The Red Right Hand

Overview

The Red Right Hand is a clandestine, highly-feared mercenary and assassination syndicate operating across kingdoms, empires, and shadow-states alike. Their name is spoken in whispers, often followed by glances over shoulders and doors closed tight. Known for their absolute professionalism, unmatched lethality, and mysterious nature, The Red Right Hand exists in spaces of warfare, politics, and power—where law cannot reach and where morality has no currency.

Core Tenets:

• No Children: The Red Right Hand will never take a contract that involves the harm or death of children.
• No Religious Motivations: They refuse contracts based on religious reasons, including divine crusades, holy vengeance, or inquisitorial purges.
• No Escapes: Once a contract is accepted, the target always dies—no known exceptions.

Structure & Secrecy: No known member of The Red Right Hand has ever been captured. Their agents do not wear identifying marks. Even those who provide them goods or services insist they’ve never seen a member face-to-face. The group utilizes intermediaries, enchanted artifacts, coded messages, and disposable contacts. Their communications are said to be instantaneous and impossible to trace.

The true number of their operatives is unknown. Some claim The Red Right Hand is a single immortal killer, others believe they are a scattered legion acting in perfect coordination. There is no proof either way.

History

Unconfirmed legends suggest The Red Right Hand first appeared over 5000 years ago during the fall of the Solus Elven Empire. A series of political assassinations occurred over one blood-soaked month—kings, nobles, priests, and warlords all died in their beds, many without signs of forced entry. Each time, a crimson-gloved handprint was found somewhere near the body. The empire collapsed into civil war weeks later. The killings stopped. The legend began.

Rise in Influence: Over the centuries, references to The Red Right Hand surface sporadically: a tyrant felled in his fortress with no breach in security; a nobleman’s heart found nailed to a cathedral door after he’d condemned orphans to starvation; a corrupt merchant prince, dead with a coin melted through his eye. Always clean. Always precise. Always final.

During major wars, their involvement is suspected but never confirmed. Generals who refused to surrender vanish. Traitorous officers fall dead mid-speech. Even rogue mages and divine agents disappear without a trace.

Rumors

While no deed has been publicly confirmed by the group (they do not boast or claim credit), the following events are widely believed to be their work:

• The Nine Silvers : Nine royal tax collectors were found dismembered across nine provinces. Each had stolen from their king and hidden their wealth. All the stolen silver was returned, and each body bore a crimson handprint across the chest.
• The Death of High Inquisitor Tarlan: Known for executing suspected heretics without trial, Tarlan was found dead in the center of the Grand Cathedral of Ganzir—his blood forming a spiral pattern known only to a banned cult he once persecuted. No door had been breached.
• The Whisper-Men Theory: Some believe that The Red Right Hand doesn't use normal communication. Instead, they utilize beings known only as "The Whisper Men"—a spectral intermediary who delivers contracts, requests, and instructions through dreams or possession.

To: Lord Marshal Deren Faln of the Ganzir City Watch
From: Investigator Halrik Thorne, 4th Circle Inquiry Officer
Subject: Report on the Death of Magistrate Vennar Tarlis
Filed: 3rd Day of Bright-Sun, 1051 A.F.

Initial Report:

On the 28th of Dew-Drear, Magistrate Vennar Tarlis was found dead in his private study within the Tarlis Estate. Body discovered by manservant Gellin (interviewed, cleared of suspicion). No signs of forced entry. No wounds on the body. Tarlis was seated upright at his desk, hands folded, eyes open. A crimson handprint was found on the inside of the study window, facing inward.

Cause of death: unknown. He appears to have simply stopped living.

Initial hypothesis leaned toward poison or a curse. Arcane examiners from the Church of the Sigil Mages reported no magical residue. The healer-priest called in from the Temple of Trelta found no signs of disease or toxin. The death, by all physical and magical means, should be impossible.

Progression of Investigation:

I interviewed staff, neighbors, and the two guards stationed outside Tarlis’s estate. None reported suspicious activity. The guards swore no one entered or exited during the night, though both admitted to falling unconscious at the same time “as if sleep stole us, mid-breath.” No wounds, no traces of spells.

Checked Tarlis’s recent rulings. Three days before his death, he ordered the seizure of assets from a merchant family implicated in cult activity. The next day, he shut down a trade deal backed by the Guild of Copper Veins. Thirdly, he denied an asylum request from a priest of the Order of the Everlasting Light .

Each of these cases could breed enemies, but none carried the weight or reach for an execution of this nature.

Unsettling Leads:

Two days into the inquiry, I was approached by a courier. Young lad, no older than sixteen. Gave me a sealed envelope with no address, no wax mark. Inside: a single slip of paper with a name—“Kellis Wint.” No explanation.

Tracked Kellis Wint to a boarding house near the docks. A scribe. Clean record. He claimed no knowledge of the case, swore he’d never met Tarlis. But he froze when I mentioned the handprint. Went pale. Wouldn’t speak further.

That night, his room burned down. Body charred beyond recognition. Officially ruled an accident. I know better.

Escalation:

The deeper I dug, the quieter people got. One informant left town before our meeting. Another—an undertaker who’d prepared Tarlis’s body—was found "drowned" in a well. No water in his lungs. Just… gone.

I began receiving messages. Slips under my door. No threats—just information. Names. Places. Always one step ahead of me. Always helpful. But I could feel it: someone was guiding me.

