Chapter Four: High Seas Adventures
A/N: Don't worry, this is the last chapter where they spend the entire time on a boat.
And okay, so our favorite assassin is actually 6' tall, pretty much a foot taller than Oceanus is. Blame my crappy depth perception.
"Just use a fireball on it." Oceanus said.
"Have you no sense of artistry? That would be pointless and not a very good show." Zahara replied, tapping the railing idly.
Oceanus snorted. "Who cares? That thing is attempting to eat your ship with the appetite of a landshark. Just kill it and be done with the entire issue."
Zahara gave him a knowing look. Neither of his parents had been impatient, exactly, but Sinya had always advocated certain kinds of painful death to anyone who annoyed him sufficiently. It was almost comforting to know that at least one of his father's worse traits had been passed on—maybe he had avoided the rest of what made Sinya such a terror to be around. Impatience she could deal with. Cold detachment from the rest of the world and a callous attitude toward everything that didn't qualify as "mine" was a little less tolerable. Half of those had been advantages, too, but not in a time of peace.
"I cannot use lightning here." Oceanus said flatly. "Lightning catches. I would rather not set your boat on fire and if I did manage to hit the water without it arcing back in my face, the sparks would not be able to reach the kraken without spreading to the ship and blasting everyone anyway. No."
Zahara waved a hand dismissively. "Your mother—"
"My mother is not here, Lady Zahara." Oceanus almost snapped. "She would use a huge water elemental to beat it to death, as you always seem so keen to tell me. I know that, but I never practiced summoning, and I have no intention to start while the kraken is trying to kill us."
"And, as a priest and a sorcerer but not a necromancer, you have no skill with the more subtle, deadly spells." Zahara finished. "Well then, the simplest option is any number of druid spells…oh, you never studied those, either."
"No."
"And you never made an attempt to learn water-based spells such as the one for horrid wilting—the one that mummifies any opponent with bodily fluids of any sort?"
"No, never."
"And you never learned to control a magic missile spell tightly enough that it stays under your control."
"No."
Zahara threw her hands up in frustration. "What in the Nine Hells did you enter a wizard guild for, then? You clearly never learned anything useful from it."
"I wanted to see what it was like," Oceanus deadpanned. "And Alena was being forced to attend an academy for priestesses next door, while Keras went somewhere else to seek his fortune. None of the ideas worked out after the guild exploded, but you certainly could not say we failed to try."
"I would still like to know how you managed to escape the balor alive." Zahara said. "Or, indeed, why a balor was involved at all. As far as I can remember, summoning demon lords for any reason has been banned by every guild in Faerûn."
"People tell me that, but no one ever seems to obey rules like that. And, no, I am not going to attempt to invoke a higher power to kill a fifty-foot-long talking squid."
Zahara looked down at it. "Speaking of which, why is it keeping its mouth shut except to eat away at the hull?"
"I have no idea. I also have no idea how to speak Aquan, so diplomacy with a tentacle-laden monstrosity is up to you. If this conversation is over, I will be preparing to freeze it solid." Oceanus said flatly.
"What, no explosions?"
"No."
That was about when Oceanus noticed the squid grabbing the assassin he'd been traveling with and dragging him overboard.
Twenty seconds previous...
Nahuatl had been born in the warm southern waters a long way from the Sword Coast, deep in the yawning abyss where no light ever disturbed the murky depths. She remembered the air-filled caverns where only fungus would distinguish the walls from the floor, where the slaves dwelled. She had collected their ancestors in the years after she hatched, and she had quite liked being fawned over by the entranced creatures. The more they focused on her, the less likely it was that any of them would try to find the hidden air tunnels. It would be incredibly inconvenient if any of them escaped.
But over the years, a few had died or gotten too frail to work. Now that half a century had passed, she needed to find more servants. The most recent ones had been born with strange defects that made them worthless, so she had drowned them and started looking for another option.
She had heard that her ancestors collected their slaves from ships when there were no islanders willing to sacrifice anyone to her, so off Nahuatl had went. It had been a long journey and she had barely avoided the terrible bronze dragons that guarded the shallow-water reefs, but she had made it safely to the Sword Coast without losing any of her prized tentacles. The water was very warm and uncomfortable; as soon as she could, she would have to make her way back to her cool, dark grotto.
