Pensive Assassin
~Alamut~
My hand trembled, covered in her blood. She lay dead at my feet, her last words "I loved you". I told her those
words before. I told her that lie as easily as I'd tell the truth. I've told her that lie a lot, over the last few weeks.
She took me into her life like it was nothing. I talked to her, I played her. I even slept with her, never once
thinking it was anything but my solemn duty. Never once believing the lie I told her. "I love you."
I try not to jump when the man pats me on the back. "Easy, kid," he says, and I hear the hint of a chuckle in
that deep voice, "Don't get worked up over her. She was a cultist. Nothing more, nothing less." It was
true. She was part of a cult. A little Sleeper cult too close to the truth. Her death
would break it up, keep safe the Veil.
All the little lies make me want to vomit. I look down at her, nearly choking on it. I
run out the room, and barely get past the door before my head is between my
knees and I'm coughing up a cheap meal and expensive wine and a fucking pot
brownie. I'm looking at everything I've eaten today and I'm realizing why some
men pay German women in leather corsets to beat them with riding crops. But no,
I don't want to be beaten. To give up control, I'd need it in the first place.
I need a drink, I need to fuck something. I need to go to a bar and start a fight
just to get my ass kicked because I deserve it. I can hear the man telling me to
come back, but I just keep going, my stomach doing flipflops. I need something
to calm me down. I need a smoke. I need to light a ~Candle~.
Path: Mastigos
Virtue: Faith
Order: Guardians of the Veil
Vice: Pride
Intelligence ••, Wits ••, Resolve •••
Strength •, Dexterity •••, Stamina •••
Presence ••, Manipulation •••, Composure ••••
Investigation ••, Medicine •, Occult ••
Athletics •, Firearms ••, Larceny •, Stealth ••, Weaponry (Assassination) ••
Empathy ••, Expression ••, Intimidation ••, Persuasion (Seduction) ••, Subterfuge (The
Long Con) •••
Health [ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ][ ], Willpower •••••••, Gnosis ••
Merits
Enchanted Bracer (•••) Jury Rigged leather armband that serves as a bracer and multitool.
Masque (•••) Three of them: The Lord Scar, the Holy Concubine, The Eyes of Mars
Mentor (••) Il Sabbah, a Guardian Interfector
Striking Looks (••) A pretty face aids a liar’s tongue.
Status (Guardians of the Veil) (••) An Interfector in training
History
Vincent DiNozzo was born in a brothel. His mother was a high class call girl, and his father was
unknown. He was raised by the other girls, his mother having little time for him. As he grew
up, the boy would come to be used to being ordered around.
When he was old enough, one of the older women started training him. She taught him to lie
and become someone else for the sake of other people. She taught him how to blend in socially,
and even a little bit of thievery. You know, the usual skills of a male escort.
He ended up being a blood doll for vampires. They used him for his services as a prostitute, and
for his services as being a living creature with blood to steal.
That went on for however long, and then he Awoke. It came at the end of a beating, and he was
nearly drained. The receiving end of Frenzy. He entered Pandaemonium and was punished for
every injustice he wrought against others, real and imagined. When he woke up, there was a
man there in a robe who took him away, his head covered with a sack. He was offered the
hookah, and it knocked him out.
He woke up in Eden. A beautiful garden, the greatest kind of thing that a Thrysus could ever
make. There were beautiful men and women there who tended to his wounds and made love to
him. He fell asleep in the warm embrace of companions. When he woke up, he was back to
reality.
The man, Sabbah, trained him. He taught him about the Lie, and how to manipulate it. He was
taught to use magic responsibly, and to manipulate people. He was given two names. The first
was the one he would be known most among Sleeper society. Markus al Malik. The second was
the name he would be known among the Awakened. Alamut.
He was put to work, his first real test being to infiltrate a group of Sleepers and neutralize the
threat they posed to the Awakened community. He was safe, but he didn't know that at the
time. It was here that he developed the Lord Scar Masque. The Masque of a friend that becomes
a con, destroying the group he claims to love, for their own good.
The other Masques followed. The Eyes of Mars for defending himself if ever the Lord Scar
crumbled. And the Holy Concubine for... well, that one was for himself. A safety net. A
personality to retreat to. The personality of a friend who wasn't holding a knife behind his
back.
