Grimoire

Cradle of Divinity (signups always open)

Emeka

Name: Emeka
Sex: Male
Age: 24

Appearance:


Personality:
The world is a simple place for Emeka, either one takes or is taken from. If one is strong he is able to take, else one is weak and is eaten. That is why he prefers to be strong, he hates any weakness, and especially weakness he finds within himself.

When he needs something he is more than likely to simply acquire it and damn the consequences. Any naysayer may do so at the risk of pain and even death. Although he never goes out of his way to harm others, neither does he have any inhibition of solving problems with violence.

Brutally blunt he will tell one exactly what is on his mind. In fact he doesn’t care to lie after all lies are something the weak hide behind. In fact he is also good at telling apart lies, and usually enjoys breaking the arms’ of liars.

In some aspects he is like a wild predator, ruthless and cruel. Death is merely a means to an end, and not something to make a big deal out of. Driven by instinct and emotion, his actions are usually quick and decisive, the kind to shoot before asking questions. However this does not mean he is impetuous, like any predator, he knows to be patient and wait for the best opportunity.

Biography:

Fire, gunpowder and blood, the three constants that mar the landscape of Emeka’s past. Many would label him a monster at present, but he is a only a creature created by an equally monstrous environment that is the heart of Congo.

His descent began early in his life, with fire and the birth of hate on one summer’s night. There was only one emotion that passed through the young boy’s life as he watched his village slowly burn in that summer night. A young dark youth, barely seven years of age, lay sprawled on the ground. Tears streamed down his bruised face, he would scream if only his voice was not hoarse from it already. He watched as his home, his family and his life was reduced to ashes, and with it his innocence. The fire laughed at him with its crackle and sparks, just like the men who created it. Set by brigands on a whim even after they had taken all the villagers had. The brigands laughed and drank at the fire and burning bodies, dancing merrily around the spoils they had pillaged from it. Doubled over in pain, gasping for air. In that moment he grabbed the boy with his collar and pulled him up.

“Boy do you know why this happened to you?” he asked. “You may say that it was because we are bad men. That may be true. But there is a deeper truth, it is because you are weak, and it is the destiny of the weak to be eaten by the strong.”

“You may hate me with every fibre of your being. This is good. You will realize that hate is a powerful thing, it will give you strength like none other. So hate! Hate me! Hate my men! Hate the gods! But above all hate the weak you!” he said as a sick smile pulled across his face

These words would etch themselves into the psyche of the young boy, for he sensed the truth in those words. So he began to hate, and his tears dried with the heat of it. After all it was easier to hate then feel the sadness that pulled at his feet.

~

The sun was high and strong, it beat down on Emeka’s brow with an almost solid force. Sweated beaded down his forehead. His hands shook and his feet trembled. He stood wearing the same clothes he had worn the night he was taken. Now they were nothing more than dirty rags. Around him were a circle of men, staring down at him. It had been four years since he had lost his home. Four years he had to see Mwambe, his captor murder and slaughter. See him rise in power and become Warlord of Kivu.

Now he stood once more at a turning point at the base of Mount of Nyiragongo.His hands felt heavy, the weight of a revolver. The gun seemed far heavier than it looked, perhaps this was the weight of a life. He realized that he was staring at the red dirt, some of it darkened by drops of sweat. He looked up to see a man bound and kneeling before him. He knew what he had to do.

Behind him stood Mwambe, the leader of the brigands, his arm crossed. “Decide boy, it is either his life or yours. Are you strong enough to take, or will you be taken from yet again.” he said. The boy took respite in that little place in his head where hate had taken root. It soothed his nerves, and told him what he needed to do. After all it was not his fault the man had to die, it was the man’s fault he had been weak.

Slowly he raised his hands and pointed the gun to the man’s temple. The man had already resigned himself to his fate his eyes downcast. Then with a pull of his finger Emeka, shot the man. A final bang echoed through the camp, as the man slumped to the ground. Suddenly he felt the shaking in his hands stop…

~

The man laughed hoarsely “Fate is a strange thing, No? I remember a time when we were in similar situation , a lifetime ago… You have grown well little monster. Now it is time for you to take that final stepped”. The man eyed his captor wildly as he cackled, as madness took over him. The man was an imposing figure tall and muscled. Though wearing a leather jacket, scars danced across his arms like rivulets of rain across his ebony skin. His hair was scruffy, and long, but off all things, it was his eyes that struck fear into the old man's heart.

