The stallion trotted at a slow and laid back pace, uncaring and unfazed by the dangers that could be lurking in the Everfree forest. Insurmountable amounts of beasts and wild creatures watched his every move, as small growls of the nearby timber wolves could be heard alongside the distant roar of manticors. The assassin could care less. He stopped to get his bearings, looking up to watch the stars; he gave a frustrated frown at the lack of light penetrating the thick canopy of trees. But then, the Everfree wasn't exactly known for being the most hospitable places in Equestria.

After a second of fruitlessly staring at the trees, he relaxed his body and opened his other senses; the lack of light made his sight useless, but in turn caused him to turn his focus to his hearing, although, little could be heard over the sound of the creatures trying and failing to intimidate the assassin with their snarls and roars. He flared his nostrils, taking in a deep breath, and taking in the scents of the vicinity; though he didn't pick up any individual smells, the forest leaves and vegetation mixed with the animals' unwashed furs, skins and nests merged together in the air, creating a musk that would cause any not acquainted with the forest to lose their last meal. He did, however, pick up the strong breeze coming his way, by recognizing the sudden focus in odors coming from one direction. The traveler leapt atop a large boulder and turned his gaze to the night sky.

The wind blew through the trees and parted them, revealing Luna's night, constellations and moon alike. Part of him hated the night sky, though never the night itself as it would always be his hour as assassins were almost exclusively nocturnal, but because he had gotten a lot of grief from the princess of the night in recent years. If any wondered why her appearances in dreams where a rarity, it was because she was busy in his head tormenting him and conducting a smattering of some off the books torture via his dreams. Fun and games for all ages.

Though at the same time he would always appreciate the night sky a little better than anypony else, seeing that he was well acquainted with nocturnal hours and darkness, but it was mainly because after years of gazing up to the sky he had grown to appreciate its beauty like nopony else, maybe asides Luna herself, in that in all the night sky's simplicity, the complexity that were the star patterns were something truly awe inspiring. Also, the occupation of 'murderous outlaw' was not one that was smiled upon by general society, so staying incognito was high on his list of priorities and moving around at night was the best way to do as such.

The wind brought with it cold air but the assassin was not so foolish as to not come to the infamous forest unprepared. He was never unprepared. The assassin wore four pieces of clothing, and while this could be considered strange in a land in which ponies went around letting their fur protect them from the elements, with the citizens of Canterlot being the only ponies to regularly wear clothes. The assassin's interest in clothing, however, was far from fashion related; the hood he wore was a deep black, with crimson stitches and lining, did marvels to protect his face from prying eyes, while the material kept his face protected from cold winds and the colour scheme hid him well in the shadows.

He wore a vest over his chest, a simple black colour with its design being a simple looking shirt, the collar wrapping around his neck beaten and torn in places, a large scar-like looking stitch ran up the left side, over the heart. The vest was more than a piece of clothing however, as it was made from a rare marital that even the most generous of ponies would squander to themselves. The thread was known as Robus-weave, as strong as dragon hide and as light as a cloud, capable of absorbing blows from an Ursa and keeping the covered area comfortable in even the frozen north or Saddle Arabia. The cape he had on his back followed suit in terms of colour and design for the hood, while keeping the motley attitude of the vest; torn and ragged patches running across it in no small number, the kind of damage that could only come from years of wear and tear. He wore the cloak simply to protect him from the elements, and occasionally use as a cover when he found himself sleeping against a tree.

The final thing the stallion wore was a simple brown leather belt, a tactical choice in gear as wearing or using leather at all was considered taboo. However, there was little better in terms of rugged durability and usability. What the belt supported, however, was much more questionable. On the left of his barrel was a small, red silk sash, tying the belt to a black oak-wood scabbard. Inside said scabbard was the blade the assassin wielded.

The sword was a Japonyese styled katana, agile and light, the metal little more than a short-sword to most races of Equss, however comfortable and effective at both slashing throats and crossing blades for ponies. The tsuba depicted a dragon eating its tail, an ouroboros, made of dark bronze metal, the minuscule details of the scales, folded wings and narrowed eye immaculate. The grip was laced in red and black leather, the pommel tipped with the same dark bronze as the guard, perfectly balanced and comfortable in mouth or hoof.

