Dusk was calm and ever-still as the silence tore through the American state, ripping each borough clean in half. The night seemed still as the cold breeze blew my midnight hair around my porcelain face. My dark clothing created a camouflage against the skyline and the black sky.
Templar activity seemed low; a little too low for my liking. I was expecting the Templars to have at least attacked a group of protesters, not this kind of silence. It just seemed... unnerving. The night was unusually inactive. If it were any other night, I might've been out on the front line by now. I have a feeling the Templars are planning something big.
I must've stirred some questions in your heads, mustn't I? Questions like; Who are you? and Why are you suspicious of the Templars?. I assure you, there is a perfectly logical explanation.
My name is Orial Gravique. I am a master assassin. I was taught the assassin ways my my mother and my father, until they were hanged. This left me with the responsibility of looking after my twin brother, Curt. After that day, I taught Curt all the skills I knew, even more. However, I hadn't been taught the skills I taught Curt. This subsequently lead to me being in the lower ranks, and my brother being at the top.
I was never really a person who cared much about meaningless things. It just wasn't in my nature, to care so much about things that had no value. I guess I realised that an assassin rank didn't really mean that much.
That was until I was equally matched in skill to him. I can't really remember when or why it happened exactly, but somehow I knew that my life was destined to turn out the way it did. It was almost scary, seeing that my life was already written down in history, possibly in the very font you're reading in now.
But wither way, I had managed to make my way from Novice Assassin to Master Assassin within about 4 years. And now, looking back on my escapades with my friends -and accomplice twin brother- I realise that my life wasn't exactly planned out as plain as day, but that I had the ability to change the course of history.
Anyway, dusk was calm and ever-still as the silen...
Wait, I told you all that already, didn't I? Well, I'll start from where I was.
America was peaceful, if only for a moment. It seemed like the Templars are hiding something, and I was determined to find out what.
After a quick scan of the street below, I jumped down from my perching spot, landing with slient feet on the pavement below. The alley I had landed in was littered with drunken men, all either shouting loudly or sleeping. One of them in particular decided to get off his stool and stagger towards me.
"Hey," came the slurred voice. "What's a pretty darlin' like you doing here?"
I was lucky that I had my hood up, otherwise he probably would've noticed me more than he did.
"Charming." I replied and went to step out onto the road.
"I wanna know what your face looks like, my pretty."
"You can imagine what I look like."
"No, I want to see."
I turned slightly and watched as the man came closer towards me. He looked to be about ten years older than me, his breath reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, and his face wasn't the pleasantest of things. He had a scar running through his left eye, and his hair was greasy and unwashed.
I refrained from gagging at the sight of him, and waited until he had staggered almost a meter away from me. He leaned in as if the kiss me, and I gave him a brass-knuckled right hook to the nose.
He recoiled away from me, holding a hand to his shattered nose. I held my hands to the side, almost inviting him to fight me.
And take that invitation he did.
He cane rushing at me with a drunken speed. I took a swift step to the left and grabbed his shirt collar. I drove my knee into his neck and pushed him onto the ground. I placed a foot on his back, and applied more pressure each time he tried to get up. Eventually, I got bored and just kicked him in the temple, knocking him out cold.
"Anybody else?" I asked, surveying their looks of pure fear. Silence filled the air. "Good." I turned and walked out onto the road.
My leather boots clicked on the pavement as I walked. There were crowds of people walking around, most of them innocent bystanders, and the others Templars.
You might be asking yourself how I knew this, because it wasn't like the Templars were walking around with a sign hanging from their necks saying "I'm a Templar. Come and kill me assassins." It was because of the colour of their coats. They were a red crimson, deep and rich, almost like the colour of my over-shoulder cloak.
I musn't've been as eslusive as I thought I was, because the group of Templars saw me and started a fight.
One of the tougher men came at me first, swinging a knife in my direction. I ducked, grabbed his skull and drove my knee into his forehead. I pushed him onto the road and refocused my attention on the other two.
The lanky man came at me, swinging his balled fists at me. I either doged or blocked them, activated my hidden blade and stabbed him in the neck. I felt the air shift around me and turned as the last Templar tried to hit me. I caught her wrist and forced her weapon into her neck.
As the woman fell to her knees, I looked around and walked away.
"Are you really sure, Orial? The Templars could've just been quiet tonight."
"Have any other nights been calm?"
"Not as far as I can remember, no."
I slammed my gloved hand onto the table.
"Then perhaps it means something."
My mentor and boss's golden eyes bore into mine.
"It's a very serious thing, Orial." I tilted my head at him, the candlelight throwing shadows across his scarred lips (No, it's not Altaïr before you b*h in the comment section). "If you're wrong then it could lead to disastrous concequences."
I curled my hand into a fist.
"If I'm wrong, the blood will be on your hands."
