Part One:
Revival
Thomas sat in the main classroom of his orphanage. He was reading the letter he had just received from his wife. It was sent March 23, 1868. He looked to his watch every once in a while to make sure it wasn't nine o'clock yet. He would watch the black students study diligently. Then all of a sudden he heard his dog barking, which was followed by a gunshot, then silence. He grabbed his six-shooter, hidden blade, and the famous tomahawk that once belonged to his, great, great grandfather Conner. He opened the escape hatch and ordered the students into it. Just as the words escaped his mouth a white-robed man broke down the door. Thomas within seconds shot him in the head. But before the body hit the ground he saw a black templar cross on the chain around his neck. The last of the kids was in when he heard the glass upstairs shatter. Within seconds of the noise the entire building was on fire. He grabbed anything that would tie him with the assassin brotherhood.
Once he was safely in the tunnel with his students, he lit a nearby torch and led them through the tunnel. He picked up the youngest that was only about seven. After walking for two hours they came to a large stone chamber each with tunnels to different areas of the city of Richmond, and a large main tunnel well lit with torches, with the symbol of the assassin order, they entered the main tunnel. Within five minutes they arrived at a huge complex with an eating area, training, and sleeping area.
Some of the children shrieked when they saw all of the white robed people, but were calmed by Thomas. One approached them and took the child of his hands then things started getting blurry as he realized he was bleeding. He looked at his bloodied hand and all went black. When he finally woke up he was told it was the 25 of March. Thomas was a well built white male, in his mid-thirties. He walked into his old closet, and opened it up. Inside were his robes and armor, which he quickly put on. It was much like Conner's white and blue, except it had the decoration of that of a Master Assassin, with a bit of fur and side-cape. He found his Spencer repeating rifle, bowie knives, blowgun, hidden blades, and the tomahawk.
He walked into the council room that was well lit and surrounded with marble. This place always impressed him. Waiting there were several men dressed like him, and a woman.
"Maria," Thomas shouted across the room to her. When she turned and saw him, they bolted for each other. They held each other for a few moments as she wept. After that she went to go stay with the children.
"Well have you decided to come back?" asked one the men to Thomas.
"Until we have destroyed this templar plot, John," Thomas said back.
"Well you can start by striking some fear, and recruiting some more assassins," another man said. Annoyed at the speed at which he was being sent out he said nothing, but did what they requested.
Thomas sat on a church tower roof, watching the sun go down while also monitoring the streets and pubs around him. Judging by the position of the sun he assumed it was eight o'clock, he had lost his watch in the fire. Within minutes of it becoming dark a small group of white men stood outside the pub. Thomas pulled the gun over his shoulder and getting it ready. And almost as if on cue two black men walk out talking and laughing. Thomas saw one of the white men pull out something shiny. He cocked his rifle, the second he recognized the movements of the white men as that of a lynch group, a bullet entered the chest of one of the white man. He fell and dropped the bowie knife and clutched his chest. The two black men realizing what was going on got into defensive position. Thomas dived into a hay cart, got out and drew his tomahawk and six-shooter. With that all the white men pulled out there knives and hatchets.
"Come on men eleven gainst' three those are some mighty good odds," one of the white men shouted to his fellow vigilantes. Tired of the shouting and taunting, Thomas aimed and shot the leader in two seconds flat. As he dropped to the ground, the jaws of the white men dropped. Thomas threw his pistol and rifle to the black men, and charged in with the tomahawk in hand. The battle that ensued was short and quick, as bullets and the tomahawk ripped through skin and clothing. Afterwards only three triumphant men stood and twelve dead.
"Thank you for saving us sir," one of the black men said to Thomas.
"It was nothing, but you can join me and help protect others from falling to this racial hatred," Thomas said to the two.
"Consider us in," they responded in unison.