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The Rooks of London
London 1868 CE
Poverty. Despair. Anguish. Riches. The large brown eagle saw it all as it flew over the grimy black grey city of London, the centre of the universe, the heart of the Empire on which the sun never set. The heart that was rotten at its core. A heart whose veins and arteries were stained coal-black. A heart where one artery contained… contained relief mayhap…
The flimsy wooden door slammed open, emitting a scrawny man-shaped projectile down the equally rickety wooden stairs that at one point had been solid, whole, even painted. Now they creaked and cracked under the weighty blows of the body rolling down them. The sly-looking band around the bottom of the stairs kindly helped the victim up, some commiserating wryly on his fortunes - or lack thereof, rather. Their words were kind. Their intonation was not. This was London. London at its finest where the opportunists thrived and mercy was in short supply.
The young man in a red-banded hat strutted down the stairs,
:iconaltair-creed:altair-creed 2 2
The Flesh of an Innocent: Epilogue
Seven months later...
The Dutchman never had a chance. He gaped at the man who stood above him, the point of his cutlass resting against the shaking lawyer's neck. It was not the blade itself that held his attention, however. It was the eyes above it, dead, cold, sea-green eyes that promised death, that proclaimed his fate. He had done the unthinkable, he had despoiled children of their innocence. Now, he would pay for his misdeeds. He would pay by the hand of the man who had stood in his way, whom he had thought dead in that conflagration in the fisher village. How had the man survived?
He watched his judge – his executioner too – curl his lips into a sneer.
“You lifted your hand against an innocent girl,” the blond hooded man said to him in a voice that held no warmth, no humanity whatsoever. This must be what the Devil sounded like delivering his judgment on the guilty. “Not once. I ought to make you suffer for what you've done.” A humourless smil
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The Flesh of an Innocent 7
Chapter 7
“Cracked ribs,” Perkins muttered, his hands exploring the blond captain lying on the decking. He'd just been brought up from the sailing boat by two others. Adewale stood nearby while Roy prepared the Glory for sailing. They had to leave, quickly, before they attracted the wrong kind of attention.
“Bruising all over,” Perkins, Adewale's aide who doubled as a medic at need, continued in a low clinical voice. “No major organs punctured. If he were not in such a good condition to begin with, he'd be dead right now,” he concluded standing up and signalling the men to carry the captain below deck into a little cabin set up as an infirmary. The whole time the unconscious captain did not stir. He was so far under that Perkins was not sure if he would return. It was not so much the injuries themselves but the length of time in which they'd been inflicted over and over. A cumulative effect could well kill his captain.
And that was not something he w
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A Captain's Oath8
Late 1719, Central Spain
“Governor, buenas tardes,” said a soft voice him as a click of a thumbed-back pistol sounded next to his left ear. “I have so longed to see you – again.”
Woods Rogers stood absolutely still while the noise of the thoroughfare went on outside the little cul de sac.
“Turn around, slowly, Governor,” the familiar hated voice ordered conversationally. “I prefer to look at the man I am speaking to – don't you?”
Keeping his lips tightly together, Woods Rogers faced the one man he loathed, the thorn in his side for so long, the splinter he'd thought he'd left behind as he'd run from Nassau last year. He had tried so hard to shake Captain Edward Kenway from his trail. He'd laid false sign and rumour about his whereabouts. He'd paid Templar agents of his own to kill the damned pirate. His thieves and whores had not been able to slow the flea-bitten mongrel down.
“Captain Kenway,” he hissed now while
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A Captain's Oath7
“Sir, the signal!” the lookout called from the crow's nest down to his captain, the tall man most called Blackbeard. His captain grinned and flashed his response. About bloody time! Kenway sure waited long enough.
“Alright, boys! Let's go set Rogers' tail feathers on fire!”
