Roofs were an Assassin's natural habitat. And having toured the perimeter of the monastery looking for his mark, it was upon the roof of this monastery the Assassin would commence stage two of his search: the open air courts made much of inner monastery visible from the outside. With the help of special talent, he should be able to identify his enemy quickly.
A hooded man looking down upon the denizens from the roof would be a bit too conspicuous, so he was going to park himself behind a chimney and lean out to look upon the occupants below. If he could identify the target, he would leap down upon him and try to get some answers out of him before killing him.
The nearest chimney was close.
He got behind the brick structure, leaned out. He let his mind go blank as he entered into his special state.
But none of the wearers the black robes below bore the aura of the enemy. And disengaging, he could not even spot any bald heads.
So the Assassin began treading in the direction of the next courtyard, feet clicking against the tiles. There was a chimney there as well that he would hide behind.
If he did not find his target this then, he decided he would climb back down, waltz into the building and search obtrusively, however much suspicion and notoriety that would arouse; If the traitor was not in the monastery, he never needed to come back, so it mattered little. The only reason he was being discreet right now was to ensure the target would not run and hide.
He got behind the second chimney and leaned out.
He saw a hairless head below, that was promising. He let his mind go, and the man indeed bore the aura of an enemy.
Excellent, he must have been the other. Target two, not even the one he had come here for, was already within his grasp.
The enemy monk within pouncing distance, raw and vulnerable and opened. How long this would remain true was unclear, so that is what the Assassin immediately moved to take advantage.
He ran out from his concealment with tiger blood and iron focus.
He launched himself from the roof, soaring through the air towards his unaware target, white robes flapping like angel's wings.
The poor soul would be badly damaged by landing, but he should still survive. At least initially.
Time for the impact.
He landed, the old man providing a cushion as he collapsed beneath the aerial predator. He felt his old ribs and nose break beneath him, to which he cried out into the tile floor, as the other monks yelped in shock.
But Ezio had nothing to fear from a bunch of unarmed pacifists, so he ignored them and flipped the elder monk over, nose dripping blood.
"Where is Jacopo de'Pazzi!" Ezio demanded from his crushed foe.
"You...from the Duomo," the old man remarked in a raspy and detached tone.
"Did you really you think we would not find you here?"
"I knew my days were numbered. I do not fear death, Assassin. It is simply a sin to not delay its embrace. I carried out my duty to God."
His duty to God to murder for heathens! "How can you be so sure?" the Assassin countered hotly.
"It was an angel who ordered me to take the side of the Pazzi, to defect from Lorenzo."
"An angel?" The Assassin recoiled inside. Both of them? Was there-
"Yes. Michele. The Medici shelter those who trespass upon God's earth. We were to unclench the Medici hand from Florence."
Michele. Even the same name. This was surreal and unsettling. The boy felt the walls of his comfortable reality melting upon him, burned away by disturbing questions.
"Why!? Who were these 'tresspassers'?" Ezio demanded, shaking the monk's collar. But the old man's expression remained as detached as his voice.
"Those who cannot bend to the will of God. Those of polluted blood. Those who took humanity from its eden."
"You make no sense!" Ezio countered angrily, his own insecurity bleeding through.
"You were warriors of great renown, but enemies of God. And I see you have remained both, in full vigor...I sense my time is...passed..."
And those were his last words, glassy eyes freezing.
Two people, telling nearly identical stories. The first he had dismissed as madness without further thought. But to see another proclaiming to be met by the same angel...could God really be on the side of these murderers...against them?
No, this had to be an elaborate Templar roost. A charlatan in costume playing parlor tricks on fools.
Or at least that was what he badly wanted to believe.
He closed his targets eyes, this time with a trepidation that the almighty himself was watching. "Chi non punisce il male comanda che si faccia. Requiescat in pace."
Then the Assassin stood and looked around. The other monks were observing, stunned. It was tactically optimal they were men of peace. With an expression serious and stride of swagger, Ezio went for the exit. But there was a new fear and confusion in his heart.
It had to be a roost. He could not waiver. Francesco Salviati was waiting to be brought to justice, and the longer the Assassin delayed, the more likely he was to evade or stack his defenses. The Villa Salviati, his original priority, had to reclaim its stage in his mind.
