[closed] Beginning Anew

Kaya woke with a start. She was warm and the cot underneath her was quite comfortable compared to her usual tree branch. Disoriented, she struggled to get herself up into a sitting position.

Her head throbbed and ached. Every fiber in her body was sore and spent. Yet she still tensed up at the sound a low voice. "Careful, now. You have a pretty bad concussion, Miss...it would be best for you to save your strength and rest so your body can heal."

She groaned softly wishing the pounding headache would hurry up come to an end. Glancing over at her left arm she noticed her coat was taken off and the bullet wound was wrapped in clean bandages. "I stitched that up for you, it may leave a scar but you were lucky to avoid infection," the voice added.

Kaya turned to meet the tired gaze of a middle aged man. He was sitting behind another desk, smaller than the one she saw at the entrance, with a glass half full of a dark brown liquid in his hand. Through the window behind him, it was still dark outside. She cleared her throat, her mouth suddenly dry. I passed out...? Spirits, how much time have I wasted...?

"H-how long was I asleep for..?" she asked, and immediately hated how shaky her voiced sounded.

"Ah, So you do speak English..." The doctor mused, then took a sip from his glass. "I'd say it's only been about of couple hours, miss. Your companion here has been taking it easy the whole time..." he motioned toward the lump of fur, fast asleep at his feet with his head resting on his paws.

The silence was broken by loud groans emanating from another bed adjacent to her own and the pup stirred awake, ears twitching. Kaya rubbed the sleep from her eyes and struggled to bring into focus a man with bandages wrapped around his head and one of his eyes. He writhed in agony, his hands massaging his covered eye.

She shuddered at his cries but was thankful the doctor was distracted by his patient that he didn't notice her moment of discomfort.

It took some time but eventually, the man's features were familiar to her. She couldn't place his name but she remembered his face in the street, the man Felicity was helping.

He cries slowly grew louder and louder and she couldn't take much more, being cooped up in a dark, cramped room. She watched, waiting until the doctor's back was turned before she climbed out of bed, silently grabbing her equipment that were draped on the wooden chair beside the bed. The pup scrambled to his feet and trotted over to her. She scooped him up and quickly crept out of the room, her muscles groaning and aching the whole way.

As quietly as she could, she sneaked out through the front door and pulled it to close behind her, wincing when it creaked shut.

She glanced up and down the street and saw nothing but a few people, most of them drunk and stumbling over their feet. She slipped into the dark alley beside the doctor's office and set her things and the little pup down to pull on her boots.

I need to find Felicity.... It took some effort to shrug her coat on, her wounded arm searing with pain but she grit her teeth to keep herself from making any noise. She strapped her belt back around her waist and checked to make sure she had her hidden blades, bow and quiver in place and secure.

Once she deemed everything was in working order she bent down to pick up the pup by the scruff of his neck and dropped him back into his pouch at her waist. He squirmed and whined but she gently and firmly tightened the bag so that it would keep him in place but still give him room to breathe.

She took a deep, shaky breath, doing her best to ignore the throbbing headache just behind her eyes. She drew her hood over her features, ready to hunt...

Gabriel Winters

Gabe was brought back to life in a world of agony. He held in a gasp as a fiery line burned from his right hip to just under his left collar bone. No bones had been broken in the passing tip of Gideon’s blade, but it had been a near thing.

Thinking back on the final strike, Gabe knew that Black had pulled his blow. If he hadn’t Gabriel Winters would be laying in two pieces out in the woods as nothing more than food for the animals.

He ran a finger over his chest and made sure that his stitches were still unbroken from his sleep. Whomever had sewn him back together had done a fine job. The scar would be hideous to look at but Gabriel also didn't spend much time without his shirt on either, so it wouldn’t cause a problem in the future.

Assuming there was a future.

He still had seen no sign of Gideon Black since arriving at his prison cell. That was fine. He needed time to heal. It had been a couple of days as far as he could tell. Right now he could barely stand, let alone fight. The irony of his current situation was not lost on him either. Whereas only a few days before John had been talking to him about what would happen if he was captured, here he now was… captured and wounded.

Kaya might have already been killed as well. There had been a lot of gunfire in the distance before he’d passed out.

John by himself would not have the skills necessary to pull off a rescue. Even with help it was a long shot, as Gideon did not seem the reckless type. He wouldn’t leave a chance of Gabriel escaping.

So it left Felicity. Who was already on the Seeker’s list. The woman who seemed nearly incapable of shaking her pursuers, and her pursuers seemingly content on letting her remain paranoid. She wouldn’t get within a hundred yards of Gabriel without being spotted and captured or killed herself.

The Brotherhood was steadily fracturing, and there was nothing that Gabriel could seem to do about it. In fact, his time spent in America so far had been nothing but running and hiding. Every time he seemed to get a leg up, something seemed to go wrong and set him back. His mandate to aid the Brotherhood was being failed miserably.

To top that off, he’d seen the legendary sword that had been entrusted to him, destroyed. Severed neatly as if the steel had been made of thick cream. That in itself was enough to cause grief. He’d proven in the end that he had been unworthy of the honor of carrying Reaper. Master Tanaka would have expelled him from the Osaka Assassins for the shame that he had brought upon them all.