And she had happened upon a ship by following the fishhooks, like her ancestors had always done before her. Observing the humans on board, she found that they would do. There were many brown-skinned humans on board—not all healthy, of course, but the male in white seemed strong enough. If she had enough patience, he would make good breeding stock. The little pale female with green eyes was too small and frail, but there was a female in red that seemed to suit Nahuatl's needs. She only needed enough humans to restart her slaves' breeding pool—the rest could easily be food.
Still, she didn't like the way the little female and the one in red were talking about spells right over her head, even as she punched a hole in the wooden hull with her huge black beak. It was supposed to make the humans panic, but those two refused to pay the swaying deck any attention. The male in white watched her like some foreign bird, though, and Nahuatl made a note to herself: entrance this one first, once she had returned to her cooler, more pleasant underwater home. He could be trouble.
Nahuatl made her move.
Altaïr had never encountered squid outside of a market stall before, but he was rapidly becoming convinced that the only good squid was a dead one. The beast's blue-and-yellow tentacles curled tightly around his waist and Altaïr, trying to figure out whether to gasp in pain or surprise, blew out a stream of bubbles into the water. The only positive aspect of this entire situation was the fact that the squid wasn't going to rip him in half, but even that was mitigated somewhat—Altaïr's second-worst fear, after getting someone he cared about killed again, was death by drowning. It was too slow.
One of the smaller tentacles wrapped around his left arm, rendering it useless and worse, bleeding, as the suckers cut into him. Altaïr bit back a scream and concentrated on pulling his curved sword free of its scabbard. The hidden blade would be much better for this—
He'd never heard a squid scream before, but apparently driving a foot of steel through a tentacle worked well in triggering one. The monster recoiled and shrieked with a voice that would rock the foundations of a stone fortress. There were three downsides to this: one, Altaïr was jerked around in the water so violently that all remaining air left his lungs; two, the thrashing tentacle had taken his shorter blade with it and there was no way for him to get his shorter blade out; and three, he noticed that several other people had been pulled underwater with him, including a sailor who seemed to be missing a head. Altaïr would have looked away, but his vision was rapidly fading anyway.
There was a burst of bubbles in his face, and then suddenly Altaïr was staring into a gaping, yawning, beaked abyss ringed by twenty rows of circular death: black as pitch, snapping, slavering like a monstrous dog. If he had any air left to spare, he would have screamed.
Fear gave him strength. Altaïr tore his left arm free, ignoring the pain, and stabbed his hidden blade into the side of one of the suckers attached to his belt, digging the narrow steel under the beast's flesh and prying the tentacle apart. The beast's grip loosened.
The kraken roared, and the tentacle dragged him toward the deadly beak. Dragged him toward death.
There was a flash of bluish-white light and a sudden noise like bone snapping, and Altaïr found himself free of the kraken's grip but too tired, too close to drowning to care. Small hands gripped his shoulders and though the world was becoming hazy and dark, he could see Oceanus's bright green eyes blaze through the gloom. The priest didn't seem bothered by being underwater, but Altaïr couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.
Though his mind was hazy and the priest's voice was garbled by bubbles, Altaïr still heard Oceanus say something, even if he didn't know what.
The next thing Altaïr knew, he was on the surface, on his hands and knees, trying to cough water out of his lungs and regain his strength. The white-robed assassin didn't realize the logical problem with this until he could see clearly again, and then discovered that he hadn't actually managed to make it back to the ship. He really, really hadn't.
He—Altaïr ibn La-Ahad, certainly not descended from Jesus of Nazareth as far as he knew—was standing on the surface of the ocean. He froze, caught between horror and stunned disbelief. This is not happening. This is impossible!
The moment of religious crisis was cut short when he heard Zahara shout from far away, "Run, you hooded fool! The kraken will surface soon!"
Altaïr only had to look down to confirm this, and seeing the beast approaching from below so quickly was enough to trigger the warrior instincts he had honed all his life. He drew his short blade before throwing himself to the side, as hard as he could. And anyway, he had always been the fastest assassin of his rank. Escaping a water-bound monster, after the grand chases with the guards of Jerusalem? Anything was easy in comparison. He was fairly certain that this didn't involve one sardonic rafik waiting at the other end of this chase to verbally flay him.
He was ready to kill it on his terms.
The ghastly, alien beast exploded upward, throwing its bulk fully ten feet in the air and, landing with a loud smack on the water's surface, showered Altaïr with seawater and brine. Its tentacles slammed the water menacingly before withdrawing.
