Scarabaeus

Once a legendary assassin of nearly mythological renown, who lost their ace in the hole when other Veilspun revealed the secrets of their hypnotism to the wider world. They're now trying to scrape out a living doing boring, ordinary merc work, while complaining to everyone in ear shot how far it is beneath them.

stigmata » An old friend and a member of their old swarm, before they were forced to go on the run.

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Years ago, Sornieth’s shadier elements told tales of a legendary figure called the Bloodstone Scarab. It was said that certain rituals, complete with blood sacrifice, could summon a mysterious creature to take a life of your choice. The Scarab could turn invisible, wipe minds, walk through walls, all sorts of powers not usually associated with run of the mill mages. More importantly, while a number of high profile assassinations were associated with the ritual, there wasn’t a dragon on Sornieth who could claim that they’d actually seen the dragon (or creature?) responsible. Some considered this an unsolved mystery, while others thought it was a straight up myth.

Then, in the Tangled Wood, the Veilspun revealed themselves to the modern dragons. As soon as knowledge of Veilspun hypnotic abilities became widespread, experts all over the world began developing safety precautions and ways to fight against it. The wealthy and powerful began paying exorbitantly high prices for blind bodyguards, or bodyguards trained in the art of fighting blindfolded.

A short time later, the personal guard of a prominent Plague clan leader successfully thrwarted an assassination attempt by a tiny beetle-winged Veilspun who’d attempted to just waltz in the front door. The Veil escaped with their life, but was unable to hypnotize every witness on the way out, resulting in a leak of their description. In the following days, the rituals to summon the Bloodstone Scarab mysteriously stopped working...

Scarab has since fled to the relative safety and freedom of the Lightning territories and is often found sulking in the back of the Rattler’s Rest saloon, complaining that the available jobs are beneath them and telling anyone who’ll listen about their glory days. The majority of the townsfolk are... skeptical, to say the least, but those hilariously tiny daggers are still pretty sharp, and they’re unwilling to call the stranger a liar to their face.