Hey, I haven't written anything on here in a long, long, long time. That doesn't mean I haven't been writing, though.
I recently tried this game. I absolutely love it. I was thinking about it while I was driving (my most creative time), and this idea started to form in bits and pieces. There was no getting away from it. It had to be written. So here it is, the lovechild of my own mind, a bit of Shakespearian influence, and Assassin's creed 2. Enjoy! Oh, and for all of you people hoping for Yaio, you will be disappointed. There, I said it.
On a related note, I guarantee the story will still be, shall we say, interesting?
Italy, Florence. The sun for which the country is famous beats down upon the streets. The narrow walkways are teeming with people, going about their daily lives. Happy, chatting, quarreling and gossiping, oblivious. Guards, baking in their various armored uniforms, examine a new corpse.
"What do you think, Sebasino? Is it another?" A lightly armored man asks, turning the head of the corpse to reveal a gaping neck wound.
"About that, I think there is no doubt." One who could only be Sebasino replies tersely, shaking his helmeted head. What Sebasino lacks in muscle mass, he more than makes up for in agility, and intelligence. Lacking official investigators, this individual represented the closest thing to a detective Florence could boast of. Sebasino had replaced his father on the guard after the man's death, appearing out of nowhere, it seemed. No one had known of Gregorio's son. The boy had proved himself more than capable; however, identifying and capturing thieves and murderers long after others had given up.
Few knew his true age, but one thing was certain; he was not long into manhood. His voice and build alone were evidence of that.
"If it is the same killer, that makes twenty-two murders that we know of, just this week alone." A third adds. "And most are guards, or witnesses to crimes."
"There is a pattern, this much is obvious. He uses the rooftops, the streets, the waterway, and always he is a step ahead. We must know his thoughts, to put an end to him. We must think. What breaks the pattern?" Sebasino says, more to himself than the others.
"There was the man at the art showing, he was neither guard nor witness." The first guard says slowly.
"That one made sense in another way, though, if you consider what we have found out. Few disagree as to the identity of our killer. The murdered man proclaimed our assassin's family guilty of treason. The question then becomes; why is he still killing?" Sebasino responds. His face is troubled, deep in thought. A muffled shout is heard above and down the street, followed by a dull 'wumph'.
All three guards leap up, running in the direction of the sound. In the street lay a new body, an archer, the wounds still bleeding fresh. While the other two stared blankly at the corpse, Sebasino looked up, at just the right moment. A man in white distinctly leaped overhead. The chase was on.
Rather than yelling, which would have alerted the man he chased, he quietly climbed a ladder to the roof. His target was running swiftly, leaping between buildings and racing across narrow ropes. Sebasino followed at a distance, watching grimly as Ezio is spotted by a roof guard. The guard is pulled into a tight embrace, and released. Slowly, he collapses. Slowly, the man falls from the roof. Sebasino said a quiet prayer for the family of the dead man, as he continues his pursuit of the killer. At last, the white cowl drops to street level again. Sebasino races to catch up, nearly falling more than once. He curses, certain that he would lose his quarry. At the edge of a roof, he looks down. There, sticking out like a big white thumb, he spots Ezio slowly walking among a group of monks right past four guards standing on high alert, all looking at a sign with a picture of the killer's face. The guards wave at the passing monks. Idiots.
Sebasino climbs down from the building, and starts a slow motion pursuit of his target. He uses the same tactics, walking with groups of people, staying out of direct line of sight. Ezio leaves his monks abruptly, turning down a narrow side street. Sebasino comes to that same street, and slows to a halt. A dead end, and there is no one there. Damn, he must have taken to the rooftops again. A tiny voice in Sebasino's head shouted 'what are you doing? You can follow him all day, but if you catch him, it is you who will be sorry!'
'I'm studying him, his patterns, I'm finding where he sleeps, who he knows.' He argued back silently.
While in thought, Sebasino had walked further down the dead end street.
