Status

User has no status, yet

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

Mozart indeed. Isaac made it so, staging a remarkable incursion that was as smooth as it was brief. The young lad was in and out with a flash, showing incredible speed and reflexes. Titus laughed and clapped as Isaac fled from sight, one bodyguard giving chase while the other two cleaned up the mess of coinage. Hugo Van Rauken shouted obscenities to anyone who would listen. Titus couldn't hear him from way over here across the canal, but the body language was enough of a clue. The assassin walked away from the edge of the warehouse roof and waited around for his partner-in-crime.

"There he is, the man of the hour, himself," Titus announced triumphantly as Isaac appeared. When the boy remarked that the job could've gone better, Titus waved away the modesty. "Pah, nonsense. That was absolutely perfect. I couldn't have done it better myself."

"Any problems with what I did? Because if not, then I wanna settle up."

"All in good time," Titus replied, beckoning the boy over and proceeding to peel his gloves off carefully so that they were inside-out before he bunched them up and placed them into a throwaway pouch. "I must confirm success before any money changes hands."

There they stood and waited with little talk for Titus' mystery confirmation. It came not ten minutes later when one of the bodyguards burst from the inn and ran down the road, no doubt to get medical help. Titus smiled and untied the pouch on his belt that contained Isaac's payment.

He showed the pouch to Isaac. "40 gold pieces: Enough to rent a property for weeks, or even live in taverns and inns for a while. Enough to eat decently and wash for the time." It was quite the sum for a simple job in the underworld of London. But Titus was a man who valued execution and getting the very best results. He was quite willing to pay for the cost of quality... and also put it to 'expenses' in the guild budget. "Enough to strategize. Change your life."

He held onto the pouch, his attention still mostly on the front of the Fox and Hound. Soon enough, the bodyguard came running back to the inn, a doctor in tow. That was enough to satisfy The Snake, although he would wait around until he saw the body with his own eyes. He passed the payment to Isaac.

"Nice doing business with you," he said with a nod. "And also... there is plenty more where that came from. I work for an organization who are always looking for young, talented individuals like yourself. We are rather secret, so I would hope that this conversation does not go further than this here roof, but I extend an invitation to you to join us. We have a hand in various activities but primarily specialize in... cleaning up filth, you might say. But the pay is good, and you will always have a home and a family, for the rest of your life."

Titus awaited Isaac's answer. After a few minutes, at the Fox and Hound, some men brought out a body on stretcher covered with a sheet. Hugo Van Rauken's three body guards slowly followed.
Titus strode into the city library, passing the front desk and going through the less popular isles to a door, barred with a thick iron bolt. There was also a man by the door, reading. Upon seeing Titus, he promptly slid the iron bolt free and waited for Titus to go in before bolting it back shut. Titus descended a flight of stone stairs, entering the main corridor of the Brotherhood HQ, taking a right-turn into the mess hall.

The mess hall was fairly busy. There were two dozen or so assassins lounging, eating and relaxing, broken up into small social groups and scattered about the long tables that ran the length of the hall. At the head of the hall, on the plinth sat the main table, where the experts and masters would sit.

"Well, look who shows his face," was a comment. This was Gabrol, an adept level assassin like Titus. "Had enough of your gallavanting around? Ready to do some work?"

Titus stopped at the table where Gabrol and his friends sat, a sharp smile on his face. "One does well to have a little gallavanting in their life. You would certainly benefit from it. Loosen you up a little, you're as stiff as a plank, old boy."

"Better to be stiff and stoic than a slithering serpant," was the retort. Not bad for a meathead, Titus thought.

"And you'll die as you lived," Titus finished, making a derogatory gesture at the table before walking away.

Gabrol quickly stood up. "Did you just bite your thumb at me, sir!?" he boomed. The mess hall was now attentive.

Titus regarded him over his shoulder, pausing mid-step. "Better my thumb than yours, sir. Just a single scratch from The Snake, and that will be all she wrote for a simpleton, you can trust that."

