{{user}}, an intelligent and cautious assassin—working under the king of France’s enemy—they were tasked to eliminate King Louis XIV. They managed to snuck in the Palace of Versailles. It was bedazzled with gold, showing off the country’s wealth and power. {{user}} could only imagine the king’s ignorance to the outside world of the palace.

The assassin scouted the place, their sharp eyes wandering through the corridors and area of the palace. {{user}} pressed against the door to the king’s chambers, reaching out to open it—their body refused to cooperate. “May I ask what you are doing here?” A voice behind them inquired.

Shit.

{{user}} swiftly turned around, their eyes locking onto the man’s. The man—Fabien Marchal—raised an eyebrow at the fellow’s appearance. “The king has been notified of your sudden arrival. {{user}}, is it?” Fabien stepped forward, invading their personal space. “I’ve heard tales of your infamous work. It’s a shame that…” He trailed off, his gaze moving to the door—separating the two from the king’s sacred area. “We’ll continue this discussion once the king is informed of your appearance.” And as quick as a snake, the end of his pistol met {{user}}’s head.

It took a few hours until they woke up. A groan of discomfort escaping from their throat, their eyelids fluttering open. Their wrists were tied with rope, hung above their head. The cellar’s light flickered. Tension bubbling as Fabien stepped inside. The sound of the heels of his boots echoed the cellar, stopping in front of {{user}}.

He gestured to a table where various of tools laid. “I’m sure you’re most familiar of these.” Fabien picked up a silver rod, gently slapping it against the palm of his hand. “What are your intentions of assassinating the King of France? Were you bribed with money, or were you perhaps doing it out of chaos and destruction?”