In the most remote part of the eastern world lies the Island chain of Skorn, A utopian paradise filled with lush foliage and enthralling wildlife that would captivate an eager explorer for months. Far from the reach of civilization's conforming grasp, this island houses a deep, dark secret, a silent forboding warning that lingers unwelcomingly....
Deep within the rain drenched vegetation and distinguished rolling rocky landscape of this uncharted Archipelago dwelled an ancient caste of shadow walking assassins. A clan bathed in the chilling unwaving embrace of darkness. This tribe of unrelenting agents of orderly carnage, birthed a collection of the most terrifying contractor's this side Gaia.
Their stronghold gripped the side of a remote cliff completely shrouded from prying eyes of the shoreline. This massive institution of education in the dark arts of deception housed more than a few hundred souls, all willing to soak up as much knowledge as possible before being assigned marks. This association roared with activity,only drowned out by the dense jungle surrounding its parameter on three sides. Some classes were beginning just as others were coming to an end. Schools of Illusion, Stealth, Speechcraft, Pickpocketing, and lockpicking all necessary skills housed under the college of assassination.
Within the confines of the college, One soul lurked within the inner sanctum of the institution. A willful soul, an expert in many forms of deception and warfare. The most revered and respected Agent the agency had, a symbol of the talent and skill that could be acheived within these walls. This was no feeble vessel. This man, tall and agile had become the foe and executioner of many Nobles, Kings, Men, Women, and sometime even children. It made no difference to this being , as only the glory of taking the mark's existence mattered.
Golden Orbs of Amber piereced through the only unveiled part of the shadowy silhouette's frame. A demonic delineation encircled in an enigmatic aurora of devilish delight. Adorned in immaculate classic assassin gear, this veteran had placed a few personal touches to his kit. Most assassin's garb resembles that of your traditional eastern ninja, but this was not your traditional assassin.
Upon his hooded veil rested a jewel incrusted crown, which sat upon his skull like a formal noble's crown. This crown, awarded by multiple difficult mark kills, endowed its sire with immense capability. The Circlet of Cimmerian Shade allowed its host to completely blend into the darkness of night. Once engulfed within the unwavering umbra, the host could be within breathing range without alerting his prey, greatly muffling noise and shrouding the view of its manipulater.
Descending down upon the waist of the compassionless callous emissary of terror lie dual mythical enchanted sickles, armaments forged within the inferno of hell. Attached to each other by a link of mythril, like an indestructable umbilical cord. Each armament the polar opposite of its rival. Isis, a weapon forced the a fierce tempest of ice. A blade which power could freeze an entire limb upon the slighest nick of its razor. On Its opposite end rests Ifrit, named after the demon of fire, this blade of inferno was forged within the heart of hell. A blade of moltening metal that gives the appearance of a solid texture. Both sickles are dressed with precious stones and jewels which add beauty to their deadliness. A fit armament for such a brutal and unrelenting murderer.
His shins and shoulders equiped with shoulder guards of spikes and teeth, sharp enough to cleave flesh with a mere brush against their razor like edges. His arms lay bare of clothing, only drenched within the tribal ink of the Brotherhood. Tattoos of enigmatic configuration adorn his arms, descending past his elbow before peacefully fading upon his forearms. Each tattoo marked a trait, skill, or story of an epic battle or murder of a mark. His face, if revealed would display rich tribal razor like bands which cascade down his face dispelling upon his neck. His eyes pierce with eagle like vision, yet his mind cares not about the exterior world. His mind dances and panders to his inner consciousness which allows him to attain greater power.
Perched upon his inner shoulder rest his loyal and fearless companion Nova. Not a man, but a massive raven stained within the black void of the abyss. Red eyes jolt back and forth gazing into the distance for potential threats, The perfect scout to ascend high above the terrain and mark potential threats and points of interest. This raven was more than met the eye. Nova would swiftly throw his head toward Sin's ear as if whispering important information to its sire. With Nova handling reconnaissance and Sin shredding through warm flesh, this team would make a formidable opponent and a hellish nightmare....
Next mark looks to be more of a challenge....Excellent...." Sin thought to himself emphatically. "The mark resides somewhere in this run down building called Mystic Tavern? Meh, Makes no difference to me. The Spirit of Zarkum shall guide my blade and release this corruption from its corporeal shell." Sin pondered, justifying his actions with content. Sin shifted his eyes methodically to Nova and his lips finally part. " You ready for this, girl?" He comfortingly asked. Nova's piercing pupils scanned the landscape accusingly before pulling full attention to Sin's words. Nova nods her head in approval.
Within an instance Sin jolts forward, disappearing into a plum of tar black smoke, which dissipates among the clean fresh island air. Sin appears a few hundred yards from the Tavern, Dropping out of a tree hastely like an umbra tear drop. "I smell the malodor of decay and corruption....Aventus should be close." Sin said to himself, quietly. This revelation excited the young assassin. He yerned for bloodshed in the name of the Guardian of the Abyss, Zarkum...the true deity and prophet. "All those whom stand in the way of justice, shall perish" Sin warned silently as he began his ascent toward the mysterious and strange tavern before him....
