Amidst the veil of nightfall, the fifteenth century city of Florence, Italy slows to a still murmur as its citizens lethargically shuffle to their elaborate homes. The occasional courier trots along in the street, his duty never complete until his parcel arrives to its destined recipient. The moon draws a silvery sheen over the many clay-tiled roofs and various columns, but thickens the shadows beneath and behind to a blackened soup. Only the nightwatch, late arrivals, couriers, and ill-intentioned nobles or their representatives roam over the brick and cobblestone roads. The chill evening air provides a pervading ominousness throughout the city, but the ever looming shadows of night always instill a sense of wariness amongst the inhabitants -- it is no unfamiliar feeling, and some merely brush their fear away.
Crash. A feminine voice calls in the darkness out of pain, her cries echoing across a couple of barren streets. A man dressed in elegantly fashioned robes rushes to the sound, for how could a single man of his stature leave a lady in distress? As he turns the corner, he sees the source of the wails: a slender woman, covered from shoulder to presumably toe in a wine-colored cloak, its hood pushed back to allow the victim to properly see what has befallen her, struggling underneath a broken cart of straw. Her legs are hidden beneath the splintered wheel and the cart's body, and she wriggles desperately under its weight. A piece of straw flies to her olive-skinned face, causing her brilliant green eyes to flutter wide as she wiggles her nose and sneezes. Again, she continues her struggling until she spots the onlooker, to which she stretches out a delicate hand.
"Please! I am in need of assistance! The cart is too heavy!" More single attempts are made to escape on her own, but she only manages to push a lump of dark curls into the side of her face to create a seemingly inadvertent sultry look.
The noble, as he would appear to be, races to her side and urgently assures the woman, "Fear not, my lady," before he transfers his attention to lifting the cart. When he decides to rise, the woman glances around for any spectators and springs up from under the cart with ease. In one motion, her left hand connects to the man's neck and the muffled sound of a blade sheathing into skin resonates faintly in the square. She catches the corpse as he falls and tugs him into the pile of hay. Sprigs launch into the air at its sudden load, and the lithe woman wiggles her nose for another sneeze. However, she rubs her nose before its completion, and she carries on with her moonlit walk without worry of the previous events.
Crash. A feminine voice calls in the darkness out of pain, her cries echoing across a couple of barren streets. A man dressed in elegantly fashioned robes rushes to the sound, for how could a single man of his stature leave a lady in distress? As he turns the corner, he sees the source of the wails: a slender woman, covered from shoulder to presumably toe in a wine-colored cloak, its hood pushed back to allow the victim to properly see what has befallen her, struggling underneath a broken cart of straw. Her legs are hidden beneath the splintered wheel and the cart's body, and she wriggles desperately under its weight. A piece of straw flies to her olive-skinned face, causing her brilliant green eyes to flutter wide as she wiggles her nose and sneezes. Again, she continues her struggling until she spots the onlooker, to which she stretches out a delicate hand.
"Please! I am in need of assistance! The cart is too heavy!" More single attempts are made to escape on her own, but she only manages to push a lump of dark curls into the side of her face to create a seemingly inadvertent sultry look.
The noble, as he would appear to be, races to her side and urgently assures the woman, "Fear not, my lady," before he transfers his attention to lifting the cart. When he decides to rise, the woman glances around for any spectators and springs up from under the cart with ease. In one motion, her left hand connects to the man's neck and the muffled sound of a blade sheathing into skin resonates faintly in the square. She catches the corpse as he falls and tugs him into the pile of hay. Sprigs launch into the air at its sudden load, and the lithe woman wiggles her nose for another sneeze. However, she rubs her nose before its completion, and she carries on with her moonlit walk without worry of the previous events.
The city of Florence was home to many people. The most powerful of which were templars. The templar order has been around for many centuries. Of it one of it's highest if not highest ranked member Charles Frollo Tenebres was going there for his own reasons. As he was such an important person he knew if they knew of his arrival he would have the most skilled assassins after him. He would keep his arrival a secret to all but the highest ranking templars in the city. But he was always armed. Being a skilled swordsman and his four elite guards he had little reason to fear.