As it sank, Oceanus bobbed up next to him, treading water. He spat out seawater in a little fountain and then, glancing back at where the kraken had been, said tiredly, "We should go back to the ship."
Altaïr looked down. The priest's scarf was gone and there was nothing to hide his face or his hair now. Altaïr was starting to realize why they had been a secret, even aside from the fact that Oceanus was the most feminine-looking young man he had ever met. After a moment, the assassin said incredulously, "Your hair is white."
"Really? I would never have guessed." Oceanus snapped. He flipped onto his stomach and began to swim strongly back toward the ship, cutting through the waves.
Shaking his head, Altaïr decided to save the question for later. He still wanted to know how in Allah's name the priest could keep up with him when he was moving at a jog and Oceanus was still waterlogged.
"It is a little,"—stroke—"odd,"—stroke—"I know." Oceanus turned over and Altaïr watched him switch from butterfly to backstroke. He kicked almost idly and the assassin tried not to think about the fact that he was jumping over small waves every time he took a step forward on the water. "Odd" did not begin to cover it. The words "blasphemous" and "insanity" kept coming to mind.
"This entire world is strange." Altaïr muttered, watching the badly-battered Rusty Iron Maiden float toward them. "Putting aside your unusual hair color, how is it that you can swim in the open ocean?"
"I grew up by the sea, remember?" Oceanus said, almost bored. "The first spell I learned to cast permanently was one for breathing water as though it were air, besides."
So his guide in this world was part fish. Wonderful. Instead, he said, "Your achievements must be the envy of the other priests of your order."
"Not in so many words." Oceanus said. "Or not at all." He paused, just stopping to float on his back. "That damnable squid is right below us, correct?"
"Yes."
"Why are you still here?"
"Unfortunately," the assassin said with disturbing calm, "it still has my sword."
With that, Oceanus twisted in the water and dove, while Altaïr stalked out of the kraken's path. It surfaced like a vengeful god, and yet managed to miss him completely. One tentacle, still impaled by Altaïr's sword, slapped the water hard enough to cause a minor tidal wave that nearly threw the assassin off his feet. Despite everything, though, the idea still struck Altaïr as fundamentally absurd. Losing his balance. On top of the waves. Malik was going to laugh for ages about this if Altaïr ever got back to tell him about it.
Then Altaïr got back to his feet and tore the tip of one tentacle off with his short blade, causing the one curling around his boot to retreat abruptly.
"They can be rather stupid in the open air." Altaïr nearly jumped at the sound of that playful voice so close. He turned and found that, somehow, Zahara had managed to sneak up behind him. She was also standing on the water. Did everyone know how to use this spell?
"How—?" Altaïr began, but Zahara just smiled mysteriously, her lips sealed.
"Still handsome without the hood, I see." She waved a hand. "At this moment, Oceanus is fighting underwater and cutting the kraken to pieces from below." Altaïr had the feeling that this was the closest to an explanation he was going to get. "And now that I have finally managed to get that water-walking spell to work, we can end this." There was a flourish of pink silk and the assassin saw a silver-banded ruby ring flash on her left hand. The only reason he noticed it at all was because every other piece of jewelry she wore was set in gold.
"Sorceress, how powerful is your magic?" Altaïr ground out after a moment. He hated being kept in the dark.
"Very powerful indeed," Zahara said cheerfully. "Now, that squid just needs to come up for a moment…"
There was another flash of blue light from below the waves. The kraken screamed so loudly that both of them could feel the sound in their bones and thrashed as if dying, then surged up toward them. Altaïr immediately retreated thirty feet to the left and made it out of range just before it burst free of the sea.
"Got you, you slimy tentacled bitch." Altaïr heard Zahara snarl, right before she took a deep breath and, twisting the ring on her finger, blew out a stream of reddish-orange fire so intense that the assassin could feel his clothes steaming. He retreated still further back as the blast caught the kraken on its descent, and just kept coming.
Well, after everything else he'd seen, this was almost mundane. At least he had seen fire-breathing performers before. As far as he could tell, this was just the magical version. Zahara waved the ring-laden hand again. The fire changed color from red to blue-white and the heat became unbearable even at a distance. He couldn't even look at it.
