvers sooner even then that. Your words is true, I thinks, very many true. Ample true.

The crude likeness of a spider has been etched below the ink in charcoal.

Blood equals blood

~No signature is left, but the shape of a diamond is drawn.

Only one word is printed, in small clear letters. Underneath is a quickly sketched falcon.


Yes

*A note has been roughly carved into a rock wall.*

Stay vigilant. Stay in the shadows.

We are one.

We are darkness.

We are coming.

Dear "players",

Thank you for fulfilling my request. You guys sure do know how to make a grown man laugh.

Signed,
Sir Julius Rothman
Knight of Kallahorn

In the deep darkness of the night, one standing watch at the bandit hideout could make out the faint crunching of snow under the steel boots of the blood stained warrior in the distance. The wind howled in the night as Julius quickly took a short cut through the nearby wood, shuffling the lifeless and breathless body of the young man slumped over his shoulder. A trail of blood could be seen flowing from Trolls Bane. Upon stepping to the large columns of the hideout Julius growled lowly as he dropped the body from his back, slumping it up against the wall in a sitting position.

A large, evident gash was pierced through the man's chest most likely by a blade. His jawline seemed to be slightly dislocated as well, hanging loosely in his skin. Though, one could easily make out the man on the ground. It was no other then Evan Ross. Upon his chest, Julius stabbed a dagger through a piece of parchment.

________________________________

Dear members of this Ronagan gang,

I believe I must stress that tonight was a major victory on your part. Not only were you able to attack and defeat the only guard in town, but you also attacked and struck down several innocents that had no prior knowledge of a blade. This shows the massive and amazing strength of your gang. With some time, maybe you'll be strong enough to attack the town when there is more then one man that can defend it.

You may look down at this body before you and ask "What is this?" This is simply a present unto you for the deaths and pain you caused today in Trolls Bane. For every time you kill or touch a citizen of Trolls Bane, or any other peace loving faction of this isle, I shall send you either there head, there blood, or as see here, an example of sorts, the full body.

Oh and Wolf, if you check the left pocket of the man's coat, you'll find your vial of blood.
J
/

The head of Evan Ross now lays outside the front doors of the seahorse... A simple note has been left, held by a dagger inserted into the forehead, it would appear that the note has been written in blood. Possibly pigs blood...

Blood equals blood.

Liam Heneghan.

Someone has written with black colour on the rock.


You really are imbeciles, are you not? No matter, It will be taken care of.

When the leader of the new thieve's guild comes back to the once secret cage, he might recognize that one of the stones in the wall is loose. This has been made in such a small, unrecognizable way, that none of the guards or mercenaries was able to notice it. Looking around hastily, he opens the small hole, and finds a piece of parchment, written very tiny, but clearly. A message from a thief to another thief...

((Have a look at your pms!))

Count me in.

A man lies in wait in the forest, watching the Bandit's hideout until he is sure it is empty. As soon as the time comes, he slides in with relative silence for a man of his hight. He turns down the narrow corridors as he has done so many times. He reaches the end of the Hallway, examining the room, to see that it is empty. He walks to the fire pit, putting the helmet on top of the tripod. Upon close examination of the helmet, one can clearly see that it belongs to a small human. Upon close examniation, one will find it has an 'A' carved deep into the forehead. Inside of one of the eye-slits in the visor, one will find a note. it reads the following:

In the Jungle, the Lion lays to rest.

He leaves no signature, but identifying the one who leaves the helmet there should be no problem to those who need to.

A slight figure, darkly cloaked and hooded limps painfully down to pin this parchment below the others. It is clear from her slow, careful movements that her body has taken quite a beating. It reads simply:


Do not lose faith.


The only signature is a large "P" scrawled almost as if an afterthought

A small figure with a simple shawl wrapped around her head steps up with a catlike sneer. Beneath the latest shreds of parchment is placed another carelessly

Come now, my boys and girls. The game has just begun.

A cloaked figure sneaks carefully up to the board and quickly writes some words before he darts back into the shadows

I agree, we need to stand together. the more the merrier and all that. count me in my fellow thiefs!

unsigned. A winged halfling foot is crudely drawn under the post

Only five words are written:

I want to join you.

Signed:
~Grondor Galaha

Caynwyn reaches out to grab the shirt of a nearby halfling leaning down to whisper as she points to the notes.

Read this for me?

Looking thoughtful she nods to the halfling giving him a sausage for his time then walks up to an elf handing him a parchment.

Would you mind writing something for me?

After it is written she walks casually back to the board and glances to each side with her eyes not moving her head then quickly attaches the note before running away.

Can you use a cook with nimble fingers?
~C~

Opening her depot after making sure no one is watching her, she adds another parchment to the ones on top, anyone looking at the time would see quite a few maps as she whispers to herself

People shouldn't leave things just lying around.

Below, in a blueish grey stone, is carved elegantly.

Welcome.. children of the darkerned chaos.

*A tall elf, wearing tattered clothes limps into a cave, his hollow eyes moving round it. They settle on the cave wall, and he fishes into a pocket, drawing forth a piece of parchment, and fixing it to the wall. He growls softly, and turns, hobbling out of the cave.*

The writing is written in some kind of code.

Time to meet, comrades. By the parchment. ((friday, 2100gmt)).

Im back.