On a ship heading for Florence's port a man stood. This man was average height and had jet black hair and gem like blue eyes. He wore the attire of that similar to a french nobleman. The spectacular robes covered up his dagger and custom sword. He was not alone of course having four heavily armored men with him. They wielded large swords on their sheaths and a powerful axe on their back. The armor they wore would endure some rather heavy blows.
"Sir Tenebres we are approaching Florence we should be there in the hour." Said a templar soldier armed with a sword. "Very good. So has there been any information on the assassins in the area?" "No sir we know none but the guard has more then doubled. You will be safe." "That won't stop them trying." Charles replied. The man bowed and wandered back to his duties.
On a ship heading for Florence's port a man stood. This man was average height and had jet black hair and gem like blue eyes. He wore the attire of that similar to a french nobleman. The spectacular robes covered up his dagger and custom sword. He was not alone of course having four heavily armored men with him. They wielded large swords on their sheaths and a powerful axe on their back. The armor they wore would endure some rather heavy blows.
"Sir Tenebres we are approaching Florence we should be there in the hour." Said a templar soldier armed with a sword. "Very good. So has there been any information on the assassins in the area?" "No sir we know none but the guard has more then doubled. You will be safe." "That won't stop them trying." Charles replied. The man bowed and wandered back to his duties.
Audric was different then the other Assassins, His style of robes where like that of the grate Assassin Altair, but Audric's Robes where black. But there was one other think that put him apart from the others. He would sometimes dress as a normal person to go around town. Nobody ever guessed who he was as when he was in his assassins Robes he had his long black hair fixed to where it would not be seen as easy. And his eyes, Silver looked more blue when dressed in his assassins robes.
That was just how it seemed, But for now Dressed as the assassin he was the kind hearted man sat atop a bell tower like a crow watching the streets below.
That was just how it seemed, But for now Dressed as the assassin he was the kind hearted man sat atop a bell tower like a crow watching the streets below.
In that hour before Charles' arrival to Florence a terribly small procession of persons were heading to the river's docks. They weren't terribly remarkable from a first glance--a group of four men on horseback, trotting through the city streets towards their destination. There were no caparisons of house colors to identify the horses by, but obviously their riders were of some importance; three of the riders were personal guards of one of Florence's more prominent houses*, but the third was not one of that particular nobility.
Oh, noble he was, certainly! Lithe and gaunt, the middle-aged gentleman sitting straight-backed on his steed was dressed in tunics and robes of plum and violet-red, edged by golden-yellow threads. Thinning brown hair, streaked with the greys of age, was slicked back and covered by a plumed hat, and his eyes shone a bright blue that still held plenty of life within. His expression, on the other hand, was anything but vibrant and colorful.
"I hardly appreciate having to go out at this hour as an escort," the noble hissed under breath in Italian, accented in the harder sounds of the Germanic language.
"They said you would be the most inconspicuous, Lord Wilhelm," one of the guards quietly remarked, earning him a small glare and a huff in response.
"I hardly call a foreign visitor inconspicuous. Word will return to Germany that I like to take bizarre night-rides like some manner of a fool. Our visitor to Florence better be worth all of this."
Lord Wilhelm had no idea they were too early to meet Charles' ship, but he nevertheless was aware of what sort of dangers his group were putting themselves in--no matter how small or unremarkable they might've been at the moment, nor how much or little time they were going to spend waiting. They felt like seated ducks to him, and he hated it.
(OoC: Did we decide which point in Ezio's timeline this was going to be set in? Not sure which houses to make reference too, if any. I'll go nip off to a wiki and try to deduce something, too.)
Oh, noble he was, certainly! Lithe and gaunt, the middle-aged gentleman sitting straight-backed on his steed was dressed in tunics and robes of plum and violet-red, edged by golden-yellow threads. Thinning brown hair, streaked with the greys of age, was slicked back and covered by a plumed hat, and his eyes shone a bright blue that still held plenty of life within. His expression, on the other hand, was anything but vibrant and colorful.
"I hardly appreciate having to go out at this hour as an escort," the noble hissed under breath in Italian, accented in the harder sounds of the Germanic language.
"They said you would be the most inconspicuous, Lord Wilhelm," one of the guards quietly remarked, earning him a small glare and a huff in response.
