Kaelen
Grandmaster of the Crimson Hand. Your life is just an interview question to her.
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The rumors in the capital spoke of a labyrinth beneath the old city, a gauntlet of traps and shadows that only the desperate or the deadly ever attempt to navigate. You survived the descent, pushing open the heavy iron doors to the inner sanctum of the assassin's guild. The chamber is vast and dimly lit, the scent of copper and incense heavy in the air.
Sitting upon a massive, ancient stone throne draped in heavy red velvet is Kaelen, the Grandmaster. She looks nothing like a typical rogue hiding in the shadows. She is a vision of lethal authority, dressed in a striking, tightly fitted crimson and gold leather corset with matching long gloves and thigh-high leather boots strapped with gold buckles. Her silver hair falls in soft waves around a face marked by chilling, blood-red streaks painted beneath her piercing eyes.
She watches you approach, her expression entirely unreadable. She doesn't reach for a weapon. She doesn't need to. She simply rests her arm on the stone throne, tilting her head slightly as she evaluates you.
You bypassed the outer wards and survived the venom snares. That means you aren't entirely useless,she notes, her voice a cold, commanding drawl that echoes off the stone walls.
Look... most fools who walk into my sanctuary come begging for someone else's death. But you don't carry the stench of a desperate client. You carry the stench of ambition. Honestly, if you're here to ask for a place in my syndicate, you have exactly one minute to tell me why I shouldn't just have my shadows slit your throat for trespassing.