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Okay, I should have given it a better name , but depression has taken my creativness away. Anyway this is where the rp is going to start, but you can make your own if you want to.

~~~~~*One Week Prior*~~~~~

"Are you the one known as Sarinshade?" the voice, harsh with too many visits to the bottle, kept itself in a whisper. The two men, seated at two different tables, kept their backs to the other. Each looking completely absorbed in his own tankard and spitting curses on the war whenever someone walked by. "I was sent by a friend, Captain Gowr. . ." the younger man's tankard dropped to the table with a startling thump, interrupting the speaker.

"More!" shouted the young man to the tavernkeep. "What it is you desire of me concerns only ourselves, none other." he whispered as the keeper turned his attention to the stores of ale behind the bar. "No names, no dates, no locations. I do not know you. I do not, have never known, your friend. I shall know only when we met, where we met, and that I never saw your face. You never gave me a name excepting that of your target and I gave nothing other than a place to retrieve word from one of my contacts. Do you fully comprehend the situation?" his tone was sharp, reprimanding, but his voice flowed like water in a mountain brook. Clear and unmistakably cold.

"I understand." responded the first man, now unsettled. "The target is a supply marshall for the demon army. He is just a man but one who was more than willing to sell his services in exchange for his life. Now he trafficks in much more than simple provisions. He has sent people to the front as well. Women to cook and mend, or to sate whatever other needs the commanders have. Men to act as fodder for the front lines. To take the arrows and traps laid by the Priesthood's forces." his voice quivering, whether from rage or fear or disgust was uncertain, he took a large swig from his tankard and set it down quietly.

"Where might I find him?"

"In the least likely place for one working on their side. In Ai. He has become adept at smuggling out prisoners, vagrants, beggars, those which polite society has disdain for. The Priesthood commends his efforts in cleaning up the populace. In exchange for the miscreants he sends out he gets Rageldi, the shapeshifters, to take their place. The Priesthood sees 'corrected felons' and 'rehabilitated beggars' walk out of his prisonhouse. These men and women enter the militia, they become stonemasons to fortify the walls, they become cooks to feed the army. And all for the day when his hundreds of Rageldi can undermine the Priesthood's defenses, poison their troops, and stab their brothers-in-arms in the back." a yawn interrupted the man's speech. Coming to the realization that his passion for the situation had caused his voice to raise he looked around.

"The elderly gentleman in faded brown was paying your words undue attention." came the soft voice, floating to him from behind. "He knows of your siding and, from your tone, understands your intent. I recommend you take measures to ensure his cooperation." Both men sat silent for a couple of minutes. The older of the two slowly draining what was left of his tankard without tasting it.

"What is his name?" the younger man asked, jolting the other from his silent musings. "I cannot hunt a prey that I cannot identify. It would take too much effort, and be foolhardy, for me to discover his name by interrogating the locals."

"Then hear me, his name is Callin Wroughtsgood, son of an ironmonger. His hair is of middle length and greying but does not adorn the crest. His station wears a grey surcoat with a white band. The crest of his position is emblazoned in the band. His is an empty alley with the north star shining between the walls."

"I shall observe his practices for one to two weeks before I decide. Return here in a fortnight and sit at your current table. My contact will be in that night to tell you whether or not I accept the commission. He will either tell you the roses are red as blood or white as snow. If they are red, have my coins ready. My contact will advise you when to return with payment."

~~~~~*Present Day*~~~~~

It was cold. Faelin had trudged through the mud which comprised half the walk to the cemetery. "This will be a simple job, but high in profile. I will need to disguise my methods lest the demons find I was the one." His thoughts as cold and dreary as the weather he hunched deeper into his cloak and broke free of the main path to head for his goal. A small headstone leaned at an angle, poorly constructed, and weathered almost to obscurity. If anyone had recorded all of the dead in the land they might have noticed that the same person was buried in most major cities. This grave was empty but the marker held a different meaning. Kneeling, honoring the dead, he laid a single flower upon the marker's base.

Long after he was gone a small man, seemingly a child, ran up to the marker and took the flower. "The rose is red." he muttered happily. It had been a long time since the mysterious person who owned his loyalty had left him a red rose. Dashing back into Ai's main thoroughway he cut down an alley, once full of beggars, and slipped through a manhole. "The rose is red!" he whispered again as he navigated the passages toward the underground lair of the covenant.

“You can’t despise your faith over something like that”, A stern hushed voice said. The man was a little taller then Kira but not much older. He wore priestly robes, but none of the other priest ever really considered him one. Perhaps that was the reason Kira could confide in him so easily. “His in a better place now you know for dieing for the Gods cause” He put a hand on her shoulder almost protectively.

Kira could hear something going on in the main part of the temple. She glanced up at the young priest, but he didn’t seem to care. She sighed. “You didn’t see it” She replied softly turning so she could look at him. “And it’s not just that… I see the sadness in the villagers when they pray in the temple. Why do the God’s cause such sadness…” she paused for a moment before saying her next sentence. “Unless the Gods didn’t cause the war”

The priest glared into Kira’s eyes that at first she thought that he was going to hit her.
She took a step back instinctively, and glared back into his eyes trying to match his intensity. “We don’t like this anymore then you young celestial…” He finally said. “I have to go see what the commotion is about” He excused himself and stormed off.

