There will be assassins in the next bit! Thank you for all your lovely comments! <3
"No, wait," Haytham said, following Charles as he trotted through to the dining room. "I still have no idea what's happening. Neither of you are making any sense at all!"
"That's the point, Haytham," Charles sighed, picking up a bottle from a shelf in the dining room, and setting it on the table. "This doesn't make any sense. It shouldn't be happening. But somehow it is."
Charles set a pair of glasses on the table, and sat down in a chair. Haytham took the chair opposite, and Connor took the seat at the head of the table. Charles poured a very generous amount of alcohol into one glass, pushing it toward Haytham, and poured himself a rather scant measure. Haytham hesitated before drinking. This could still be a trap, after all.
The moment of paranoia passed, and Haytham half-drained the glass, wincing as the alcohol burnt its way down his gullet. He was far too sober to be able to deal with this sort of paradigm shift. He finished the rest of the glass when the burning sensation subsided.
"Well?" Haytham demanded, when he could feel a pleasant mist descend upon his mind.
"Well what?" Charles asked.
"What I asked earlier. Why have the killings only started recently?"
"We do not know," Connor said. "We have thus far guessed two possible scenarios: firstly, that somehow it was always here, and has merely woken up. Secondly, it was somehow brought over here, or only began existing recently."
"It's hard to tell whether the first or second scenario is more likely, sir," Charles said. "There is a distinct possibility that, with the way we Colonists are treating the land, we may have woken something up. However, the attacks are extremely widespread. The first victim that we know of was found in Philadelphia, but the next was in New Orleans. One victim was of the northern French colonies. Several Native victims have been reported, but none verified. In other words--"
"--We don't know what's happening," Haytham finished. Charles nodded, solemnly. Haytham sighed. This wasn't fair, damn it! He shouldn't even be in this damned country any more. He should be…
Haytham found he could not finish that thought. In all honesty, when he had been in London, he had been unsure as to exactly what he wanted to do next. After Birch's betrayal, he had been pondering recreating the British Order, and leaving the Colonies in Charles' capable hands. However, it would incorrect to say he had any real enthusiasm for furthering the Order's ideals. Those ideals had, after all, lost him Ziio.
Ziio… To think that she was dead, had been dead all this time. It was a horrible thought, and one that reminded him too much of his own mortality.
"--m?" Charles' voice filtered into his mind. "Haytham? Are you all right?"
"Yes," he muttered, staring into his glass. "It's just a lot to think about."
Charles nodded in understanding, and leant forward over the table, giving him a steady, honest gaze.
"It's all right," he said. "I know how you're feeling. You were in something of a bad way when you returned to the Colonies. You've lost a lot, for little reward. And now, to be told such horrific tales, and asked to believe the impossible… well, it's a lot to ask of a person. But fear not, Haytham. You're a very resilient sort. It's natural for you to be so sorrowful. You overcame such sadness once, and I'm sure you will overcome it again."
Haytham wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. Charles' behaviour wasn't exactly strange, but it was certainly different. It was disconcerting, to see someone who had once been so worshipful suddenly act so familiar.
"Hmm," he said, after a moment. Then, he turned to Connor, though did not meet his gaze. "How did she die? Ziio, I mean."
Connor seemed slightly taken aback at the question, but he dutifully answered anyway.
"There was a fire," he said. "Set by Washington's men. I was out, playing hide-and-seek. I returned home, to see our longhouse all but collapsing on Mother. I tried to lift the burning logs off her, but I was four years old. I succeeded only in burning my hands severely."
The man paused for a moment, then continued.
"I very vividly remember her telling me to leave her and live. She did not sob openly, nor was her voice fearful. She told me she loved me, and I was taken away by another villager seconds before the building collapsed."
Haytham was silent for a very long minute.
"She always was very brave," he said, softly.
"Indeed," Connor replied. "That is what you said last time I told you."
For a moment, Haytham considered apologising for making the boy recount an obviously traumatic experience. He decided against it- the boy could not have minded that much, if he had been willing to speak of it in the first place. It was best to do, then, what he was always awfully good at doing: changing the subject.
"So," he said. "What do we know about this creature?"
Charles poured a second round of Scotch, and began to speak.
"We know what it looks like. You've seen the pictures. Unfortunately, that information is largely useless. It seems that the only people who can see the damn thing directly are it's victims and descendants of Those Who Came Before."
"You said just before the reconnaissance mission that you thought it might be that the creature was such an abomination that it bled through our second sight, somehow. Or that it was a relic from their civilisation," Connor said.
Haytham nodded. Those ideas certainly made some degree of sense.
"How long have we known about it?"
"Around a year," Charles replied, sipping his alcohol. "We thought it was a serial killer. We kept a close eye on reports of children with disturbed behaviour and hallucinations- which was no easy task- and eventually one of our agents witnessed something supernatural at the killing of a child. That's when I sent a letter to you, asking you to return to the Colonies. By the time you arrived, it had become clear that the Brotherhood was also investigating."
