Rough, almost ragged didgits grabbed that piece of paper plastered to The Mercenary Guild's bulleting board, ruffled, folded a few times with worn ink leaving one to wonder if the paper still even had any semblence that the submitter may still be around or even alive. But never the less it wouldn't hurt to try, it wouldn't hurt to explore the possibility of a hired hit man. The paper was removed and replaced with one of his own.
"Not in person eh?"
Replacing that paper would be one of his own. A paper etched with a symbol. The Crescent Moon encompassing it's mass, and at the top of the paper this message would be written.
"Judgement, money is not an issue. I will be expecting a prompt reply."