THE ANCIENT GUILD OF BANDITS HAS LONG BEEN DEFUNCT, BUT FOR POSTERITY THE LAST RECORDED WORDS OF ITS FINAL GUILDMASTER ARE HELD HERE:
You have a choice to make, my friend.
Lay bleeding in the darkened gutter of a dingy back-alley, an unseen knife liberating your purse and your life, the last thought in your dimming mind a curse to your misfortune from an invisible foe...
Or...
Wipe the blood from your blade, safe in the shadows, counting your loot as you slyly laugh with your sinister fellows.
You can be a victim of vile poisons, slight of hand, deceptive cunning and light fingers reaching out of shadowed corners...or you can be the master of these skills.
If the spirit of the thief burns in your soul...
If the blood of the assassin pumps through your veins...
If you believe with every fibre of your being that it is your divine right to take whatever you want, whenever you want, from whomever you want...
Then seek us out, somewhere in the shadows, and join us, for your rightful place is with the Brotherhood of the Bandits.
THE WORDS END.
