Welp, I've been trying to cure this writer's block I've been having for a while, so I started working on a small little fanfic featuring myself and my friends. xD It's based around, you guessed it, Assassin's Creed. Bear in mind, I haven't written like this in a loooong time, so my writing will probably seem noobish and what not. x3 This first part is going to focus around the Scottish Wars of Independence. Criticism and stuff is welcomed! I'll be posting every chapter I update onto this thread, so here we go...chapter 1.
Oh, and furries. Deal with it. Don't worry, there's not fetishes in here or any of that crap. Me no likey.
Sequence 1, Chapter 1:
Dark-grey clouds covered the great land of Scotland , keeping the familiar atmosphere of unpredictable weather alive. This did not, however, deter a canine from trekking on through the Caledonian Forest, keeping an eye out for anything that moved. The foxhound was a courier, and the travel bag strapped around his shoulder filled with documents that he needed to deliver to his compatriots. The Templars. He was to meet a group near the village of and drop off battle plans from His Majesty King Edward the First. However, the Templars have been unpopular with the European populace, especially with the general feeling that the Crusades were just about finished for good. To prevent unwarranted attention, the courier wore a dark-green cloak over his traditional Knights Templar armor, sword hanging from his belt.
Something caught his eye, a few yards out. A sword struck into the ground, dark-red stains covered it. Blood. It seemed Scottish in design. The foxhound then saw a maroon-furred wolf laying next to the sword, eyes closed. He had on a white outfit completed with a hood, traveling down to just below his knees. A red sash was tied around his waist, and had small leather pockets at his arms and legs, holding knives. There was something familar about the outfit, but the courier did not think enough on the issue. He was more focused on the scene ahead.
However, after closer inspection of the area, the wolf was not moving, and the chest was perfectly still. Several other bodies were littered around the area, and the scout noticed the fallen knights bore the red cross upon the white tunic that covered their chain mail armor. Templars. This was the group the scout was supposed to rendevouz with at the nearby city!
Caustiously, silently moving foward to the downed wolf, the foxhound began his inspection. There were small blood splatters on the warrior's face and paws, but a darker stain was apparent on the wolf's stomach, where the hound assumed he was stabbed.
"Hmph, you probably deserve every bit of anguish in the next life for this, mutt," the hound murmered to himself. Looking back at his fallen comarades, he wondered what he should do. Anger fueled the courier, and he kicked the lifeless wolf in the side. Something caught his eye. Dropping his travel bag, he reached down to the wolf's left arm, holding it up. The foxhound smiled to himself as he saw the hidden blade strapped to his arm. "One less Assassin scum to roam this earth," he added, remembering that this was the clothing of an Assassin. Carelessly dropping the Assassin's limp arm, the courier also noticed something around the wolf's neck: a red jewel incased in a gold ring, held by a gold chain to complete the necklace. Snickering to himself, the foxhound stooped down to grab it.
"Well, won't need this anymore since you're rotting in Hell," he said, grabbing the chain. "You dead bastar--"
The wolf's eyes snapped open, and he lunged upward. His right paw reached up to grab the front of the courier's cloak, pulling him down while unsheathing his hidden blade to stab the hound in the jugular. Fresh blood flowed onto the wolf's paw from the wound. The foxhound's eyes were wide open in confusion and surprise, gurgling as his life ebbed away.
Pushing the courier over and pulling out the blade from his throat, the wolf now loomed over the hound, wiping his hidden blade on the hound's cloak.
"Rest now, Englishman. Join your fellows and no longer concern yourself with this war."
The foxhound grabbed at the wolf's throat, but could not get strength to even attempt to choke him before his arm fell down to his side, dead. The Assassin checked the hound's pulse and, satisfied, stood back up. Pulling off the courier's cloak, he used it to wipe his sword clean of blood before bringing the cloak over the foxhound's body.
The Assassin then reached for the courier's bag, thinking it could provide useful information. Not wanting to be noticed next to a scattered pile of dead bodies, he slipped through the forest until he reached a particulary wooded and concealed section of the Caledonian. Sitting with his back against a tree, the Assassin searched through the travel bag. He found a generous bit of meat and bread. As he had not eaten in a little more than a day, the wolf smiled and set the food aside to continue investigating before eating. He found a small wooden canteen and opened it, sniffing the contents. English ale. "Ewan will love this when I return," the wolf thought to himself. He also found a gold coin with a red cross crafted onto it, and a small bag of money, the coins chinkling as he pulled them out of the courier's bag. Something to spread around to the poor back in Stirling when he returned to the headquarters.
The Assassin then found what he really was looking for in the bag: two scrolls of brown parchment. He hastily opened them and was not surprised when he found the documents were coded. The Templars were growing more cautious about sending information through the Kingdom of Scotland, it appeared. Deciding he'll have the scrolls deciphered at the headquarters, the wolf stuffed the information and ale back into the travel bag, leaning back against the tree to eat the small meal he obtained.