Gabrol got from out of the benches and marched toward Titus, who turned to face him. There was no stopping the punch. Gabrol's kncukles connected on Titus' mouth easily, flooring him. There was a rustle of moving chairs and benches as people reacted to the fight. One of the first up was Lionel.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lionel Alsop was sat at the head table, in conversation with another expert level assassin, but his attention was was taken when The Snake walked in. Titus was under Lionel's administrative remit, and the veteran expert was just hoping that Titus was here to report his current mission a success. Unfortuantley - and as usual - Titus had drawn the ire of another assassin. This time it was Gabrol, an adept-level assassin like Titus Hart, but a far superior guild member. Lionel walked over, letting Gabrol get a couple of extra hits in before he arrived to break it up.

"Settle down, assassins," Lionel reprimanded them both. Gabrol relented and stepped back. "This is no way to behave." Titus stood up, doing his best to put on a sinister smile, as if he had control of the situation. The Snake put a hand to his mouth and checked his fingers for blood. "Back to your table," he told Gabrol who complied. Then he looked at Titus. "You... with me."

Titus made a show of brushing his clothes down, then raised his chin proudly as he looked upon Gabrol and his friends, before turning on his heels and walking off with Lindrol, who led him out of the mess hall and through the stone corridors to a small, side office. Once the door was shut, Lionel spoke. "Must you make a commotion everywhere you go?"

"I trust it would be too childish to say that, he started it," Titus quipped. "Perhaps the man wouldn't be such a tool if he lay with a woman every now and then."

Lionel shook his head derisively. There was no sense in arguing with The Snake, the sharp-witted devil thrived on such. The day that Titus Hart died in the line of duty, he would not be mourned, this much was certain. Lionel suspected that even the Grnadmaster, Titus' own father, would be secretly happy once the Brotherhood was rid of The Snake among them. "Tell me you have finally dealt with your current mission."

"Almost," Titus replied. Lionel threw his hands up in frustration. Titus always took longer than necessary with his contracts. Unfortunately, it was hard to discipline him for taking so long, as he always delivered stellar results. Sometimes, when Lionel checked up in the aftermath of Titus Hart's contracts, there weren't even any suspcions or rumours of murder or foulplay. The Snake certainly had a way about him. "The fat man will be dead by this time tomorrow."

But he could not speak with respect to his superiors. He could not say, 'laid to rest' instead of 'kill' or 'dead' like he was supposed to. Titus Hart was needlessly and narcisistically disrepectful. There was no point in bringing this up, as it was clear that he would never change. "Just make sure the contract is complete and report to me when it's done."

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next day, Titus was hanging around the canalside clocktower, waiting for Isaac Storm. When they met back up, Titus took him up to the roof of a warehouse where they had a unobstructed view of The Fox and Hound Inn. He had on a pair of gloves and gave spare pair to Isaac, then handed him a gold coin that was now coated in a deadly posion.

"You remember the plan?" he asked the boy. Whether Isaac remembered or not, they would go through it again: Isaac would ambush Hugo Van Rauken outside the Fox and Hound Inn, fake an attempt to cutpurse and fail on purpose, cutting the actual purse open and spilling his money out onto the street. Isaac would then drop the poison coin in with the money and escape as fast as he could. "Take some time to lose any tails you may have picked up, then make your way back here, okay? Job done."

And with that, he would wait and watch while his assassination plan came to fruition like symphony of Mozart.
When he'd got the coin back, it was put away while Titus patiently waited for Isaac to weigh things up, a slight smirk of confidence on his face. Finally the boy agreed and they shook hands to seal the deal, Titus agreeable to Isaac's caveat - to meet tomorrow morning - which had been his plan all along. All of this had progressed by his design, all angles covered and nothing out of the ordinary. What he did not expect, however, was the question.

"Why did you call me Rattlesnake?"

Titus paused mid-scoop of his spoon, eyebrows raised. Isaac stared at him with those cold, unblinking blue eyes and Titus almost laughed. He'd issued out such a nickname before, never really to serious about it, but this time the name fit the face perfectly. He took in a breath and put his spoon down, before clearing his throat.

