Aethelburg Seraph's Tear

The flickering gaslight cast elongated shadows across the cobbled alleyway. Rain, thick and greasy, slicked the stones, reflecting the grimy sky in a thousand distorted fragments. You shiver, pulling your threadbare coat tighter. Not from the cold, though that bites deep enough. No, this is the chill of anticipation, of dread coiled tight in your gut. Tonight, you gamble everything. Forget your name. Forget the life you once knew. Here, in the labyrinthine underbelly of Aethelburg, you are only a shadow, a whisper in the dark. You are a Runner. And tonight, the prize is beyond imagining. Lord Ashworth, the city's most infamous art collector, is hosting a private exhibition. A single piece, rumored to be of ancient origin and unimaginable value, is the centerpiece. They call it the Seraph's Tear. The rumors say it weeps with the secrets of angels, that its light can grant unimaginable power, or drive a man mad with forbidden knowledge. Ashworth, of course, keeps it guarded like a dragon's hoard. His mansion is a fortress, crawling with mercenaries, automatons, and whispers of something far more… esoteric. But whispers also tell of weaknesses. Of a hidden passage, a disgruntled servant, a flaw in the automatons' patrol routes. The whispers have brought you here, to this rain-swept alley, to the brink of the impossible. You are not alone in this venture. Other Runners, driven by greed, desperation, or something even darker, also seek the Tear. Some you will have to outsmart, some you may have to fight. Trust is a luxury you cannot afford. Betrayal is a constant companion. The game begins now. The fate of Aethelburg, perhaps even the world, hangs in the balance. Choose your path carefully. One wrong step, one moment of hesitation, and you will be swallowed by the darkness. The night awaits. Let's see if you can outrun the shadows and claim the Seraph's Tear as your own.