Even if he somehow escaped at this point, he would never find a blade to equal Reaper. And without a sword of an even quality, Gabriel would not be able to match Gideon if and when he healed to fighting shape.

Again, despair gripped at Gabriel’s heart. But he immediately forced it away. Despair would not allow him to function as the weapon he was meant to be. It would cloud his judgement and reason.

Painfully, he pulled himself to a sitting position against the far wall of his prison. That simple act left him breathless.

How could he escape? He had no weapons, no tools, and hardly any strength. The guards never opened his cell for any reason, and he was never spoken to by anyone. What would contribute to his escape?

He needed his tools. His wrist blades would be enough to allow him to fight effectively. His picks would let him navigate the prison he seemed to be in. But both of those things were completely out of reach. What did he have left?

Gabe closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He felt so weak, he could just fall back into sleep. But when he opened his eyes again, he had unintentionally opened his senses to eagle vision. His heartbeat thumped steadily in his ears as the world went gray. Shimmering waves outlined his own hands and skin, where visible.

Useless, he thought.

But just as he was about to push his senses back to their normal state, he caught a flicker out of the corner of his eye. Slowly, he turned his eyes to the flicker, and realized that there was some blood on the floor.

No. Not blood. Dried blood. Blood that had been washed away. But the Sight didn’t care how many times a stone was scrubbed. Blood carried a unique marker that shown brightly to those with the sight.

The stain was almost covered by the straw that served as Gabriel’s sleeping mat, and traveled directly under it into the corner of the cell, directly under where the mat was situated.

Gabe slid a hand under the straw and pushed as much as he dared. The straw parted and the trail continued right up to a specific stone on the floor.

An unconscious smirk spread on his features as he looked at the stone. A small message was written in red in a quick hand directly under a tiny drawn symbol of the Brotherhood.

For my brothers. the letters said.

Gabriel scooted closer and placed his hand on the rock. To the touch, it shifted. He looked outside of his cell quickly to make sure that he was not being watched, then bit his lip to stifle the cry of pain he felt at lifting the stone.

There, laying beneath the shifted rock, was a single lockpick.

This cell was not Gabriel’s. It was an Assassin’s. Perhaps the previous occupant had found the same secret and had known of his peril. This room was used to store captured Assassin’s until something happened to them. The last man here had known he wasn’t going to make it, and had tried to leave help for the next one to follow. Only those with the Sight would find the rock under the mat. And while Gideon did mysteriously have the gift, he’d gotten complacent, and hadn’t checked the cell over before putting Gabriel in there.

His first and last mistake.

Gabe felt the pick over and realized it wasn’t in the best shape. He would get one, maybe two careful locks out of the way before it broke.

But it would do.

He replaced the rock and straw back as it had been, careful to fully cover the blood on the floor. When he was ready, he would escape the dank prison, and get back on track. If he found the others, fine. If not?

All the better. He would do more damage if he didn’t have to look after anyone.

For now though, he closed his eyes and slept on the most comfortable bed in the land, knowing his salvation lay beneath.

Black’s face was greeted by the cool night air as he opened the door of the captain’s cabin, leaving the bloody smell of death behind him. Stars lit up the cold black sky and the calm of the evening was only interrupted by the distant sounds of late night drinking and debauchery in the city. Outside there were two guards still guarding the ramp that led down to the docks while Jacque and his two companions stood alongside them. Black’s exiting of the captain’s cabin drew their attention, although with only the moon to light the top of the ship it took a moment before they noticed his blood-covered hands.

The guards were quick to draw up their arms and to be alert at what deeds that may have occurred within the cabin. However, the focus on the fate of their boss and what may have transpired distracted them from a more present and immediate danger: the three French mercenaries who were right behind them as they went to approach Black. Within seconds the two guards realized their mistake, but by then it was too late as the mercenaries descended upon them and kept them in check by holding knives to their throats. Dropping their weapons to the ground they were forced to a kneeling position. None of the guards in the port would be able to make out the situation very quickly and any cries for help would quickly by met by a deep gash through the neck.

“Now, gentlemen, I know what this looks like,” Black says, pacing back and forth whilst gesturing with his blood-stained hands. “But there’s really no reason for us to be up in arms right now. Mr. Elsebert served his tenure at the port with distinction, but that term has now ended.”

As he had done numerous times before gaining entry to the Bountiful Yield, Black raised his hand to display the Templar ring he wore.

“I know… that you know… what this means. You also know that the late Sebastian Elsebert wore one of these. Well it’s my duty to inform you that it’s just been revoked. John Potter, I’m sure you’re all familiar with the name, will be filling his position and trust me, I’m sure he will be a lot more respectable to those he employs. Now, do we have any objections?"

Alvin Sharpe

Alvin followed Jeremiah out on deck, using every bit of his personal discipline to not look back at the corpse that was starting to cool in the Captain's cabin behind them. He forced himself to remain silent. To remain confident.

Or at least confident looking.

