Callawyn had had a rough time this past few weeks. Times were hard in Pheraxis, and had been since the Inquisition took power, Santos hit hardest of all. The Inquisition were hunters of Practitioners- users of magic- in Pheraxis, and likely elsewhere. Santos was the nexus of all Practitioner trade, and the home base of The Syndicate, a Practitioner rebel force working against The Inquisition. Callawyn himself was not a Practitioner, but magic users were not the only ones the Inquisitors hunted. Anything and anyone they deemed 'unholy' was fair game. And Callawyn, being a shadeshifter, was deemed unholy. Partly because shadeshifters are more of a cursed people than a race themselves, partly because shadeshifters are predatory competitors of vampires. Both drank blood to survive, but the difference was that shadeshifters are mortal and vamps are not. Shadeshifters, while not completely unaffected by sunlight, could survive and thrive in the daylight and need mortal needs. Vampires die in sunlight and need no such things. This particular shadeshifter, though, was more concerned with other things at the moment. In this instance, how to steal enough valuables to pay an apothecary for more poison. Stuff didn't come cheap. The deadline for the monthly cash-in for the local middleman was sunset, and he had maybe half an hour left. His day was spent tailing a particularly fashionable man that had arrived only three days prior- an outsider to Santos. He had purchased many items which went for high price on any market these days- natural ingredients for a supernatural concoction. But no matter. What concerned Callawyn was a box he carried with him at all times. It's contents had to be of great value for him to guard them so closely. Lucky for the thief, the outsider was too busy haggling with a tailor over the price of repairs to his cloak to notice a dark, hooded figure walk by and away- box his hand. Once in a secure location, Callawyn began working the lock. A tricky contraption, a pin tumbler lock with eight pins instead of the usual three-to-five. It took a few minutes, But Callawyn opened the lockbox, opening it and examining the contents. Quickly replacing them with rocks, re-locking the mechanism, and placing it back where the owner had it originally, the thief walked off with a handful of emeralds, amethysts, and rubies. Four solid knocks. Callawyn's fist came down hard and steady on the wood, and a moment passed before a curtain in the window parted ever so slightly, and the door swung open shortly thereafter. Entering the building, the musk of pleasure and flowers caressed his nose, wails of ecstasy dulled by wood doors and brick walling. The Fox Den was the home of Callawyn's middleman, a nexus between the thieves and assassins who would prefer to stay anonymous, and the fences and contractors who commission them. In Santos, the middleman was the owner of the brothel- Madam Vixen. A Kitsune and Practitioner, her and Callawyn had become acquainted roughly a year and eight moons past. They had already begun to become close, one could almost call them friends. But there was still the factor of business. Having one of the Madam's Dolls alert her of his arrival, he took a seat in a chair he was becoming quite fond of, and awaited the arrival of Madam Vixen to lead him to her room to discuss what twenty percent of his loot she would take as payment, the rest to be distributed to fences and their worth repaid to Callawyn in coin at the next deadline. He was already to collect some 1,500 in gold, though this crop would yield a bit less.