Assamite
Drascuss Hale
Generation:10th
Sire:?
Born:1923
Embraced:1953
Apparent Age:30
Alamut Library
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Name Search: Eric Bjorn…………………………..error, no subject found
Name Search: Drascuss Hale……………………..subject found
Born as Eric Bjorn in Gävle, Sweden to a Dale and Alice Bjorn in 1923, he worked as a fisherman with his father. He moved to Eveleth, Minnesota with his parents in 1943 and worked as an iron miner. After two years Eric joined the army and served in WWII. Three years later while stationed in Germany, Eric went a-wall and became a contract killer. Using the alias “Uncle Bob,” he made quite a name for himself in the underground. When he was thirty our clan discovered him while one of our own came upon him unknowingly hunting the same target. The offer was made and quickly accepted.
While at Alamut, Eric quickly gained both fear and respect from the other invites. Though he wouldn’t admit it and no investigation was made, it’s believed that he was the reason several others didn’t survive the first seven years. After his embrace he changed his name, quickly learned to harness his powers, and gained the respect of a few elders during his seven years as a Fida’i. This respect was almost lost during his first year as a Rafiq when he made a surprising move to cover up his past. While on assignment in D.C., Hale broke into the Pentagon, and with the help of a hacker deleted all government files on Eric Bjorn. Though Hale did make the intended hit, this selfish move was severely punished. Time has passed and Hale is now one of our more capable Rafiqs.
This is the only written testimony of Eric Bjorn. Why did I write this? I suppose it’s to help remind me of who I was, should it become hard to remember as the ages pass. How did I get here, as I am now? I suppose it was inevitable when I picked up my first rifle. Or maybe it was after I made my first kill, watching in absolute delight as the deer fell lifeless to the ground, bleeding from the gunshot to the head. Or maybe I was destined to be this bringer of unholy death. Within me the blood of the Viking warriors flows, whispering for the hunt, for battle.
When I joined the army I was excited, because war was about to become my job. That and I hated mining. I became a sharpshooter thanks to my natural talent and love of the hunt. Stalking down a man and putting one between his eyes was much better sport than chasing wild animals. It only took three years to get fed-up with the army and all there rules. For a bunch of murderers, they have a lot of regulations about who you can and can’t kill. I decided to become a hitman, cause the pay was better and there were less rules. A lot less rules.
I was making quite a feared reputation in Northern Europe when I was sent on a hit in Venice, Italy. Some high-up in the government had pissed some one off enough for me to be called about it. Everything was going just fine; I had dispatched four guards without a peep and was making my way to the target when an Arabic-looking man appeared right next to me. He told me how he had watched me work and that he would be making the hit, not me. He also said that he had a special invitation for me. Being curious as I was, I accepted. I had no idea.
The training at Alamut was a hell there is no true word for. Over a hundred pure blooded killers and I was one of only a dozen white men. That along with being one of the oldest made me stand out just a bit. It actually took seven “accidents” to make them stand off. Naturally I made it and was embraced. Now I am a killer of the ultimate murderers. I am deaths own silent hand for those who no longer breathe, but still walk. I am that which the monsters in the dark fear, and if they aren’t afraid of me. It’s only because they don’t know I’m there.