Connor: Of Heart and SoulHis breath rattled in his throat. His father held him easily by the front of his torn bloodied robes. They were soaked in thick dark blood that gently seeped from the gunshot wound to his side and sword cut to his chest. His body was a ruin of bruises and injuries and scars. He had not seen thirty summers – and now it appeared would not see any more.Connor: Of Heart and Soul3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
“The Assassins are finished,” Haytham hissed, shaking him and then letting him go. Connor crumpled bonelessly to the ground, his cheek pressed against the cool earth. He could not move. Did not want to move. Had no will. No strength to defend himself when his father’s boot kicked him over onto his side. The bitterness of defeat, of his immanent death, roiled in his mouth mixed with the blood that he could no longer summon energy to spit. It simply slid from the corner of his closed mouth in a red rivulet, slow like lava down a volcano. Haytham’s hand on his gasping chest was a distant, disembodied sensation.
Connor: Out in the ColdHe lunged forward, defiant. And missed his mark. His feet slid out from under him on the powdery snow as he was pushed back. He fell onto his back with a dry grunt and rolled over or tried to. He was rolling. Just not aside but down. Along the snow that whispered dryly under him, his fingers gouging tracks in a futile attempt to stop.Connor: Out in the Cold3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He slid right out over the precipice in a white cloud of white powder, his hands scraped raw red by the coldness of the snow. He dangled the abyss, snow slowly floating past him with a deceptive ease. He panted, chest constricted by the press of the cliff edge.
Only the leather strap around his wrist stopped his free fall. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder down. It was a long way down, a very long way. His heart pounded in his heaving chest. It hurt to breathe. His wrist pulsed with every heart throb.
A shadow fell over him. Reflex took over. He glanced up, fast. To see the black barrel of a gun pointing at his face, the hammer drawn back.
Waiting Game (GAME SPOILERS)He was getting too old for this, he was the Grand Master for a reason, the people under him were supposed to do this. But in all honesty he wanted to track down Church himself. Most likely anybody else would just screw up. Benjamin Church was a slimy bastard and had so far escaped his efforts to track him down. But he had received word of Church stealing a shipment intended for Washington and his forces, the shipment had been brought through the old abandoned church he was currently approaching. If the empty carts nearby, broken ones too, were anything to go by this place had long since been abandoned. Even by Church's men. But there was every chance they would return so he would lie in wait for them, an ambush in the waiting.Waiting Game (GAME SPOILERS)3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Now, where to hide. There were regular patrols of redcoats outside, one of which he already had to dodge, so hiding outside of the building was out of the question. It wasn't the best place for an ambush anyway. No, he would have to hide inside the church. Only i
Connor: Remarkable Spirit"I have known true freedom."Connor: Remarkable Spirit3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The woods smelled fresh, the trees swaying gently with the warm summer breeze. Himself and several other boys from the village ran up the slope of the ravine. He stopped there to breathe, to let the woodland scents wash over him and his friends who too felt the same. This was a different place, a peaceful place.
"I have known a world of peace and remarkable spirit."
Aye, there was that at the top of this wooded hill. A sense of relaxation, of letting go. Here one could come and calm down a troubled soul. Aye, peace and spirit
"A world which was taken from me."
The longhouses were burning, up in flames that devoured the wood and the sheets of bark regardless. The orange demons reached to the sky. He ran, ran as he'd never ran before it was all engulfed. All of it. His mother. His family. His home. In vain he tried to rip the door open, the flames' heat searing his skin, drying up his tears in moments. He did not see the others trying to do
Connor: The Stuff of LifeHe walked right into it. He grunted, confronted with five men. They were a hard faced sort, smudged skin and clothes. Their chins had not seen a razor in weeks, probably. Not that he was worried about their appearance. At least not in the hygienic sense. It was what they held in their hands that drew his attention. Pistols. Swords. One of them had a rifle but no bayonet. The long barrel was pointed at his chest.Connor: The Stuff of Life3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
With his feet in a wide stance, Connor stood, assessing. Retreat was still possible. He did not sense anything behind his back. He had never been one to fall back, however. Not from battle. Threats did not frighten him.