"Regarding the 'something supernatural', one of my recruits, Duncan, also witnessed one of the killings," Connor explained. "He did not see the creature, but his sight and hearing distorted. He could make out the child giggling, and he could see wounds opening in her body, but not the creature itself. It was through sheer luck that we discovered ordinary people can see it through reflections."
"Long story short, Haytham, you and I managed to pinpoint the approximate time and place another killing might occur, and it so happened that Connor and several of his recruits were also there. Both groups kept their distance from the grisly scene," Charles continued. He paused, and Haytham took this opportunity to finish his glass.
"I assume that this was when we discovered that certain people could see it?"
"Yes, sir," Charles nodded. "It happened near a lake. We could see a reflection of this terrible thing, but we couldn't see it, and there was little we could to to save the child. The reflection itself was difficult to make out, being warped and distorted beyond all recognition thanks to the terrible storm brewing. However, you could see the monster, and so could Connor. It was afterwards, when we were trying to search the scene of the murder, that we encountered the assassins and put two and two together."
"Our first meeting was somewhat… lacking," Connor said. "We both were on the verge of nervous collapse. It took almost an hour for either of us to be able to speak in complete sentences. We agreed that neither group could take on such an abomination alone, and thus our alliance was born."
Haytham could certainly believe most of the story, in a purely theoretical way. He was sure, however, that he couldn't have suffered a near mental breakdown by the mere sight of a monster. He had been a soldier in one of the most horrific wars in Europe, after all. He was a Templar, and knew the evil things human beings would do to one another for sport. A fairy-tale villain, he was sure, would not have reduced him to a gibbering wreck, no matter what Charles and Connor insisted.
"What have we been doing since then?" Haytham asked, knowing he was not going to like the answer.
"We've been trying to discover what the creature is, and how to kill it or incapacitate it," Charles answered smoothly.
"And how has that gone?" Haytham asked, mildly. He would have been back in this country for… oh, nine months or so, then. And yet, they had still not discovered very much about the creature. Evidently, little progress had been made.
"It… it has been difficult," Charles said, less smoothly.
"So we've done nothing?" Haytham snapped. "I was nearly killed and lost a year and a half for nothing?"
"Not nothing, sir!" Charles yelped. "We've been researching and following leads and--"
"--and come up with what?" Haytham gave Charles the best glare he could muster. "I shouldn't've bothered coming back to this bloody country."
The look on Charles' face once the words had left Haytham's mouth was one he had never seen on the man before. He looked utterly crushed.
Before he could dwell on Charles' curious behaviour however, Connor thumped the table with his fist, and started to speak again.
he lives in the woods 3/?
"No, wait," Haytham said, following Charles as he trotted through to the dining room. "I still have no idea what's happening. Neither of you are making any sense at all!"
"That's the point, Haytham," Charles sighed, picking up a bottle from a shelf in the dining room, and setting it on the table. "This doesn't make any sense. It shouldn't be happening. But somehow it is."
Charles set a pair of glasses on the table, and sat down in a chair. Haytham took the chair opposite, and Connor took the seat at the head of the table. Charles poured a very generous amount of alcohol into one glass, pushing it toward Haytham, and poured himself a rather scant measure. Haytham hesitated before drinking. This could still be a trap, after all.
The moment of paranoia passed, and Haytham half-drained the glass, wincing as the alcohol burnt its way down his gullet. He was far too sober to be able to deal with this sort of paradigm shift. He finished the rest of the glass when the burning sensation subsided.
"Well?" Haytham demanded, when he could feel a pleasant mist descend upon his mind.
"Well what?" Charles asked.
"What I asked earlier. Why have the killings only started recently?"
"We do not know," Connor said. "We have thus far guessed two possible scenarios: firstly, that somehow it was always here, and has merely woken up. Secondly, it was somehow brought over here, or only began existing recently."
"It's hard to tell whether the first or second scenario is more likely, sir," Charles said. "There is a distinct possibility that, with the way we Colonists are treating the land, we may have woken something up. However, the attacks are extremely widespread. The first victim that we know of was found in Philadelphia, but the next was in New Orleans. One victim was of the northern French colonies. Several Native victims have been reported, but none verified. In other words--"
"--We don't know what's happening," Haytham finished. Charles nodded, solemnly. Haytham sighed. This wasn't fair, damn it! He shouldn't even be in this damned country any more. He should be…
Haytham found he could not finish that thought. In all honesty, when he had been in London, he had been unsure as to exactly what he wanted to do next. After Birch's betrayal, he had been pondering recreating the British Order, and leaving the Colonies in Charles' capable hands. However, it would incorrect to say he had any real enthusiasm for furthering the Order's ideals. Those ideals had, after all, lost him Ziio.
Ziio… To think that she was dead, had been dead all this time. It was a horrible thought, and one that reminded him too much of his own mortality.
