Julian Faulkner
Well-Known Member
- Messages
- 212
Thin fingers flexing as he waited for the inevitable, the cloaked man wondered what was taking his accomplices so long in their mission. He had full faith in their efforts. If everything went as planned, which he was almost positive would, ensnaring the old man would be simple. He had no doubt that their victim would put up a fight, and a good one at that. But his hunters had youth on their side, while their prey was well overdue for retirement.
He did not smile at those around him, did not give them any form of acknowledgement whatsoever. Indeed, he knew all of them by name- but on this occasion, he did not use them. It was his full intent to keep Taggart alive- but he was to be another reminder to the Wizarding World that they still had reason to fear. Those all around him had become too content, too satiated in their own comfort, to find any reason to not be safe. They were all too eager to cast away events that had occurred, just shy of three decades ago that had kept their hearts in their throats,their hope crushed to a pulp. It was time for them to remember, and remember well.
The man sighed as his fingers curled about his wand, peering through the blinds. It was a rather bustling day in Morocco, passerby blissfully unaware of the events that were about to take place in their midst. He had chosen this location so the group would be given little notice. Hooded strangers keeping to themselves were all too common in the vibrant community.
And hooded he stayed, though the air was unpleasantly warm. Not having been in a place so warm since his childhood, he had long since been forced to forget the heat. For many years, his retreat had been cold. Where that retreat was had only been known to him, however. Many things about him were a mystery, just as he thought the Death Eaters should be. A mystery, and nonetheless a mystery to be wary of.
His name was Julian Faulkner- though he never went by his real name these days. In the public, he was forced to go by another entirely. Those in the Death Eaters were rarely privileged with any information about himself besides his name. He preferred it that way- knowing their names in turn was as personal as he possibly wished to get.
Glancing back down at his watch, he waited, if impatiently, for his fellow Death Eaters to return with the old man, and most importantly, the information to come after. He preferred for things to be set in motion quickly- but over his years of life he had learned to accept patience as a necessity. A few more minutes wasn't giong to impair him, if heighten his frustration a little bit. Still, he did not speak to those who were already there. Soon, he would address them. It was important for everyone in this mission not to reveal their own names- whether it be their first or surname. They had to be a threat, not a threat that the Ministry could track easily.
He did not smile at those around him, did not give them any form of acknowledgement whatsoever. Indeed, he knew all of them by name- but on this occasion, he did not use them. It was his full intent to keep Taggart alive- but he was to be another reminder to the Wizarding World that they still had reason to fear. Those all around him had become too content, too satiated in their own comfort, to find any reason to not be safe. They were all too eager to cast away events that had occurred, just shy of three decades ago that had kept their hearts in their throats,their hope crushed to a pulp. It was time for them to remember, and remember well.
The man sighed as his fingers curled about his wand, peering through the blinds. It was a rather bustling day in Morocco, passerby blissfully unaware of the events that were about to take place in their midst. He had chosen this location so the group would be given little notice. Hooded strangers keeping to themselves were all too common in the vibrant community.
And hooded he stayed, though the air was unpleasantly warm. Not having been in a place so warm since his childhood, he had long since been forced to forget the heat. For many years, his retreat had been cold. Where that retreat was had only been known to him, however. Many things about him were a mystery, just as he thought the Death Eaters should be. A mystery, and nonetheless a mystery to be wary of.
His name was Julian Faulkner- though he never went by his real name these days. In the public, he was forced to go by another entirely. Those in the Death Eaters were rarely privileged with any information about himself besides his name. He preferred it that way- knowing their names in turn was as personal as he possibly wished to get.
Glancing back down at his watch, he waited, if impatiently, for his fellow Death Eaters to return with the old man, and most importantly, the information to come after. He preferred for things to be set in motion quickly- but over his years of life he had learned to accept patience as a necessity. A few more minutes wasn't giong to impair him, if heighten his frustration a little bit. Still, he did not speak to those who were already there. Soon, he would address them. It was important for everyone in this mission not to reveal their own names- whether it be their first or surname. They had to be a threat, not a threat that the Ministry could track easily.