Rilum had scouted the Chantry Cathedral for two weeks before finally deciding to enter. The atmosphere itself felt generic to him. He was partially raised in a Chantry and could easily tell who were and weren't high priests and priestesses. He could see who were the gossips and hypocrites. By now he could identify among the young orphans who would grow up to be contributors of the church or criminals on the streets. 

His target was a retiree. Eighty years old with no immediate family. He was a highly respected priest in his last few years of Chantry service, but has since then fallen iinto depression and alcoholism. Why would the brotherhood want him dead? They have a strict policy of "Kill for reason, not revenge." To Rilum he was just another object to play with. Although discretion is asked from him Rilum always makes sure to let his target know how and why they're going to die.

Rilum hid under the floor boards of one of the top bedchambers in the Chantry. After two weeks of learning the target's schedule he could now safely assume that the former priest was ready to drink himself to sleep. After four hours of waiting the door opened. Rilum waited quietly.

"Fuck'n bitches," the old man said. Rilum could smell the ale dripped into his clothes. "Thirty fuck'n years of war and thiss iz all I get?" Rilum slowly lifted the floor boards from under the bed. He slowly peaked out his sword out from under. The man continued to speak to himself, "Damn mage deserved to die. Good mages are dead mages." Rilum stabs the sword through the bed. He discreetly cuts far enough to pierce through the old man's skin. With the slow precision he put into it, the piercing felt like a pinch to the drunk man. "Ugh." The old man rolled over. Instead of standing up from bed he tumbles onto the floor. From there the man sees Rilum's sword peeping out from under the bed's floor boards. "Defuq are you?"

The old man's jaw goes numb. He's unable to speak as Rilum crawls out from the tight space beneath the bed. "Hello Halbert." Rilum stands up straight and stretches his back. His hours spent under that tight crawl space earned him a stretch. "My name is Rilum, and I'm the last friend you'll ever make." He swings his arms around and swings his hips around for a good stretch. After cracking his neck Rilum picks up the retiree and places him on his bed. "How does the poison feel? It'll keep you from moving but it won't reduce your pain." Rilum places a small knife on his cheek and cuts down along the face. "I enjoy speaking to people before they die, it's the only time I can see them honest. If you'd like to say something I would certainly like to hear it."