After a few years, he was given a new task. Sabbah's daughter was in Olympus--the place that
he was born, and taken from--and he wanted Alamut to look after her. He was put in for a
transfer, and sent to the new city.
Enchanted Item - The Eagle’s Talon
Given by ~Sabbah~ at the end of his Red Initiation, the Talon is an all in one multitool, hidden
within the auspices of a metal bracer. It's nearly impossible to remove without magic, and it
provides a small amount of protection if used in a fight, it could backhand someone for +1B or
perhaps provide a bit of a shield against swung melee weapons like a bat or a sword, giving the
basic 2 Durability of steel.
What the Talon is made for is secrecy. The bracer is enchanted with the Jury Rig spell, allowing
it to hold up to three properties from other objects. To all eyes, the Talon is nothing but a
strange metal bracelet that covers most of ~Alamut~'s arm. Only on closer inspection can the
strange hodgepodge be detected. It's the perfect tool for an assassin.
Common 'accessories' to the Talon:
Out-the-front switchblade. Damage: +1L
.9 mm pistol. Damage: +2L, five shots
Grappling hook launcher +2 to climbing, 50 feet of rope
Flashlight
Tranquilizer gun. Damage: +0L, as long as it does 1L of damage, the target must
roll Stamina-1 to stay awake. 4 shots.
Shot gun. +2L, 8-Again, half dice pool to anyone adjacent. 2 shots.
Radio
Masques
Greater Masque (Temperance) - The Lord Scar (Lust); Lesser Mask - The Informant Lover
~Anthony Williams~ A lie, finely crafted. He becomes friends, even falling in love, with those
who he spies on, and in the end he'll destroy them, whether by word or knife.
+2 Subterfuge, -2 Intimidation; Token: Must act to undermine or betray the group or his love.
Greater Masque - The Holy Concubine; Lesser Mask - The Male Escort
~Alex Starr~ A minor figure in porn, and a lonely young man available to anyone with the
money. What he really wants is someone to love him, no matter the cost.
+1 Persuasion, -2 Empathy; Token: A gift from a lover
Greater Masque - The Eyes of Mars; Lesser Mask - The Crooked Cop
~Lance Daniels~ A man who sees the rules as something to be upheld by others. Sometimes,
they need to be bent or broken to make ends meet.
+2 Firearms, -1 Manipulation; Token: A Glock
Memory Obsession:
Where did it start? I try to remember and sometimes I can't. Everything is a haze. Blank. I was a
male escort. A hooker. Only, I wasn't. Was I? I don't even know. What was I? A vampire's puppet? I
remember blood. Sometimes. Othertimes there isn't any. I fought in the war, didn't I? Fervent. The
Gauntlet took me, ripped everything from before out of me. I was a young man who had nothing,
my parents throwing me out for fuck if I know. Maybe I left. Ran away to join the circus. No, no
one ever does that. Maybe they died.
I had a terrible childhood. I had a happy childhood. It doesn't matter, or maybe it does. I
remember a woman. She took my hand, cared for me. Cleaned me up those days. What was her
name? Melissa? Maria? Maria. Maria Sunderland? Maria wasn't her name this time. It was last
time, but I can't remember what it was this time. One day I'll change it, start it all over again. Or
will I? The future is written. Unwritten. Time can be rewritten, erased. Space is changed, moved,
shifted. My mind. Changed. Am I who I am?
Her name was Maria this time. She took me in, cared for me. No, she never took me in, barely
cared for me. There were vampires, or perhaps Cultists. Maybe both. I was her employee. I did as I
was told. A 'madam' I think they call it. I was bought and sold, wasn't I? I liked it. Sometimes. I
think. Or did I? Was I made to like it? Was that really me, those days? Who can tell between a day
where the men are nice, the women gentle, and a day where demons have broken your mind into
their playthings?
That was when my Soul was broken. All my sins ripped away. What happened before didn't
matter. Did it even happen how I think? Of course it didn't matter. This is the one thing in my life
I am certain of, and I can't even remember it. My soul was burned, flayed, sliced. I was evil. That
had to have been the reason it happened. Only someone who was a true bastard could go to that
place.
And when I returned, I was being cradled by a kind woman. She washed me gently with a rag,
clothed me in the first new clothes I'd ever had. Or were they? Maybe I'd been living in sleazy
motels, or maybe I'd worn nothing but suits, a piece of meat, a toy for the rich. I don't know.