"And just where do you think you are going, friend?" one of the cutthroats asked, his dark eyes glinting dangerously.
Connor did not answer, just fixed him with a long hard stare. He held his hands carefully away from his weapons. Perhaps this was a mistake, possibly it was not him they really were waiting for. But then, he'd never believed in coincidence. There
Connor: Lesssons of Compassion 1He slithered to the top edge of the sloping ravine and peered over. A wide dirt road wound below, between the birches and the oaks green in the full summer leaf. The sun had turned the deep green into a shinier colour giving an eerie light to his surroundings. The grass and underbrush fed by the spring rain were tall and springy under his feet as he'd run lightly. He had not had any intention of coming here. He had just been out for a run, an exercise in escape, of subsuming his troubles in the simplicity of physical activity. Things had not gone well for him lately, not for the Assassin cause either. The British had seemed to have anticipated their many moves. His Indian allies had been either routed or rounded up as spies. Such concerted operations could only have come about as a result of the British spies and informants among the Assassins. The defeats and the consequent realignment of thought and plan had driven him to seek the solitude of the forest, the big primeval refuge thatConnor: Lesssons of Compassion 13 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Connor: Our BurdensHe twirled his tomahawk, his wrist flicking faster than an eye could blink. The Redcoat facing him grunted, unafraid. He'd seen such bravado before in many a brawl, in many a battle. If this young cocksure killer thought to frighten him here on the outskirts of civilization, he had another thing coming. No one killed the town's deer and got away with it.Connor: Our Burdens3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The Redcoat levelled his musket at the stone-faced Indian gesturing for his comrades to step in. The dead deer with the stiff arrow still poking out of its side was forgotten. Sabres whistled through the air aiming for the Indian's head. Which was not there when the men's blades clashed. Irritated the two Redcoats sprung away from one another. A shot rang out amid the trees startling the nesting birds into an explosion of wings. The bullet hit no one and nothing. It simply hit a tree trunk and embedded in the thick bark. Cursing the three Redcoats spun around in a circle facing outwards, a defensive position not one of them like
Connor: Lessons of Compassion 2The sun had gone down before Connor had the few quiet moments to look to his own injuries. The blood had stopped flowing, unless he moved about. The Indian boy, a little cleaner and less hungry after his meal of rabbit stew, had rolled in the horse's saddle blanket and gone to sleep. Connor had watched him for a time, awash in sudden memories until the throbbing in his arm and leg had drawn his attention back to the present.Connor: Lessons of Compassion 23 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He flexed his arm the muscles were stiff, the body readjusting to the damage. He grunted taking off his over coat. The sleeve of the shirt beneath was covered in blood with a double hole one in the back and the other in the front burned black around the edges. One handed, he cut off the ruined portion of the sleeve. He had one bandage left using it on the leg would be impossible since the bullet was still lodged in his thigh. His breathing was ragged from loss of blood. He must be pale by now, the moon would cover the pallor of hi
Connor: Lessons of Compassion 3He sighed deeply and opened his eyes. The smell of something cooking grabbed his attention immediately. His mind was amazingly clear his body lethargic as he tried to shift about. He could not remember most of his dreams for they were dark. He remembered running on four paws as opposed to legs. He blinked, the dreamscape swirling just beyond his awareness.Connor: Lessons of Compassion 33 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
His stomach rumbled in response to the wafting smell of food. His mouth watered recognising meat and potatoes with a few herbs. A very familiar smell
He started. Another familiar thing on top the ravishing cooking smells. A voice with a French burr that put emphasis on the last syllable of his name, making it sound exotic. His active mind put the face to the voice before his head could gather the strength to turn towards the sound.