"I hardly call a foreign visitor inconspicuous. Word will return to Germany that I like to take bizarre night-rides like some manner of a fool. Our visitor to Florence better be worth all of this."
Lord Wilhelm had no idea they were too early to meet Charles' ship, but he nevertheless was aware of what sort of dangers his group were putting themselves in--no matter how small or unremarkable they might've been at the moment, nor how much or little time they were going to spend waiting. They felt like seated ducks to him, and he hated it.
(OoC: Did we decide which point in Ezio's timeline this was going to be set in? Not sure which houses to make reference too, if any. I'll go nip off to a wiki and try to deduce something, too.)
The cloaked woman walks quietly along the street in a relaxed manner, idly gazing up at the architecture of the city. A tower, the likes of which she knows is unparalleled in the city, catches her interest. In her memory, she recalls it to be Giotto's Campanile, one of the tallest towers in Florence. With few guards around, she slips in between the cathedral and the tower, thoroughly soaking herself in the midnight darkness. She feels her way for ledges and crevices, her climbing hindered due to the lack of ambient light. Still, the woman can't deny a challenge, and so she sets about to slowly establishing a pace along the campanile's surface. Once she reaches the windows, the task becomes a simple one, and she soon hoists herself onto the clay tiles of the roof.
The view, illuminated by the brilliance of a waxing moon, astonishes the assassin. She had scaled the campanile once to gain a vital vantage point during a mission, but it was in the broad daylight with the sun at its apex, the blinding rays preventing anyone from gazing up at the height of the tower from a distance. This, she concludes, is the essence of her sweetest dreams. The silence, the stillness of the air, the silvery wash upon the city; it's everything she could ever imagine. To business, she reminds herself. Her chartreuse eyes dart about the sprawling city, and at last she spies a black dot in the outline of the rooftops. She backs up into the metal rod to allow herself a running start, and like an acrobatic, flings herself off of the portal into paradise to the ground below where a wooden cart carrying a load of rose leaves sits in waiting.
( OOC: I hope no one minds, but I chose 1479 as the date. Ezio is 20 years old and has probably gathered a bit of infamy at this point. It's the end of the summer, and fall is just around the corner. )
The view, illuminated by the brilliance of a waxing moon, astonishes the assassin. She had scaled the campanile once to gain a vital vantage point during a mission, but it was in the broad daylight with the sun at its apex, the blinding rays preventing anyone from gazing up at the height of the tower from a distance. This, she concludes, is the essence of her sweetest dreams. The silence, the stillness of the air, the silvery wash upon the city; it's everything she could ever imagine. To business, she reminds herself. Her chartreuse eyes dart about the sprawling city, and at last she spies a black dot in the outline of the rooftops. She backs up into the metal rod to allow herself a running start, and like an acrobatic, flings herself off of the portal into paradise to the ground below where a wooden cart carrying a load of rose leaves sits in waiting.
( OOC: I hope no one minds, but I chose 1479 as the date. Ezio is 20 years old and has probably gathered a bit of infamy at this point. It's the end of the summer, and fall is just around the corner. )
As Charles ship pulled into the dock he saw Lord Wilhelm and three horsemen waiting. Looking over to see the man Charles walked up to the front of the ship admiring the area. He was still not revealing his full rank to anyone yet as to remain more inconspicuous. He had heard word about an assassin making a name for himself. Ezio Auditory was quickly becoming one of the best ever. But it was what he was on the trail of that intrigued Charles the most.
As the large ship pulled into the harbor his guards walked off and stood in formation. "You are Lord Wilhelm I take it?" He said to the noble in french assuming he would understand. His accent was french and carried a certain charisma with it. The guards stood strong and Charles held himself up well. His rich blue eyes and jet black hair blew in the sea breeze. His perfectly tailored robes sat as a testimony to his french up bringing. The dark blue, purple and red robes held up good with his young peach skin.
(OOC: Ok good idea for the time period.)