Emeka looked down on the cackling old man. How small he looked now, he didn't understand the fear he had felt as a child. “Oh yes old man, I will take! I will take slowly … and with great pleasure! Its time I teach you what I have learned of fire and of hate.” he said, his eyes burning with a mad glee. Then he walked out of the tent, leaving the old man bound inside.

Then with a flick of his hand he motioned to his men. Soon the acrid smell of smoke filled the air, the smell bringing a cruel smile to his face, one similar to another man so many nights ago. One story ends with fire and another begins anew.

Skills:

Intimidation
Fighter - Although not having any formal training, years of battle have tempered him into a natural fighter
Instinctual - Animalistic trait that lets him get a better sense of the environment around and subconsciously perceive the nature of things

Elemental Cores:

Heat, Air

Abilities:
Burning Claw[Fire] - Focus a fiery aura into one's hands or weapon, which is hot enough to melt through metals

Burst Step[Heat] - Combust the the sole of ones feat to create an explosive step, generating powerful bursts in speed. This skill also has limited applicability while mid air

Surge[Life][Passive] - Through a basic yet subconscious maintenance of life energy within one's body one has boosted power output of one’s musculature

Heat Sense[Heat][Passive] - The sixth sense when further appended with the element of heat, allows one to perceive heat in a small sphere around him, though clarity increases with increase in skill

Familiars:

Possessions:

Cradle of Divinity (signups always open)

Made a few fixes, hope its acceptable. Though I would prefer to leave him without a last name, a way to signify that he belongs to no place

My Hider

Name: Emeka
Sex: Male
Age: 24

Appearance:


Personality:
The world is a simple place for Emeka, either one takes or is taken from. If one is strong he is able to take, else one is weak and is eaten. That is why he prefers to be strong, he hates any weakness, and especially weakness he finds within himself.

When he needs something he is more than likely to simply acquire it and damn the consequences. Any naysayer may do so at the risk of pain and even death. Although he never goes out of his way to harm others, neither does he have any inhibition of solving problems with violence.

Brutally blunt he will tell one exactly what is on his mind. In fact he doesn’t care to lie after all lies are something the weak hide behind. In fact he is also good at telling apart lies, and usually enjoys breaking the arms’ of liars.

In some aspects he is like a wild predator, ruthless and cruel. Death is merely a means to an end, and not something to make a big deal out of. Driven by instinct and emotion, his actions are usually quick and decisive, the kind to shoot before asking questions. However this does not mean he is impetuous, like any predator, he knows to be patient and wait for the best opportunity.

Biography:

Fire, gunpowder and blood, the three constants that mar the landscape of Emeka’s past. Many would label him a monster at present, but he is a only a creature created by an equally monstrous environment that is the heart of Congo.

His descent began early in his life, with fire and the birth of hate on one summer’s night. There was only one emotion that passed through the young boy’s life as he watched his village slowly burn in that summer night. A young dark youth, barely seven years of age, lay sprawled on the ground. Tears streamed down his bruised face, he would scream if only his voice was not hoarse from it already. He watched as his home, his family and his life was reduced to ashes, and with it his innocence. The fire laughed at him with its crackle and sparks, just like the men who created it. Set by brigands on a whim even after they had taken all the villagers had. The brigands laughed and drank at the fire and burning bodies, dancing merrily around the spoils they had pillaged from it. Doubled over in pain, gasping for air. In that moment he grabbed the boy with his collar and pulled him up.

“Boy do you know why this happened to you?” he asked. “You may say that it was because we are bad men. That may be true. But there is a deeper truth, it is because you are weak, and it is the destiny of the weak to be eaten by the strong.”

“You may hate me with every fibre of your being. This is good. You will realize that hate is a powerful thing, it will give you strength like none other. So hate! Hate me! Hate my men! Hate the gods! But above all hate the weak you!” he said as a sick smile pulled across his face

These words would etch themselves into the psyche of the young boy, for he sensed the truth in those words. So he began to hate, and his tears dried with the heat of it. After all it was easier to hate then feel the sadness that pulled at his feet.