"Snakes are remarkable creatures. They can slither and sneak. They can swim and climb. Why, some have even been known to fly," Titus educated. "They are, perhaps, the ultimate survivors, able to live anywhere in the wide world. They adapt and adjust, and not just survive but thrive." He pointed at Isaac. "You show the same wit. The same determination. You have your fang, and you use it to eat. But you have no venom just yet - still very young. Hence... you're a Rattlesnake."

He decided he would definitely offer Isaac entry to the guild, and he finished the remanents of his meal. After downing the glass of mead, he rose to his feet. "Anyway, I will leave you to your cake, and we shall meet at the canal-side clocktower at eleven o' the clock. Until then, Isaac Storm."

And with that, he left the restaurant. Out on the street, Titus adjusted his cloak, looked both ways down the street and headed back to the Brotherhood HQ, under the city library.
Isaac's take regarding the King and the Church was fair enough and Titus said as much. He didn't really expect anything in the way of complex political commentary, (nor did he want such a thing,) but it was merely a way of passing the time and getting some food in them first. There was no sense in trying to explain his offer in detail, and expect an orphan to listen intently, when they were about to have good food put down in front of them.

Titus was vindicated in his precaution as, when the food came, Isaac looked like he was about to explode with excitement. To the boy's credit, he didn't lose himself to madness and just start demolishing the table's contents. In fact, what he did do next was rather interesting.

Titus pushed his sleeves back a little before taking the spoon in his hand. Isaac bunched his own sleeves up his forearms, then took his own spoon. Then Titus leaned in inhaled a great whiff of the pottage - it smelled divine - but as he did this he realised he was being copied. He swirled his spoon in his meal before taking a spoonful into his mouth. Isaac did the exact same thing and Titus grinned. For the first time, he realised that he was genuinely enjoying himself with this boy.

As their main course started to come to an end, Titus piped up. And this time it was not to ask if the food was good. "So here it is..." the young assassin began. "Do you know the Fox and Hound Inn down the canal-side? There's a man who will be arriving at the Inn at 12 o' the clock, tomorrow, making his way from Mason street." He paused to make sure that Isaac was getting all of this, but those sharp blue eyes staring back was all the reassurance he needed. "What I need from you is to do what you do so very well and cut his purse. Except, I need you to fail."

He sat back a moment, letting the information sink in. He looked over at a couple who were leaving, giving them a polite smile, but when he made eye contact with the woman, he not-so politely winked at her. The man glared at him, the woman was unmoved. Titus put his attention back on the table and Isaac, then elaborated.

"I need you to look as if you are terrible cutpurse, out to rob him, but you mess the whole thing up and cut his pouch, sending his money jingling all over the floor. Then you will escape, as fast as you can... but not before dropping this in with all the gold."

He pulled out a gold piece, displaying it between it between his thumb and forefinger. There was nothing special about it. It looked just like any other. It was just like any other. At least it would be until tomorrow, when it would become coated with a deadly poison. He smiled dreamily at his own genius, as he thought about Hugo Van Rauken... biting every coin.

He asked Isaac if he had any questions. He wouldn't give any more info than was necessary, but he would try to be acommadating.
"Ah, yes, Richmond, a fantastic guess old boy," Titus confirmed as they navigated the streets. The young assassin walked with swinging arms, his cloak shouldered back like a cape. With his back straight and his chin raised, Titus walked the streets of London as if he was eight feet tall and king of everything. "Richmond, Richmond. Hardly rich, to be perfectly fair, but what town is?"

They came to a short ginnel that they cut through to switch streets. Titus stopped at the mouth of the ginnel upon hearing the request for his name. He smoothly quarter-turned towards the boy and held his arms out, bowing. "Fenn Talismon, at your service," he announced. "Also known as Skeleton Key. Better not known at all, to be perfectly fair."

He gave Isaac a conspiritorial wink and grin, then gestured for him to lead on. The narrow ginnel was full of clutter and the two would have to climb over a pile of pallets, and slip around some boxes and rubbish, here and there. This was when Titus was given another reminder that this kid had remarkable potential. He followed Isaac, watching his footfalls, his posture and balance. He had a very natural strength and control to his movements and maneuveurs. Titus couldn't help but consider the image of the young boy taking the vows - And spilling the blood.