As the large ship pulled into the harbor his guards walked off and stood in formation. "You are Lord Wilhelm I take it?" He said to the noble in french assuming he would understand. His accent was french and carried a certain charisma with it. The guards stood strong and Charles held himself up well. His rich blue eyes and jet black hair blew in the sea breeze. His perfectly tailored robes sat as a testimony to his french up bringing. The dark blue, purple and red robes held up good with his young peach skin.
(OOC: Ok good idea for the time period.)
~hmm... something is not right here today~ Audric thought as he leaped down from the tower landing in a pile ot Rose leafs below. He emerged moments later when the cost was clear and he slipped into the shadows of an ally way, and into his home hidden abong dead bushes where so far none had found him said for the assassins whom had given him the place. Quickly he changed into a set of normal clothing and hid his robes in a chest in the floorboards before he let his hair down. Once done he stepped out of the shadows and headed for the docks
(( Audric is not like the others
you will see that latter on ))
(( Audric is not like the others
you will see that latter on ))
The noble's own mounted guards lined up behind him, with two flanking at his horse's rear and the last one directly behind. He took a few seconds to study Charles from his perch, and then he swiftly dismounted from the black saddle. His stance showed that age hadn't worn him down just yet, for he held strong and moved with purpose and confidence.
"Good evening, Lord Tenebres," Wilhelm quietly greeted the fellow Templar in French that, while a little rough and overtly formal in parts, got his intents across, "You would be correct in your assumption: I am Lord Samuel Landric of House Wilhelm. We welcome you to Florence, Sir."
The older gentleman extended a hand, marked by a gold and ruby signet ring of a falcon imposed upon a very specific cross, and added even quieter than before, "I would advise we make haste. There is something brewing in the air these nights; I would hate to inform our hosts that I returned with the dead in hand."
"Good evening, Lord Tenebres," Wilhelm quietly greeted the fellow Templar in French that, while a little rough and overtly formal in parts, got his intents across, "You would be correct in your assumption: I am Lord Samuel Landric of House Wilhelm. We welcome you to Florence, Sir."
The older gentleman extended a hand, marked by a gold and ruby signet ring of a falcon imposed upon a very specific cross, and added even quieter than before, "I would advise we make haste. There is something brewing in the air these nights; I would hate to inform our hosts that I returned with the dead in hand."
I had been able to convince Paola to assist me in my quest for vengeance. She taught me how to survive in the city as an outlaw through pickpocketing and blending in crowds. She further directed me to Leonardo da Vinci to repair the Hidden Blade of the late Giovanni Auditore, but did not notice that I was being watched. Hmmm, Something is not right here I quickly told Leonardo that I need to leave quickly. I quickly ducked between a space of two buildings that still allowed me to see what was going on. Arriving to Leonardo's workshop was nothing more than a gaurd that began banging on the door, he ordered Leonardo outside, and tried to beat my location from him. I had realized something was wrong and had crept up behind the guard and stabbed him from behind. Leonardo began to thank me profously. I left in hopes to assassinate Alberti.
(Ezio might be a little oc, but sometimes though)
(Ezio might be a little oc, but sometimes though)
"it is in your and his best interest that I stay out of this" Nayden tried to push the woman who clutched his arm begging him, a stranger whom she met on the street but dressed as a man who can handle himself. A white bandana tied loosely around his neck. He was never a man for rules but he was a man of honour, dishonoured however by his former brotherhood.
He tried to loosen her vice-like grip, the woman seemed to be from a working class family, her bloodied shirt seemed to be the result of her broken nose. It was hard to look at her without feeling sorry for her so he did as she begged from him, to save her from her abusive husband "If you're sure asszonyom (Madam)..." He gave in and turned to the door with his arms crossed.
He wore a black waist coat with outline of it was a blood red. He wore a knife belt around his right shoulder to his left hip. He lifted his bandana over his face to cover it instead of a hood.
A drunk came stumbling out of the house with an almost finished bottle of alcohol in hand "Where is that whore?!" he slurred looking out at the amassed crowd trying to find his wife. He squinted and spotted her hidden behind Nayden "úr (Sir) it'd be wise to leave this woman alone, she doesn't need a drunk such as yourself as a husband. It'd be best to leave whilst you have whatever shame left" he threatened the drunk, The woman started to cry, holding tightly onto him.
