Post by grimm1 on Dec 9, 2012 2:47:45 GMT -8
[atrb=border,0,true][bg=eeeeee][atrb=width,500,true] NEVER FORGET, NEVER REGRET — THAT ISOLATED SHELL OF PROTECTION EXISTS NEVERMORE. WORDS idgaf. OUTFIT dark assassin gear + long cloak. TAGGED open to all db! NOTES will probably change templates 99 times during this thread. OVERCONFIDENCE IS THE MOST DANGEROUS FORM OF CARELESSNESS. He could hear his long-dead uncle's voice fresh in his mind, the repeated teaching drilled into his skull and yet somehow, absent when he'd needed to hear it. Replaying the advice now did him no good. He had needed the ego check while on the job, not upon collapsing on a spare bed in the cavernous Falkreath Brotherhood sanctuary. What a sanctuary it was. He knew there were those who preferred to skip off and live mostly at a home of their chosing, or those who felt suffocated and confined staying here. But he felt at home. Safe. A place where he didn't have to keep one eye open all the time in paranoia and mistrust. In spite of his long-overdue attitude adjustment that he kept putting off which might place him in closer rank and higher regard to the others that dwelled here, he did actually trust them all, and in secret, was even fond of most of them. Some of them...a few. He especially adored Babette, and greatly admired Astrid and her shaggy husband. The clown could fall off a cliff and impale himself in a ridge below, for all he cared - though admittedly, even that psychotic bastard had his moments in which he actually succeeded in making Dev smile. Truth was, they were all family. And so in their own sociopathic and demented way, they were a protective and loyal albeit dysfunctional and bloodthirsty family of freaks, rejects and murderers. Devlin smile absently up from the bed at the rocky ceiling, recalling a few memories with his brothers and sisters, and cleaned his knife for the eight-hundred and ninety-seventh time since he'd offed - messily but without notice or capture - his mark. Some snotty Thalmor. He had no love for them. Not that he had a love for anything or anyone, really. More like a hate for a select few groups. He did have respect for races that weren't human and preference for all those politically neutral and admiration towards any against the stormcloaks. And a strong affection for Khajiit. But that was another subject entirely. Dev had mostly bypassed conversation or socialization on his way into the sanctuary, but he was feeling that he had slightly too much energy to nap, and was actually in a socially favorable mood. If he was smart he would take this rare opportunity to go check in and catch up with the others. He wasn't sure who all was in tonight. He'd passed 'that redguard' who gave him weird looks and he still wasn't sure if he liked or not. He trusted him professionally but wasn't sure if he did on a personal level - or if he cared. Astrid of course had been waiting near the entrance, but he had filled her in fairly quickly and she had seemed busy and eager to move on. He hadn't minded, or asked. Maybe that new kid was in. Or the Dutiful Husband - good assassin, that man, but it irritated him that he had the audacity to call himself an assassin and then ran off home to live some scripted life with his wife most of the time. Devlin decided to go find something to eat and seek out company, but first he changed clothes. He kept the cloak, but exchanged the armor for loose, dark leather pants and a baggy, half-open cotton shirt. Fur boots comforted his feet on the cold, hard stone and he made his way to the main dining area. "I don't suppose anyone around wants to break bread? That eats food, that is." Though there was no one visibly in the room, or within earshot as far as he knew, what he did know is that people around here had a tendency of picking up on everything anyways. Sort of like how most everyone summoned when asked for, even if you had felt certain that you were completely alone moments before. |