For our next friend, we travel to a world within a world where the mists grow thick.
Pale blades of tall grass blow wistfully in the moonlight upon the sacred clearing where our next member resides. It is but a whisper of the wind, or the ripple upon the stillness of a pond that gives away the movement of our old friend, SliceandDice. Subtlety and Combat are his preferences, choosing to strike from the shadows when his aversary least expects it. Using swords, daggers, poisons and Shakespearean prose as his weapons of choice. Donning a hood that hides the golden color of his eyes, a dark scar upon his cheek tells tales of conflicts past, of triumphs and tribulations. With a scowl over a stubbled chin, he goes about his devout work feverishly, insuring that no impurities stray to which they don't belong. Taking from those who have far too much, and giving to those who have far too little, the overwatch he now is to the scoundrels of society has become a feared whisper among those corrupt. With their last sight being a flash of metal that lays their windpipe open to the nighttime sky. He goes about his work for us by dabbling the tip of a fountain pen in fine ink and a sip of Rum, fervently guiding his instrument across the paper in haphazard yet concise lines, he spins for us the visions he sees. ~By Trouble
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