Post by Poe/Fide/Scrap on Aug 27, 2013 14:01:59 GMT -8
ooc note: This is Prior to Bones/Scrap meeting, but also after Scrap's introduction (Read App if you don't get it)
It is a stormy night and the enigma of The Inquisition, Poe is sitting at home cleaning his 9mm, Canik 55's. The thirty-four year old has spent so much time with his weapons of choice that he can clean, sharpen, and train with them all blindfolded. His years with The Inquisition as well as the almost lifetime ago prior with The Brotherhood has given him plenty of time to practice his craft. Sometimes he still refers to those who actually can get a word out of him as brother or sister just out of the pure habit from his life before. The few can consider themselves lucky that the quiet workaholic even gives them that, even most of the higher ranked members of the order do not know the colorful history this young man has had. It is one of those many curious things he thinks about while he is not on the job, the whole thirty age being young, mainly due to the fact his prior career is one that not many make it to their twenties.
Poe as previously stated is not one for being vocal, unless it comes down to work. He has laughed internally at several of his acquaintances when they have asked him for his opinion on what weapon is easiest to handle or which one makes the least amount of a mess when used properly, however, his constant training in the art of emotionlessness has never let his inner joy show through. Poe is not as cold as he likes people to believe, but his history, his inner demons make it hard for him to really engage in what some might consider appropriate social behavior. It has always been a good thing to him that the ones who hired him do not ask too many questions to join their ranks, all you have to do really is prove your skills and have a desire to kill nonhumans. The secrets that the aging hunter knows can possibly be turned into series of novels and movies if he ever decided to go public with his knowledge, but to him the less the mundanes know the better. Mundanes such an interesting word and one that he learned during his time with The Brotherhood. In their definition a mundane is either someone who knows not that their is something to be feared or someone who is just not a target/victim as it stands at that time.
Mundanes and Bloodsacks the world is filled with them, but as much as the hunter enjoys his job, he cannot being thankful for the few down moments he has. Downtime or as he refers to it training/reflecting time, the time for him to work-out and keep his skills sharp or the time for him to safely remember why he is in this line of work. As the veteran assassin finishes cleaning his side arms and pieces them back into working condition, he finally re-establishes his place in reality. The sound of Mozart floats on the air in his small flat. His apartment in the Redhook District is a shamble even to those in the lower ranks, but it has served him well over the years. The fact he does not allow anyone to know where he is makes all that much better.
Poe takes a slow breath as he glance around his space while the faint symphony continues to travel through his ear canals like a beautiful angel. His sanctuary, his home, the only place he can go to escape the hustle and bustle of big city life. The rude people, the traffic, the blood, sweat, and tears it all disappears in his hall of solitude. He has his thick blanket, pillow, and sheet on the floor where he crashes, a small portable cd player with headphones and speakers, his shrine to the Dark Lord, Sithis it is all he needs and all he knows. His allegiance to The Dread Father began long before he can remember and it is one of the many practices he still follows.
He takes a moment to study the area of his religious reflection. It is a modest altar made from a small wooden table, a couple black candles, and a flag with the all seeing eye in the center, but Sithis has no need for all the fancy bells and whistles of most popular deities. Poe slowly raises from his seated position and walks over to the alter, running his fingers over the wooden base to inspect it for any signs of dust and lets out a soft sigh. His downtime is sacred to him without a doubt, but he has had an itchy trigger finger so to speak for the last few days. His momentary rest is interrupted as the only means of communication between him and those of his orders lets out a soft whistling tone. He turns his attention to the small item made up of plastic and wires before picking it up and answering in his monotone way.
"Sithis watch over you si..."
He stops his normal greeting as he listens to the person on the other end tell him about what is going on.
"Oh cut the small talk Mason... What's the job?"
He nods as she tells him what he is to do.
"So simply watch... No announcing my presence... Alright I got it..."
He hangs up as the tattoo artist attempts to speak further and heads to the cabinet that houses his old Brotherhood outfit as well as his 'armor' that has been upgraded a time or two since he joined the ranks of The Inquisition. His blue eyes swap back and forth between the two before he finally decides which is more appropriate for the task at hand. He pulls out a pair of black almost militant pair of pants, a matching shirt which has a hood that flaps on the air as he tugs it from it's resting place, and a pair of black boots. He lays the items out on the altar before kneeling in front of it.
"Dread Father, light my path as I walk through the shadows. Watch over me as I do what I must and grant me the peace that if by your will I stand at your side by the end of this night that I shall feel that I have given you everything I could. Grant me the clarity to know the things I can't change by your will and the strength to change those you will be changed. Accept the souls I collect for you lord... And it is by your hand I seek those souls out. So let it be."