"Please sir, don't leave me with him, it pains me to see his love turned into alcohol" she said to Nayden tearing up
"Don't worry" is all Nayden said before the drunk lashed at him with the bottle held over him. He swung at Nayden in a diagonal swing, Nayden ducked under the swing and twisted his arm behind him. He spun him around a ran into the door knocking it off it's hinges and destroying it in the process. Nayden wrapped one arm around the neck and the other placed on his mouth to muffle his screams. With a swift movement he broke his neck, making him limp.
Nayden stood up and brushed his clothes, stood over the body with a slight look of disgust "Nem nyugszik a szégyenletes (No rest for the shameful)" He whispered, before leaving the house. As he stepped out into the crowd, the woman stared with wide eyes "It is best you hold onto the memories of a happier past" A sincere saddened look as he looked at her, she reminded him of his mother for the few seconds her eyes looked at him.
He turned around the corner of the house and lowered his white bandana as he made his way down the street. The streets went completely silent before a single scream echoed through it, it hit him painfully, relating in his slightly messed up way. An elder man emerged from a corner, grabbing his hand and shaking it "Thank you sir, I told her that he was going to be bad for her. She should have heeded my warning" he said with a single tear running down his aged cheek. The old man before him mustered up a painful smile and ran to the aid of the young, hurt woman.
Nayden was silent, he had nothing to say but all he could feel is sorrow, for the woman, For Isabella, for his mother and sister. He wiped the rogue tear that represented his life from his cheek.
As he travelled down the street he caught Ezio, intrigued by his performance, he decided to follow him seeing as he didn't have anywhere to go and maybe, come one step closer to Vendrick DeBloon.
He tried to loosen her vice-like grip, the woman seemed to be from a working class family, her bloodied shirt seemed to be the result of her broken nose. It was hard to look at her without feeling sorry for her so he did as she begged from him, to save her from her abusive husband "If you're sure asszonyom (Madam)..." He gave in and turned to the door with his arms crossed.
He wore a black waist coat with outline of it was a blood red. He wore a knife belt around his right shoulder to his left hip. He lifted his bandana over his face to cover it instead of a hood.
A drunk came stumbling out of the house with an almost finished bottle of alcohol in hand "Where is that whore?!" he slurred looking out at the amassed crowd trying to find his wife. He squinted and spotted her hidden behind Nayden "úr (Sir) it'd be wise to leave this woman alone, she doesn't need a drunk such as yourself as a husband. It'd be best to leave whilst you have whatever shame left" he threatened the drunk, The woman started to cry, holding tightly onto him.
"Please sir, don't leave me with him, it pains me to see his love turned into alcohol" she said to Nayden tearing up
"Don't worry" is all Nayden said before the drunk lashed at him with the bottle held over him. He swung at Nayden in a diagonal swing, Nayden ducked under the swing and twisted his arm behind him. He spun him around a ran into the door knocking it off it's hinges and destroying it in the process. Nayden wrapped one arm around the neck and the other placed on his mouth to muffle his screams. With a swift movement he broke his neck, making him limp.
Nayden stood up and brushed his clothes, stood over the body with a slight look of disgust "Nem nyugszik a szégyenletes (No rest for the shameful)" He whispered, before leaving the house. As he stepped out into the crowd, the woman stared with wide eyes "It is best you hold onto the memories of a happier past" A sincere saddened look as he looked at her, she reminded him of his mother for the few seconds her eyes looked at him.
He turned around the corner of the house and lowered his white bandana as he made his way down the street. The streets went completely silent before a single scream echoed through it, it hit him painfully, relating in his slightly messed up way. An elder man emerged from a corner, grabbing his hand and shaking it "Thank you sir, I told her that he was going to be bad for her. She should have heeded my warning" he said with a single tear running down his aged cheek. The old man before him mustered up a painful smile and ran to the aid of the young, hurt woman.
Nayden was silent, he had nothing to say but all he could feel is sorrow, for the woman, For Isabella, for his mother and sister. He wiped the rogue tear that represented his life from his cheek.
As he travelled down the street he caught Ezio, intrigued by his performance, he decided to follow him seeing as he didn't have anywhere to go and maybe, come one step closer to Vendrick DeBloon.
