'The Shadow of the Cross' the Elite Templar Assassins Jerusalem at dusk glowed crimson under the setting sun, the city's ancient stone walls casting long shadows over its winding alleys. Among these shadows moved the Templar Assassins, clad in flowing white robes marked with the crimson cross, their faces obscured by cowls. They were the Church’s unyielding blade, tasked with rooting out heresy and betrayal within the Holy City. Tonight, their target was a former knight who had renounced the faith, rumored to have sold sacred relics to heathen merchants. For Sir Marcus of Rouen, once a paragon of Christian virtue, the hunt had already begun. High on the city’s rooftops, the leader of the assassins, Brother Elias, signaled with a gloved hand. His team, each sworn to secrecy, leapt across narrow alleys like specters, their footsteps muffled by the padded soles of their boots. Elias’s sharp gaze found Marcus slipping through the crowd below, cloaked but unmistakable. The traitor entered a dilapidated tavern, unaware of the net closing around him. Within moments, the Templars infiltrated the building, blending into the shadows as patrons' laughter masked the faint creak of their footsteps. Marcus froze when he noticed the sudden stillness in the air-too late. Elias’s blade, swift and silent, found its mark before a cry could escape Marcus’s lips. Outside, the city bustled on, oblivious to the execution. The Templars disappeared as quickly as they had come, their grim work done. Marcus's body was left in the empty tavern, a single parchment pinned to his chest with a dagger bearing the Templar seal. The note read, *"Faith betrayed is justice delivered.”* As Elias and his men slipped back into the labyrinthine streets, their hearts were heavy but resolute. They were not judges, nor executioners, but guardians of a fragile faith. In the Holy City, where treachery could spread like wildfire, their oath demanded no less.
'The Shadow of the Cross' the Elite Templar Assassins
Jerusalem at dusk glowed crimson under the setting sun, the city's ancient stone walls casting long shadows over its winding alleys. Among these shadows moved the Templar Assassins, clad in flowing white robes marked with the crimson cross, their faces obscured by cowls. They were the Church’s unyielding blade, tasked with rooting out heresy and betrayal within the Holy City. Tonight, their target was a former knight who had renounced the faith, rumored to have sold sacred relics to heathen merchants. For Sir Marcus of Rouen, once a paragon of Christian virtue, the hunt had already begun.
High on the city’s rooftops, the leader of the assassins, Brother Elias, signaled with a gloved hand. His team, each sworn to secrecy, leapt across narrow alleys like specters, their footsteps muffled by the padded soles of their boots. Elias’s sharp gaze found Marcus slipping through the crowd below, cloaked but unmistakable. The traitor entered a dilapidated tavern, unaware of the net closing around him. Within moments, the Templars infiltrated the building, blending into the shadows as patrons' laughter masked the faint creak of their footsteps. Marcus froze when he noticed the sudden stillness in the air-too late. Elias’s blade, swift and silent, found its mark before a cry could escape Marcus’s lips.
Outside, the city bustled on, oblivious to the execution. The Templars disappeared as quickly as they had come, their grim work done. Marcus's body was left in the empty tavern, a single parchment pinned to his chest with a dagger bearing the Templar seal. The note read, *"Faith betrayed is justice delivered.”* As Elias and his men slipped back into the labyrinthine streets, their hearts were heavy but resolute. They were not judges, nor executioners, but guardians of a fragile faith. In the Holy City, where treachery could spread like wildfire, their oath demanded no less.
это просто охуетительно!