Okay - so there's been a lot of applications coming in - only one has been accepted - and they know who they are. I have to clarify a few things:

They must be realistic - for instance, a Native American would not have left their homeland, let alone travel to Paris from America. Also, France and Britain were at war - an Englishman would not be in Paris. For instance, my character is French. Moreover, not every Assassin can come from Nobility - none of the Nobles wanted the revolution.

The weapons must be within the setting - that means no Roman gladius, no tomahawk - most of the weapons were cutlasses, pistols, hammers, pikes and staffs...

The whole 'morality' thing is whether they would abandon the mission to help people that were, for example, starving - they cannot do both. This is about their mentality: Does the mission matter more than the people in trouble? There's no right or wrong answer.

Merciful or Leave No Witnesses - now, when those of you say "he won't kill someone that's not in his way" - that's good, but what about those that are in his way? For instance, after interrogating someone, would he be like Edward and let them go, or Altair and kill them so as to not risk the Target finding out?

All I'm saying is do a bit of research - I've had to make compromises to make my character to fit into the era a little bit more. So - you can resubmit your characters, tweaking these things about them, but there's only two more slots open - so get them in as soon as you can.

Prologue: The Fall of a King

21 January 1793

The cheering of the crowd echoed through the streets, jeers and blood-thirsty yells reverberated across the rooftops and swept under my hood and into my ears. I flickered my eyes towards the scaffold, occupied by two men in tri-corner hats. A third man stood at the bottom of the scaffold, holding a length of rope in his hands; No doubt they were to bind the former monarch.

The carriage arrived, swept up in a wave of troops, which consisted of the most desperate and hateful citizens of Paris. I noticed a number of drums in front of the horses; Presumably an attempt to drown out any noise or cheers for the King - an unnecessary precaution. No one stood at their windows or their doors - everyone was in the streets, eagerly awaiting the show.

I watched as the man was forcibly dragged from the carriage, with three soldiers moving to strip him of his clothes, only the prisoner shrugged their hands away; beginning to undress himself. I smiled sadly to myself - the Third Estate had revolted because of their abuse, yet here they were, acting as vile as those they fought against.

He was led by the arm to the scaffold, with the crowds maliciously screaming obscenities at the man, who arrived at the foot of the scaffold, and after some dispute, hopelessly agreed to allow his hands to be bound.

He was led up to the top of the scaffold, where he looked out amongst the masses, all of whom called for his blood. He walked along the scaffold by himself, and began to address the crowds in a loud, steady voice.

"I die innocent of all crimes laid to my charge!" He called towards the masses, who had quietened down some since he stepped in the front of the stage. "I pardon those who have occasioned my death!" I may had been standing high upon a building but I was sure his face turned towards my direction, and had I been closer, I would've seen his eyes bore straight into mine. "And I pray to God that the blood you are about to shed may never be visited on France."

I looked down at the figure - his face no longer holding any dread or sadness, but more tranquility. It was known that he had never desired the crown, and had often wished he wasn't king. He opened his mouth to progress with his speech, only to be drowned out as a soldier on horseback gave a signal for the drums, which rattled enough to drown out his words. The men and women he had once governed shouted in demand for his head. The man was thrown towards the guillotine and fitted to the bench.

I remained on the rooftop, watching the most virtuous king France had ever had strapped to the guillotine. In a moment, the guillotine swept down, and the crowd thundered a cheer so loud it could've been heard not just across the country, but even across the channel.

A young soldier held up the twitching face of the man by a handful of his hair, showing him to the crowd as he walked across the scaffold. They rejoiced, their bloodlust sated at the death of not just a king, but also a husband and a father - like them. I crossed my chest and lowered my head.

"Aller à Dieu."