A black figure darted in between the alleys on the Street of Merriment. Not even a single sound escaped into the yawning streets, although the figure was prowling and jumping from roof to roof. The figure was swathed in black, the color of a moonless night when you've run out of candles and you're in the middle of a forest.

The figure paused, glancing into a window. Producing a small thin object from a sack in his belt, the figure strapped it to its wrist. It raised it to the cowl-covered shadow of a face, sighting down its arm, pointing it at the open window.

Pressing a trigger of some sort, the figure fired. A little speck flew out from the figure, burying itself into a body slumbering peacefully, in a bed fit for a noble, directly under the starlight, cast by the open window.

The prone figure in the bed stirred as the speck impacted. The sleeping man began to twitch, then convulse in his bed. His eyes shot open, searching for an assailant. Seeing the figure cloaked in black crouching in the window, the man tried to form a sentence, but the toxin finished its work, killing the still-prone man.

Seeing the victim's eyes glaze over in death's gaze, the figure allowed a contemptuous glance and a comment. A voice emerged from the figure's shadowed face.

"Nobody trifles with the Guild of Dread"

With that, the figure turned and leapt to the next roof, disappearing into the night.