~

The sun was high and strong, it beat down on Emeka’s brow with an almost solid force. Sweated beaded down his forehead. His hands shook and his feet trembled. He stood wearing the same clothes he had worn the night he was taken. Now they were nothing more than dirty rags. Around him were a circle of men, staring down at him. It had been four years since he had lost his home. Four years he had to see Mwambe, his captor murder and slaughter. See him rise in power and become Warlord of Kivu.

Now he stood once more at a turning point at the base of Mount of Nyiragongo.His hands felt heavy, the weight of a revolver. The gun seemed far heavier than it looked, perhaps this was the weight of a life. He realized that he was staring at the red dirt, some of it darkened by drops of sweat. He looked up to see a man bound and kneeling before him. He knew what he had to do.

Behind him stood Mwambe, the leader of the brigands, his arm crossed. “Decide boy, it is either his life or yours. Are you strong enough to take, or will you be taken from yet again.” he said. The boy took respite in that little place in his head where hate had taken root. It soothed his nerves, and told him what he needed to do. After all it was not his fault the man had to die, it was the man’s fault he had been weak.

Slowly he raised his hands and pointed the gun to the man’s temple. The man had already resigned himself to his fate his eyes downcast. Then with a pull of his finger Emeka, shot the man. A final bang echoed through the camp, as the man slumped to the ground. Suddenly he felt the shaking in his hands stop…

~

The man laughed hoarsely “Fate is a strange thing, No? I remember a time when we were in similar situation , a lifetime ago… You have grown well little monster. Now it is time for you to take that final stepped”. The man eyed his captor wildly as he cackled, as madness took over him. The man was an imposing figure tall and muscled. Though wearing a leather jacket, scars danced across his arms like rivulets of rain across his ebony skin. His hair was scruffy, and long, but off all things, it was his eyes that struck fear into the old man's heart.

Emeka looked down on the cackling old man. How small he looked now, he didn't understand the fear he had felt as a child. “Oh yes old man, I will take! I will take slowly … and with great pleasure! Its time I teach you what I have learned of fire and of hate.” he said, his eyes burning with a mad glee. Then he walked out of the tent, leaving the old man bound inside.

Then with a flick of his hand he motioned to his men. Soon the acrid smell of smoke filled the air, the smell bringing a cruel smile to his face, one similar to another man so many nights ago. One story ends with fire and another begins anew.

Skills:

Intimidation
Fighter - Although not having any formal training, years of battle have tempered him into a natural fighter
Instinctual - Animalistic trait that lets him get a better sense of the environment around and subconsciously perceive the nature of things

Elemental Cores:

Heat, Air

Abilities:
Burning Claw[Fire] - Focus a fiery aura into one's hands or weapon, which is hot enough to melt through metals

Burst Step[Heat] - Combust the the sole of ones feat to create an explosive step, generating powerful bursts in speed. This skill also has limited applicability while mid air

Surge[Life][Passive] - Through a basic yet subconscious maintenance of life energy within one's body one has boosted power output of one’s musculature

Heat Sense[Heat][Passive] - The sixth sense when further appended with the element of heat, allows one to perceive heat in a small sphere around him, though clarity increases with increase in skill

Familiars:

Possessions:

Cradle of Divinity (signups always open)

Took me some time to get inspiration, but here it is.

My Hider

Name: Emeka
Sex: Male
Age: 24

Appearance:


Personality:
The world is a simple place for Emeka, either one takes or is taken from. If one is strong he is able to take, else one is weak and is eaten. That is why he prefers to be strong, he hates any weakness, and especially weakness he finds within himself.

When he needs something he is more than likely to simply acquire it and damn the consequences. Any naysayer may do so at the risk of pain and even death. Although he never goes out of his way to harm others, neither does he have any inhibition of solving problems with violence.

Brutally blunt he will tell one exactly what is on his mind. In fact he doesn’t care to lie after all lies are something the weak hide behind. In fact he is also good at telling apart lies, and usually enjoys breaking the arms’ of liars.

In some aspects he is like a wild predator, ruthless and cruel. Death is merely a means to an end, and not something to make a big deal out of. Driven by instinct and emotion, his actions are usually quick and decisive, the kind to shoot before asking questions. However this does not mean he is impetuous, like any predator, he knows to be patient and wait for the best opportunity.

Biography:

Fire, gunpowder and blood, the three constants that mar the landscape of Emeka’s past. Many would label him a monster at present, but he is a only a creature created by an equally monstrous environment.

