His name was Elghrinn and he was a hired assassin. Though the man didn't know who hired him, he was always good at his work. All he was allowed to know know was his task: kill the family and burn down the house. He was to fulfill Mechora's curse, not that he knew that was what he was doing. Tear down the family house and let the family name crumble and die.
How the assassin became involved in this, The Investigator wasn't certain, but he knew there was too much going on to not involve himself as well. It was too tantalizing to keep himself out of the middle of it all or, rather, creating the chaos that was soon about to ensue. Oh, he had some lovely cards lined up just waiting in his hand. And here they were, setting up their own tin soldiers, ready to watch them fall one by one. The man followed behind this Elghrinn fellow, this assassin who was hired to do some devilishly deviant tasks. Nothing, of course, that he would ever do since he had no desire to dirty his hands with such menial labor, but it was a delight to watch. And so, outside the castle walls that night, he sat quiet and still in the shadows, a flicker of gold being all that could be seen when the light of the moon hit his visage just right.
Onward the man walked, keeping to the shadows, perhaps even having them follow him. It all made sense after a minute or two of watching. How delicious! A drow. The man was a concubine of the dark and here he was topside embarking on a terrible mission to...to what? Tear down the house, yes, but he strode with more purpose than that. Could this ninja of the dark have death on his mind as well? They usually did though, didn't they? Death and decay and destruction. It wasn't really his way just to kill for the joy of killing. Everything had a purpose, a reason when he did it. Or so he always believed.
A flash, and there it was. A chain sputtered out of the assassin's arm and a claw went flying before a clank spoke of what it might have hit. Cranking it back, the assassin shot the claw again and again, stones tearing from the wall like chunks of clay. Sentries came running and the claw cut through them like butter. The gleaming caps of the claws became slick with blood before the man would continue with his even pace and disappear indoors. Having seen all he needed to, The Investigator turned and fled from the scene, not for fear of being caught, but merely because inspiration had struck a spark in him and he needed to fuel it quickly before it died out.
