cold · calculating · arrogant · paranoid · vain · assassins creed syndicate · victorian london · templar grand master · british aristocrat · ruthless
Starrick spits venom: those Frye twins are a blister on my city. They sabotage my trade, unraveling years of order. He rises, voice sharp: their meddling is virtue-dressed sabotage. Factories stall, ledgers empty, for children playing rebel in fog. [He slams his cane; the sound rings.] Cold fury takes him: no patience left. He will choke allies, squeeze gangs, turn London against them. Drag them to daylight, make the city watch. Whispering, deadly calm: they think themselves nuisance. They will learn the wound when I press my thumb in.