A man took me the next day. What does that mean? Was I groomed? Or was it a so-called 'happy'
accident? Do accidents exist? Coincidence means nothing when Fate can be replaced, time
rewritten. I was taken to a cold place, bound in a hood. Given a smoke. I woke in Paradise, a
beautiful contradiction to Pandaemonium. Light and glory, a beautiful garden. Eden.
I was always truthful before. Or maybe that's another lie. I lie so much I believe my lies. That's
good. That only way to sell a lie is to believe it. I believe it. What else is there to believe? I tell men
and women I am their friend. I love them. I hate them. I tell them the truth. The truth is nothing
but another Lie. I make the truth. Manufacture it. What they need to hear, what they want to
here. I lie. I am a lie. I do not exist. Nothing is true.
I was told to kill for Eden. Taught to tear at The Lie while keeping it intact. To let the Lie believe it
existed until it was gone. Silent. A shadow in the dark. Taught to become someone else. To put on
a Masque. Am I who I am? Or am I another Masque? Another reason to doubt. I was taught by the
Old Man of the Mountain to become another person, to rip apart the Lie while protecting The Veil.
Everything is permitted.
I was sent to Olympus. I grew up here. No, I grew up in New York. I grew up far from here and just
down the street. What does it matter? Here is there. Feet are miles. Millimeters become kilometers.
"Look after my girl". That is my job. Transfered from here to there. But I'm not there, I'm here.
Transfered from there to here.
Another city. The same city. Will I start over? Will I tear up the photograph and forget myself?
Become another. Lose the mementos of one life to create another. There are no words on my skin.
No reminders. Without these photographs I lose who I am. Does that mean I will be someone else?
Will I still be punished?
The Heiromagus will not be a Guardian, and he will forgive the Guardians their sins, restore their
Wisdom lost in his service. He will forgive me. I am a sinner. This I am certain of. I have done evil.
I am a blade, and a blade should never question the hand that wields it, for to do so would upset
the delicate order of things. The blade kills. It does not ask why.
But I question my hand.
Am I meant to be a Guardian?
Photographs:
The Guardians detest writing. Writing is the act of sharing secrets. There is a power in secrets.
The more who know of a secret, of knowledge, the less power it has. It becomes everyday, it
becomes common. It stops being a secret, and loses it's power.
I do not write. Writing would betray my thoughts, my feelings. It would betray my doubts.
A photograph is worth one thousand words. And yet it means nothing without the context that
can only come from experiencing those words. This is why I use them to hold my memories.
This one is of my first John. He set the tone for many of the rest. He stands next to the bed, his
image blurred while in the mirror he's far more crisp than should be possible. I sit on the bed,
leaning back on my arms, biting my lip. I was nervous. Afraid. Did I enjoy it because I'm a sinner?
Or because he made me? I can never know. I wouldn't want to. There is some sense of liberation in
not knowing the truth. Was he warm or cold? I can't remember.
This one is my sister. Her name was Rachel, but of course that wasn't her real name. We slept
together, in a hotel bed, and I took her picture. I wanted to remember her. I knew her for three
months before she became something else. Something that doesn't show up in pictures. She was
warm, then. Now she's cold. Far too cold.
The bakery on twelfth street. Or was it eighth? Times and places, names and faces. All these don't
matter. The emotion. That I know is real. Isn't it? The bakery, run by a young woman from
Oklahoma. Sunshine Bakery. I look at the photograph and can smell donuts.
My mentor. He never saw me take this. It's the only one I have of him. He's talking to someone I
don't know. They were talking about me. I was new, and scared. I failed my Red Initiation.
This time I passed. I could be arrested for this one. Killed to protect the Order. She was my lover. I
was a poet. I wanted to stay away from love, but of course she was the one to make me feel it
again, though I tried to hide it. As felt her blood staining my hands, she pulled the Token from me.
A necklace she had given me. Little metal beads surrounded her hand. The pendant loosely held.
Every time I look at this one, I smile. ~Toast~ with french fries in his nose. He didn't know I was
going to take the picture until he heard the snap. He ended up poking himself in the face with a
straw. I don't remember where we were. The cup is obscured, advertisements out of the picture.
Places don't matter, only emotions. This is selfish of me. To want a friend. It goes against the
praxis of the Order. I put him in danger. I put myself in danger through him. I fight. I kill. I lie. I
lie to myself. Don't I deserve a friend?