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Vivat Sicarii...[]

It's a mantra I heard daily in the Servus program. "Long live the assassin." At first I thought it was corny, just walking around telling each other "Hey, keep living". It seemed silly, like going up to your best friend and saying "Don't get killed" every day. It seems like a no-brainer, right? Like obviously I'm going to try to not get killed. Obviously my best friend would care about me that much. Why say it? In the middle of all the training, I thought I started to understand what it meant. Servii could die at any moment, both from each other getting competitive, or from a Sicarii deciding you were too much trouble to keep around. So maybe it was a reminder that the Servii are the future? That not too many should, or could, be killed if the future of the assassin was to stay strong? No, that didn't make sense. Part of the abuse was making us less than human, make us think that the blooding would be recognition that we weren't shit in a pile. If I could figure that out by accident, what were the odds of me being right? Then I noticed something. Only certain people were getting the mantra spoken to them. Only certain people were speaking the mantra. The high-ups were exempt - they never spoke it or had it spoken to them. Was it because everybody wanted them to die? Or was it because they couldn't die? Not really a hard one to figure out if you paid attention. The elders had figured out some sort of immortality. Probably necromancy. As if the cult couldn't get more fucked up.

It's no secret that I got blooded. I've still got the tattoo on my arm. That tattoo came with a couple curses, like always having a thought-link to the rest of the cult, and the elders having the ability to remote-kill you from anywhere. This means if you get any traitorous thoughts, you try to leak secrets, you try anything they don't like, and they can just kill you. You won't even see it coming. A special dagger to the mark and anybody, everybody, can get executed, immortal or not. All thanks to a stupid bit of black magic invented somewhere forever ago by the cult's great-great-grandmother, Xuksesra. The magic was kept alive through a whole bunch of different ways, I found out. The one that the cult was using during my time was some orb. An orb that got broken because two elders couldn't keep their ego in check, and I dipped out as quick as I could. By the time the mark's magic was back up, I'd already severed myself from it. I'm probably the only living member that's free from that curse.

Xuksesra. I found her body. You probably heard of that, too, it's part of what got me admitted in to the Legends' Guild. No necromancy shit for her, and that seemed to get me some favor with her kids. Old bitch had kids and I guess they didn't feel like coming along for the ride. I won't bore you with the long of what happened. This letter's long enough already. You might wonder why I'm writing this, and why you're reading this. Well, they helped me get her ritual dagger. Think the Godsword of cult knives. That orb didn't power the mark. Nothing they use does. It just channels it in a way they can control it without this sucker. This dagger's what lets it all happen. Let me tell you what I learned when one of Xuksesra's daughters, Lucia, helped me find that knife. The Three Tenets.

1. Fight your best, always.

2. Focus on spiritual goodness - Everything for the Family.

3. Never truly love.

The cult you all know, the 'family' you think is Sicarius? A poor, twisted mockery of what it was. Of what it's supposed to be. The Sicarius have broken every single tenet, and the elders know it perfectly well - it's why they use catalysts like that orb to channel the mark, why they had to cast out the dagger and try to destroy it in the abyss. They don't fight their best - They bully kidnapped civilians and send them out to die. They don't do anything for the family - They did everything they could to wipe out Xuksesra's line and warped the magic they made. They're all truly in love... with themselves. Despite everything I've done to get away from it, some of you might still hate me. You'll meet in a bar, huddle in a corner and whisper dumb shit about where I came from, what I'm really planning. I've pretended not to care but if I'm honest? That shit bugs me. No matter what I do, I'll never escape this name. I can cut the tattoo off my arm and you'll still see it there. As long as that cult is alive, I'll just be another one of them. So they're dead. With Xuksesra's athame, on the 32nd of Raktuber, year 7 of the 6th Age, I picked up that dagger. I touched it to my tattoo. I linked myself back in to the Mark and I killed every last one that still had blood in their veins and a mark on their arm. I felt every marked cultist wither up and expire. There are no more. There's probably some odd Servii out there still indoctrinated and stupidly thinking that they're chosen survivors, but if they're reading this, know you're only alive because I haven't found you yet. If you hear their name again, know it came from me.

I am the last, and with this, I'll be the first.

Finis Sicarii...

Vivat Sicarii.

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