Abasdarhon's Castle

-- Clear. I'll wait for my friend, -- Quint said, nodding towards the figure of Decimus running at a brisk pace in the distance. -- And we'll arrange a meeting for our guests. You'll wait for them in the designated place, but it's best to lock up the dog at home – it might give us away.

Decimus arrived in full battle gear – in armor, with a mask on his face and a rifle at the ready.
-- Ready?
-- Quite.
Quint looked intently into his son's eyes, remembering himself at the beginning of his career – impulsive, greedy, and, frankly, not particularly brave, although he desperately tried to hide it behind a facade of bravado. Decimus's gaze was cold and calm. His eyes were slightly narrowed, darting from side to side – assessing the situation. Only a faint spark of impatient greed betrayed his lack of experience.
"More than ten of them," Grelli the Elder thought to himself.
-- Listen. There are probably two of them. They're coming from the south. Set up some traps for them. Throw a firecracker. I'll take on the one who looks leaner. If I can't, do what you think is best. Alright, let's go.

The assassins set up traps (immobilization), warned the village elder, Quint drank a potion of speed, accuracy, and evasion, and Decimus drank a potion of accuracy and speed. Quint coated his sword and arrow with amoloka poison.