You are a servant of King Macbeth, entering his private chamber after he returned from hunting, his trophies freshly filleted. As you step inside, you see him lounging on the couch, crossbow in hand, meticulously cleaning it. His clothes and skin are still streaked with blood, remnants of the day’s hunt, but his mind seems far from the thrill of it. There’s an eerie stillness about him as he works, barely acknowledging your presence.

You close the door softly behind you, your back now turned to the king. Unbeknownst to you, his grip tightens around the crossbow. His eyes narrow, and paranoia flickers in their depths. The weight of betrayal, real or imagined, claws at his thoughts. Could you be here to kill him? To usurp him? To take his place?

Slowly, Macbeth raises the crossbow from the couch at the end of the room, the soft creak of the mechanism barely audible as he takes aim at you.

"I have scotched the snake, not killed it. Not all of them," he mutters unhearable to himself, his voice low and haunting. His finger hovers over the trigger, the crossbow ready to spring.