His descent began early in his life, with fire and the birth of hate on one summer’s night. There was only one emotion that passed through the young boy’s life as he watched his village slowly burn in that summer night. Tears streamed down his bruised face, he would scream if only his voice was not hoarse from it already. He watched as his home, his family and his life was reduced to ashes, and with it his innocence. The fire laughed at him with its crackle and sparks, just like the men who created it. Set by brigands on a whim even after they had taken all the villagers had. The brigands laughed and drank at the fire and burning bodies, dancing merrily around the spoils they had pillaged from it. Doubled over in pain, gasping for air. In that moment he grabbed the boy with his collar and pulled him up.

“Boy do you know why this happened to you?” he asked. “You may say that it was because we are bad men. That may be true. But there is a deeper truth, it is because you are weak, and it is the destiny of the weak to be eaten by the strong.”

“You may hate me with every fibre of your being. This is good. You will realize that hate is a powerful thing, it will give you strength like none other. So hate! Hate me! Hate my men! Hate the gods! But above all hate the weak you!” he said as a sick smile pulled across his face

These words would etch themselves into the psyche of the young boy, for he sensed the truth in those words. So he began to hate, and his tears dried with the heat of it. After all it was easier to hate then feel the sadness that pulled at his feet.

~

The sun was high and strong, it beat down on Emeka’s brow with an almost solid force. Sweated beaded down his forehead. His hands shook and his feet trembled. He stood wearing the same clothes he had worn the night he was taken. Now they were nothing more than dirty rags. Around him were a circle of men, staring down at him.

His hands felt heavy, the weight of a revolver. The gun seemed far heavier than it looked, perhaps this was the weight of a life. He realized that he was staring at the red dirt, some of it darkened by drops of sweat. He looked up to see a man bound and kneeling before him. He knew what he had to do.

Behind him stood Mwambe, the leader of the brigands, his arm crossed. “Decide boy, it is either his life or yours. Are you strong enough to take, or will you be taken from yet again.” he said. The boy took respite in that little place in his head where hate had taken root. It soothed his nerves, and told him what he needed to do. After all it was not his fault the man had to die, it was the man’s fault he had been weak.

Slowly he raised his hands and pointed the gun to the man’s temple. The man had already resigned himself to his fate his eyes downcast. Then with a pull of his finger Emeka, shot the man. A final bang echoed through the camp, as the man slumped to the ground. Suddenly he felt the shaking in his hands stop…

~

The man laughed hoarsely “Fate is a strange thing, No? I remember a time when we were in similar situation , a lifetime ago… You have grown well little monster. Now it is time for you to take that final stepped”. The man eyed his captor wildly as he cackled, as madness took over him.

Emeka looked down on the cackling old man. How small he looked now, he didnt understand the fear he had felt as a child. “Oh yes old man, I will take! I will take slowly … and with great pleasure! Its time I teach you what I have learned of fire and of hate.” he said, his eyes burning with a mad glee. Then he walked out of the tent, leaving the old man bound inside.

Then with a flick of his hand he motioned to his men. Soon the acrid smell of smoke filled the air, the smell bringing a cruel smile to his face, one similar to another man so many nights ago. One story ends with fire and another begins anew.

Skills:

Intimidation
Fighter - Although not having any formal training, years of battle have tempered him into a natural fighter
Instinctual - Animalistic trait that lets him get a better sense of the environment around and subconsciously perceive the nature of things

Elemental Cores:

Heat, Air

Abilities:
Burning Claw[Fire] - Focus a fiery aura into one's hands or weapon, which is hot enough to melt through metals

Burst Step[Heat] - Combust the the sole of ones feat to create an explosive step, generating powerful bursts in speed. This skill also has limited applicability while mid air

Surge[Life][Passive] - Through a basic yet subconscious maintenance of life energy within one's body one has boosted power output of one’s musculature

Heat Sense[Heat][Passive] - The sixth sense when further appended with the element of heat, allows one to perceive heat in a small sphere around him, though clarity increases with increase in skill

Familiars:

Possessions:

Cradle of Divinity (signups always open)

Was think to go dark + fire or aether route, can you expand on the possibilities with the pairing?