A Gallic face swam into his field of vision, thin mouth split into a welcoming smile tinged with relief. A jacket of green wool hung somewhat loose across the Frenchman
Hooded ManHooded Man3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Born to kill, born to eliminate people
That lie. The hooded man has secrets
Deep down in his head, he doesn't deny
Them, he's not afraid.
He's everywhere, always there
Watching you, hunting you and
Waiting to strike. Collecting more information
For your death to be surprise.
You don't even notice that, but he
Is there. Always ready, always
Well prepared the hidden blade is
Waiting to stab.
While you're on your way, making
Plans for the dirty game. Somehow he
Appears in front of you and takes away all
The bad dreams you don't heal anymore.
Connor: MemoryHe slunk through the snow, soft footed and lithe as a wolf. Stars glimmered overhead outshone by the fat end of month moon that provided plenty of light reflecting off the white powder under his feet. All was silent, preternaturally quiet. A silent night. A quiet night. A time when most people and not a few animals slept the sweet slumber of rest. But not him, not the lone wolf on the prowl.Connor: Memory3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He was hunting.
The prey just did not know it yet.
His breath was a cloud of vapour surrounding his hooded head. Gently he set his foot down on top of a snow blanketed rock. It would not do to let the Redcoats hear his approach. He crouched eyes peeled towards the orange glow among the tall trees ahead. Pine, spruce and oak mixed together. Plenty of handholds a path for him over their heads. His lips stretched in a feral smile. If the men in red coats of the British army could have seen him at that moment, they would have thought of a wolf a wild savage animal without an
Connor: the Last Assassin 1Chapter 1Connor: the Last Assassin 13 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The wolf ran easily over the springy turf, ears sharply pointed forward. Alert and ready for an attack or the sight of prey. The large animal exuded strength and grace, and the lithe body bunched as he ran faster to the river with the casual ease of a wild canine.
The grey animal slowed when the trees thinned, trotting, his ears flickering as once again he gave ear to the sounds of birds and rodents. He saw a beaver chomping at a tree not far away and passed him by, his hunting instinct tightly controlled. A snake slithered away across the dry ground aware of his approach. It too he majestically ignored.
The river bank opened up at the edge of the tall conifers and green-leaved trees. The large scarcely breathing wolf stopped and sat on his haunches surveying the rushing water with his yellow eyes. He was calm, unruffled. Only a slight breeze stirred his fur sluggishly. He seemed to be looking for something, his large eyes intent. Some time passed before he finally saw what i
Daniel Cross - Deleted SceneDaniel Cross - Deleted Scene3 years ago in Drama More Like This
Soon after the confrontation in Brazil, Daniel traveled to Abstergo's Rome facility, where Warren Vidic held Desmond's father William hostage in hopes of obtaining Desmond's Apple of Eden as an exchange.
Daniel found Desmond in Vidic's animus room demanding that he hand over the Apple of Eden. "It's the 21st century and you are still running around with a tiny knife for protection? It's stupid!" he teased as he aimed the gun at the Desmond as he hid behind the animus like the mouse he was.
Suddenly as something was trying to stop him visions of early 1900's flooded before him. Demanding his vision and mouth as Russian spilled out. Visions of the shard, the turn of the world and a glimpse of what lies beyond appeared.
Daniel screamed, not now and for the memories to get out of his head. They felt like lava pouring in threatening to burn him away completely. He ran out of the room in a panic, seeing bits of Abstergo as patches of forests flickering on top. Daniel could rememb
Connor: the Last Assassin 2Chapter 2Connor: the Last Assassin 23 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The old man sat near the fire and watched his guest toss and turn on the bed. As he had feared the fever had set in before he’d had a chance to make the young man warm. With the amount of cold water that had come spilling out of his lungs, time had been a factor. Despite his apparently iron constitution the Native had taken sick quickly. There was evidence of wounds and his skin was so pale as to hide the fact he was only half Native. His eyes idly slid over the groaning form, noting numerous scars on his body. Clearly his guest did not live a life of ease. Here was a fighter, a hunter if that bow was anything to go by. The WolfMan had not tried to bend it. He would not touch another man’s weapons, just like he would not touch a wolf’s dinner.