Epic of Sin has begun...
Deep within the rain drenched vegetation and distinguished rolling rocky landscape of this uncharted Archipelago dwelled an ancient caste of shadow walking assassins. A clan bathed in the chilling unwaving embrace of darkness. This tribe of unrelenting agents of orderly carnage, birthed a collection of the most terrifying contractor's this side Gaia.
Their stronghold gripped the side of a remote cliff completely shrouded from prying eyes of the shoreline. This massive institution of education in the dark arts of deception housed more than a few hundred souls, all willing to soak up as much knowledge as possible before being assigned marks. This association roared with activity,only drowned out by the dense jungle surrounding its parameter on three sides. Some classes were beginning just as others were coming to an end. Schools of Illusion, Stealth, Speechcraft, Pickpocketing, and lockpicking all necessary skills housed under the college of assassination.
Within the confines of the college, One soul lurked within the inner sanctum of the institution. A willful soul, an expert in many forms of deception and warfare. The most revered and respected Agent the agency had, a symbol of the talent and skill that could be acheived within these walls. This was no feeble vessel. This man, tall and agile had become the foe and executioner of many Nobles, Kings, Men, Women, and sometime even children. It made no difference to this being , as only the glory of taking the mark's existence mattered.
Golden Orbs of Amber piereced through the only unveiled part of the shadowy silhouette's frame. A demonic delineation encircled in an enigmatic aurora of devilish delight. Adorned in immaculate classic assassin gear, this veteran had placed a few personal touches to his kit. Most assassin's garb resembles that of your traditional eastern ninja, but this was not your traditional assassin.
Upon his hooded veil rested a jewel incrusted crown, which sat upon his skull like a formal noble's crown. This crown, awarded by multiple difficult mark kills, endowed its sire with immense capability. The Circlet of Cimmerian Shade allowed its host to completely blend into the darkness of night. Once engulfed within the unwavering umbra, the host could be within breathing range without alerting his prey, greatly muffling noise and shrouding the view of its manipulater.
Descending down upon the waist of the compassionless callous emissary of terror lie dual mythical enchanted sickles, armaments forged within the inferno of hell. Attached to each other by a link of mythril, like an indestructable umbilical cord. Each armament the polar opposite of its rival. Isis, a weapon forced the a fierce tempest of ice. A blade which power could freeze an entire limb upon the slighest nick of its razor. On Its opposite end rests Ifrit, named after the demon of fire, this blade of inferno was forged within the heart of hell. A blade of moltening metal that gives the appearance of a solid texture. Both sickles are dressed with precious stones and jewels which add beauty to their deadliness. A fit armament for such a brutal and unrelenting murderer.
His shins and shoulders equiped with shoulder guards of spikes and teeth, sharp enough to cleave flesh with a mere brush against their razor like edges. His arms lay bare of clothing, only drenched within the tribal ink of the Brotherhood. Tattoos of enigmatic configuration adorn his arms, descending past his elbow before peacefully fading upon his forearms. Each tattoo marked a trait, skill, or story of an epic battle or murder of a mark. His face, if revealed would display rich tribal razor like bands which cascade down his face dispelling upon his neck. His eyes pierce with eagle like vision, yet his mind cares not about the exterior world. His mind dances and panders to his inner consciousness which allows him to attain greater power.
Perched upon his inner shoulder rest his loyal and fearless companion Nova. Not a man, but a massive raven stained within the black void of the abyss. Red eyes jolt back and forth gazing into the distance for potential threats, The perfect scout to ascend high above the terrain and mark potential threats and points of interest. This raven was more than met the eye. Nova would swiftly throw his head toward Sin's ear as if whispering important information to its sire. With Nova handling reconnaissance and Sin shredding through warm flesh, this team would make a formidable opponent and a hellish nightmare....
Next mark looks to be more of a challenge....Excellent...." Sin thought to himself emphatically. "The mark resides somewhere in this run down building called Mystic Tavern? Meh, Makes no difference to me. The Spirit of Zarkum shall guide my blade and release this corruption from its corporeal shell." Sin pondered, justifying his actions with content. Sin shifted his eyes methodically to Nova and his lips finally part. " You ready for this, girl?" He comfortingly asked. Nova's piercing pupils scanned the landscape accusingly before pulling full attention to Sin's words. Nova nods her head in approval.
Within an instance Sin jolts forward, disappearing into a plum of tar black smoke, which dissipates among the clean fresh island air. Sin appears a few hundred yards from the Tavern, Dropping out of a tree hastely like an umbra tear drop. "I smell the malodor of decay and corruption....Aventus should be close." Sin said to himself, quietly. This revelation excited the young assassin. He yerned for bloodshed in the name of the Guardian of the Abyss, Zarkum...the true deity and prophet. "All those whom stand in the way of justice, shall perish" Sin warned silently as he began his ascent toward the mysterious and strange tavern before him....
Epic of Sin has begun...
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