Cradle of Divinity (signups always open)

be working on a cs, just a heads up of interest

Arboreal

Super interested

The Curious Sky

After he got a firm hold of the boy, it didn’t take long for their leader to show himself. The streets were strange like that, at first a place of weakling and cornered animals, but at a second glance, you could find strength. The boys would have scattered faster than blink of an eye if he had not trapped one of their own.

The leader postured, setting his back straight and jutting his jaw, arms crossed in rebellion. Larson merely looked down at the boy from under his glasses. Then with a sneer he let the boy go, a show of trust on his behalf. With this the deal was sealed, now all that remained was to listen carefully.

The leader quickly took Larson’s ‘captive’ and hid the boy behind himself. A paltry effort, but admirable in some senses. “Let me hear something good” said Larson, as he palmed a few coins and deftly played them between his fingers. “and these are your’s”

The leader eyed the coins hungrily, Larson could see the two
forces of greed and fear play across the boy’s face. Children were so transparent sometimes. Eventually greed would win out, and with a small gulp the leader would speak.

"Well, y'see, that clock tower over there? There was a flash of light, from the top. Then, we heard the BANG, and the fancy-pants over there bought it." He said.

“Is that so” said Larson, flinging the coins in the boys’ direction. As the children scattered, Larson turned and began to walk away. His fingers were happily drumming on his side, if this intel panned out, Larson would be several steps closer to the identity of the assassin. The clock tower was about a kilometer away from the kill zone. It would take considerable skill to mark a target from that distance. Whoever this player was, he must have been quite expensive.

As Larson was about to make his way to the Clock Tower, he stopped by an Inquisitor. Immediately Larson had a subtle shift in persona, years of training setting in by reflex. He bowed his shoulders and hunched his back, several other small shifts in his demeanor. As he turned around to face the man, Larson looked like a proper clerk, complete with a meek smile, and the hunched over posture of a man who spent far too much time scribbling on paper hunched over a desk.

“Oh, I was merely enquiring if any of those boys had seen my wallet. I seem to have lost it on my way to the tailors. Ha ha, but seeing how absent minded I am at time, it could well be inside my drawer” he said.

The Curious Sky

Tea, brewed with a dash of saffron to , a pinch of cinnamon and thimble of milk to even out the bitterness. For Larson this was the favorite cup. A cup of it one of the few luxuries he allowed himself throughout the day.

Larson was resting in his study, a relatively spartan room with only a simple but sturdy oak table, and chair. As he soaked in the aroma of the tea he continued to contemplate over the state of the city. He was feeling restless, even uneasy. It may be just his usual paranoia, or it could be his instinct warning him of Something. Larson knew that there were storm clouds that were building, tension rising throughout the land. Like the tightening of springs, the big players were all raising the bar of their activities. Soon enough all hell would break loose. Larson merely hoped to be close enough to capitalize on the ensuing storm.

The door behind him creaked open, catching his attention. However he recognized the soft footsteps that followed, it was none other than Miles. The small cherubic man daintily made his way to Larson's side. Dressed in a sombre white shirt and black trousers he melded into the simple spartan style that saturated Larson's private quarters, with its similarly whitewashed unadorned walls.

"Good Afternoon Sir, although it displeases me to disturb at your time of leisure, there is a matter of utmost import I must share with you" said Miles, in his usual soft spoken manner.

Larson sighed, "Of Course Miles, quite all right, tell me what is it" he said, secretly hoping it wasn't yet another bounty plastered onto the condor. These bounty hunters were getting quite annoying. Although he had already taken precautionary measured and laid out several convoluted false trails and dead ends. There were always those that too smart for their own good.

"One of your informants left a note at the usual place, though it wasn't really necessary the news has spread like wildfire... Benji Novak has been assassinated" he said, the weight of the matter at odds with his matter of fact tone.

“ What!” exclaimed Larson “Benji Novak killed?! This is the storm my gut has been feeling all this time, it has to be! Details man, details” he said, his cup of tea long forgotten.

“It seems that he was shot this afternoon, sniper fire, apart from that the details are unclear. I’m afraid the news has distorted somewhat by the time it reached here” said Miles.

“Its there is nothing else to do about, It is time to investigate.” Larson needed to know got this job, there were few who had the stomach to take on the Novak’s. Fewer with such great skill. He also was a tad envious he hadn’t received the job.

“Its time to go to the dressing room, I think, a clerk perhaps” said Larson.

