View Full Version : My AC Fanfic. The French Assassin.

01-15-2013, 01:40 AM
So i wrote a story set in the AC universe. yay. Excuse time!:
I'm no writer, the last time i wrote anything resembling a story was about 4 years ago in school, so don't expect anything award worthy, I did this when i was bored in the evenings over 4 days, basically out of procrastination, not out of scholastic flair. It's based on a little idea i had for an assassination, and then decided to write around that. And given that i never actually say where or when it's set, i'll just tell you now. Late 18th century France.

Partie un

It was springtime; the mid afternoon sun brought a hazy glow to the air, beams of light peeking from the opposing archways skimmed the top of the crowd into his eyes as he entered the courtyard, but his gaze was not diverted. As he approached the crowd, a man on the stage began to speak; the man’s commanding voice silenced the murmuring and mumbling of the crowd. From this far he could not see the man’s face but he did not need to, those features had been engraved on his mind for the past year, the face haunted his dreams but he dared not forget it, forgetting the face would mean forgetting the injustice that was done and forgiving the unforgivable.
The man was giving a speech, an attempt to rally support for a young Italian officer gaining military strength in the east. This was an event for the wealthy and the influential, as such, tickets were required for entry, too expensive, too risky for him to buy. However the tickets were produced by a printing process, a process he understood well, creating an almost perfect copy wasn’t too hard. It seemed that security had been taken into great consideration, men with muskets patrolled the cloister and guarded its archways, on his way in he had been searched but they found neither knife nor pistol. He had thought this through, with great detail.

