There was no denying it; the parchment was definately left for you. You've no idea how they knew you'd be here of all places, especially at this hour, but you take a small comfort in the fact that the ink has barely dried; at least they had to rush. You decide to drop the dagger that was used to pin it to your door as you walk, noting that it is definately bottom-heavy, while reading the freshly-penned words. You've been called out, and by the sounds of it, several other notorious gang-leaders from in or around Mordheim have received the same calling. You think about your contacts quickly, counting upon mental fingers whom you can call upon and trust with your back. You spin on your heel and begin back from whence you came. You think of Mogrert, that slimy, rotten-toothed assassin you'd employed on a few desperate ocassions, and that you'd heard that he'd been keeping a close ear to the ground in regards to your recent doings. You bend down and scoop up the dagger you dropped mere moments ago on your way to the Rust'd Cup Inn; one can never have too much steel here in Mordheim.