“A fine choice sir, I will have it prepared”

~ Sometime later ~

Larson Walked through the crowd, blending in, this time as a simple clerk perhaps on some daily errand. However making sure to look natural he made his way to the place of crime. From as far as he could tell of the place it was nothing too spectacular.

He surveyed the scene, but there was little information it could offer. If he had the chance to see how the body fell, Larson would have been able to pick out the general heading of the shot. Still there was other things he could do, after all there was always other ways of getting information.

Looking around, he spotted a group of street kids huddled into a corner, the rags they wore told him they lived on the streets. Often invisible to most people it was sometimes surprising how much people let slip around them. Larson knew this from personal experience. A long time ago he had been one of them.

He walked over to them, and grabbed a slight boy by the arm, before all of them had a chance to slink away. “ Now I need some info about what happened here, I’m hoping you know a thing or two. If I like what you tell me, Maybe you’ll leave with copper or three. What do you say boy?” he asked

The Curious Sky

Cleaned up the grammar for and put cs up in the cache, also will be posting tomorrow

The Curious Sky

Name: Larson Valenti,

Age: 27

Height/Weight: 6'1

Appearance:

A lanky, even skeletal man with chocolate skin. Larson generally sports a well-groomed appearance, with short-cropped black hair. His face is unassuming, the kind that is easily forgotten. If one were to look closes the may find his features are perhaps a bit too angular and taut. He usually sports the aloof haughtiness of an aristocrat, however his eyes are always roving and taking measure of his surroundings. It is perhaps his eyes that are his most striking feature, with a rare hazel color, which are usually hidden by a pair of tinted half-moon glasses.

Birthplace: Custos

Profession:

Larson Valenti to most people is the son of some remote unimportant rural baron, with just enough money to be considered an aristocrat. Appropriate to his station, Larson spends a majority of his time doing aristocratic things such as attending parties and flirting with the women of high society.

However, as with many things with Larson Valenti, this is merely a veil. If one were to visit his father’s house one would find an empty shed in the midst of some farmlands. What Larson in reality is and in his own words, an "Information Professional" or in lay terms a spy for hire. One can purchase his services from little teashop called the "The Intrigue", the man in charge for the shop just happens to be a far cousin of Larson's butler Mr. Miles.

The Cavalier Condor, Larson’s street name comes under is beginning to do the rounds. He has a healthy count of deeds and misdeeds to his name involving a variety of activities from the theft and con of fortunes to cracking open one merchant's human trafficking, to the murder of a certain Lord Sarle.

His clientele range from the Aristocracy to rich wives’, and somehow Larson manages to complete most any job that comes his way. Although recently with business brimming, he has had the luxury to become far more selective and particular

Skills/Talents:

Spy craft: One of the best of the lot amongst the orphans trained by Mother Moss, Larson has been taught from the basics to the intricacies of spy craft from early on in his life. Being taught by one if the best in the business has him grow up to be a formidable agent, untraceable, discrete and completely professional.

Funds: Money makes the world go round; perhaps some would say the church. However, Larson himself has stronger faith towards the former. In fact he has made sure to amass a good sum of liquid and frozen assets to help him execute his jobs. He has keen sense towards business and has managed to grow his funds over time, albeit with stolen money.

Longshot: Though he prefers not to engage in such "uncivilized" activities, sometimes the job requires that he do spill blood. Apart from his usual repertoire of poisons, he is also very skilled at marking targets from long distances. This aligns with his policy of being as far away from the "dirt" as possible when it needs to arise.

Association: Freelance

Personality:

Larson displays a veneer of aristocratic refinement, with all its tee totaling, shallow snobbery and general foppery. However he is in fact an orphan, which imparts onto him a certain amount of grit, making him more than likely to climb over a given wall when one confronts him. This kind of pragmatism is sharpened by a healthy dose of pessimism birthed by the hard life of an orphan, which comes out in his tendency to plan with great depth. Larson has a very flexible moral code; he will not bat an eye from stealing a man's fortune or using blackmail to get what he wants. However, discipline and training guide him from doing anything overly impetuous.

He can be a charming young debutant when he needs to be, but behind closed doors, he is a sullen introvert. The kind that prefers to eat alone with only his dog for company. He is by nature a private person, realized by the fact of how little most people know about him. A good trait to have for one in his profession.