Then came the breakthrough—or what I thought was one.

In a forgotten alley behind the Copper Veins Guildhall, I found a mark. Faded, but still there: a red handprint. Not painted. Not inked. Stained into the stone itself. The alley was dry as bone, but I could smell the iron. I touched it. It was warm.

I sent a runner to fetch backup. He never returned.

Final Entry:

I have compiled all findings into the enclosed dossier, though much of it is circumstantial. There is no face to name. No thread to follow that does not burn the moment I grip it. The death of Magistrate Tarlis is not a case—it is a message.

I returned home this evening after spending the day cross-referencing court records. My door was locked. No signs of entry.

But in my bedroom, resting on my pillow, was a folded scrap of parchment.

No seal. No blood. No poetry.

Just a symbol.

A red handprint.

And one word, written beneath it in perfect script: “Stop.”

I am following that instruction.

I respectfully withdraw from the inquiry.

May the gods forgive me for my lack of courage.

— Halrik Thorne

To: Lord Marshal Deren Faln
From: Junior Investigator Greld Bellevue, 4th Circle Inquiry Assistant
Subject: Continuation of Case #117-A — The Death of Magistrate Vennar Tarlis
Filed: 14th Day of Bright-Sun, 1051 A.F.

Preface:

Per instruction and in light of Investigator Halrik Thorne’s voluntary withdrawal from the case, I have assumed temporary oversight of Investigation #117-A. I submit this report with the utmost respect to Investigator Thorne’s distinguished record and note that his request to withdraw was made with clear signs of duress, though no formal complaint was filed.

Summary of Reinvestigation:

Upon review of the compiled dossier left by Investigator Thorne, I noted several inconsistencies in testimonies previously deemed closed. One in particular stood out — the manservant Gellin, who initially claimed to have found Magistrate Tarlis’s body. Under further questioning, Gellin admitted he did not see the body firsthand. He said, quote, “They told me not to look. Said he died peacefully. I never went in the room.”

When asked to clarify who “they” were, he recanted immediately and requested protection. He was placed under guard. The next morning, he was found hanging from his bedpost by his own belt. No one saw anyone enter or leave his cell.

Discovery of the Message Ledger:

While reviewing Magistrate Tarlis’s personal effects, I found a second, false bottom in his desk drawer. Inside was a small leather-bound ledger, written in a cipher consistent with early naval cant — a code used by black-flag traders and smugglers. With assistance from Archivist Rens, I translated several entries.

One entry, dated three nights before his death, reads:

“Payment confirmed. The Hand will move. This is the final chain broken. Long live the Silence.”

Another, less clear, simply states:

“The blood is the signal. They come when the Gods don’t.”

Tarlis knew. He knew they were coming.

The Night at the Copper Veins:

Following up on Thorne’s notes regarding the Copper Veins Guildhall, I revisited the alley where the red handprint was found. The stain is gone — washed, scraped, or erased. But while searching the area, I found a symbol carved into the brick two buildings down: a spiral made of tiny, perfect dagger-points, like teeth.

No one could see it unless they were looking.

Inside the Guildhall archives, an entry matching the day of Tarlis’s death records the arrival of an unregistered guest signed only as “R.” No description. No purpose listed. Just the letter.

Personal Note (Unfiled):

I have not slept well. Three nights now, and each time I dream of windows with no glass, doors with no hinges. Of a voice I cannot understand — not because it is foreign, but because it knows me too well.

I do not believe this case should have ever been opened.

And yet I cannot stop.

Addendum: 17th Day of Bright-Sun, 1051 A.F.

I am departing tonight for the ruins beneath the old Eastgate tunnels. Several documents hint at an abandoned meeting house once used by high judges—Tarlis among them. If there are answers, they will be there.

I have left a sealed copy of my notes in my quarters. If I do not return by dawn, destroy them.

Some doors should not be knocked on.

— Greld Bellevue

Filed separately. Handwritten in black ink. Author: Investigator Halrik Thorne

To: Lord Marshal Deren Faln
Subject: Incident Report – Disappearance of Junior Officer Greld Bellevue

This morning, Greld Bellevue failed to report for duty. His quarters were found undisturbed, save for a single item placed neatly on his desk — his badge, wrapped in a cloth torn from what appears to be ceremonial robes. The cloth bore traces of ash and wax.

His personal notes were missing.

I went to the Eastgate tunnels. Found his lamp, still burning. No sign of struggle. No blood.

On the stone wall at the far end of the chamber — a handprint.

Red.

Still wet.

I am closing this case.

— Halrik Thorne

He’ll rise up slow, from shadow’s seam,
Where lanterns die and no one dreams.
With boots that make no sound on stone,
He walks the path you walk alone.

He gives no name, he takes no stand—
The man behind the Red Right Hand.

He’s got no God, he’s got no kin,
But he knows every place you’ve been.
He'll write your name in bloodless ink,
And make you vanish in a blink.

A voice that speaks inside your head,
And when it stops, you’ll soon be dead.

So shut your doors and lock them tight,
Don’t say his name, not even slight.
Don’t take gold from a stranger’s grip—
Or feel that hand upon your lip.

They say he comes with fire and sand,
They say he comes... the Red Right Hand.

- Nathas Childrens Rhyme