After a long moment, Zahara's flame died down. To be honest, Altaïr wasn't sure that the kraken was even still in one piece. Its formerly-blue and yellow flesh was blackened and collapsed when he tapped it with his short sword, and its eyes seemed to have shriveled in their huge sockets. And then, when he finally managed to find his sword among the ashes and crumbling monster parts, it was too hot to touch, which meant that he dropped it. Oh, damn it. He swore a few more times before turning to go back to the ship short one weapon.
"I assume this is yours?" Oceanus said from somewhere by his feet.
The assassin looked down and the priest handed him his eagle-pommel blade, then resumed swimming toward the ship.
"Where were you?" Altaïr asked, giving his sword a sharp flick to get most of the water off. The salt would stay, though, and everyone knew seawater was a killer on metal. He needed to find a whetstone and polish, fast.
"Hiding. No kraken is anything compared to Zahara's flame spells." Oceanus said.
"I heard that." Zahara said from some distance away, apparently adjusting her rings again. "I do not regret killing the beast that took my sailors and several of my passengers. Though it is a pity that the beast is too terribly burned to be worth eating. We need more food."
Oceanus gagged. "You are disgusting."
"Says the priest who routinely eats raw fish." Zahara replied, crinkling her nose.
Altaïr ignored them both and continued walking toward the ship.
Until the spell on him failed, anyway.
That night was a quiet one. No one felt much like celebrating their victory over the beast after the final toll had been identified. Seven people had died in the attack, all in all—five of the Calishite passengers and two crewmen. All but one of them had drowned, either from being held underwater by the kraken or being trapped in the hold. The last had been ripped in half.
Altaïr leaned on the railing next to the little girl from before—whose name was apparently Tahirah—as Zahara and Oceanus lowered little candles in wooden boats into the now-calm ocean. Soon the sea was sparkling with seven little dots of orange light bobbing in the waves. Altaïr thought cynically that they wouldn't last an hour—there was a storm on the horizon.
Oceanus climbed up the rope dangling from the side of the ship and dropped unceremoniously onto the deck with a squelching noise. Altaïr watched silently as the priest tugged off a boot and emptied what seemed like half the sea from it.
The priest sighed, then looked over at the assassin and said, "You should go find another set of clothes. If you sleep in those, you might catch something."
Altaïr looked down—his robes were completely soaked and he was chilled to the bone, but he'd die before he complained about it. He'd had worse. It was nothing compared to the time he'd been caught in a snowstorm while on a mission in the mountains. "And you?"
"Never mind about me." Oceanus said, taking off his scarf and wringing it out. "A little water will never be the death of me."
"But I might be if you both still try to avoid obeying common sense for the sake of pride." Both of them looked up and saw Zahara walking toward them. She held a small glowing orb in her hand, and from the light it gave off they could see her stern expression. "There are extra clothes in the cabin. And if you insist on wearing only what you have—" here she gave Oceanus a sharp look, "—Ash is finished helping the men block the hole in the hull. The patch will hold until Memnon."
Oceanus said nothing for a moment. Then, "I apologize."
"For what?" Zahara asked in a deceptively mild tone. "I doubt I would be first to tell either of you that you spend too much time and effort doing things that would get other people horribly killed. Despite your skill and achievements, I still have to remind you to take care of yourself…" She shook her head. Oceanus froze. "You are still a child in the ways of the world, little one. Remember that."
The sorceress left after tossing three more oiled blankets at them and extinguishing her glowing orb. For a moment, no one said anything. Then Oceanus groaned and flopped onto his back. A moment later, Ash appeared and Tahirah threw herself into the beast's fur with a squeal.
"That seemed rather out-of-place." Altaïr said as the little girl and the dog proceeded to roll around on the still-wet deck. Ash kept his tail-blade safely away from everyone even in play, though, and eventually it got stuck in the boards.
Oceanus sighed as he went to go and pull Ash's blade free. "It was nothing. Just an overprotective old woman who thinks I need an adult presence in my life."
"You seem old enough to decide for yourself what your life should hold." Altaïr lied—he had no idea how old Oceanus was, but it didn't seem like a good idea to mention that he barely looked thirteen. Like a thirteen-year-old girl, to be more specific.
"Perhaps to you," said the priest, "but she does have a point in saying that I am much younger than she is. But considering that she killed her own father and spent two years on the run afterward, I doubt she is the best "adult" in the equation."
She what? "Did I hear you say that she killed her own father?"