The signal given, the commodore made his way down the tight stairs of the small turret. His shoulders almost brushed the stone walls. Through the slitted windows he could see the heaving dark sea and the top of the wall where redcoated men and their darker enemies were locked in strife. For a moment the commodore stopped and watched. He was not sure why. He had not been sure of anything since the governor had given him the task of capturing Kenway, not since the moment when the man had brazenly pulled him into his schemes. The commodore was not certain exactly why he'd gone along with the blond pirate's plan. But one thing he was sure of: Rogers would kill him for this breach of duty. Of trus
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Atar: Choice of Kin
In retrospect, it could be seen as a hunting accident. After all, two hunters could encounter each other in the same wood. A sudden movement. A stray arrow by an intense hunter believing that the motion of the bush was the deer, the boar, the wolf that he or she was hunting...
That cold winter day, however, that was not the case. They were the confident hunters, full Elves, with black arrows and black bows made of yerech, the black wood that was supple, strong, bendable yet unbreakble. I, the half-Elven Assassin without a home or kin, was the interloper, the intruder. The stranger. The unwitting prey. The unwelcome reminder of their decadence.
On that cold – frigid, if truth were told, - day we met. We met, my distant kin and I. As my luck would have it, not entirely by accident.
They had been hunting me for a whole week. I had been aware of their shadowy presence since the moment i'd entered the wood, the dark yet green and lush wood filled with the tranquillity of winter, of sl
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A Captain's Oath6
“Wrestling with your conscience, commodore?” drawled a very familiar voice right behind him. The startled commodore spun around to be confronted with a pair of very well known blue eyes, eyes that changed colour depending on their owner's mood. They could be hard as ice when he was angry. They could be a deep blue when he was reflecting on something. Or they could be dancing merrily whenever Edward Kenway was in a mood for mischief or getting under someone's skin. Such was the case now. The reprobate pirate's eyes fairly gleamed with mirth, a knowing smirk on his lips.
“What would you know of conscience?” the irritated commodore retorted, out of habit more than anything.
“I know some men have it,” the pirate replied, shrugging. “Some don't.”
And just which one are you, the commodore wondered in silence. Here beside him was a man of polar extremes. On the one hand, Kenway seemed not to care about what results his actions had on others
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A Captain's Oath5
“Careful, lads,” Thatch growled watching his men load the powder into the belly of the broken-down brig. “Careful. Don't want to blow her up 'afore 'er time.” His voice deepened, became guttural. His hand slowly stroked his voluminous beard. His bright eyes took in every detail. “Closer, lads. Push 'em closer. I want them packed nice and tight... for delivery.” He chuckled dryly, darkly. His men wore equally eloquent evil grins. This was a little surprise for Governor Rogers of Nassau. A little something to warm his heart of a dull day. While Kenway's 'death' shook up the Caribbean and occupied Rogers' mind with glee, Thatch – after much discussion and planning with the self same 'dead' Kenway – had hammered out this little plan: a fireship to disrupt the British blockade of Nassau for good, burn their ships, scatter them.
“All loaded up, captain,” his first mate reported, his bare torso and face smudged with dirt and sweat. H
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A Captain's Oath4
“Commodore,” the blond pirate drawled, tapping his empty mug on the scratched wooden table that had belonged to the sometime governor of this fort of Dry Tortuga before Edward had captured the fort and executed the fat bastard. “We can settle this like civilized men.”
The commodore's eyebrows rose as did his temper. That this rat, this cur, would dare to bandy words with him! Remembering Woods Rogers' gleaming eyes the angry commodore swallowed his retort.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked instead, in the steadiest voice he could manage under the strained circumstances.