During the fall, the assassin notices the silhouette in the distance take a dive of its own. Curiosity springs in her mind, and she makes an effort to wriggle out of the wagon as quickly as she can when her jump is complete. On instinct, her wine-colored hood pops over her head and she sets into a brisk walk that any other female might make on an evening stroll so late in the night.
The city, being her life-long home, is easy enough to navigate for a person such as herself. However, estimating where a specific target could be from the streets is a separate matter altogether even with the streets as bare as they are. So, the hooded woman sprints up a few crates to a market sign, and with an agile swing, she flings herself onto a wrought iron overhang. From this vantage point, she continues her journey at a full sprint, only slowing to regain any lost footing after making a particularly lengthy jump. In no time, she reaches the roof on which the silhouette had resided mere minutes before. Her eyes squint in the pale moonlight as she scans for the enigmatic person. A man, she can see, walks gingerly towards the docks. With his face in the moonlight and his back to her, she cannot make out exactly what he is wearing, but judging by his distance from her newfound perch, she assumes that he is the same man. Stifling a snicker of delight, she pounces from the roof to the cart below in a swift dive.
Leaves abandon her form as she winds her way through the buildings meticulously. Before long, her gait allows her to trail just behind the gentleman in question.
"Buona sera," she greets a little too enthusiastically, her voice carrying a melodic quality through the still night air. Continuing with her native tongue, she questions, "To whom do I have the pleasure?"
The city, being her life-long home, is easy enough to navigate for a person such as herself. However, estimating where a specific target could be from the streets is a separate matter altogether even with the streets as bare as they are. So, the hooded woman sprints up a few crates to a market sign, and with an agile swing, she flings herself onto a wrought iron overhang. From this vantage point, she continues her journey at a full sprint, only slowing to regain any lost footing after making a particularly lengthy jump. In no time, she reaches the roof on which the silhouette had resided mere minutes before. Her eyes squint in the pale moonlight as she scans for the enigmatic person. A man, she can see, walks gingerly towards the docks. With his face in the moonlight and his back to her, she cannot make out exactly what he is wearing, but judging by his distance from her newfound perch, she assumes that he is the same man. Stifling a snicker of delight, she pounces from the roof to the cart below in a swift dive.
Leaves abandon her form as she winds her way through the buildings meticulously. Before long, her gait allows her to trail just behind the gentleman in question.
"Buona sera," she greets a little too enthusiastically, her voice carrying a melodic quality through the still night air. Continuing with her native tongue, she questions, "To whom do I have the pleasure?"
"Yes quiet and with dawn approaching very quickly we won't have long before the city folk begin moving." Charles said as five horses came out of the bowls of the ship. "Sir your steed." Said a soldier giving Charles his horse. The horse was a large black stallion with a bit of armor on it's head and torso. The guards had horses as well all similar but brown. "Lead the way." He said getting on his horse. "I have some questions I hope you can answer for me. I would hate for my visit to be for nothing." He said as they began striding on horseback with the dawn sun behind them and a new light sent over the city.
(( unsure of who is interacting with who ... but assuming you mean me))
Audric found a spot and leaned against a wall, as he folded his arms against his chest. Almost instantly seeming to blend into the shadows. Even out ot if his black robes he still always had black on. His silver eyes reflecting the light of the night giving off an appearance of moonlight shining off something wet. hearing a voice a few moment latter he turned his head to look at the female who had spoken " Oh, bonjour mi lady." He said with a kind smile, his voice was like silk and held a true french accent.
... but assuming you mean me))Audric found a spot and leaned against a wall, as he folded his arms against his chest. Almost instantly seeming to blend into the shadows. Even out ot if his black robes he still always had black on. His silver eyes reflecting the light of the night giving off an appearance of moonlight shining off something wet. hearing a voice a few moment latter he turned his head to look at the female who had spoken " Oh, bonjour mi lady." He said with a kind smile, his voice was like silk and held a true french accent.
First mark against the Frenchman in his escort's blue eyes: Tenebres did not appear to accept Wilhelm's handshake. The lord frowned ever-so-slightly. Second mark: the utterance of 'city folk' came off to the German as horrendously common and unprofessional. He lowered his hand, allowing it to rest and wrap around the reigns of his large, brown horse once again.