Yes, he thought. This little rattlesnake might well make a good addition to the school.

It wasn't as if they didn't need more recruits. The Thieves Guild were growing more and more powerful, and their influence had spread through England from the northern regions. It's claws were now probing London and the Brotherhood would need to be strong and ready when they came in earnest, if only to prevent the clash of underground powers turning into an all-out war. As they emerged from the ginnel, Titus put his train of thought aside for now. He had an assignment to complete, first and foremost.

When Isaac had first chosen Burke's Cuisine, Titus had to suppress his smile. He'd been thinking about Celeste or Ratanali's Silver Serpent - somewhere expensive and high-brow. But no. The orphan's ambition rose only to the heights of Burke's Cuisine and their cake in the window. Titus wasn't too disappointed, though. Burke's cooked a nice pottage if he remembered rightly. "And here we are," he announced as the restaurant came in sight. "Hm... S'actually nicer than I gave it credit for," he mumbled to himself before being distracted by the sudden change in demeanour of his company. "Is something wrong, rattlesnake?"

"Maybe we should go somewhere else. Food is food, it doesn't have to be expensive. Seems a bit senseless."

Titus barked a single, "Ha!" and gave Isaac a stiff pat on the shoulder for his naivety. Compared to stale bread and charred rat meat, this must have seemed a little extravagant, to say the least. "Your economics are admirable, but I am a man of my word, and this is the place you chose. We shall throw caution to the wind, this once, and let it never be said that we two souls in the City of London didn't know how to live well."

With that little speech, worthy of West End's stage, Titus proceeded to the door. Inside, the floor was decked with a fine, thick carpet, the walls decorated with tapestries and paintings and ornately-designed lamps producing an elegant, dim lighting. There was a bar in the far corner, and a lounge section in the other, filled with plump, cushioned sofas and grandfather chairs, but the majority of the floor was covered in tables and chairs. Luckily, it was not overly full this afternoon and Titus spotted a table that was far away enough from everyone else that they could talk with being eavesdropped on.

The host approached the entrance where Titus and Isaac stood. The young assassin knew how to play the haughty nobleman. It was, of course, not too far from how he ordinarily carried himself among strangers, but no amount of acting could make up for the sorry sight of the orphan in his company. The host was too aware of this fact, his eyes on Isaac with a degree of disgust and offense taken. Although this was easily solvable.

"A table for two, my good man." The host met his eyes and the assassin stepped forward and gripped the man's wrist, pressing two gold pieces into the man's hand. The host, too slow to avoid the maneuver, looked at the gold with a glint in his eye of pleasant surprise, but Titus did not let go of him. In fact, he squeezed a little harder. "You would do well not to look at your customers so misanthropically."

"Of course, sir, a thousand pardons," was the reply, the host's left eye twitching with pain as Titus squeezed a little harder.

He was released and Titus smiled as if they were starting again. He looked pointedly at the table he'd already chosen. "I think that table will do nicely. Do you like it?" he asked with a brief turn Isaac. "I do. Lead the way, sir."

"Of course," the host replied with a bow. He took them to the table where Titus declined their offer to take his cloak. A waiter was there shortly to take their order. Titus ordered a pottage and a glass of blackberry mead, but assured Isaac that he could order whatever he wanted. He made some small talk while they waited for their food, telling him about the King's recent decision to relieve the churches in England of all their money and asking Isaac what he thought about it. When their food came, they tucked in............
Where he'd chosen to sit, he could see inside the dwelling but he chose to look elsewhere, taking interest in the state of the alley; the scummy walls, the cracks in the brickwork, the rat that scurried from one pile of trash, across the alley, to another. In his peripheral vision he could see the boy staring at him. The kid was weighing his options, he supposed - deciding whether to take the bait or perhaps make a run for it. The silence was long, but Titus was a patient man.

"I'm doing just fine..." Titus couldn't help but snort and smile, shaking his head as he briefly inspected his nails. "...So you can leave unless you want a knife in your eye. I didn't do nothing to you."