“I suggest we settle this like men, civilized men,” Edward repeated quietly. “Face realities, commodore. You couldn't capture this fort even if you wanted to. We could fling cannon balls and shot at one another for weeks – for nothing. We could send our men to die on each other's decks and walls of this fort – again for nothing.” Edward leaned b
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A Captain's Oath3
“HARD ABOUT!” Thatch yelled at his first mate at the tiller, swinging his cutlass to emphasize the point. His crew, well trained, worked with their usual competence to turn Queen Anne's Revenge about and point her straight at the blockade. They were going to run it now. No choice since the galleons were coming in fast. A broadside here and there and he'd be out of it. He could not fight them all since Hornigold had split, the bastard whoreson traitor. He'd left both of them, Thatch and Kenway, in the lurch. For that he'd pay but later. For now there were these motherfuckers to get away from.
More cannon fire from the fort behind them. Cannon balls whipped by over the top of the main mast to fall with many splashes into the water ahead of them and to the sides. One or two found their mark on the gunwale and some coils of rope. Thatch laughed and made his way over to the tiller, relieving his first mate and guiding Queen Anne himself right between two incoming galleons.
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A Captain's Oath2
Edward, loaded pistol in one hand held close to his stubbled cheek, carefully peeked around the stone and mortar corner to scan the passage ahead and, finding it empty of life (so far) motioned his men forward. The ten men, all wearing the garrison red coats and carrying non-standard weapons of their true trade, moved forward and slunk around the corner into the next torchlit corridor running perpendicular to the one they'd taken just now. Edward followed them, adjusting his tricorne hat and red coat. Taking position at the front again he led them on towards the stairs that led down to the cells from which he could already hear moans and screams. Someone was being tortured. The screams did not affect him or his men much. They'd heard worse. However, the blond pirate's mouth did tighten. If it were one of HIS men being interrogated so mercifully by the Brits – maybe even by Rogers himself (wouldn't that be a stroke of luck, eh?) - he would make those fuckers pay, oh yes he would.
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A Captain's Oath1
Late July 1718, Nassau
“Those are my men in there,” Edward growled, raking the others with a steely blue glare. “I'm not leaving them. I'm not letting them be hanged.”
“Kenway,” a big tall dark haired man tried to reason with him, stroking his long black beard. “They are held by the Brits. That garrison is well nigh impregnable.”
“They'll be hanged, Kenway,” another big man spoke, a man with a military bearing and brown sideburns on his cheeks. “You can always find more rats to recruit.”
“I wonder,” Edward said softly, rounding on Benjamin Hornigold, the last man to speak. “I do wonder, Ben, if it was your men in there, if it was you in there.” He paused and held Ben's eye. “If it was me in there... would you still insist on sitting out here on your hands?”
Benjamin Hornigold opened his mouth to answer, then shut it, glowering and looking away. Thatch looked hard at him, then at
:iconaltair-creed:altair-creed 5 2
Delicia De La Luz
He muttered and irritably drank from the bottle by his elbow. His eyes, blue and tired, stared at the maps in front of him spread across the large wooden table and could make no sense of what was drawn or written there. He had been at this for hours, trying to find that Spanish galleon with 10 000 reales on board. She had to be there somewhere – his information was good as to that. First hand in fact.
At that he smiled, chortling, and took another swig of rum. Smacking his lips, his mind a little fuzzy – it was late and this was not his first bottle of rum, not by a long shot – he rubbed his sand filled eyes. Glancing out of the stern window he started. It was later than he'd thought. He could just see the edge of the moon. He should have been abed long since. His glance caught the three-candle candelabrum on the table. The candles were more than half burned.
“Damn me...” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd have to do this tomorrow. When his pa
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The Flesh of an Innocent 6
Chapter 6
“What the hell is going on over there?” Roy muttered, lowering the spyglass and handing it off to Adewale at his side. His black friend stared through the metal tube for what seemed hours and finally grunted.
“A battle it seems,” he surmised. “Trouble.”
“But who is fighting who? And where is Ed in all this?” Roy drummed his fingers on the railing of his ship, the Glory. It had taken them many days of frustrating work and setbacks to at last find this village and now it appeared as if they were too late. He was glad that Mara was asleep in the cabin. He did not want her to see the burning buildings or hear the screaming that carried more clearly the closer they got.