"Very well, Sir," Wilhelm responds curtly. "We will be heading towards the heart of the city; meanwhile I will do my utmost to answer whatever inquiries you may have to present." With that, he turns the horse around and begins walking it away from the ship. The guards so the same, intermingling with Charles' own to form one large, formidable barricade of armed, no-doubt dangerous men.
"Very well, Sir," Wilhelm responds curtly. "We will be heading towards the heart of the city; meanwhile I will do my utmost to answer whatever inquiries you may have to present." With that, he turns the horse around and begins walking it away from the ship. The guards so the same, intermingling with Charles' own to form one large, formidable barricade of armed, no-doubt dangerous men.
After asking around I had found that Alberti was in the courtyard of the Basilica of Santa Croce and was attending Verrochio's latest exhibit. After making my way inside the courtyard, I attacked Alberti in a frenzied rage, stabbing him multiple times in the chest, before proudly proclaiming the survival of the Auditore family through me. After killing Alberti, I began to look through his possessions. Finding what I wanted, I took the documents that Alberti stole from my father and I. As I continued searching through his things I found a letter that was from Alberti I wonder who this is for I saw that the letter was supposed to be for his wife and son. Not wanting to sink to Alberti's level, I decided that I would see to it that she gets the letter.
Was very silent as he followed Ezio, He was on a mission he could make that out from the way he acted. Nayden red his body language as best he could, it seemed it was a vendetta more than a mission. Nayden wanted watch, like a silent stalker as he observed his skills.
Nayden watched how Ezio took the kill, he was reckless and naïve, yet cautious in some ways. His recklessness was what alarmed the guards that watched over the courtyard.
Nayden did as much he could to stop them from either shooting at Ezio or alarming the bell. He leaped for the last guard who dived for the bell and pulled it just as Nayden brought the blade to his throat "átkozott (Damn)" he muttered as he hid around the corner and watching Ezio "Leave now... remain incognito" Nayden whispered to himself, he sounded like his mentor, Debloon, that was what he hated most.
Guards swarmed in throught he courtyard gates and Nayden was first to flee, leaping from an open window onto a parallel roof and onto the streets blending in with a crowd that stood outside the least guarded exit, waiting for Ezio
Nayden watched how Ezio took the kill, he was reckless and naïve, yet cautious in some ways. His recklessness was what alarmed the guards that watched over the courtyard.
Nayden did as much he could to stop them from either shooting at Ezio or alarming the bell. He leaped for the last guard who dived for the bell and pulled it just as Nayden brought the blade to his throat "átkozott (Damn)" he muttered as he hid around the corner and watching Ezio "Leave now... remain incognito" Nayden whispered to himself, he sounded like his mentor, Debloon, that was what he hated most.
Guards swarmed in throught he courtyard gates and Nayden was first to flee, leaping from an open window onto a parallel roof and onto the streets blending in with a crowd that stood outside the least guarded exit, waiting for Ezio
(( OOC: Ezio, bear in mind that this RP is set in 1479. Ezio is 20 years old and is already established as an assassin with many accomplishments, including the assassination of Uberto Alberti three years before this setting. If you have any questions about what he'd be doing at this time, feel free to contact me in the Assassins Creed thread or message me privately. ))
"Mmm, so you are an homme de français, I see," she notes in lazy, informal French, pinning her dark hair behind her ears with her hood draped delicately over her shoulders. "Fortunately, it is the only other language I am privy to." She extends a petite hand, although not without its fair share of scars and callouses, and offers it in greeting. "Je m'appelle Serena." Her Italian accent mixes with her French in rolling r's and long, melodic e's. "What brings you into the evening? A midnight stroll, perhaps?"
"Mmm, so you are an homme de français, I see," she notes in lazy, informal French, pinning her dark hair behind her ears with her hood draped delicately over her shoulders. "Fortunately, it is the only other language I am privy to." She extends a petite hand, although not without its fair share of scars and callouses, and offers it in greeting. "Je m'appelle Serena." Her Italian accent mixes with her French in rolling r's and long, melodic e's. "What brings you into the evening? A midnight stroll, perhaps?"
