@Fas+Aegis: Hello? Anybody there?
@craig: Next time could you write a little more?

We have to keep Thryn in pace (timewise) with everyone else. I’d like to limit myself to just guiding everyone else, and focus on advancing my own character.
@Rail: No problem. It’s good reading
*****
Thryn walked over to the man and said,
"That’s a nice secret door. Anyway, I’m looking for employment. Got any?"
“Employment? Well, I could use somebody to organize my wares, but from your looks I don’t think that would appeal to you very much,” the merchant replies, unflustered.
“Come, now. Do you think anyone with half a brain would mistake this for a merchant’s shop? I didn’t come here for small talk. I hear the Shadow Thieves are recruiting, and I’m here to sign up. Got a problem with that?” Thryn asks cooly, casually tossing a dagger in the air and catching it.
The merchant inspects him silently for a moment. “Very well. But it’s your grave if you fail the initiation. We can’t just let young hotheads like you spilling all our secrets, can we?” The merchant walks over and touches a certain spot on the wall, opening the secret door. He motions impatiently for Thryn to step through. “Oh, and the trials have just begun. I suggest you be on your guard,” he says before closing it behind him with finality. No turning back now.
He walks down the hall. He emerges into a dark room with stacked crates of varying heights everywhere. Suddenly, he hears the shuffle of feet to his right. He ducks the incoming blade, sweeping the feet of his assailant. As he falls, Thryn grimly slices his throat. He then blends into the shadows, walking silently, making his way around the room. He detects others doing the same. On the other side of the room, a thrown dagger lodges into someone’s back, hitting a vital spot and ensuring a slow, painful death.
Another dagger comes flying at him from up high. Thryn barely rolls out of the way, the dagger scraping his right arm. The next dagger follows seconds later, but this time Thryn spots the thrower on top of an especially large stack of crates. He dodges it, then slams into the pile, causing it to come crashing down. The thief on top manages to scramble aside, landing on his feet, but another one is crushed under a ton of falling wood. Thryn uses the speed of his boots to close on the dagger thrower in an instant, impaling the surprised rogue on the end of his repaired sword. Abruptly a door opens in the wall on the far side of the room, and light comes streaming in.
“Very good. Everybody that can make it out of the room under their own power will do so now. Any others that yet live will be put out of their misery,” speaks a black-clad woman, silhouetted in the light.
A shadow moves near the door, stabbing towards the newcomer. She whips out a pair of daggers in a flash, parrying the attack with one and slashing the attacker’s throat with the other. Her victim is dead before he hits the ground.
“Anyone else want to try that? I don’t mind putting a few more of you ****y wannabees in your place,” she says, her voice cold and deadly.
Nobody takes her offer. They slowly emerge from their hiding places and walk to the door, six in all, including Thryn. Six more lie dead, two by Thryn’s hand, one indirectly by his actions. But Thryn feels no remorse. A compassionate rogue doesn’t live long.
A series of tests follow, each one examining a different skill. A trap course, a pickpocketing trial, a lockpicking exam. Failure in any one brought death, and by the end only Thryn and two others were left.
“My, but this group is a poor one. Usually at least half survive. Shows that we’ve already got the best, and that trash is all that’s left,” the woman states contemptuously, looking the three over. Her gaze settles especially long on Thryn, making him uncomfortable.
“You two,” she says, pointing to the others. “Go find your rooms.” She quickly gives them directions and sends them off.
“Now for you,” she pronounces, turning to Thryn. “I’ve been watching you. Someone of your skill is uncommon among new recruits. Go to the Promenade after dusk. I’ll be hanging around the Circus Tent. There I’ll tell you your first assignment.” That said, she walks off.
After that, Thryn spends some time familiarizing himself with the place. Then he takes a nap, knowing he probably wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night. When he wakes, it’s time to meet the woman.
He finds her hiding in the shadows where she said she’d be. “Good. I’m Shadowstalker Llira, a title one earns for showing exceptional skill as an assassin . We’re going to meet up with the others outside of the city. The Black Helm has got a weapons shipment coming in. Apparently they got word of our plans to waylay it, and have sent out a few extra guards to supplement the caravan guard. Our task is to ambush this small group before they link up. Shouldn’t be too difficult. The Black Helm will be watching the gates, so we’re taking the sewers. We must hurry now. Don’t fall behind.” She creeps off into the darkness without a backward glance.
*****
Calahan watches their approach, disgust written all over his face. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with cowardly mercenaries,” he mumbles. He’d dealt with their kind before. No spine at all. And they’d desert at the snap of a finger if the going got tough, if they didn’t outright turn against you. When they’d finally come level with him, he addresses them.
“Okay you no-life’s. Know now that the money you get at the end of this depends on the outcome. Full pay if the mission succeeds, half if it fails. I’ll be the judge of which it is, by the way. And if you desert, don’t expect to live much longer. We’ll track you down and deal with you soon enough, if you somehow manage to dodge me. Unlikely, I might add.”
“That out of the way, the caravan’s behind schedule. Seems they were attacked by bandits along the way. So it’ll be a bit longer of a march than we expected. Setting out now, I expect that we’ll meet up with them by dawn.”
This news inspires some surly muttering among the group. Calahan singles one of them out. “You don’t like it, and I can end your misery right now, maggot. Is that what you want?” he shouts in his face.
“No,” he grumbles.
“WHAT’S THAT!,” Calahan bellows, brandishing his halberd.
“NO SIR!” the wretched man yells, standing at attention.
“Good,” Calahan says, apparently satsified. “Move out. I’ll take the rear to keep an eye on you sorry sellswords.”
*****
@all: I’d write about Magus and Void, but this is already two pages in Word, and at least 3.5 hours of time. No more for today...
@Xandax+craig: You guys can see where this is heading, hopefully, so feel free to continue.