Taken from the Fable Legends blog:
Assassins live in the shadows. They are dark, mysterious and deadly individuals who move unseen, leaving only the occasional corpse as evidence of their passing. Amateurs. In Shroud’s opinion anyone who moves completely unseen and unknown is going to end up a penniless assassin; like a thin chef – a bad advert for their own services.
Shroud’s approach to killing is to do it loud and do it proud! By his reckoning, if you kill someone you should make sure everyone knows who did it, while giving them no evidence to prove it. Do it this way and you will not only get repeat business, but the added benefit of averted eyes when you move through a crowded room to complete your next contract.
Hide in plain sight, leave your bodies where they can be found and freeze people with a smile. That way you can dress in black silk rather than faded grey sack cloth. Shroud wouldn’t be seen dead in sack cloth. A member of the Conclave (Albion’s best known secret society), Shroud has been trained in the arts and crafts of covert killing, alongside the day-to-day practical assassin skills of bookkeeping, villager relations, advertising, legal evasion and debt collection. The Conclave is said to have ears in every room, an eye on every person and a reach that is almost as long as its memory. This mysterious, sinister, ancient and adjective-obsessed group of assassins offers its services to anyone in Albion who requires the removal of human obstacles.
Lord or peasant, man or woman, Hobbe or Puck, none are safe from the Conclave once a contract has been signed and paid for. Admittedly, the people who say this the loudest are members of the Conclave, but anyone wishing to dispute it would be wise to think more than twice before saying anything face-to-face with one of their black-cloaked killers.
Qualifying top of his course*: the Conclave’s ‘Teachings in the Art of Killing’, Shroud is certified as a swift, deadly moving shadow. Enrolled into the secret society’s Shadow League straight from graduation, Shroud has continued to climb the ranks of the Conclave , with many of its members certain that he’ll become the Conclave’s youngest ever master. Though, as with many things said about Shroud it is hard to see where the rumours end and the truth begins. If the rumours of his favour within the Conclave are true then the question must be asked: why would the organisation let one of their best and brightest free from his contracts to join the Heroes in Brightlodge? Could it be to spread word of their deeds? Or is it to gather information on the Heroes strengths and weaknesses in case they become a danger to the Conclave? Maybe, Shroud has climbed too far too fast and upset his betters? Maybe he was caught with his arrow in the wrong sternum? Or is it that he has the blessing of the Conclave to have one last hurrah before dedicating himself fully to their cause?
Whatever the truth behind his arrival, Shroud seems to be enjoying Brightlodge – using the time to demonstrate his ruthless commitment to turning life removal into an art form. Intent on becoming the most famous member this secret society has ever known. Whilst some of the Conclave’s assassins get to practice their skills three to four times a year, Shroud is able to use Heroing as a way to stay sharp and battle-hardened, honing his assassin skills as he builds a valuable reputation for himself.
But what of Shroud himself? Who is the man behind the assassin? Where is he from? This mystery seems even deeper than his reasons for coming to Brightlodge. Is the truth that Shroud really comes from Samarkand? Maybe Shroud is secretly a lordling? Or the disgraced bastard child of a king? Was Shroud once a woman and he used Will to change gender in order to disguise her true identity? Many are the rumours, but whichever are true one thing is certain; Shroud is dedicated to making every death a work of art. A master of the martial arts, he is fascinated by the lethal mechanisms and minor magicks that assist him in his trade.
If the night is silent, the shadows are thick and someone doesn’t like you. . . then that business card on your pillow means it is already too late.
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