“We cannot sail right up there,” Adewale commented, as if reading his mind. “We must stay out of sight.”
“Dousing the lanterns might do the trick – then we just send boats out.”
“I would advise against large parties of m
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New Beginnings, New Allegiance 2
Chapter 2
At least he did not have to wait long, Edward reflected striding down an unlit street in Nassau, trailed by several men who did not appear to just be taking the evening air. Far from it. They smelled of tar and the wharves, of ships and gunpowder. Their clothing loudly proclaimed their profession, as if the smell were not enough. They carried cutlasses, and clearly knew how to use them. Rough men for a rough line of work.
The blond Welshman, his bag once again over his shoulder (he would not trust himself to leave it alone. There were treasures in that bag that he might need later, once he had a ship.), kept on walking as if oblivious of the pirates not far away. He had almost reached the end of the street where every door was shuttered and no light showed anywhere, when he became aware of a large figure – another patch of darkness, really – almost indistinguishable from the murk around about. The blackness flowed forward, turned a dull red as Edward slipped into
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New Beginnings, New Allegiance 1
Chapter 1
He needed a tavern, he decided. Not because he wanted to drink – although that would not be amiss. He needed a tavern because that is where one could find information. The kind of information that men – or women, for that matter – might be willing to sell for the price of a few drinks, or somewhat else. The price did not really matter that much. The information did.
Here, in the pirates' 'republic' (so he had heard it called. He had his doubts.) called Nassau, there were no captains' taverns. Pirates were not much for social distinctions. That idea was what made them pirates in the first place. These men were the kind that chafed under the stratification of the society at large. They wanted to do things their own way, to answer their own orders, to make their own rules.
So, the young man decided hitching his bag over his shoulder and starting to walk down a dirt street (more like a track really. This was not a city or town in any sense of the word. Too rando
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altair-creed's Profile Picture

Artist | Professional | Literature
Current Residence: the Assassin Brotherhood AKA the Free Brethren AKA the Pirates AKA Edward Kenway
deviantWEAR sizing preference: errr.... huh?
Print preference: say what?
Favourite genre of music: metal/hard rock/rock/soundtrack
Favourite photographer: none really
Favourite style of art: anything in 3d perspective
Operating System: windows xp pro
MP3 player of choice: iPod
Shell of choice: my own skin
Wallpaper of choice: Assassin's Creed of course a no brainer right?
Skin of choice: Connor Kenway's outfit...
Favourite cartoon character: i dont watch cartoons -- i am an adult
Personal Quote: "To oppose, not obey. To live, not just exist. DEFY"
Folks, apparently there is a poster selling website that takes visual art from DA without permission and sells it as posters. it's called
  • Listening to: AC IV soundtracks
  • Reading: Sagas of Icelanders
  • Watching: Edward Kenway - real careful like
  • Playing: Assassin's Creed 4: Black Flag




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Spirited13 Featured By Owner Aug 1, 2018
Hello My friend!
Long time no speak! How are you? Hope life is treating you well! :D I haven't been on here in ages since I have been following my dream career, but now that everything is finally on track I am back lol. 

Hope you are well!

Take care! 

altair-creed Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2018  Professional Writer
Hey! How's the career going? Nice to see you back
Spirited13 Featured By Owner Aug 13, 2018
Hello, it is going very well thank you. After a few years its finally taken off and I am doing what I love :D How are you? Hows your career going? Its good to be back :D 

Have you played AC: Origins? If so what did you think? :D 
altair-creed Featured By Owner Aug 13, 2018  Professional Writer
I did not play Origins because I have no computer. As for career, I am going back to school to upgrade my education for better pay :)
(1 Reply)
Jenniej92 Featured By Owner Sep 15, 2017  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
hi there!
thanks for faving one of my AC works :dance:
have a great day and I hope to see you again :meow:
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