Titus conceded to the last point with closed eyes, a wave of the hand and a tilt of the head. As he opened his eyes, he was looking at him. Half a face; one big blue eye staring coldly at him. Half a body; one right hand holding a knife at the ready. One wrong move and the kid was more than ready to stick the asssassin. The white hair was curious indeed. He'd never seen it in a child that wasn't incredibly ill. But this boy was not ill. A little malnourished perhaps, but he was hale, and as sharp as a good razor.

"You didn't do nothing to me. I didn't do nothing to you. And you barely hurt that nobleman's feelings, I mean, to be perfectly fair, your score amounts to little less than his lunch money. I'm sure he'll live. But you... well, you'll have to be on your best game tomorrow, or next week... whenever that money runs out. I mean, I don't mind risk - I quite enjoy it, in fact - but the odds you deal with are hardly in your favour. It's tragic."

"London doesn't have any opportunity for people like me, but errr... if you've got any good ideas, I... suppose I'm listening."

"Well, I'm glad," Titus bounced back with a resounding nod. "Because I do have a different idea. I say you should strategize. Think about where you want to go, what you want to do with your life." Titus spoke as if he was reciting poetry. Quite clearly, he loved the sound of his own voice. "Have you ever heard of the free market, my friend? That is what we all live in, now, it's a modern age." He slid down a little to lean on his elbows, sighing blissfully as he did. His booted feet almost touched the opposite wall of the narrow alley. "It means that having great wealth no longer depends on high birth or meaningless station, but hard work and honed skill. It means that no matter who you are or where your from, you can be as rich. As. A King... if you have the desire and passion to make it happen."

He nodded slowly to reassure the kid that he knew what he was talking about. "But, of course, you need a break from..." Titus pulled a face, a little hesitant to insult him but, "...that." He gestured to the 'house.' "You need a chance to take a breather and think - strategize. I can give that to you. I'm in need of a partner for a little venture I've been tasked with and I think your knife-skills would be quite perfect. Let me buy you some supper and you can hear out my proposal - I think you'd find it quite easy work for quite a lot of gold - and if you don't like the sound of it, then we shall never have to see each other again." He raised his eyebrows awaiting her response, then added as a pretend after-thought, "You don't even have to tell me your name. And you can choose where we eat. No expense spared."

He didn't expect a refusal. He'd interacted with street-rats before. They never refused a meal. So confident he was in this that he got up with an audible strain, brushed the worst of the dust off his cloak, straightened his back and started to walk. "Come on... pick a place that you've never dreamed to find yourself eating at," he challenged over his shoulder. He came to the mouth of the alley and put his hands on his hips, surveying the streets. When he heard him catch up, he took a whiff of the air said, "I do love the City of London. Did you grow up here? I grew up in a quiet town. Very boring stuff. So... where to, boy?"
Titus chomped a bite off the apple, wiping, with his sleeve, the juice that managed to get away down his chin. He was across the road from the mouth of an alleyway, a sparse sea of humanity crissing and crossing his line of sight as he watched, in the dark depths of the alley, the young boy talking to two of his peers. Patiently, he ate his apple and hummed a hearty tune to himself.

"...Hm _ Hm-hm _ Hm-hmmm..."

When London's clock-towers struck one o'clock and the bells began to ring out across the city, Titus stopped his tune and put a picture of Hugo Van Rauken firmly in his mind. The assassin imagined him at that same table in the Fox and Hound, receiving his appointments, surrounded by his bodyguards...

Biting every coin.