He eased his way through the congregation, ever unable to escape the feeling that his whole life had been leading up to this moment, the convergence of all his experiences.
Before all this he had lived in a small community on the borders of the city, there he worked as a Tinkerer, making and repairing various bits of small machinery, he held two patents for clever little devices that incorporated an intricate system of gears and pulleys and such. This was a fascination that began as a child, when he came across a miniature clockwork horse, he would turn a key and the horses legs moved, its steps were jolted and un lifelike but it amazed him nonetheless, dissecting the toy revealed a magical world of complexity and delicacy that would forever shape the way he saw the world. This was not a life he lived alone however, he had a wife , fair and beautiful , he had known her since they were children and no matter how dark things may have seemed, she had always been able to make him smile. Together they had a daughter, in his eyes she was his greatest invention, as charming as her mother and a raw intelligence that reminded him of himself, all the wonderful things he had built for her... but that was the past.
Crowds had never been comfortable for him, the ease at which a person could get lost in them was uncomfortable, but now it seemed a blessing, for that is precisely what he needed. He worked his way forward, gently pushing people and slipping between in a zig zagged fashion, he felt as though he could see pathways opening up before him, like his mind was calculating the best route without any input from him, he felt as this this crowd was some kind of problem and his senses were solving it.
He glanced again at the guards that surrounded the area, some of them would be thugs in it for some money and violence in the name of the law, others former soldiers un able to see any other option that suited their skills. This had not been a problem for him. Like many young men he too had served in the army, there he learned how to fight, how to fire a gun, tactics and discipline. He was never sent off to fight any major conflicts, however whilst on tour his regiment had been involved in several small skirmishes, mostly local disputes, bandits, mercenaries, nothing of national importance. These had always been uncomfortable for him, on top of the fear for his own safety and that of his comrades, he felt uncomfortable about taking the life of a man he didn’t know, someone he’d never met and whose name he would never learn. For this reason he never aimed his shots, he pointed his musket and fired towards the enemy, sometimes doing so with his eyes shut. He never knew if he’d killed anyone, nor did he want to know. Though even in such a dark place, he still managed to find enlightenment. He remembered nights spent talking to a gunsmith, where he learned all sorts of things, the materials and techniques used in making weapons, the diversity in the way powder can be made and used, how the rifling process is used to make guns more accurate, even how different shapes of bullets can be used to increase the effectiveness of a weapon.
For his military services he was awarded an honourary medal, he never put this amongst his top achievements, to him it represented very little.
On the stage the man’s voice was becoming more passionate, and with it the attitude of the mob became livelier, the man was well known for his manipulation of a crowd, he could invoke all kinds of responses and emotions from those who listened.
It was clear that the man was building the crowd up to a large finale. He would need to hurry forward before it was too late; he looked towards the small stage, through the crowd and through the hollow words of justice and security. This man had political power and had taken up the duty of keeping the city safe and enforcing the law of the land. But as he progressed through the gathering of eager listeners his mind returned to the true meaning of this man’s justice.
The community he lived amongst with his wife and child was situated far from the city centre in the countryside that surrounded the more metropolitan area. Most people there made their living from the land, most of his work involved machinery designed to ease farming and improve yield. They lived their lives with very little assistance from the city council, and as such they felt it unfair that they should be taxed the same amount as those who lived within the urban regions. The community leaders would often rally for independence from the city, but each time they were denied.
He didn’t really feel inclined to either position, the extra taxing didn’t affect him too much, and he would often travel into the city for business. He understood where both parties were coming from and tried to stay neutral on the matter. However in these times where ideas of liberty and loyalty held great power, the acts of the community seemed to have caught someone’s attention.
One late winters night, in his workshop at the edge of the hamlet, where he had been working into the night on a new project and fallen asleep at his desk, he awoke to a familiar and terrifying sensation, the smell and burning wood, strong in the air, but what truly shook him were the screams, men, women, children, he could hear the pure terror in their collective voice, the sound of gunshots occasionally piercing the noise. An attack? From who? Bandits? Perhaps a foreign army moving in on the land? Then in the adjacent room he heard the door crash open quickly he hid in a nook by the doorway connecting the two rooms, as he moved he grabbed the closest thing to hand, a clock, designed to be placed on a table or mantelpiece, such an item would have fetched him enough money to live for several months, but he cared little for that now.
He heard someone moving around in the next room, by the lack of noise he guessed there was only one man, the intruder approached, he readied himself. The intruder passed the doorway, a man, possibly in his late twenties, dressed in a brown coat and holding a musket. An opportunity appeared and he pounced at the intruder who began to turn, with his left hand he parried the gun away from himself, as he did this the musket fired into a box of scrap metal, then with his right hand he brought the metal body of the clock crashing into the side of the gunman’s head, who’s body collapsed to the floor. He took a second, dropped the clock and caught his breath, then turned to leave the building; he didn’t check if the man was dead, he had no time.
As he left his workshop and stepped out onto the dirt road, the site he saw made him feel as though a knife had just been run through his heart. Flames danced around the homes and businesses that had made this once peaceful neighbourhood, people were running for their lives, fleeing the inferno’s that had once been where they lived, only to face a more dangerous threat, the men who had done this, outfitted in the same apparel as the man he had just dealt with, they wandered amongst the building, firing their muskets, helping the flames spread and rounding up anyone they could for more efficient murder. An even more disastrous revelation hit him, His wife! His young daughter!
Their home was in the middle of the community, he now ran, as fast as he could whilst trying to remain undetected, kept his low ran behind building used the bright light of the fire to mask him. Until he saw something that would haunt him for the rest of his life, his home, the place he’d lived for the best years of his life, whose threshold he had carried his newlywed wife over, whose walls had provided safety for his young child, whose structure had brought him serenity, now draped in hellfire, its timbers crackled and glowed, its thatched roof now ashes as the blackest smoke billowed from where it once lay. At the site of the boarded up door creating a fiery prison for the ones he loved, he dropped to his knees, all he held dear was now gone everything he loved would soon be no more than ash.
Then he heard it, that voice, it’s commanding tone throwing out the foulest orders. He turned to see him, the man standing before what used to be a tavern, gesturing to his men. Despair now became hatred, pure rage fuelled him as he stood, his eyes fixed on the devil before him, he charged with the ferocity of a lion and the power of a bull, his path was clear, his target getting closer, his rage only increasing. He leaped at the man, slamming him against a post, for an instant he stood face to face with this man, the man he did not know, but hated more than anyone he ever did. One arm grabbed the top of the man’s shirt as it was forced into his chest, whilst the other was brought back ready to strike him, but before he could release the remainder of his rage he was seized, two men grabbed him, one to each arm, with all their strength they pulled him away from the man, but he did not release his grip, instead he tore the man’s shirt. He saw something, on the man’s chest, a jewelled medallion, the sight was somewhat captivating, the flames of destruction flickered and danced around in the ruby that made the cruciform centre of the pendant. Then a sharp and piercing pain in his gut as the man’s outstretched arm came towards him.
But in that moment when it seemed all was lost, as he stared into the eyes of the man who it seemed had taken everything, and his life began to drain from his body, he made a vow to himself, he vowed not to die, he vowed to rise from the ashes of his life, he vowed that he would not stop breathing until this man and all those responsible for this lay dead, he vowed for vengeance, he vowed for Justice!
And as his body fell, the world went dark.

