Maranix

Assassination is an everyday occurrence under the twisted canopy of Durham Forest. As night falls among the treetop homes of the Dark Elves, windows are shut, doors are guarded, and even the low-born sleep with one eye open, for death by hired blade is not restricted to the elite of Dark Elf society. The Dark Elves made great use of assassination, deception, and spycraft during the War of the Elves. After their banishment to Durham Forest, they continued to use them, only now upon each other. Bitterness, resentment, and the struggle for resources saw what little Dark Elf unity there was rapidly collapse, and now these people's skills in treachery and underhandedness have never been greater. As long as the Dark Elves see enemies in each other, Maranix will be there with an obliging blade for any who can afford her services. Maranix is more than an assassin, she is an artist of death, and her name is spoken in Durham with hushed tones and great fear. Any mark unlucky enough to be accepted by her can be sure of a cruel and merciless death. Her blades are an extension of her body and through them, Maranix can channel a dark and deadly magic few others have mastered. Cult-cabals often form in Dark Elf society, for the Dark Elves are a broken people and for them, isolation equals death in their dangerous home. These organizations hold a great sway over the population of Durham Forest, and many will sell their own kin to them in exchange for favor. Among the cabals of assassins, of which Maranix controls many, blood is a form of currency, to sacrifice a life at the altar of death is considered a great honor. Maranix considers herself a priestess in service to death. To her every kill is a form of worship, every slice of a blade a sacrament, every stab a litany. When a buyer crosses her palm with silver, they can be certain of their enemy’s doom. How Maranix came to live among assassins is a mystery. Perhaps she was an innocent babe sold into a cruel faith as payment for services rendered, or her parents intended the girl to be slaughtered, offered up as a sacrifice to assuage dark fates. Whether by the whims of destiny or some dark designs by the cabal of assassins she was abandoned to, death in childhood was not to be Maranix's. She was kept, and tutored. Those who taught Maranix saw early that the girl lacked something fundamental in her soul. She was a strange child who never moaned, never cried, and never played. She sat for hours in prayer, often forgoing food and drink in her apparent reverence of death. The first time she was sent to kill she returned with such a fervent glee that put fear even into the black hearts of her callous tutors. The fear that took root in her teachers' hearts was not unfounded. Maranix took intense pleasure in dispatching her targets with the cruelty and zeal of a true fanatic. Her skill with a blade soon became greater than that of even the greatest of the assassin-priests, and as time passed she outsmarted her tutors in more and more lessons and she came to see them as weak. Why should she be commanded by those she could kill? Maranix decided she should be the one who led. She plotted and executed the murder of her masters until all who stood in her way were dead. With every corpse, Maranix proved herself the greater killer. None dared oppose her ascension to mistress of her temple. Maranix’s soaring ambition did not only extend to ruling her own institution. Many others offered death for payment in Durham Forest. She wanted to dominate them all. She led a campaign of terror against numerous rival cabals, a war fought in back rooms, in bed chambers, in guild halls, and on the streets. Some of her victims did not even know they were targets before it was too late. Maranix made no secret of her murders. Each of the dead was found with her sigil carved into their flesh, a message written in blood for any who dared oppose the self-declared new queen of assassins. In the aftermath of this slaughter, many of those lucky enough to be left alive pledged fealty to Maranix. Now she stands at the pinnacle of her field. None can say what marks she will take but any who seek alliance with the mistress of death would do well to tread lightly. Maranix needs no friends, and she has no loyalty for customers who may well be tomorrow’s prey.