He had followed the Templars for about four days, but found out to his dismay that they were nothing but simple footsoldiers. However, he was lucky enough to catch that they were waiting for the courier to appear with their assignments and decided to stick around. The Templars camped in the forest before they would go to the city the following morning. The Assassin disappeared into the forest when the Templars fell asleep, and found that the courier was near, estimating that he would be near the campsite by morning. But the courier was unusually cautious, as he would scan the area, including the trees, for enemies. A trap had to be sprung. The wolf struck the campsite, slaying the Templars with ease before they could realize what had hit them. Then to lure the courier into the trap, he painted lamb's blood onto his outfit before getting into position to jump the courier.
The Assassin finished his meal and got up, stretching out his limbs. Staying still like that for hours was not easy, but he still managed to pull it off. Grabbing the courier's bag, he made his way out of the forest and reached a hilltop half an hour later. He scanned the area, looking to see if there were any English scouts or other Templars nearby. He was satisfied to know that there was no one else around, and made his way to a nearby river where he cleaned his paws and face of the Templars' blood. The Assassin remembered about the lamb's blood on his clothing, pulled off his tunic, attempting to wash what he could in the water. He managed to wash off what he could, and--after putting the tunic back on, wrapped the traditional Assassin's red sash around the spot, covering up most of it successfully. Scanning the area once more, he made his way back to Sterling, the current location of the Assassin's headquarters.
He traveled for a couple of hours before finally reaching Sterling, one of the few places remaining under Scottish influence and control. Edward I had been able to hold the city under his control for many years before the Scots, under command of William Wallace, drove out the English.
Passing into the city, he made his way to the local inn. He entered the building and was greeted by various chatter, which was was littering the inn as different Europeans--excluding the British--talked about their lives, the war, or just in a drunken stupor. The wolf ignored the chatter and walked up to the bar. A black cat wiping glasses behind the bar noticed the wolf approaching, and he spread his arms in a welcoming gesture.
"Welcome back, Alastair! I was afraid you might have forgotten about poor ol' me!" he exclaimed in a light Scottish accent.
Alastair, a smile on his face, clasped a paw with the cat. "What, and miss the drunks fighting here on a daily basis about who has the thicker beard, Ewan?" he asked.
"Not much of that lately, old friend. Most of the talk is about which method they'll use to skewer the next Brit that they see. Y'know, fun things like that."
"I just got back from taking down a small group of Templars myself," Alastair said in a low voice. The statement that was meant for Ewan, however, was picked up by a passing ferret, which was the last thing that Alastair wanted.
"You killed some Brits, Alastair?"
Many of the patrons turned to the wolf, looking interested.
"What happened Alastair?" one asked.
"Did you make 'em beg for their lives before killing them?" asked another.
Alastair raised his paws. "Easy, boys. I don't make a habit talking about how I do my business. It's not something I like to talk about.
The patrons laughed as if he had just said a joke, causing the fur on the back of Alastair's neck to rise.
"C'mon man, tell us what happened! " the first one shouted, clapping his paw on the table a few times. Ewan saw Alastair's paws clench tightly, shaking.
The cat came to his friend's defense. "Alright you hairless drunks, he's had a hell of a time getting back here, so let's have him rest for a while, eh?"
The patrons grumbled, disappointed, and returned to their own talks. Alastair let out a low breath, shaking his head.
"Bastards. Thanks, Ewan."
Ewan poured Alastair a small tankard of wine, which the wolf grabbed and sipped for a moment. He closed his eyes, inhaling for a moment before letting out the breath. He was tired of the constant nagging by the asking him how it was like killing an English knight. Yes, they were cruel to the Scottish, but Alastair--while loyal to Scotland--wanted to remain out of the politics and focus on a more important war: The Templars. According to the great Mentor Altair, the Templars sought out weapons that control and destroy what the user wants. The Crusades were nothing but a facade to hide the fact that the Templars actually wanted to find the weapons, the Apples of Eden. However with the Crusades dying out and the Templars becoming less favorable, perhaps now they were acting out in desperation, trying to collect as many Apples as they could. The Apple that Altair had collected showed him a map of the world, revealing many other Apples and other Pieces of Eden.
The Templars have remained in French and British possession, but their power was slowly dimming. Unpopular and even loathed, the Templars would soon be forced to work underground at the rate they were going.
Alastair had to talk to the Grand Master.
"Ewan, what's the current passcode?"
"Wallace," the cat replied.
"Thank you my friend." Alastair stood up and turned to leave, but turned back to Ewan, reaching into the courier's bag. He handed over the canteen of English wine he had almost forgotten to give his friend.. Ewan looked at the canteen, opened it and took a sip. Licking his lips, he smiled at Alastair, raising the drink in praise.
"Many thanks. Despite how bloody evil the English are, you have to admit they know how to make the good stuff!"
"Just don't expect me to show up with wine everytime I head out now," Alastair said, smiling at Ewan before turning to leave the inn.
"Damn it, we have to pull him out," a female voice said irritably. It sounded distant, but somehow close.
"These storms aren't making things easy for us," another voice, this time a male, responded.
Alastair, however, did not pay attention to the voices, heading towards a castle a light travel away from the inn. A bright light appeared over the horizon, advancing towards Alastair. Again, he did not pay attention to the advancing anomaly, nor did anyone else in the vicinity. The mountains, the castle, people, and even Alastair himself were sucked into the light.
"Time to wake up Nick," the male voice rang out.
"Nothing is true...everything is permitted."
Live by the Creed, die by the Creed. We are a Brotherhood. We are Assassins.