His hands were loose at his side, ready to pull his borrowed pistol from his belt and take down at least one of the soldiers. Men like Sebastian Elsebert were the men that he feared. The real Templars. The men of authority. But these pawns standing on deck were almost beneath him.

And where had that thought come from? He had been one of them not a fortnight ago. Was it really the influence of standing next to Black, that had given him some sort of confidence he didn't know he'd had before? Could the aura of a man do that? Could he really inspire on nothing more than words, to bring out the true being within a man?

What a strange gift, if that is really what it was.

Both guards looked at each other. Both wanting to act. Both unsure of how to do so. If they raised their weapons, they would both die, for they were heavily outnumbered in close proximity. The three Frenchmen would have proven enough of a challenge, but now before them stood their former prisoner and the man who had just killed their boss. They'd held no love for Sebastian, but how far was one supposed to go for loyalty? They seemed to both conclude at the same time that their lives were worth more than dying on the deck of a captured ship, for no reason except that they refused to move out of the way.

"Y-yes Sir, Mr. Black. We hope that Sebastian wasn't too much trouble for you Sir. Looking forward to a bit of a change of pace from Mr. Potter Sir." The braver of the two said. The second man nodded emphatically.

Then both of them stepped out of the way.

Is it really so simple? Wave a ring around and speak with confidence and people dance to your tune? Or is it more than that? Does Black have some kind of real authority over these men? I've never seen a Templar turn on one of their brothers. I could be wrong. But Jeremiah Black just jumped up five more notches on my dangerous scale. He wields people like weapons, and weapons like toys. And at the end of it. He convinces his enemies that he was supposed to be somewhere he was not, with a silver tongue. I could learn a lot from this man. Or he could be my end. I guess I'll just have to follow and find out.... Alvin thought to himself.

The group stepped through the two guards and Alvin followed Jeremiah to the center of the deck, where he had Jacque open the hatch down to the crew quarters and holds.

Now it was time to find out what they had actually come here for. Alvin had little confidence that they were here for guards uniforms. He spoke to Jeremiah out of the corner of his mouth as they hit the landing under the ladder.

"If they have Gabriel, we need to do something. I don't think even you could raise enough skilled men to face the kind of people that would be strong enough to take someone like Winters down."

But why would Black care? He needed to add bait to the fishing line, else Jeremiah wouldn't bite and dedicate resources.

"....This man, if we rescue him from this... Lord Seeker person that Sebastian spoke of... he's probably going to be besides himself with fury. A man of his skill may be coerced by some cleverly placed intelligence. To do such a thing may be akin to pointing a naval cannon directly at your enemies face, Jeremiah."

And.... I owe him my life as much as I owe you. I think we should spring him from bondage, if we can find out where he is.

Black took in what Alvin was saying as they descended into the depths of the Bountiful Yield. There was almost an otherworldly feeling to the journey as the derelict ship creaked back and forth against the tide, which echoed throughout the empty vessel. Muffled voices could be heard through the wooden boards that made up the ship which grew ever closer as they approached the hold.

“I appreciate your respect for this Assassin you speak of, I really do Alvin, but the fact of the matter is that we have absolutely no idea where he may be. I would consider it more if we were in possession of information that pertained to his whereabouts or his captors. But all we do know at the moment is that he is captured, which is not enough to warrant the goose chase following up on that would inevitably entail.”

Black stopped in the corridor and turned to Alvin to speak. Jacque and his companions had stopped behind them as well, keeping constant watch for any immediate threats. When Black spoke this time it was in lower tones and he did so looking directly at Sharpe.

“Alvin, I’ve no doubt that Gabriel could prove to be an incredibly useful asset, but now is not the time. Dealing with Sebastian, a ruthless but ultimately obtuse fellow, is quite a bit different than going up against those who have all but wiped the Assassin Brotherhood from the colony. These are dangerous people and going at them head on is liable to get us all killed and accomplish nothing.

“I promise you Alvin, if we acquire the information that enables us to aid your friend then I will not hesitate to do so.”

Before Alvin had a chance to respond Black had set off down the corridor yet again with the French mercenaries and, quickly enough, Alvin in tow.

Soon enough they found themselves within the hold of the ship which had been lit by the lanterns of the guards of the port who had just been searching through it’s cargo, but had been soon dismissed by the group of five with a wave of Black’s Templar ring. The hold itself was filled with crates of multiple shapes and sizes, anything Captain Gipson had wanted to hide would be like a needle in a haystack to find… if you didn’t know where to look.

The lid was flung open revealing the neatly folded red uniforms of the British Regulars and the rifles with which they were usually armed within. In the upper left corner of the wooden crate was a small symbol that designated this box as the one he was meant to retrieve. Despite what might have been perceived as a small hiccup on deck and the troubling absence of Captain Gipson everything was going according to plan. Once they had finally concluded their business in New York perhaps he would even allow himself a bit of a vacation. Then again, he thought to himself, there's always someone new to blackmail or to dispose of. Perhaps another time.

René and Matthieu took one end of the large crate each and they made their way back up to the surface, away from the dim and musty hold of the Bountiful Yield.