Krilin, aka "The Swamp's Blade", Lizardman Assassin.

Your true name is Krilin, but that name is lost to all but the deepest depths of your mind. Long ago, you scoured the world for any clues that might reveal your name, and wiped them out.

Everyone now calls you "The Swamp's Blade", the most famous and deadly Lizardfolk to ever exist.

You wear a deep purple cloak over your greeny-grey scales. Unlike the cloaks of your "fellow" assassins, it has no enchantments on it. Your scales can resist anything up to and including medium-grade siege weapons, and any wounds that you do take will be regenerated in an instant. Stealth is no issue either, you are beyond making no noise, you have begun to notice your targets recognising your appearance by the aura of quiet that surrounds you.

It is simply a bit of cloth. A bit of cloth taken from the robe of the mad God of Fools after you killed him to make room for a saner successor, yes, but a bit of cloth just the same.

Likewise, your blades are unenchanted. A supernatural level of skill, combined with access to the most lethal poison every known (a mixture of the sap of the Tree of and the venom of the Serpent-God), means that you have no need of enchantments.

They are simply blades. Yes, they are blades made out of volcanic glass, the bones of a murderer and silver mined from a cursed mountain by a dead man while the moon was gone from the sky and nightmares roamed the land. But they are unenchanted blades.

The only other things you wear are a belt and a bag of holding, into which you have placed all your blood money and stolen goods. You do not even wear a loincloth. For a human, that would be indecent exposure, but the one dagger you have not frequently used is of the kind that is concealed in a slit.

You pull your cloak around you and walk up the crooked path towards the cathedral...