Suddenly, he froze, his heart beating frantically in his chest, a sentiment of impending doom sending shocks to the very tips of his fingers. His hand reached for his sword, but never made it. A weight shoved him sideways, twisting him at the same time. His helm was wrenched off. The side of his face hit the wall first, momentarily stunning him. The cold steel that chilled his throat brought him back to his senses. He was pressed helplessly to the stone, a knee in his back, and an arm holding his shoulders.
"You are following me. Why?" Ezio asked in a tone that left no doubt what would happen, if the answer was the wrong one.
"To protect the city." Sebasino responded as best he could, as he tried to move his throat as little as possible.
"I don't believe you. These men who guard Florence, they are easily fooled, easily lost. Who sent you?"
"I am telling the truth, no one sent me, there is nothing else I can say." Sebasino bit his lip, a tear running down his cheek. His black hair was coming free of the tight bonds that held it in his helm, falling across his beardless face. Sebasino was certain of one thing. He was going to die, just like the others.
He felt a tug at his waist, as his sword was pulled free of its scabbard. 'So he will kill me with my own sword?' Sebasino thought.
Suddenly, the weight holding him in place vanished. Common sense insisted that he stay where he was, but his own curiosity trumped common sense. He spun around, just in time to catch a last glimpse of a boot slipping out of sight overhead. Shaken and unarmed, Sebasino set out to make his report, and go home.
"What a nightmare." Sebasino muttered to himself, as he swung through his own bedroom window. He'd had to explain to his superiors how his sword had been lost, which led to a confession involving being completely overpowered by the most wanted criminal in the city, mockery by his peers for his lack of strength, so on and so forth.
Slowly, Sebasino removed the hair pins, allowing long, straight black hair to drop past the shoulders. Armor plating was easier to slide out of than unclip, particular because it was oversized on the body. A chest was pulled from under the bed, and into it went every piece of armor and uniform. The cool evening breeze from the open window caressed the skin, raising goosebumps. A sharp knock at the bedroom door interrupted the serene moment.
"Violia! Have you been in there reading all day long? Its time you came down to eat something!" Violia looked at her reflection in an expensive glass mirror. There was no hiding the bruises. Frantically she applied makeup, but the dark purple just seemed to spread.
"I'll be right down! I was out earlier, though, you shouldn't worry yourself so!"She shouted. It was her mother in law on the other side of the door, a noble and a very assertive woman. Carmilla was her name.
"If you are not present at the table in ten minutes, I will send my son to get you. This is promise!"
Violia hastily plucked a random dress from her closet and yanked it over her head, back to front. She twisted it around, and with astonishing flexibility laced it together. Not the one she would normally have chosen; her breasts were barely half covered. One of the many gifts from her new husband. The marriage had been one of necessity; she would have been hard pressed to avoid the brothels otherwise. The death of her father had forced her hand. She looked once more into the mirror. Her face and shoulder were visibly blue and black. She sighed. How could she possibly explain this?
Resigned, she opened the door, to find her husband standing on the other side, one hand raised to knock. He took one look at her and froze. His countenance took on a look of outrage.
"Who has done this to you, my love? When I find the man responsible for damaging my precious flower…"
Violia had a moment's amusement picturing Romano trying to fight Ezio.
"It was no one, just a horse, and a wall. It escaped it's handlers, and hit me a glancing blow. I was in the market, buying new paper, you know, for my writing."
"ah, yes, yes. One of these days, you will have to show me what you spend so much time working at alone up there. But for now you come, mother insists. We will go to the doctor first thing tomorrow for your poor face." Romano gently pulled her arm, urging her downstairs. He really wasn't a bad man, he was sweet, actually. She truly wished she could love him. She braced herself to endure another dinner, with god know which official. She always wore her helm when she was "out" just in case dearest mummy invited any of the watch to dine. Today it was some important rich man. He wore a curious cross, so she could only assume he was religious.
"Ah, yes, I was leaving for Venice in the morning. Of course, though lovely, Venice is not Florence. One cannot escape the smell of the canals."
Viola sighed deeply, and dove into the heaving, writhing battle that was politics.
There, did you enjoy? R&R, please, I'd love some feedback. There will be future chapters. Soon.