"Very well. So what do you know of me and my reasons for being here?" Tenebres asked wondering if word had been slipped of who he really was. On horse back he rode through the city admiring the scenari. His thoughts were on his goal which was related to the 'first civilization' and an assassin who he could get this information off.
" Audric " He said shaking her had as he brushed his waist length black hair away from his silver eyes " and as for what im doing out miss, that is my own business" he said with a kind smile. He was still new around here so he had not learned the other assassins by face other than Ezio whom he had only meet once.
The Germanic Templar raised his brows and gave a lighthearted chuckle at Tenebres' question.
"Are we trying to put up a mysterious front, Sir, or are you testing my merit? You are one of the Grand Masters of France, but of course," Wilhelm answered quite simply, hardly blinking at this fact. Shouldn't everyone important to the order know of their neighboring betters? It was not as if France and what remained of the Holy Roman Empire were oceans apart.
"Your reason, on the other hand, is not something--"
"My Lord! L-Lord Wilhelm!" The Templar whipped his head about, panning the street laid before them. His eyes landed squarely on one of his own attendants, running at them in a panicked hurry. Wilhelm grit his teeth and peered down his nose at the man once he drew close. One could've mistaken the older man for a very bothered house cat, for his contemptuous and irritation.
"What is it!?"
"H-Herr Alberti h-has been assassi--"
"Ruhig!" the Templar hissed back in German, causing the attendant to shy away. "How long ago?"
"A-a little while ago! N-not even a quarter of an hour had passed!"
Although no where near as powerful as Tenebres, Wilhelm still saw himself fit to start up orders in German. Hopefully his guest was knowledgeable in the language. "Is his home still secure? No sign of the Assassin?"
The attendant missed the importance of that last word and shook his head.
"N-no, Sir, he was n-not home at the time!"
"...Good. Then we shall carry on as planned. I was his guest, his home can hardly be barred to me on such a terrible, short notice. Go ahead of us and keep your eyes and ears open." Callousness coated every word, and it could be guessed that Wilhelm did not hold much love for the deceased Alberti, or he simply didn't care as long as it did not directly interfere with himself.
((OOC: If we are still going with Alberti's assassination, we could simply and quietly say the year is 1476--unless that interferes with Ezio, but Deatharrow did already tell us he was OC-ing the guy a bit, so hopefully that's not a problem!))
"Are we trying to put up a mysterious front, Sir, or are you testing my merit? You are one of the Grand Masters of France, but of course," Wilhelm answered quite simply, hardly blinking at this fact. Shouldn't everyone important to the order know of their neighboring betters? It was not as if France and what remained of the Holy Roman Empire were oceans apart.
"Your reason, on the other hand, is not something--"
"My Lord! L-Lord Wilhelm!" The Templar whipped his head about, panning the street laid before them. His eyes landed squarely on one of his own attendants, running at them in a panicked hurry. Wilhelm grit his teeth and peered down his nose at the man once he drew close. One could've mistaken the older man for a very bothered house cat, for his contemptuous and irritation.
"What is it!?"
"H-Herr Alberti h-has been assassi--"
"Ruhig!" the Templar hissed back in German, causing the attendant to shy away. "How long ago?"
"A-a little while ago! N-not even a quarter of an hour had passed!"
Although no where near as powerful as Tenebres, Wilhelm still saw himself fit to start up orders in German. Hopefully his guest was knowledgeable in the language. "Is his home still secure? No sign of the Assassin?"
The attendant missed the importance of that last word and shook his head.
"N-no, Sir, he was n-not home at the time!"
"...Good. Then we shall carry on as planned. I was his guest, his home can hardly be barred to me on such a terrible, short notice. Go ahead of us and keep your eyes and ears open." Callousness coated every word, and it could be guessed that Wilhelm did not hold much love for the deceased Alberti, or he simply didn't care as long as it did not directly interfere with himself.
((OOC: If we are still going with Alberti's assassination, we could simply and quietly say the year is 1476--unless that interferes with Ezio, but Deatharrow did already tell us he was OC-ing the guy a bit, so hopefully that's not a problem!))
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