COMING SOON...
ASSASSIN'S CREED: LEGACY.
By Strategy and Steel, the Templar's will Fall- Evie Frye
The stink attacked my nose. London stank, that's all I could say. Grime and muck could be found all over the city. Thick black billowing clouds of crap gusted from the countless factories day and night with no hesitation, like a large pack of dragons had inhabited the city one night and had refused to leave. Children ran about with no parents, living on the streets begging for food or being pulled off to work in the countless child labour factories. The constant smog blackened lungs and blackened hearts, the city was a dreary place to live. Rich people became richer standing on the backs of the poor who sunk further in to poverty. This was a city made on the backs of slaves. A train from somewhere over head roused me from my lacklustre thoughts. Lifting my head I noticed I was approaching a public house from the other side of the road. It was dirty and dark, it was the Cock and Hen. A local favourite for the working men of the Whitechapel area. I blinked as a loud roar of voices erupted from inside, seems someone had just won a large wager on an arm wrestle inside. A man stumbled though the splintered doorway and slumped against it. He wore a blazer of deep red material and a dirty top hat knocked to one side. His uniform had probably once looked quite smart and elegant but now it was near ruin, covered in dirt, dried blood and ale. His face was scruffy with the makings of a beard. The man was obviously too lazy to shave once-in-a-while, his drunken eyes fell on me as I continued to walk passed. I could feel his filthy eyes making their way up my body, it made my skin crawl. My black boots clunked dully on the cobble stoned floor, my black trousers were belted with a fading brown leather belt that had a leather pouch dangling on my left side from a belt loop. It bobbed and lurched with the movement of my hips. I had brown leather moving down the outside of both legs laced with purple that caused perverted men to look my slender legs down then up again- usually with a hungry glint in their eyes. Though my upper body was mostly hidden by a long black and purple hooded trench coat that hung around my calves and swayed just above the filth and crap littering the streets, the leering man could still see my overbust corset built with me in mind, the tailor had added a belt and small short sleeved jacket to the design. Fitted to my purposes, of course. The long white sleeves of my shirt hidden by my coat.
'Oy, oy!' The man cried stumbling forwards a little way. My long deep red hair billowed out behind me in the small flurry of air that I had picked up with the swiftness of my pace. My boots thudded rather than clacked like normal English women as they strutted about in their heels and overly puffy dresses. I wasn't like that. My mother was, but I wasn't. Grandfather had always said I was like my grandmother, she was headstrong and hated frilly dresses too. I revelled in what little I knew about my grandmother. It brought a wistful warmth with it as my thoughts drifted back to my mother who had taken her looks from her father. She had given up on the life I now led, preferring to bask in the life she never had as a young woman and child. Living in the luxury of British aristocracy in Kensington. But not me, I preferred to carry on my late grandfathers' work in the nitty gritty downright dangerous borough of Whitechapel. Deep in the thriving underbelly of Whitechapel itself was a ruthless gang called the Blighters that spread out to reach and terrorise all of London. The Whitechapel Blighters were ruled with an iron fist by a man names Rexford Kaylock. A rather cowardly man if you ask me, he would rather run than stand and fight, and die for his wrongdoings against London and its subjugated people. He had been dubbed as the 'man who can vanish'. Not a good nickname to have in my opinion. I was drawn from my cogitations by the man, who had turned and was following me, rather drunkenly, down the street from the other side, calling out to me and wolf whistling.
'Oy!' He called again, this time through a rather disgusting burp, 'let's me feel yer Bristol's!' He bawled leaning to steady himself against the window of an apothecary. His shout had had gained some rather shocked and disturbed glances in our direction. Lone women hurried on for fear he would on them if they stayed, and women with children covered their little ears and ushered them on with frantic whispers. Men stiffened as I passed them, eyeing the drunk man, probably trying to decide whether they should step in and protect a defenceless young woman such as I from the drunken clutches of a man who had too much ale and beer. Their canes ground into the cobblestone street in their angered turmoil. I kept walking, my eyes trained on an alleyway that was looming closer and closer in the shadow of the shops in lay nestled between. I'd slip down there.
'C'mon luv, come'n drab and grink wiv me?' He called again with a hiccup, 'ey!' I could hear his pace quicken as I ducked into the alleyway, out of the slight warmth of the sun as it attempted to shine through the dreary clouds obscuring it. All in all it was a rather dull and boring sort of day. I flashed him a coy smile just as I turned with a whip of my coat into the alleyway. The alley was smaller than most, there was just enough room for me to walk properly through the walkway. The alley was loose cobblestones on mud with a little bit of grass poking through where it could. The putrid smell of vomit, piss and all over horribleness lingered in the small space. A large hand caught my wrist and tugged me back with great force, I was hauled backwards and smacked my head against the outer wall of a general store on the other side of the alleyway. I bit back a hiss of pain as I felt a small wound open and the soft trickle of blood through my hair. Great. The drunkard had caught up with me, pressing me against the wall with one hand on the wall by my head and the other keeping a firm grip on my wrist. I could clearly see he didn't think much of personal hygiene. I could count the gaps he had in his teeth, and the teeth he did still have were yellowed and black with rot. A horrid, rancid smell was hazing from his mouth, as if he had never brushed a day in his life. It took all of my might not to shield my nose with my free hand. He leered at me with a sickening expression that clearly told me what he intended to do with me.
'Ex-excuse me?' I squeaked in a voice that definitely didn't suit me, 'but are you Shelton Creakle?' I asked sweetly fluttering my eyes for extra measure. His face twitched with surprise but a wide sneering grin pulled its way across his unshaven face, pleased to have been recognised.
'Yeah,' he slurred, god I hate men, I thought internally rolling my eyes, 'I am.' I could feel his hot, sticky, dirty breath coming from his nose as he leaned over me.
'Good!' I exclaimed gritting my teeth as I slammed a hidden blade into his stomach. He sputtered and stepped away, dazed and confused and blood began pouring from his mouth staining his chin red. His shaky hands went to his stomach where they too became covered in blood. He looked to his hands and then at me disbelievingly.
'Your-you're an Assassin?' He croaked, what little life he had left was beginning to seep from his murky watery eyes.
'Yes.' I replied shortly, 'I have come to put a stop to you Mr Creakle. You are Mr Kaylock's head of distribution. Everything exported and imported goes passed you, correct?' I asked without waiting for him to answer, 'I have now severed Rexford Kaylock's link to the material that is needed for the people to take back their city from you Templar's.'
'You…' he rasped shifting his legs heavily, 'you are delusional.' He gave one last gurgling breath before he crumpled at my feet.
'And you…are dead.'
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