Oceanus glanced at him curiously. "Yes. I do not feel any sympathy for the man. He was trying to kill her son." With one final yank, the blade came free of the woodwork and Ash licked his master's face. "Good boy." He turned back to the stunned assassin, expression carefully blank. "He had no right to demand their presence at his dying ceremony. Not after disowning her. But she and her son—my brother in all but blood—went to see him despite years of bad blood. He returned their loyalty by trying to strike them both dead."
With that, Oceanus stood up and said, rather coolly, "Since she is still much more powerful than I am, though, I have to obey her orders. Do you have any preferences regarding spare clothes?"
Altaïr woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of waves slapping against the ship, as they always did.
He wasn't exactly surprised—his first night on the ship and every night thereafter had been disturbed by everything. While he could sleep in a rooftop garden, a hay cart, and on a bench while still upright, the fact remained that he slept in things that didn't move. The ginger the first day had helped and he'd started meditating so he wouldn't go insane, but it was still difficult to get any rest on the ship. And besides that, he'd taken one look at the crew's sleeping quarters below the deck and decided he'd pass on it. He hated hammocks.
Sleeping on the deck was unorthodox and probably not very safe, but it didn't seem to bother anyone else. Without even getting up, he could see that Oceanus and Tahirah were sleeping nearby, both almost enveloped by Ash's thick white fur. The little girl was sleeping between Ash and Oceanus, using the priest's cloak as a blanket and his arm as a pillow. None of them seemed inclined to move, though Ash's visible blue eye opened to stare at the assassin.
Altaïr sighed mentally and decided to at least make an attempt at falling asleep again. While he could function on practically no rest for a day or two, that didn't mean he liked it. It increased the chance he'd be killed or captured tenfold, and he'd already done it once in the last ten days for the sake of stopping a war. If he had a chance to rest, he'd take it.
Zahara's voice seemed to come from nowhere. "You seem to be early."
Altaïr froze and to his surprise, a second female voice murmured, "I always am, Zahara. You know me too well to be surprised."
The assassin was at a loss. He was one of the better Masters in terms of eavesdropping skills, particularly after the refresher course he'd been involuntarily put through after Solomon's Temple, but he also remembered that Zahara was a very destructive sorceress. He had no idea if this conversation was important to her, but he wouldn't take the chance of being discovered. For that reason, and sheer curiosity, he feigned sleep.
"That is true, but I have to ask why you would choose to appear on my ship." Zahara said, her voice cold. "You have no right to be here now."
The second woman seemed to sigh. "This is my home, my friend. It is my duty to protect my watery territory—it is, after all, mine. Your ship wandered into my waters, not the other way around."
"You betrayed everything we stood for." Zahara said harshly. "Your weakness allowed those fools to get the upper hand for the first time in a hundred years, even forgetting or forgiving what it did to your already-broken family. You never even looked—"
"It was a mistake," said the other woman, sharply. "I have been working tirelessly for the good of this region since. You think me such a fool as to let them run amok, completely unopposed by my power?"
Zahara laughed. "As if I needed to think on that. Your mistake is not fixed, Immersa. The Simbul and the Red Wizards can kill each other all they like, with or without your help. I want you off my ship because you failed in the most important duty of your life and you continue to fail at every turn."
"His fate was out of my hands." Immersa said tightly.
"But if you had put any effort into it, the opposite would be true." Zahara snapped. "Then you abandoned us, you abandoned your subjects, and even your own family to grieve. For ten years!"
"I lost six children that day, Zahara." Immersa's tone had become very threatening. "Do not presume to understand."
"You assume I would sympathize with your past plight long after the time for that has passed." Zahara hissed. "It happened two hundred years ago, Immersa! The time for grieving is a hundred years past, and you have had a dozen chances to fix your mistake in abandoning the ones who needed you most. You continue to wallow in your self-hate, not even seeing a second chance when it dances in front of your face." Altaïr imagined Zahara's face contorting into a snarl. "Look at him, Immersa, and tell me you would not give anything to make it up to him. Make me a liar."
Immersa seemed to have nothing to say to that. After a long silence, Zahara said sharply, "Well?"
There was a rustle of cloth and Zahara groaned. "Not now, Zahara. Perhaps I will follow your suggestion later. In any case, I was not here to make a social call."
Zahara scoffed. "Really? Then why do you darken my doorstep, if not to irritate me into attacking you?"
