A/N: I was wrong about what color "chestnut" is.
Marseille fascinated Arno: The mediterranian design, the color, the ocean, the large, sea-faring ships, and the islands. There were many little islands off the coast of Marseille. Today he would visit Ile d'Emounde, the closest and smallest, not even a quarter mile off the shore, and about a third of that distance in its length. Ile d'Emounde was not visible from the port from which he would leave, it was almost on the opposite side of the small peninsula. He had seen it on his own time. It was a small, flat, rocky, arid thing. When he had looked a few days ago, it had a tent, barrels of guns, and target dummies upon it. Perhaps Guy had trained others before today's session.
He had decided to bring none of his usual gear, to illicit as little suspicion and draw as few questions as possible. He was dressed like a normal Sans-Culottes.
The port of Malmousque was small. It was at the mouth of a small cavity in the rocky coast of the city. As he approached it, he saw men gathered on the docks. It was a crowd of perhaps twenty. Their attire was modest, no powdered wigs in sight. He walked down some stone steps and then placed himself behind a man with a pony-tail and black coat.
He looked around. Most of their faces looked young and rough. It made sense: the older and wealthier could just join the National Guard.
The person next to him, a blonde with slicked back hair and a whiskered face decided to make conversation.
"Excited!" he said "First time I'll get to shoot a gun!"
"They're very loud," Arno said simply.
"So what's your name, camarade?"
"Arno. Arno Dorian. And you?"
"Georges. Georges Bisset."
"It's a pleasure," Arno said, extending his hand for a shake.
"Likewise, ami!"
Such fellowship already. They did not know the war he was really here to fight.
Arno looked out onto the shimmering, blue ocean. This would be his first time out at sea, even if only for a couple of minutes. To think it was a body of water so large it could span almost half the globe. It was only a few hundred years ago his people believed -
"Hey, there they are!" one of the others said.
The Assassin turned. A large row boat was coming towards the docks. It looked like it had just enough room for all of them. One rower was at the front, two at the back, the vessel shaped like an arrowhead. There was a pair of unused oars in the middle. Arno assumed those would be needed once the boat was filled to capacity.
It docked.
"All aboard! We'll take two volunteers as the middle oars!" Dorian had never rowed a boat before so he would pass on that.
The young men entered one by one, carefully and awkwardly landing their feet on the slightly wobbling vessel before resting their rumps on the benches.
As Arno stepped closer, he saw the boat had four rows for passengers, each with enough room for four men. So there were sixteen of them in total.
Arno was the last to get in, placing himself next to Georges. It was his first time on a boat.
They parted from the dock, making a turn to get the tip to face their destination. Their reorientation complete, they proceeded forwards. For the first time in his life, Dorian was upon the waters of the ocean, waters that connected a hundred nations.
Pierre had told him about his voyage across the Atlantic, and how awful it had been, but this something very different.
The rocky island came into view, barely off the coast. It seemed almost comical to use a boat to cross such a short distance, but Arno was grateful for the experience. Two men were standing just outside the tent, waiting. There was no dock, though the island was so shallow that likely was not a problem. Seagulls flew over and cawed head, the sun shimmered along the waves. A cool autumn breeze blew past them.
They were now nearing the coast, and made their way to a relatively welcoming section of rock.
"Alright, men! One at a time! We'll start from the front, right-to-left, moving backwards and repeating for each row. Watch your step and tread carefully getting off."
That made Arno the one of the last to exit.
There was no step of any kind, one simply had to mount a foot on the edge and then use it to launch the second foot ashore. The first man unboarded awkwardly, the boat rocked slightly.
The second man unboarded, stumbling slightly as he touched the island surface but catching himself.
The third man performed well.
The seagulls chattered. Dorian thought back to Paris. It was a huge gamble for the Templars to send Elise and himself here. Paris was where everything seemed to happen. He had never heard about anything happening in Marseille, save for a riot or two.
The row ahead of him was now being emptied. The Assassin watched the others exit, hoping to imitate success. They seemed to have done something in kind, since they performed better than the first two to exit. Then it was his turn. He stood, headed to the front of the wobbly boat, stretching his feet over the other, empty benches, placed his right foot on the edge and launched himself onto the rocky island. Success, relatively smooth.
He joined the others, gathering in front of the pair of persons. One of the duo was upright and proud, with his hands behind his back. He had an eccentric mass of orange facial hair, a bicorn hat, and striped pants. The Assassin's intuition told him that was Guy-Marcel. Next to him stood a more dour looking man in a coat. He had shorter stature, and a fatter face which bore noticeable scar on his cheek. He was perhaps fifteen or twenty years older than his counter-part.
"Bonjour hommes, welcome! My name is Major Guy-Marcel Rodet." Dorian was right. "It makes me proud of our country that all of you showed up, eager to learn what you'll need to know to defend our lands! And while I am proud of my service in the French Guard, it is a new day in France! We cannot expect the upper class to be this land's only sword if we are to survive as a nation!"
A small cheer broke out among the volunteers. Arno clapped, albeit with inner malaise. He knew what this militia was really about.
"I was not born here in Marseille. I came here from Lyon. I came here because I believe Marseille may be the sight of France's first battle, should the foreign powers decide to invade our homeland!"