Thankyou for your kindly worded letter. I will simply assume you were out of black ink and had to resort using red? Regardless, you want to hear about the Orlesian. Funny story. Which I will relay to you in a story format.

'Twas a bitter eve, the Orlesian nobles were gathered for a banquet. Those Orlesians do enjoy their banquets. The estate was situated in a dense grove, deep in the Val Foret woodlands. This allowed for plenty of cover for me and my assassin partner, Veynold. We watched the events of banquet unfold. It was a bore to say the least. I began playing an interesting take on a drinking game, where I would carve a line into a nearby tree for each sip of wine the target took. I drew a dragon! I digress. Just when I was about to fall asleep, the target got up and left. I prodded my bumbling assistant with what I thought was the blunt end of my knife. Turns out I punctured his jugular vein. I DID tell you that I worked better alone, so I can't really be to blame. Maker, listen to me change the topic!

After dumping Veynolds body in a nearby well, I swiftly made my way to the back entrance, where the servants quarters were located. I snuck into a back room, which turned out to be the kitchen. The clattering of pans and the yelling cooks allowed me to enter without notice. However, as I slowly made my way to the hall, I was stopped by a large porkly figure. It was the target! I panicked, as I couldn't kill him in plain view. As I was about to make my escape, he grabbed my arm.

"You have arrived!" The man proclaimed. I looked around confused and stuttered,

"Y-yes I have!"

"Well you're late!" he scoffed. He then let out an impatient sigh.

"You remember the job, yes? You have come to poison the Comte D'Oswaine in his sleep this evening. I thought you bards were intelligent. Besides, I thought you were from Val Royeux. You don't sound native."

"No, messere. I come from, a place very far away." I replied.

"You don't say.", he uttered under his breath.

"How much are you paying me?" I asked.

"Maker's breath! Did you even read the letter?" The noble exclaimed, and struck his forehead with his palm.

"Fifty sovereigns after he's dead, and another twenty if you can make it look like an accident."

"I'm on it!" I agreed, somewhat hastily. This was twice what you were paying me, so I'd be a fool to reject this offer, wouldn't I? Don't answer that.

Anyway, the noble gave me directions to his targets room. I looked through the keyhole to his chamber. To my horror, the Comte was naked, and filling a large copper bath with water. As he walked into the kitchen to heat up his water, I had a stroke of genius. I slipped in, and grabbed the large bar of soap that was sat on the basin. I began smearing it all over the shiny tiled floor, in the hope he would walk over it, slip and wallop his head on the side of the bath. I also threw a smattering of water onto the ground, for added slipperyness! (I'm not sure that's even a word...)

Suddenly, I heard movement from the other room. I quickly slipped back outside and resumed looking through the keyhole. He rather daintily hopped over the spilled water and soap, much to my disappointment. He poured the last bucket of water into the tub, plunged himself into it.

It was getting very late. I could feel my eyes closing under the strain of my long and exhasuting day. Tired of waiting, I opened the door, and headed towards the target, who was facing away and busy washing his... gentlemans area.

"Pablo, you wretched elf." He grumbled. "You're late."

"S...Sorry?" I replied.

"So you should be. I don't know how they do it in Antiva, but we don't tolerate sloth in Orlais."

"Sorry." I said again, in a much more Antivan accent this time.

The man became more agitated. "Don't just stand there apologizing, churl. Rub my back!" He snarled back. So I did it! I pressed my hands into his shoulders and back.

"Ohh... Pablo. You must be an apostate, because your hands are magical." The Comte said, rather suggestively. I wasn't sure whether to be disturbed or flattered. After briefly pondering a career change to that of a masseur, I remembered the job at hand. I slowly lowered his body, and eventually his head under the water. I tried not to watch his gentials flap around as he writhed in the water, as I had eaten not long before I started this job.

I headed back to the client who was very happy to see the man killed. Of course, most of the bath water was on the floor and his neck was bruised, so it was safe to say I didn't recieve the bonus for making it look like an accident. Happily I walked out of there fifty sovereigns richer.

So there's the story in graphic detail (you're welcome). Don't bother trying to track me, I've long since fled the country. I'm not even personally replying to you, I paid a scribe to write this letter, under my direction. And I'm afraid he knows too much, I'm going to have to kill him n

(the letters form into indecipherable squggles and splotches of blood from here)