"Mock me all you like, desert sorceress." Immersa said stiffly. "But I have information regarding the stranger you seemed to have picked up."
"Tell me, then, ocean sorceress." Zahara responded, equally hostile. "What brings you from your watery cave?"
"The item attracts followers with less intent than Crenshinibon does," Immersa said slowly, "but it will bring misery to anyone who wields it. Not as directly, perhaps, but anyone who sees it will be compelled to take it by any means necessary."
"I doubt they will have any problems with it." Zahara said dismissively. "They are skilled enough that the common trash of inland Faerûn should be irritating at worst."
"Every wielder of such an item has thought so. There tend not to be many of them left." Immersa remarked. "So far, the item has not caused any undue interest among the underbelly of Faerûnian society, but it will not take much to convince the fools to strike. And with their attention comes the threat of attracting much more dangerous creatures."
"If any of them appears, Oceanus should be able to kill them." Zahara said. "We already know that his training on the subject of slaying monsters was extensive—Lumina has long since confirmed it. And though we know little about the assassin, his skills are great for the condition he was in. No doubt he will be difficult to kill once he recovers."
"I doubt either of them would survive being confronted by a balor or a pit fiend, no matter the preparations." Immersa said. Zahara gave a small gasp. "It has happened before. Crenshinibon could deal with the tanar'ri and the baatezu. This artifact you've discovered…it is no weapon. It can persuade, or possibly entrance, dozens of weak-minded creatures, but it has no power of its own. It is a record of human knowledge, and cannot be used to save oneself." She paused and Altaïr briefly entertained the idea of getting angry at her, denying that his fellow assassins were weak of mind or body with a blade, if necessary, but decided that he didn't know enough to strike in confidence.
When she spoke again, her voice was cool. "However, there are some unsubstantiated rumors of a wielder being able to coax greater powers from it. If the right fool were to snatch it…" Altaïr felt dread creep up his spine, almost as if it was trying to thwart his efforts to remain unnoticed
"You seem very informed." Zahara murmured. "Where did you discover—?"
"Not now." Immersa cut her off. "Just send the pair on their way. Dawn approaches."
Zahara said nothing for a moment. And then, quite coldly, she told the other woman, "If this gets them both killed, I will have your head on a pike."
"You can try, but you won't succeed." Immersa shot back.
The assassin didn't move as a splash sounded from the water below and as Zahara's footsteps signaled her trip back to the captain's room. When the deck was calm again and entirely bereft of feuding women, Altaïr opened his eyes to look at the cloudy skies above.
What was that about?
The passengers were essentially thrown off the ship three days later without much explanation—apparently, Zahara was in a bad mood. They were given passports, papers, and other assorted documentation, a few gold coins each and told to get the hell out of her sight.
Oceanus had just sighed and dragged Altaïr along to find an inn.
"So, what's the status of the Rusty Iron Maiden, old priest?"
"What? Who are you?"
"Um…can you scry the ship's location? I asked you yesterday about it…"
"I must have been in the middle of falling asleep. I asked Danica to take notes for me if I was…oh, there it is. Is this your request?"
"Let's see…hm… "Please locate the ship called the Rusty Iron Maiden, captained by the sorceress Zahara Sandwhisper, probably sailing somewhere in the waters between Calimport and Waterdeep. – Keras Earthgrinder." This seems to be the exact wording, too."
"I see…but what exactly did you want with the captain of the ship, young man?"
"Don't you ever want to talk to your own mother? Besides, the boss lady asked me to find her and find out where my little brother's gone. He didn't send a note, but everyone I talked to in Calimport seems to think he ran off with her."
"…What?"
"…My lady asked me to find her most tenacious and stubborn agent, and I just so happen to want to speak to the woman who bore me."
"Oh. You could have just put it that way the first time, you know."
"I have a slight accent. Could you please contact her now, Cadderly?"
"Of course. You have the standard fee?"
"I have the gold right here. Just go slowly—wouldn't want to break an old man hip or anything, would you?"
A/N: End of chapter four.
Believe me; pretty much every single name mentioned is either of back-story or plot importance. It'll take a while for it to become apparent who is of the most importance, but they are almost all going to show up.
Also, many apologies for not updating before this—pacing problems were giving me a headache, and getting into Prototype before completing Assassin's Creed II definitely put a wrench in the gears.
On the plus side, antagonists will come from both halves of the crossover. It just remains to be seen how that will come into play.