Kink Meme - Assassin's Creed pt. 4

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Assassin's Creed Kink Meme pt.4

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List of Kinks
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New Kink Meme Masterlist
(Livejorunal) Archive
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#2 (Livejournal) Archive
#2 (Delicious.com) Archive
(Dreamwidth) Archive <- Currently active
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 5
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Minifill: Going Nowhere

[(Anonymous)]

"Like Herding Cats" writer here. My brain just wont stop churning out the mini crossover fics, goddamn 8| So here, have a second one by me, this time with Amnesia: The Dark Descent and an OC I made up on the spot.

The OC is... purposefully vague because there's no record of the Order (that I know of) early in the 19th century. I know the Russian guild was formed near the end of the century, but Amnesia took place in 1836.

If you don't know Amnesia, I suggest you go play it. Play it at like 2am. With friends. And wear your brown pants.

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You're an Assassin.

You're an Assassin, born and raised with a knife next to your bed by your own family, and trained how to kill and hide in plain sight by your Master. You were taught how to leap from rooftops and land on bushes and hay without a single scratch. In essence, you're a well-oiled killing machine.

You have just become an Assassin, and it is your first real assignment. The Master looks at you like he thinks you're not ready. However, you do not share his sentiments-- in fact, you're looking forward to leaving the country and gathering information on this man calling himself Baron Alexander of Brennenburg, some noble who lives in the Prussian countryside. The Order is wary of him and his... rather sketchy history, and it is your mission to find out just exactly who he is.

It is not an assassination contract, but it will have to do.

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Your first few months within Brennenburg Castle are... largely unremarkable. You've taken up a position as one of the many servants in the castle. Your job is mostly confined to the upkeep of the library and archives, which is not much of a chore. You still correspond with the Master in weekly letters sent in the dark of night, but they quickly become tedious to write, as there is only so much you can tell the Master that he already doesn't know. And you certainly cant tell him that sometimes, in the dead of night, you can swear that the paintings of the baron scattered throughout the castle seem to change before your eyes...

Alexander von Brennenburg himself is a wrinkly old codger, without a wife nor heir, and he doesn't look too concerned about it. This is unusual for a man of his standing, as once he passes, his lands and castle may to go no one and stay uninhabited for a long, long time-- which is a shame, you think. Then again, when he goes, you can try and convince the Master to move the guild here.

It's certainly big enough.

One day, the baron comes around in high spirits. He tells you and your fellows in his unnaturally deep voice that you're free to have your fill of his large selection of wine in the cellar. It's almost random and possibly a little suspicious, but you've had a long day after fetching certain books and papers for the baron, so you decide to graciously accept his offer.

And the wine is good. You drink your fill, eat your fill of cheese, meat and what-have-you and drink a little more. You and your fellows are making merry, clinking your cups for one reason or another and generally being ridiculously stupid.

Yet it's all in good fun.

Until one of the others starts coughing. Until you start feeling something strange in your throat, like something is constricting it from the inside. Others start complaining about something or other, something in their chests or throats.

Someone attempts to run and get help, but it's no use, as the door refuses to open and when you go see for yourself, you hear chains. You're deliberately locked in, with nowhere to go, possibly only a few moments left to live. You try to push at it, but you have more pressing concerns, such as the decreasing amount of air you take in with every breath, and the way your mouth flaps open as you pant, and doesn't seem to want to hinge shut any longer. As if it no longer responds to your brain's commands. A second later, you realize you no longer feel it.

You don't know why this is happening. You don't know what kind of poison the baron had put into his wine. You don't know how to counteract this. All you know is that you're going to die, and you're not going to see your mother, father nor sister any longer. You're not going on any more missions. You're not going to feel the weight of a sword at your hip, not the grip of the hidden blade on your arm.

You're going to die, and no one in the Order will know what happened to you.

As you breathe your last, you regret being so headstrong and eager for an assignment that you took on anything. Like a novice.

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A man with a sharp nose and sunken eyes wanders through the wine cellar, clutching his lantern closely, like it's his only lifeline in this dark, dank place.

Unknown to him, people have died not long ago in this very cellar, the corpses tucked into a far corner because the master of the castle cant be bothered to clear them out.

Unknown to him, some of them had been moving around since before he stepped foot in the darkness, lost, wandering, and looking not even remotely human any longer.