His eyes strayed to the biggest wolf that had chosen that moment to move over to the restless man and sat by him. The other wolves watched their leader, glinting eyes seemingly lifeless. The old man knew better, though
Connor: Uneasy Alliance“One part of me wants to fight and repel all outsiders. The other part of me IS the outsider.”Connor: Uneasy Alliance3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The church was empty. Totally. Absolutely. Completely. No trace of supplies. No trace of anything or anyone. The contact that Washington had said was supposed to meet the Assassin here was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the man had gotten lost or ambushed on his way here. Benjamin Church was a Templar after all, albeit a disgraced one.
Connor sighed scanning the empty windowless and doorless church. The interior had been stripped bare of everything and anything portable long ago. Even the bell from the belfry was gone. Only the floor creaked under his boots. Utilizing Eagle Vision he tried to search for some clues but there was nothing. Not even a speck of dust. The little church was as barren as a beggar’s purse.
He would have to search elsewhere, scan the ground outside. Perhaps the crew that had cleaned out this place had left some clues behind. He turned to go…
I am the One_AC PoemsI am the One_AC Poems3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
I am the one who seeks Knowledge,
Hidden within these ancient relics,
Treasures of uncontrollable Power.
I am the one who seeks Leadership,
Guide the truehearted warriors,
To Fight off the evil within our World.
I am the Mentor.
I am the one who seeks Vengeance,
For the deaths of my family,
And the Lives of the Innocent.
I am the one who seeks for the Truth,
To know my enemy's plans,
In order to Stop their sinful Conspiracy.
I am the Messenger.
I am the one who seeks for Justice,
Fighting for what is right,
To gain Victory from my foe's defeat.
I am the one who seeks for Freedom,
Encounter endless battles,
To bring Peace for all people of the Nation.
I am the Warrior.
I am the one who seeks for Guidance,
To uncover the past,
From my Ancestors before me.
I am the one who seeks for Courage,
Fight through the struggles,
In order to Save the Future from Disaster.
I am the Chosen One.
Connor: Servant of the MasterChapter 2Connor: Servant of the Master2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The hold of the ship was dark, wet, and cold. It smelled of rotten algae and dead fish, not to mention the bodily smell of the other men sitting in the cold water up to their mid-shins. Few of them moved, if at all, their will drained of all emotion. They were no longer human but instead had given up, turned into breathing living cargo with beating hearts. But truly they were no longer living men.
They were shells.
They were slaves bound for the plantations to the south and the Caribbean islands where sugar cane, cotton and other products were grown to be shipped to Europe, to the hungry Old World that used the resources of the New. The plantation owners always needed men to work their fields and orchards. Criminals, escaped servants and men who were not needed anymore anywhere made perfect slaves. They were hopeless men, devoid of humanity, devoid of will. They were the walking dead: their bodies moving but their souls and spirits – all that had made them human –
Ready for the Hunt_ AC3 Poem of ConnorReady for the Hunt_ AC3 Poem of Connor3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The moon is set,
Flames of the fire grow dim,
The Cry of wolves being to howl,
Through the misty cold woods,
It is time for the ultimate hunt,
The enemy is near,
I grab my axe and bow,
And set off towards my enemy's lair.
Crossed times -Alex-Altair ficCrossed times -Alex-Altair fic5 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Chapter 1: First meeting
Altiar was defiantly the weirdest men Alex Mercer had ever met.
That was one of the first things Alex mercer found out about he assassin; though if he'd had his way he wouldn't have known anything at all because he wouldn't have taken the man into their hideout; it was Dana; his younger sister, who convinced him to help the other.
