Artemis entered quietly into the shack of a place he called home, or as much a home as a drifter could have. Without much thought, he dumped the body he bore carelessly onto his bed, and began pacing his room impatiently, trying to think of how exactly he was to proceed- the deed had to be convincing, and he hadn’t much time- doubtless the Brothers knew where he lived, or at least would not take long to figure it out. It wouldn’t be too out of place in Old Rose for someone to kill him before the Brothers could, and of course, he did have a knack for getting on the bad side of dangerous men. His eyes flashed at this thought- he suddenly knew exactly what he would do. Crossing over to his desk, he flipped to an empty page on his journal, quickly scrawling something down, then smirked- let the Brothers chew on that a while.

Without so much as a second thought, he ripped the page out and dumped his journal into his knapsack, then began to strip himself of his armor and the bloodied clothing underneath- changing into a clean, inconspicuous set of clothes. That done, he set to work on stripping the body that now occupied his bed, tossing the clothes into his bag and redressed the man in the clothes he had just stripped from his own person, armor and boots included- he had been fortunate to find a wick of the same height at build as himself, even close in age, not that that would matter in the end. He had killed the man quickly, inflicting as little pain as he could- the man had done him no wrong, after all, simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or in Artemis’ case, in the right place at the right time- a perfect opportunity- it was his first truly clean kill in over two weeks.

Still, as similar as the two were in build, aside from the similar cheek structure, their facial features differed greatly. There would have to be some severe disfigurement for the corpse to pass as his. Pulling out his blade, Artemis cut a few deep, strategically placed slashes along the upper portions of the man’s body so- in the event that such marks could be seen after what was to come- it would look like he went out with a fight, which he most certainly would have. He then used the bedsheets to tie the man’s hands to the bedposts.

Straightening himself, Artemis walked through the house, knocking over furniture and breaking glass, throwing a few things to the ground to further the illusion that there had been a struggle. That done, he returned to his room, fingers rapping on the door frame as he assessed his work, then his eyes set on the small, flickering flame in the gas lamp on his desk. It was time to finish the job. He set to work throwing a number of unlit gas lamps to the floor, letting the gas soak into the wood- he threw some against the walls, and made sure to pour some of the fuel onto the face of the dead man who lay in his bed- the face had to be unrecognizable. Giving the place one last look over, he took up his sack and his sword, threw his black cloak over himself, lit a match, and dropped it into the fuel, quickly retreating as the flame ignited, and stopping outside just long enough to leave the note he had scrawled minutes before- a finishing touch to his masterpiece- tacking it onto an old signpost just in front of the place-

This is what happens to those who fail the Drain!

His work complete, he drew his cloak around himself and fled the scene- and the Harbor- he would not return for some time.