[img]https://i.imgur.com/7HnY4Yy.png[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/5FbYrwo.png[/img] [color=lightgray] The sudden, violent shake of the ship caught the man off guard. The corpse beneath his fingers, still cold and lifeless, trembled as the explosion rocked the vessel, sending ripples through the air. His gaze flickered for a moment, irritation flashing across his features, the kind one might have when a delicate ritual is disrupted. He set the severed head back into the bag with a care that was almost painful, like a father tucking a child into bed. [color=Thistle]"How inconvenient,"[/color] he muttered under his breath, his voice low and controlled, tinged with a quiet fury. [color=Thistle]"I was just getting comfortable."[/color] He stood, straightening his coat with an elegance that belied the chaos around him. The tension in the air was palpable, but it wasn’t enough to ruffle him. He stepped swiftly toward the door, his every movement measured and deliberate. The sound of screams and hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway as he made his way to the stairs, his mind already calculating how best to deal with the unruly rabble. But as he exited his room and turned toward the deck, he paused. The screams of the passengers echoed off the walls, muffled by the violence that erupted in every corner. The man stood in the doorway of his quarters, his pale eyes cold as he watched the carnage unfold. One assailant stabbed a woman in the back, the blade sinking deep into her spine as she collapsed with a cry. He didn’t even flinch. Another attacker, taller and broader, moved methodically, his strikes clean and precise as he cut down a man trying to shield his family. The blood pooled on the floor like a macabre painting, staining the polished wood beneath them. His sharp eyes narrowed, gaze flickering over the attackers. Black and red, the colors of Karrnath—the very colors of his nation. But something was wrong. The red was too… bold. Too brash. They wore it like a parody, a mockery of what it meant to be Karrnathi. It was obvious to him that these attackers were not of his nation, but the similarity in color could lead to misunderstanding…to assumptions…An insult, either way in his mind. The man’s gaze narrowed as another assassin swung a blade down on a child who had been running for help, the innocent cry silenced with a swift blow. His fingers twitched at his sides, his body still, but the storm inside him was building. The assassins, so caught up in their bloodlust, hadn’t noticed him standing there in the shadows. They were sloppy, wasteful, like children playing a dangerous game. His lip curled with disdain. It wasn’t until the last scream of a fallen passenger echoed down the hall that he moved. The man stepped forward, his movements fluid, like a predator finally closing in on its prey. His hand twitched, summoning the dark tendrils of necromantic energy that would carve a path through the fools in his way. The time for observation was over. [color=Thistle]"You picked the wrong colors for your cute little costumes."[/color] he sneered, disgust rippling through his chest. [color=Thistle]"A careless mistake that shall cost your lives, and more."[/color] His voice turned bitter. [color=Thistle]"It's offensive."[/color] His hand clenched around the dark, arcane energy swirling at his fingertips. With a twist of his wrist, he drew forth the shadowy tendrils of necromantic magic. The hallway darkened as he moved with grace, his footfalls silent. The assassins caught in his path barely had time to react before he swept them aside like cobwebs in a storm. A flick of his hand. The air shimmered with dark energy as the bones of the fallen assassins were ripped from their bodies, twisted and pulled into a swirling vortex around him. He watched with a detached interest as the bones hovered, spinning and slicing through the air, like jagged daggers eager to taste blood. His eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction. [color=Thistle]"How fitting,"[/color] he muttered, the bones hovering just inches from his fingertips. With another gesture, he sent them flying down the corridor, their sharp edges finding their marks with deadly precision. The screams were brief, cut off as they were pierced through the throat, the chest, and the limbs. He stepped over the fallen bodies with the same poise and calculated elegance as he had when dining, his coat flowing behind him like the cloak of a king surveying his kingdom. As he made his way to the deck, he saw the battle unfolding below, his eyes locking on a lone figure. The Warforged, his glacial blue sword flashing as it cleaved through the air and through one of the would-be assassins. The man couldn't help but smirk. [color=Thistle]"A fine weapon,"[/color] he murmured to himself with begrudging approval. [color=Thistle]"But how… pedestrian."[/color] The wind whipped around him as he stepped onto the deck, his feet barely making a sound as he floated above the railing. With a flick of his wrist, the bones around him flew towards another assailant, sharp as the teeth of a beast. They tore through the air like missiles, embedding themselves deep into the assassin’s body in a grotesque, fatal dance. The figure collapsed, crumpling to the deck in a heap of shattered bone and lifeless flesh. The man floated down, his feet gently touching the ground near the bar. He straightened his coat, adjusting his tie with a calmness that seemed to mock the chaos around him. He took a moment to survey the carnage, his gaze lingering on his most recent victim, now reduced to little more than a human pin cushion. [color=Thistle]"How dare they,"[/color] he said softly to Wendel, Arya, Menzai, and Gears…his voice laced with satisfaction. [color=Thistle]"To interrupt one’s vacation is a crime fit for a brutal death."[/color][/color]