When they first met Altair he was wearing strange clothing he was severely wounded and was unconscious, Dana had insisted Alex carry the injured man to Ragland to be fixed up; she had a much kinder heart that Alex ever had and grudgingly he obeyed his sister, if only so they could get a few answers later.
Ragland had a hard time talking off the others outfit having seen nothing like it before, it seemed underneath every layer of cloth, there was a new weapon hiding underneath; a longsword a short sword, hidden throwing knives are just a sample of Altair's arsenal but what shocked the three of them, was the
Connor: Lessons of Compassion 6He lay on the small bunk, one arm under his head, the manacle of the chain that ran to a wall ring cold and clammy against his wrist. He was staring up at the ceiling, listening to the sounds from the outside of the prison. The small grilled window provided some sunlight but not much. There were still dark corners, shrouded in shadows.Connor: Lessons of Compassion 63 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A rat scuttled across the dirt floor, nose twitching, the long whiskers sweeping the bits of straw and other refuse about. Connor paid it no attention. He had become used to their presence. This was not the first rodent to come in. They did not disturb him, not at all. Neither did the flies that lived inside the waste bucket near the door. Their buzzing was a background noise that his ears had learned to register but not analyze.
His eyes had found a crack in one of the stone bricks. He had studied it minutely since he’d been brought here. He had seen its jagged line lit by daylight, had remembered its shape by night. He had even engaged his Eagle
Connor X Reader - ExtraExtra: Is This My Fault?Connor X Reader - Extra2 years ago in Romance More Like This
You yawn as you finally wake from your nap, which exhaustion caused from the fight you and Connor had. You stretch and groan, remembering everything that had happened. It was a fight for no reason, just bad moods. But it was apparently enough to make Connor storm off. You stand and rub your eyes, feeling your hair is in a frizzed mess. Well this should be loads of fun, you grumpily think as you shuffle your way to the bathroom closest to your room.
You take the time to groom yourself before putting on the assassin robes Connor gave to you after all that training he put you through. It was indeed tough and sometime you wanted to murder the man, but it was all worth it. Wearing these robs made you proud. After you changed, you walked across the hall to Connor's room, only to see he wasn't there. You sighed and made your ways downstairs, going to the kitchen to find Achilles. You leaned in the large entryway and sighed, loud enough for the old man
Connor: Paternal Affection‘Of my father there is no sign. And I am glad of it.’Connor: Paternal Affection2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He looked down at the supine form on the barren cot and told himself that he should be feeling something. This was his son, after all. There should be some feeling, some twinge of a paternal instinct. But there was nothing. The man lying in front of him, pale and bandaged about the lower chest, was anathema. He was his enemy. He was one of the other Brotherhood, the one they’d been fighting with for centuries, the one that believed in freedom, justice and peace.
His enemy was one of the Assassins.
His enemy was his son.
He sighed, his hands falling to his sides. O Ziio, if only you had not turned me away, Haytham Kenway thought, his eyes picking up the boy’s similarities to the one woman he had really loved and respected. She’d had hidden strengths, had Ziio: conviction, an imperious will, stubbornness to see her plans through. Her son – their son (he should be honest with himself at least)
Connor: An Assassin's TrustReaching out to grab the redcoated soldier by the arm, the tall young man pushed the man’s back against himself as a shield and braced. The firing line had already discharged their muskets and so had to watch in horror as the bullets hit not their intended target but one of their own. The looks of chagrin under their tricorners would have been a source of jollity if not for the seriousness of the situation.Connor: An Assassin's Trust3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The dead man sighed and gurgled, sagging against the Assassin who let him drop to the paved ground of a New York street. He threw a challenging look at the firing line and then pointed his own gun to his left. Without even looking he shot another redcoated soldier who’d been trying to sneak up on him with a bayonet. The would be assassin’s face disintegrated in a bloody fountain, the bayonet clattering to the cobbles from nerveless hands.
The line of Red Coats that had tried to shoot him now discarded any semblance of ranged shooting and drawing their swords came a