His precision had to be absolute, his patience vast to reach his goals, but for all that he held himself above the groveling masses, he couldn't push past the bleak obscurity that so covered the majority of those that resided in Sunberth. He desired his blade to be known, his reputation to be a living thing of itself, and a weapon to be put to good use. Yet such renown had so far escaped him and would continue to he suspected for in retrospect what had he done more than kill a few inconsequential people who got in the way of things. His work for Callik was quickly turning dull after the first couple of flashy displays by himself, and more likely growing quieter still because of Calliks own growing sinister reputation on the streets instead of Darian's own stalwart defense of the man's wares. It irked him that such a man inspired such fear in the masses when he himself could only inspire revulsion or wary caution at best. Perhaps that was just his own take on it, but his own proffered certainty coupled with the aged torments of his youth worked well to assure him of this.
It was a double edge sword he knew to be known, but it was only recently that he found the desire to be so known, and well feared, though by his alias of course and not his birth name. That he wanted with every fiber of his being to just whither away in the shadows of his alias, never to be known on any tongue but his own. After all, that part of him had died long ago, leaving the empty coil he found himself now. Passion still fueled his sword, but so too had a sort of callousness came to his mind, allowing for quicker thinking, and uncompromising calculation. It lent him the strength he needed, the power that would be required to bring every one of his desires to the light, but all in their due time.
For now he was playing the role of errand boy, searching the streets and alleys for any sign of a deadbeat in the employ of Callik, one of the catchers as his employer referred to the man as. For Darian, he only cared about wrapping this business up so he could get back to his own mechanizations, the latter involving a little meeting between himself and a certain thug he owed a dagger in the stomach though such things had to wait when Callik came a calling. Turning down another alley way, Darian sighed.
It was a double edge sword he knew to be known, but it was only recently that he found the desire to be so known, and well feared, though by his alias of course and not his birth name. That he wanted with every fiber of his being to just whither away in the shadows of his alias, never to be known on any tongue but his own. After all, that part of him had died long ago, leaving the empty coil he found himself now. Passion still fueled his sword, but so too had a sort of callousness came to his mind, allowing for quicker thinking, and uncompromising calculation. It lent him the strength he needed, the power that would be required to bring every one of his desires to the light, but all in their due time.
For now he was playing the role of errand boy, searching the streets and alleys for any sign of a deadbeat in the employ of Callik, one of the catchers as his employer referred to the man as. For Darian, he only cared about wrapping this business up so he could get back to his own mechanizations, the latter involving a little meeting between himself and a certain thug he owed a dagger in the stomach though such things had to wait when Callik came a calling. Turning down another alley way, Darian sighed.