The right side of the pony's belt was home to four pouches. The uppermost pouch contained navigational items; a rusty iron compass, a small and heavily folded map of Equestria and a small but powerful telescope. The second contained fifteen throwing knives, packed close together so they didn't make a sound when the pony trotted. The third pouch held medical supplies; a pair of syringes containing a powerful pain killer, bandages and short book on medicinal herbs in case of emergency. The fourth and final held a set of trap disarming tools and lock picks. A second, stronger gust of wind hit the assassin, knocking off the hood though, he did nothing to fix it.

He had a menacingly sharp unicorn horn atop his head that ebbed with magic, dark magic that only somepony of his profession would ever take the time to learn and master, a horn that cast a depressing, dull grey glow whenever he sparked his magic to life. The mane on his head was of a somewhat strange colour, its deep and endless black neither shimmering nor reflecting any type of light, instead drinking in the light around him, matching its colour to the shadows around him, a useful feature for a pony in such a profession. The mane was not particularly well kept, simply doing as it pleased, which normally consisted of matching the flow of the wind and reacting accordingly to weather, and stretched far down his neck to his back, uncut or even washed, the fringe going slightly over his eyes, in its unkempt and windswept appearance. His tail followed suit, matching the manes colour and fashion, draping down his hind legs, though not reaching the ground.

The face and features of the pony were not altogether outstanding, nor different, not a handsome stallion by any means seeing as a life time of fighting and espionage took its toll on one's complexion. A face of stubborn wrinkles on the brow, along the jaw bones, at the corners of the eye and around the maw would meet anypony to gaze upon this stallion's face, years of expression and heavy thought bringing out his age prematurely. But it was the deep, ugly, disfiguring scar that ran from above the left eye, down the muzzle, cutting the across corners of the mouth and over the chin that would hold their interest, if their disgust.

The eyes, however, were of a completely different story. They never seemed to open completely, always slightly closed as if analyzing something or simply glaring down the world. The blood red irises soaked in every detail, an ever observant pony who prided himself on his fine eyesight. Then there was the eye's...other feature, his way of reading into ponies, of knowing them. It was a tool he'd used and perfected over his life, though he'd never taken the time to explore its routs.

A new gust of wind, slightly stronger than the last, blew through the forest, dancing among the trees, causing their branches to sway as if waving at its passing. Said wind flowed swiftly past the assassin, and the cape he wore blew up around him. The fluttering of the cape revealed the build of an athlete, the kind of physique that other unicorns would simply never bothered with as they spent time with their spells and mind's, rather than their bodies. The killer's frame held the muscles of somepony who clearly valued movement speed over brute force and strength however, the dark stallion far from a simple brute. He left that to the earth ponies. Instead he had the muscle mass of a lean but strong pony, what could perhaps be described as the ground equivalent of the Wonderbolts' hard, defined muscles of swiftness and agility. He was slightly taller than the average pony, but without much muscle he possessed a strange stature of height without the bulk to match. It made him seem disarmingly lean, to his great satisfaction.

The wind had also revealed the stallion's cutie mark, his soul revealed to all who would look upon it. An ouroboros, a red scaled dragon, its legs and wings folded against its thin body, the creature's lean muzzle consuming its long tail as a silver, single bladed dagger stabbed through the loop the dragon made. Infinity with a weapon to its throat, the most accurate visual representation of the soul next to a tool made for ending them. The assassin felt it fitting, if nothing else.

The wind to reveal to pony had also revealed the sky to the assassin, and having figured out his position in the Everfree, the lone stallion fixed his hood and prepared to leap from his boulder and back to the ground, but his eye caught something he hadn't noticed before. The dark stallion looked up past the stars to the moon and grinned.

'Can't be a coincidence, surely' was the only thing to cross his mind as he looked up to the moon with the red hue, the moon that he was so masterfully named after. The moon that heralded the harvest with its most common and greatly accepted name, the Harvest Moon, which was otherwise known as the Hunter's Moon. That had been appropriately nicknamed the Blood Moon. The name of the stallion that stood below it, the killer who could not be seen, caught or killed. The name of the assassin that was now, once again, trotting through the Everfree forest like he was taking a slow, relaxing stroll around a park, on his way to his next contract.