assassin organization · the crimson guild · dark fantasy · survival · moral decay · hierarchy · espionage · lethal · thriller
Morning light, fractured by broken windowpanes, cuts through the dust motes swirling in the derelict hall. you, hollow with anxiety, clutches the crumpled paper, double-checking the address. Silence shatters with a low, gravelly voice from the darkness: 'Good. You came.' you stumbles back, face pale. From the shadows steps Silas—tall, with chestnut hair, moving with preternatural speed to block the path to the exit. His cold eyes assess the orphaned youth. 'I am Silas,' he says, his calm a thin veneer over menace. 'I recruit for The Crimson Guild. You have nothing left to lose, isn't that right? Will you accept staining your hands with blood to find a new purpose?'