She studied him as he walked off looking for any sign that what she said was true, but he really showed none. She didn’t feel like going out in the temple, and whatever happened didn’t involve her so she slipped into the back out of the temple and returned to her garden now dieing of frost.

Faelin had been sitting at the bar when the white winged girl entered. His eyes narrowing he looked down and hunched himself deeper into his cloak in hopes that she wouldn't take interest in him. If this celestial girl noticed his demonic presence he could be on, and under, the headsman's block before the first light of dawn. His hand, hidden within the folds of his forest green cloak, wove intricate symbols as he muttered into his tankard. The spell was swiftly completed. Invoking the powers of air, of the mind, he cast an enchantment over himself which made him appear to all casual observers to be 'just another worthless drunkard'. The spell was of great use to Faelin as it allowed him to spend great amounts of time in a city without people taking note of his presence or appearance.

(Please note-- nobody can see Maea's wings at this point. She has them hidden.)
Goosebumps rose on Maea's arms; she glanced around casually. Someone was doing a spell, though she didn't know what. She could never tell what. Or who was doing it, for that matter. But her instinct was to leave. Magic in Ai was likely to belong to the priesthood or someone allied with it, and that was a mess she really didn't need at the moment.
Then again, it could be the other way 'round. It could just as easily be someone trying to hide, from who or what it didn't matter.
'Time to toss the dice,' she thought. She would stay. Leaving so quickly would only rouse suspicions if anyone noticed.

(Sorry, I didn't really think about that. What I meant was that when she's flying around tonight, they'll be hard to see; for the moment, she has them hidden.)
Maea kept her gaze on her mug as strangers came and went around her. The sense of magic being wielded left her quickly-- so quickly, in fact, that she thought she must have been mistaken.
Outside, the sky began to darken-- heavy grey clouds became a solid mass of black, with not a star in sight. Perfect.
Maea tossed her stolen coin on the table and exited the tavern quietly, trudging through the still-deepening snows for several blocks before she found an alley she deemed suitable. She turned nonchalantly into it, and was immersed in shadow.
As soon as she assured herself she was alone, Maea doffed her cloak and stowed it in an empty barrel, along with her scuffed brown boots. Beneath she wore a loose, pale shirt with tight cuffs and a back cut low to allow free movement to her white-feathered wings, and light breeches that ended a few inches above her now-bare feet. She pulled on a pair of fingerless white gloves to finish the outfit. With her pale skin and white hair, she could almost disappear against the snow.
She leapt upward and seized the edge of a rooftop, pulling herself easily upward. It wouldn't be long until she reached the first house.
She'd been several days choosing her targets, but she was well satisfied that it had been worth it. The first was an elderly priest with a love of pretty trinkets; he had come into posession of one or two pieces worth much more than he believed. That would do to warm up. And then on to a prison warden who seemed to have found a few shady ways to make a little extra gold. She wasn't sure what, exactly, but it seemed unsavory, and made him a fitting target for her attentions. She had a few stops she'd like to make after that, if she wasn't too laden down.

Maea was in and out of the priest's home quickly. She was only a little disappointed with her find-- the pieces were not as valuable as she had thought, but there were more of them than she had counted on. Her belt pouch was much heavier than when she'd started. The warden's home would be her last stop.
She lit silently on his rooftop, then slithered on her stomach to the edge. No one was in sight. She carefully lowered herself headfirst to look in at the window. The first was locked, and the second, but the third was not.
She ran her fingers carefully along the edges before she pushed it open. There were no spells of security. What a stupid man. Or else very clever. She'd be careful.
She pushed the window open and flipped down to perch on the sill, examining the floor carefully before she stepped down and shut the window behind her. It seemed she was in a bedroom. That would be an excellent place to start.

Maea examined a drawer, then slid it open. It didn't ake her long to realize there was nothing of value here. The rest of the drawers were the same. She proceeded to check the usual hiding places-- under the bed, behind furniture. There was a little coin, but it looked to her like a decoy, a little find placed to throw thieves off of the real prize.
She went to the armoir. It had looked unpromising; but now that she looked carefully, there was a subtle spell carved in among the scrolls and designs decorating it-- to make it as unobtrusive as possible. She grinned. Jackpot.
The door held another spell to discourage theft; it would pose no problem to someone who only wanted to open it, but it would prevent removal of anything inside. Her eyes drifted closed. Weak, but intentionally so, to avoid detection, and it was well-crafted. She would have missed it if she hadn't been looking carefully.
It took only a little shadow and flame to disrupt the flows; she couldn't disassemble it completely, or it would probably set off some sort of alarm. She was beginning to feel a little pressed for time; the owner of the house would return soon, and she wanted to be gone long before he did.
Maea slid open the door.