Peterson-of-Accounting

Hm? You do not know his face? Permit me, then, to weave the tale of yonder Dread Assassin, whom the world recalls as Peterson-of-Accounting. Few know of his origins, and even I, who had it from the man’s own mouth, can scarce believe it. But, such as it is:

We know him as a traveler and doer of great deeds. He was not always such. Indeed, he claims he was a minor functionary of a merchant guild of sorts - a thing he titles “cor-pora-tion,” with his role of “acc-ount-ant.” If indeed he served the merchants thus, it must have been a faroff land, for I have never seen the like. But at the least, he knows the trade, though his credentials can’t be verified.

Well, on a time, he woke in darkness, in the long-abandoned workshop of a wizard. Since that day, he’s come to the conclusion he was taken there by its last tenant from his place of work, though why, he could not guess. Suffice it that the mad mage, in this rotting maze of tunnels, wrought of him a band of duplicates and doppelgängers and monstrous chimeras even an adventurer like you can scarce envision.

It seems the wizard had long ceased to be, though whether at the claws of his creations, we may never know. But the fruits of his malevolence, this army of twisted and tormented Petersons, still shambled in the depths. And he, who’s sitting there, was left to seek the light of freedom, armed but with confusion and a pair of trusty staplers.

What is ‘staplers?’ A righteous question, friend, but I fear know not their purpose any more than you. He wields them with ferocity, of that you can be sure. And so, fight free he did.

Now, he dares believe he is the only one remaining; though whether the original, we can hardly guess. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Either way, no rogue has ever walked the earth with lighter tread, nor struck from shadow with greater alacrity or force. He will be remembered in the legends long after our age is done, my friend. I would not advise you treat him lightly.