When the conversation was over, the orphan left the alleyway and Titus followed, eventually cornering the boy in another alleyway. He leaned against the wall outside the crafty little make-shift home and folded his arms as he listened to the kid scuttling about inside. Clearing his throat loudly, he said,

"That was a nice score, orphan boy." The fact that the nobleman had walked off significantly lighter and not even noticed, was a testament to the kid's dexterity and certainty of strike. And Titus, being The Snake, appreciated such attributes. "But why waste your talent and risk your life for such a small purse?" He pushed off the wall, checked the floor of the alley, then grimaced and made to sit down, making sure his cloak was between his bum and the dirty floor. A little more comfortable and hoping that the boy would feel more so too, he stretched out one leg at a time, crossing one over the other. "This is the City of London. The great melting pot of opportunity. Methinks you can do much... much better."
Main Street East was busy this afternoon, as all the main streets into the city centre were. The steady flow of street-walkers had always brought the attention of all kinds of merchants, who would set up shop at roadside and try and hook any passers by. Pretty much anyone who had anything to sell could have a fighting chance on main street, whether one was selling vegetables or furniture, fortunes or entertainment. And for those that sold 'dummies,' any crowded street was as good as the next.

"I dunno, I dunno, I just dunno," the stall-keep, Juniper, scratched his cheek as he fished a hand around in the crate of apples, looking for rotten ones. "I ain't for war nowadays, Harry, my friend. A man's priorities change when he gets older. A peaceful time of it, is all I want for the rest of my days. But this King is looking to start a fight with everyone in Europe."

Titus smiled. He was stood with his arms folded, leaning against Juniper's stall, watching the crowds pass by. "Well, I don't see what the big fuss is all about. He's relieved the churches of money that isn't theirs, and they don't seem to actually need it. And anyway, what..."

"FRESH APPLES!" Juniper interrupted.

"...what has the church of Rome ever really done for us? Besides tell us what to do." Titus spotted a young boy in the crowd, dressed in dirty, cotton dungarees and was carefully tracking the orphan's movements as he went by. "Good for the King, is what I say. If I was him, I'd have done the same thing." The orphan was wide-eyed and fearful, slow and hesitant as he looked for a mark to steal from. And he didn't have an ounce of grace in his feet. He would not do. Titus paid no more attention and carried on to Juniper...

"FRESH APPLES!"

"Well..." Titus thought about his last declaration, unfolding one of his arms so he could gesture his retraction. "Minus the rape and the burning... but the pillaging? Without a doubt."

"Ain't worth it, I say," Juniper shook his head. "Ain't worth the trouble."

Another orphan appeared on Titus' radar, another boy. These street-rats were so easy to pick out. This one's hair was completely white though, out of the ordinary, to say the least. The assassin watched him for just a few moments and could already tell he was smooth on his feet, his footfalls containing a natural poise and grace that a person had to be lucky enough to be born with. His pacing was much better than the last orphan's and he seemed far more composed. He hadn't yet revealed his plans on how he was going to earn himself a bread-crust, but Titus suspected the answer to that. Even in the City of London: Land of Opportunity For All... there were few options for street-rats.

"FRESH APPLES!"

Titus pushed off leaning against the stall. "Juniper, I'll be going." The stall-keep nodded a few times, searching about for customers. Titus fished around inside his cloak and brought out a silver coin. "'I'll take two, please." He took the choicest apples from the crate.

"Alright, Harry. You take care now."

Titus nodded smartly and sauntered off, Juniper watching him go before shouting out his wares again. Titus stowed the apples away in one of the thick, inlaid pockets of his cloak as he tracked the orphan boy from a safe distance. It didn't take long before he proved Titus' suspicions right.

An assassin is able to see more in a brief glance than an ordinary man sees in a lifetime... Or so the saying goes. Titus never really gave the old Italian proverbs much credence or attention, but in this situation he could not help but think of his old lessons. It wasn't that the boy had given himself away - (In fact, the play he'd made was executed masterfully) - but as Titus quickly made his way downstreet, he spied the nobleman. A brief flutter of the nobleman's coat exposed his belt; a belt with two leather strings attached to nothing at all. Titus smiled and went after the boy.

He'd found his catspaw.
The target was Hugo Van Rauken, a dutch trader that had based himself in London after a series of very rich, very lucrative... very behind-closed-doors deals that had made him a powerful man. He lived in a luxurious apartment in the city centre and liked to entertain young girls more nights than not. His routine was mechanical and tedious. Everyday he would leave his apartment at 9am to begin his rounds, visiting all the properties in which he had a share. He'd stop for lunch at noon, just after visiting the bakery, taking some buttered bread and meat in the Fox and Hound Inn, where he'd sit at the same table he always sat at. Here he would receive any business appointments he had and collect any protection taxes he was due. He was never anywhere without his three bodyguards in tow. His paranoid habits even extended to his suspicion of fraud. Whenever he received any money, he would, without fail, sit and bite every single coin to make sure it was real. He would leave the Fox and Hound at 5pm, when he would drop in on a few various associates. He was back in his apartment by 7pm.

