Assassin's Creed:
Alliance
DATE: June 20th, 1805
LOCATION: Paris, France
The man stepped off the boat and onto the pier along the banks of France's Seine river. He cautiously studied every detail of his surroundings from out of the peak of his hood. People went about their business, barely noticing the stranger who just landed.
He slowly made his way through the cramped and cobbled street, as he passed a break in the endless wall of buildings, the man caught a glimpse of Notre-Dame de Paris, or what he had heard it referred to as. Crossing the bridge onto Ile de la Cite, he was stopped by a man in a blue overcoat and white trousers and socks. The man assumed him to be a member of Paris' police force, he had a long worn musket slung across his shoulder.
"Where are you off too, inconnu? (stranger?)"
The man lifted his gaze to stare at the taller guard. "My business is my business." he said coldly.
The guard stepped a foot closer. "You business is my business, so what are you doing here?"
The man's hands moved about beneath the folds of his cloak. "My business is not for that of fools." he replied.
The man's arm lashed out with a small but broad steel axe. He slashed it across the guard's face, with a spurt of dark blood, the guard collapsed to the ground. As he fell, he grabbed for the man's hood, tearing it off he revealed the dark face of an aging Native from America.
Ratonhnhaké ton kicked the guard, relinquishing his grip on his hood, then he calmly pulled it back over his head. Stepping over the body, Ratonhnhaké ton moved along as if nothing had happened.
He watched as he walked, the French were recovering from a Revolution. Ratonhnhaké ton knew what that was like, although he held no regrets for what he did during the conflict, he couldn't help but still be plagued by horrific nightmares.
He soon reached the old Cafe Theatre, a staging ground and haven for Assassins in Paris. He posed as a man stopping for a drink and entertainment, but in reality, he was on the lookout for a very specific man.
Calmly, he entered the Cafe Theatre. It's lighthearted atmosphere was nothing like back across the Atlantic. Men of all kinds stumbled about from their numerous drinks, women of ill repute strolled around, many of whom flashed him seductive looks, Ratonhnhaké ton kept his composure, lust was never a problem while on mission.
A man; whom unlike many others was entirely sober, marched right up to the table where Ratonhnhaké ton was sitting.
"Not many of your kind come in here anymore, mon ami. (my friend.)"
Ratonhnhaké ton took a sip from a stray cup sitting on the table, he didn't know what was in it, but with a cringe, he splashed it on the wooden floor.
The man laughed. "Vodka kicks everybody's ass. Huh?" he said.
Ratonhnhaké ton grinned but didn't speak.
"So," the man began. "what's your business in Paris, monsieur? (sir?)"
Ratonhnhaké ton pulled a rough piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on the table. "You knew who I was, do you know this man?"
The man studied the paper, then smiled. "Oui, I know him. What of it?"
"Some specific people want this man delivered to them, I am here to do so."
"Ah, chasseur de primes. (bounty hunter.)"
"Not entirely."
The man sighed. "Well, I know of a residence by the monsieur, but he hasn't been here for many months."
Ratonhnhaké ton stood up. "Merci. (Thank you.) I will find him on my own."
The man held out his arms. "The Cafe Theatre is open to all Assassins."
Ratonhnhaké ton left the building with the piece of paper, he studied the rough sketched face again for possibly the thousandth time.
"I will find you." Ratonhnhaké ton said to himself.
Upon the paper was the resemblance of the former Assassin known only as Arno Victor Dorian.