The Masters

[Shadrach]

[OOC: This is my In-Character application to The Masters. If you don't care to read it, don't. WOW, ugghhh...I forgot that tabs don't transition into message board entries. Many apologies if this is hard to read...can go back later and space it out if someone prefers--whoever has to read this, lol.]

“Tch…**** your God…” A deep rugged voice cut through the emptiness of the night, fading amongst the alleyway walls. Brick and worn, they’d heard similar threats of malice in their time by the hundreds or thousands. Two figures were standing adjacent to the wall, one of them extremely large and dwarfing the second at six foot six inches. There was no light to speak of in the alleyway, adding to the disturbing threat’s nature. The smaller figure was on their knees, hands caked with fresh blood his own wrapped around the other figure’s solitary trunk of an arm, fighting back the gradual squeeze and depletion of their life.
“P-please, no! No! I’ll do anyth-anything you want just don’t!” another voice cried in desperate plea. It became clear that these two men were not friendly with one another in the least, as the larger man seemed to emit a sparkle from his eye, a chilling blue light radiating through the darkness between them as he lifted the smaller man into the air. Muffled gasps for air and cries of fear of dying pulsed about them, lost to those unforgiving bricks. Only seconds after lifting the man, the larger raised his other hand, which held some sort of L-shaped object—a pistol.
Click.
Thick blood and bits of grey-matter splattered against those wordless bricks following the sudden, nigh-unexplainable disappearance of a veritable section of the entire wall. Fragments of brick and blood sprayed through the air in this one, distinct moment preceding the ear-shattering, cracking sonic-boom danced through the entire city. No mistaking it, the hand-cannon had removed the smaller man’s head clean off his shoulders, silencing him forever and leaving the larger to stand with his arms still suspended, his right empty hand covered thickly in blood while the lifeless body slumped and thudded against the cobblestone ground. He stood like this for several lingering moments, unmoving and unflinching at the encroaching stench invading his nostrils.
Then he smiled, seen only to the all-seeing eyes of those bricks surrounding him.
A flicker of orange and crimson ignited from his very body, enveloping firstly his hands, a scarlet mist snaking into the air as he cleansed himself of the blood. The light revealed his eerily handsome features without fail: dirty blond hair that fell over his left eye, cheek and jaw in a tapering, jagged point; matching crystal blue eyes beset amongst chiseled, tanned features. His arms—trunks, were scantily covered in a light blue-dark blue striped button up shirt, curled back to the midst of his forearms as they couldn’t go any higher. The top was slightly open, exposing his extremely well toned and defined chest, the shirt falling lightly over the rest of his core to conceal the rest of his physique. Slight a concealment it was…
The man wore slightly loose or “just-right” fitting faded jeans that fell over the tops of his spit-shined combat boots, blacker than the night. After the spiraling light snaked down the rest of his body and inevitably extinguished, the man holstered the hand-cannon at his left hip and flipped his shirt back down over it, looking to his left then setting his gaze to the right.
There was an old lantern street light flickering at the far end of the alley, which the man used to recall his bearings on this old city. Thoughts of dogs, cops, and angry local-folk invaded his mind and annoyed him intensely, causing his smile to contort into a flustered frown. So, he turned on his heel and walked into the black of the other direction behind him.
“I need to move…I’m not having another repeat of –that- incident…” the man thought to himself, thinking only of his preservation and not another moment wasted on the life just ended. His steps were well placed and fell silently, pulling his body along the wave of rising fog and steam—stench of waste from various buildings he passed. He moved swiftly, as if perfectly capable of seeing the scattered junk of boxes, trash and other such obstacles strewn out before him. The silent assassin continued to traverse the backstreets of the city for a good fifteen minutes before coming ‘round a corner and into the light, a good ten blocks away from the ‘scene’ he had just made.
Looking down to his watch, the assassin read the black-faced, gold accessory with no hands.
“2:43 huh…right on schedule. Damn I’m good…” the assassin took the moment to congratulate himself for not being late. He stepped forward rhythmically, walking along the illuminated path that lead straight for a building with two doors side-by-side and a brightly lit sign above reading “The Goblin’s Cove”. The building itself appeared nothing special; the Assassin raised his right hand and gripped the handle, pulling the door open and walking inside nearly in one movement.
Thirteen individuals, including the barkeep and three women at the bar were inside. Three more of these individuals were grouped together at one of the wooden, ordinary tables with ordinary wooden chairs sipping a scotch, brandy and ale; while the others were strewn out across the dimly lit, orange-yellowish room. Though the assassin made himself aware of those inside, he appeared to simply walk in with a down-cast gaze, looking at the creaky-wooden floor. Naturally he wasn’t so foolish a man.
He walked up to the bar and lifted his gaze, staring into the dull brown eyes of the average looking scum before him, otherwise known as the barkeep. Scraggly looking guy with nappy hair and a mustache, he just wasn’t easy on the eyes. Keeping his business to himself, the giant ordered a White Russian and stood patiently, making certain not to touch the grimy granite bar.
Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out several multi-colored coins and dropped them on the bar as he took his drink, uttering a thank you and walking over to a far table in the west corner of the tavern. The nearer he came to the table, it became apparent to those few wandering eyes on the man’s back that he was meeting someone here, a man cast in shadow that even he couldn’t fully discern. As he approached the table, he pulled out a single chair, the man he was meeting sitting within the ‘booth’ side against the wall, and sat down lightly.
“2:45 on the dot, Mister Business man. The name’s Shadrach, or Mr. Darkholm if you will.” The large man’s rugged voice waltzed into the others’ ears, the duo far enough from the other occupants so that their discussion could easily be carried out in private. Shadrach, as he revealed himself to be, raised the cream coffee colored liqueur glass to his medium lips and sipped plentifully, keeping his dazzling blue eyes on the figure before him with a sinister grin…