01-15-2013, 01:40 AM
Partie deux

He kept his vows, he lived and when his wounds had healed and his mourning was done he planned. In the city he lived and spent his days learning what he could of the man he now hunted. His name, his profession, his friends, the activities he was involved with, all these were uncovered; but being able to find him was not enough, as time went on the man’s power and political standing only increased, he could not simply approach him weapon in hand, no, this would require trickery, illusion, something unexpected, something unseen. At times the home he found in the city became a study where he refined his plane analysing every detail and possible event that may occur, and other times it became his new workshop, nothing compared to his old one, but enough for what he now crafted.
And now here he was, he had reached the front of the crowd. He was the closest he had ever been to the man since the day his world was burned by him. At times he had reconsidered, questioned whether the lust for vengeance was eating away at his soul, but he knew this was about far more than him, and what he had lost, this was about everyone who had suffered at the hands of this man and everyone who would go on to suffer should he be allowed to continue, this was more than revenge, this was justice.
And now the time had come, the crowd became more erratic, the man’s voice became more passionate, he felt the pressure build up around him, he did not listen to the man’s words, but even he felt their force, then raising his fist the man made his point, his finale, the time was now, the crowd exploded, they cheered, applauded and shouted in agreement. The man must have felt like a god, but this was the day that this man learned that even gods can fall.
He raised his left arm to join those of the people who now reached out to try and be closer to the man, on the way in the guards had not noticed it, how could they? all they would have seen was a fancy cuff, but this decoration hid a sting. Now his arm was raised, pointed at the man as he relished in the praise being thrown at him. The next moment all of time seemed to slow down, the roar of the crowd became silent to his ears and the two men’s eyes met. The eyes said far more than words ever could, he could see every thought that now went through the man’s head, surprise, anger, fear, curiosity, panic, even regret. And for the first time in his life, he shot to kill, he pulled his hand back activating the device on his arm, powder was ignited.
The man jolted back, the same feelings that had been in his eyes now ran across his face, the crowd became still as the man put a hand to his throat, blood began to seep through his fingers and down his body, from top to bottom his once white shirt became red. The crowd remained motionless as the man fell to his knees, the flow of blood was relentless and a puddle began to form beneath him before he eventually crumpled to the ground. The crowd that only seconds ago had been in a state of immense cheer now panicked, screams began as scores of bodies fumbled around trying to escape the courtyard, the guards had no idea what to do, they dared not try to stop the tirade of aristocrats who thought they were trapped in there with a killer, the guards had no option but to allow them to flee. In the chaos he left, posing as just another frightened attendee.
During his time studying the man, he had noticed several things, recurring symbols, some were unfamiliar, and some he had seen before, such as that of the medallion the man had worn. Since the death of his family, the man’s power and social status had increased significantly, yet he had noticed the man continued to meet in secret with the same people, people he couldn’t find any information. He knew the man had not worked alone; it was clear he had been acting upon orders with a malicious zeal. His path was clear; he would find all those responsible and let them meet the same fate as the man who had followed the orders.

Crows began to circle in the skies above the courtyard where the dead man lay. As the killer walked out into the street to freedom, from the roof of the cloister a hooded figure draped in shadow watched and smiled.

01-15-2013, 01:39 PM
Thanks for entertaining me on my bus ride from the dentist! Great work, very well paced! To be continued ;)?

01-15-2013, 06:11 PM
Thanks, and maybe...but probably not.