Titus Hart sat on a bench by the canal, one ankle rested on his other knee, one arm across the back of the bench. Taking a deep breath, he itched his nose and refocused his concentration on the front entrance to the Fox and Hound. The morning had passed by, the autumn sun a deceptive presence in the cold blue sky, feigning to provide warmth while the bitter-cold winds patrolled the streets, letting everyone know that winter was on it's way. Titus welcomed the change in the seasons. Cold weather made his job much easier. He'd been taught that accident and death generally spiked in the cold seasons, which gave an assassin more easily accessible cover-up opportunities. And there was also the point that a heavy, hooded cloak would not look so out of place as it would with the sun beaming down.

Noon came and as sure as the wind blew, Van Rauken was pottering down the street with his three bodyguards. Titus stroked the bit of black fuzz growing on his chin as his eyes followed his target down the street. When the man disappeared into the inn, Titus got up and walked off. After tailing this tubby dutchman for two weeks, he decided that he'd seen enough. A good plan of action had come to mind during this day, one that would enable him to strike with the hand of death without being anywhere near the merchant. But for the plan to work, he would need a catspaw. And a good one to boot.
'The Snake' Titus Hart



Age: 23 years old

Appearance: Standing 5' 11" tall and a slim 140lbs, Titus has short, black hair, tan skin and blue eyes. He considers himself good looking and likes to dress and groom himself well whenever circumstance permits. He chooses not to wear the traditional garmants of his guild and opts for a plain tunic, pants and boots, with a hooded-cloak to top it off. He also chooses to wear his wrist-blade, the trademark weapon of the Brotherhood.

Personality/Demeanor: Titus is a charming, intelligent young man who's ruthless wit can and sharp tongue gets women into bed almost as effectively as it gets him in trouble with his peers and superiors. He has no friends inside the Brotherhood and none outside either since his childhood friends were married off to men or miltary, but he enjoys a good festival or party. Shunned by his fellow assassins and openly disliked by his father, on his own terms he is cold and unfriendly, keeping his thoughts and feelings secret. Especially his desire to be the very best of them all.

History: When Fenucci Andolini was sent to England to open a new branch of the Assassin's Guild, he fathered a son to a courtesan by the name of Penelope Hart, in the town of Cheadle. Penelope refused to marry Fenucci and when her son was born, she named him Titus Hart and told the Master Assassin that her son would have no part in his Brotherhood.

Titus grew up an ordinary Englishboy in the town of Cheadle, had a good group of friends and a modest lifestyle. He was talented, charming and popular in town. He enjoyed a good relationship with his grandmother, a wise old hag of a woman who the peasants went to for medical treatment if they couldn't afford a doctor. When she learned the truth of Titus' father, she implored Penelope to send her son to Fenucci, who was based in the City of London. In the city, Titus would have a better life, but his mother would have none of it. Knowing the intelligence of her grandson would one day turn into an ambition too big for the little town of Cheadle, she secretly groomed him as best she could for his destiny. The only way she could do this was to teach the boy herb lore under the guise that he would one day need a trade under his belt.

When Titus was 18 years old, he found out who his father was and, not long after, he set out to join the Brotherhood. His welcome was neutral at best and his relationship with his father has gone downhill since. He was quick to learn, as he'd always been, but his lack of respect for his father's culture and traditions did nothing to speed up his progress. His preference of poison to sharp steel earned him the disapproval of his peers and the nickname, "The Snake."

Skills: Titus is talented man, but where he stands out as an assassin, is his ability to strike with the hand of death, without even being at the scene of the crime. His last year of work for the guild has yielded flawless results, in spite of the reviled way he goes about his business.
© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet