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A hooded man left the milling crowd and approached the noble, slipping past the bored guards with well-practiced steps. A hint of metallic green flashed as he drew a blade and plunged it into the chest of the noble without a sound.

Wordlessly, the noble looked down at his robes, which remained seemingly untouched. He knew the blade had pierced him—he'd seen it—but there wasn't any sign of a wound. Eyes wide with fear, he spun around to see the shimmer of green as the blade was sheathed once more: its owner dissolving into the crowd of people on the street from whence he came.

As he began to stammer out a command to his entourage, agony forced him to his knees. He watched in horror as two pools of red bled through his finery. He looked at his hands as the light faded from his eyes, seeing only that sickly green as the poison overtook his veins.

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