International Man of Mystery

Shadows dance in the firelight as the man in black descends from the ceiling. He carefully adjusts his mask and then dashes like the wind into the next room, hiding behind a column.

Sanguine… is reading a book.


She is an expert in her craft, capable of getting information out of anyone. A man is tied to a chair in this forgotten ruin, the soup of drugs in his system causing him to babble everything he knows.

“He has enemies! Powerful ones! Tarrantists and atheists and Vecatrans!!! Please! Please let me go! I’ll tell you anything you want! He works for his father and the Master Paladin!!! Pleeeeeease!!!”

The man screams, but no one hears. She writes it all down. No one has heard this information before.


A pouch of silver sits on the table between them. Shadows obscure their faces. One of them scoops up the pouch and carefully examines its contents.

“He cares a lot about his morality. He’d be very upset if he ever sinned. He lives in the castle. He’s staffing a monastery just west of the city. His honor code is pretty obvious.”

He lists it anyway, seemingly from memory. He should remember it at this point. It’s the fifth time he’s been paid for it. He smirks.

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