The quarry must die. That was the simple truth and the guiding principle of Szeth’s life for as long as he could remember. He never heard the why of it, but frankly, he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered to him was that the end result of his shot was a lifeless body slumping to the ground. From his earliest days walking the grounds of the Monastery of the Setting Sun this principle was engrained into his existence, along with the red tattoos blazed across his visage, marking him as a member of the monastery. He had heard whisperings among the others of his order that the targets were rival monks of St. Macarius, but he paid them no heed. Their sex, age, race, creed weren’t even considered. Once the name was given to him, they were marked for death. It was that simple. He had killed many in his lifetime, and would kill many, many more.
Markus Eventide (Please feel free to change this to whatever name you feel appropriate. It could’ve been a master at St. Macarius or a high ranking knight of Alerion. Someone of import with powerful friends.) was the last name he was given. The name that changed everything. For it was during the execution of this man that their well-oiled machine came to a grinding halt. Instead of an arrow singing to meet the quarry’s heart, rough hands were pinning his arms to his sides while a burlap sack was being tied over his head. All went black. He awoke chained to a line of miscreants in a dank, dark hole in the earth. Szeth had failed to kill his target. He had fallen from grace. Szeth was now Sunless.