The Citadel, nestled in the safety of Radasanth and guarded by the do-gooders that reside there. There once existed a time where this husk of a man lived peacefully within its walls with a wife, and a child. Years upon years of hatred, the thirst for revenge, and misfortune has long since washed away any pleasantries tied to this place. The murders and infamy quickly marked the assassin turned mercenary as banned from the Citadel. The rumors of gruesome wounds and mangled corpses treated by the Ai'Brone who run the establishment still run freely from drunk men's lips.

However...

Something unknown called out to him, to the silver-maned criminal. Under the mask of night and a cloudless starry sky, he turned his verdant gaze to the looming tower of the Citadel. Perched upon the city wall, beside a watchmen who spent this late hour neglecting his responsibilities for a few moments of sleep, Lichensith Ulroke sighed. In the hollows of his mind echoed the screams of his victims, the faint warmth of spilled blood on his hands, and the rhythmic beating of his own heart in the heat of combat.

The silhouette upon the wall placed a gloved hand over his chest. The thing that beat within a bone cage lacked the emotion, the warmth, and drive of a heart. Yet, with every tick of the clock, a muscle deep beneath the surface pumped cold and cursed blood throughout his body.

Lye adverted his gaze to the Citadel's peak. In his years upon Althanas, he could not recall a time where the Ai'Brone led anyone to its summit. What did they hold up there? What did it contain?

He wanted to know.

The silent shadow reached into the leather pouch at his back and produced a length of cable with a winch. Tipped with a finely pointed and uniquely enchanted steel spike, Lye whipped it skyward with all his might. The coil unwound from his hand with a metallic zip, causing his slumbering company to stir.

"...ten more gold for a dance... heheh..." the watchman murmured with a sultry grin and rosy cheeks.

Steel bit into stone as the anchor wedged itself into the Citadel's walls. Solid metal crawled like the roots of a weed and purchased a firm hold into the cracks, crevices, and mortar. The assassin tugged the line taught, clicking the winch into place on the line.

"...yeah... like that, baby... heheh..." the watchman stirred, shifting his uniformed body against the wall to find new comfort.

The assassin offered one last glance to the civil servant, sparing his mind's suggestion of making the man's slumber eternal. Instead, Lye hefted his weight off the edge, plummeting down to dimly lit streets. The line snapped taught, and with he blackened kiss of shadowy magics, the winch stirred to life, hoisting his corpse upward. Upon arriving at the line's end, he kicked free from the wall, willed the anchor free, and before slamming into the building to a lengthy death below, phased his ethereal form through stone.

The drifter's boots clicked softly against polished marble. The flicker of candelabra's illuminated his slender physique as he stood. Soft chanting of old tongues droned together in a choir from scores upon scores of robed men on onyx slabs.

"The illusion chambers..." Lye thought, recalling a theory of how the Ai'Brone produce worlds within closed doors.

He approached one of them, waving a gloved hand over the open eyes of a chanting monk. It stirred no response.

"Eerie..." he murmured, spanning his view to anyone that may have heard his alien trade-speak among ancient tongues.

No reply.

He quirked his head at a lone door toward the center of the chamber - clean, polished, and ornately trimmed in gold. Lye strode around the decorated onyx door to find nothing more, just a door and a frame. His curiosity piqued. He located a handle, round like a common knob, but hollow where a keyhole should be. Instead, only darkness remained inside. With brow raised, he turned and opened the door.

Bright light poured through as it wedged open, the sweeping warmth of sun bleeding into the cold, musty air. The song of finches and thrush echoed into the chamber. Held open in front of him, stretched an expanse of swaying grass and blue skies.

Lye smirked and shook his head.

The purpose of the door and the world beyond unknown, his familiarity with the old men's tricks beckoned him inside. With a deliberate pull behind him, the door groaned shut, clicked, and faded into the endless sea of green.

Another false realm. Another arena. And one last opportunity for senseless bloodshed.

"Hello," he welcomed to the hulking frame of a man emerging from a door of his own.