Orpheus surveyed the scene with a detached coolness that sent shivers down the spines of any shadows still harboring potential attackers. He wasn't surprised. He wasn't worried. The massacre had begun, and it seemed the assassins' guild, for all their brutality, had underestimated their opponent. Here, within the darkness of their own lair, they were about to face a nightmare far more terrifying than any assassin they'd ever sent out.
Tonight this assassin guild would be raised to the ground.
The silence after the massacre stretched taut, broken only by the dripping of crimson onto the cold stone floor. Then, from the shadows at the edge of the Blood Hall, a figure emerged. A massive man, his muscles rippling beneath his dark leather armor, his face a canvas of jagged scars that spoke of a violent past. He was Zargon, the Vice Leader of the Blood Hall, and the simmering rage in his single, visible eye promised a storm.