He changes into the outfit after removing it from the alter and heads out the door, mentally preparing for what he might find.
EOT
It is a stormy night and the enigma of The Inquisition, Poe is sitting at home cleaning his 9mm, Canik 55's. The thirty-four year old has spent so much time with his weapons of choice that he can clean, sharpen, and train with them all blindfolded. His years with The Inquisition as well as the almost lifetime ago prior with The Brotherhood has given him plenty of time to practice his craft. Sometimes he still refers to those who actually can get a word out of him as brother or sister just out of the pure habit from his life before. The few can consider themselves lucky that the quiet workaholic even gives them that, even most of the higher ranked members of the order do not know the colorful history this young man has had. It is one of those many curious things he thinks about while he is not on the job, the whole thirty age being young, mainly due to the fact his prior career is one that not many make it to their twenties.
Poe as previously stated is not one for being vocal, unless it comes down to work. He has laughed internally at several of his acquaintances when they have asked him for his opinion on what weapon is easiest to handle or which one makes the least amount of a mess when used properly, however, his constant training in the art of emotionlessness has never let his inner joy show through. Poe is not as cold as he likes people to believe, but his history, his inner demons make it hard for him to really engage in what some might consider appropriate social behavior. It has always been a good thing to him that the ones who hired him do not ask too many questions to join their ranks, all you have to do really is prove your skills and have a desire to kill nonhumans. The secrets that the aging hunter knows can possibly be turned into series of novels and movies if he ever decided to go public with his knowledge, but to him the less the mundanes know the better. Mundanes such an interesting word and one that he learned during his time with The Brotherhood. In their definition a mundane is either someone who knows not that their is something to be feared or someone who is just not a target/victim as it stands at that time.
Mundanes and Bloodsacks the world is filled with them, but as much as the hunter enjoys his job, he cannot being thankful for the few down moments he has. Downtime or as he refers to it training/reflecting time, the time for him to work-out and keep his skills sharp or the time for him to safely remember why he is in this line of work. As the veteran assassin finishes cleaning his side arms and pieces them back into working condition, he finally re-establishes his place in reality. The sound of Mozart floats on the air in his small flat. His apartment in the Redhook District is a shamble even to those in the lower ranks, but it has served him well over the years. The fact he does not allow anyone to know where he is makes all that much better.
Poe takes a slow breath as he glance around his space while the faint symphony continues to travel through his ear canals like a beautiful angel. His sanctuary, his home, the only place he can go to escape the hustle and bustle of big city life. The rude people, the traffic, the blood, sweat, and tears it all disappears in his hall of solitude. He has his thick blanket, pillow, and sheet on the floor where he crashes, a small portable cd player with headphones and speakers, his shrine to the Dark Lord, Sithis it is all he needs and all he knows. His allegiance to The Dread Father began long before he can remember and it is one of the many practices he still follows.
He takes a moment to study the area of his religious reflection. It is a modest altar made from a small wooden table, a couple black candles, and a flag with the all seeing eye in the center, but Sithis has no need for all the fancy bells and whistles of most popular deities. Poe slowly raises from his seated position and walks over to the alter, running his fingers over the wooden base to inspect it for any signs of dust and lets out a soft sigh. His downtime is sacred to him without a doubt, but he has had an itchy trigger finger so to speak for the last few days. His momentary rest is interrupted as the only means of communication between him and those of his orders lets out a soft whistling tone. He turns his attention to the small item made up of plastic and wires before picking it up and answering in his monotone way.
"Sithis watch over you si..."
He stops his normal greeting as he listens to the person on the other end tell him about what is going on.
"Oh cut the small talk Mason... What's the job?"
He nods as she tells him what he is to do.
"So simply watch... No announcing my presence... Alright I got it..."
He hangs up as the tattoo artist attempts to speak further and heads to the cabinet that houses his old Brotherhood outfit as well as his 'armor' that has been upgraded a time or two since he joined the ranks of The Inquisition. His blue eyes swap back and forth between the two before he finally decides which is more appropriate for the task at hand. He pulls out a pair of black almost militant pair of pants, a matching shirt which has a hood that flaps on the air as he tugs it from it's resting place, and a pair of black boots. He lays the items out on the altar before kneeling in front of it.
"Dread Father, light my path as I walk through the shadows. Watch over me as I do what I must and grant me the peace that if by your will I stand at your side by the end of this night that I shall feel that I have given you everything I could. Grant me the clarity to know the things I can't change by your will and the strength to change those you will be changed. Accept the souls I collect for you lord... And it is by your hand I seek those souls out. So let it be."
He changes into the outfit after removing it from the alter and heads out the door, mentally preparing for what he might find.
EOT