"--m?" Charles' voice filtered into his mind. "Haytham? Are you all right?"
"Yes," he muttered, staring into his glass. "It's just a lot to think about."
Charles nodded in understanding, and leant forward over the table, giving him a steady, honest gaze.
"It's all right," he said. "I know how you're feeling. You were in something of a bad way when you returned to the Colonies. You've lost a lot, for little reward. And now, to be told such horrific tales, and asked to believe the impossible… well, it's a lot to ask of a person. But fear not, Haytham. You're a very resilient sort. It's natural for you to be so sorrowful. You overcame such sadness once, and I'm sure you will overcome it again."
Haytham wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. Charles' behaviour wasn't exactly strange, but it was certainly different. It was disconcerting, to see someone who had once been so worshipful suddenly act so familiar.
"Hmm," he said, after a moment. Then, he turned to Connor, though did not meet his gaze. "How did she die? Ziio, I mean."
Connor seemed slightly taken aback at the question, but he dutifully answered anyway.
"There was a fire," he said. "Set by Washington's men. I was out, playing hide-and-seek. I returned home, to see our longhouse all but collapsing on Mother. I tried to lift the burning logs off her, but I was four years old. I succeeded only in burning my hands severely."
The man paused for a moment, then continued.
"I very vividly remember her telling me to leave her and live. She did not sob openly, nor was her voice fearful. She told me she loved me, and I was taken away by another villager seconds before the building collapsed."
Haytham was silent for a very long minute.
"She always was very brave," he said, softly.
"Indeed," Connor replied. "That is what you said last time I told you."
For a moment, Haytham considered apologising for making the boy recount an obviously traumatic experience. He decided against it- the boy could not have minded that much, if he had been willing to speak of it in the first place. It was best to do, then, what he was always awfully good at doing: changing the subject.
"So," he said. "What do we know about this creature?"
Charles poured a second round of Scotch, and began to speak.
"We know what it looks like. You've seen the pictures. Unfortunately, that information is largely useless. It seems that the only people who can see the damn thing directly are it's victims and descendants of Those Who Came Before."
"You said just before the reconnaissance mission that you thought it might be that the creature was such an abomination that it bled through our second sight, somehow. Or that it was a relic from their civilisation," Connor said.
Haytham nodded. Those ideas certainly made some degree of sense.
"How long have we known about it?"
"Around a year," Charles replied, sipping his alcohol. "We thought it was a serial killer. We kept a close eye on reports of children with disturbed behaviour and hallucinations- which was no easy task- and eventually one of our agents witnessed something supernatural at the killing of a child. That's when I sent a letter to you, asking you to return to the Colonies. By the time you arrived, it had become clear that the Brotherhood was also investigating."
"Regarding the 'something supernatural', one of my recruits, Duncan, also witnessed one of the killings," Connor explained. "He did not see the creature, but his sight and hearing distorted. He could make out the child giggling, and he could see wounds opening in her body, but not the creature itself. It was through sheer luck that we discovered ordinary people can see it through reflections."
"Long story short, Haytham, you and I managed to pinpoint the approximate time and place another killing might occur, and it so happened that Connor and several of his recruits were also there. Both groups kept their distance from the grisly scene," Charles continued. He paused, and Haytham took this opportunity to finish his glass.
"I assume that this was when we discovered that certain people could see it?"
"Yes, sir," Charles nodded. "It happened near a lake. We could see a reflection of this terrible thing, but we couldn't see it, and there was little we could to to save the child. The reflection itself was difficult to make out, being warped and distorted beyond all recognition thanks to the terrible storm brewing. However, you could see the monster, and so could Connor. It was afterwards, when we were trying to search the scene of the murder, that we encountered the assassins and put two and two together."
"Our first meeting was somewhat… lacking," Connor said. "We both were on the verge of nervous collapse. It took almost an hour for either of us to be able to speak in complete sentences. We agreed that neither group could take on such an abomination alone, and thus our alliance was born."
Haytham could certainly believe most of the story, in a purely theoretical way. He was sure, however, that he couldn't have suffered a near mental breakdown by the mere sight of a monster. He had been a soldier in one of the most horrific wars in Europe, after all. He was a Templar, and knew the evil things human beings would do to one another for sport. A fairy-tale villain, he was sure, would not have reduced him to a gibbering wreck, no matter what Charles and Connor insisted.
"What have we been doing since then?" Haytham asked, knowing he was not going to like the answer.
"We've been trying to discover what the creature is, and how to kill it or incapacitate it," Charles answered smoothly.
"And how has that gone?" Haytham asked, mildly. He would have been back in this country for… oh, nine months or so, then. And yet, they had still not discovered very much about the creature. Evidently, little progress had been made.
"It… it has been difficult," Charles said, less smoothly.
"So we've done nothing?" Haytham snapped. "I was nearly killed and lost a year and a half for nothing?"
"Not nothing, sir!" Charles yelped. "We've been researching and following leads and--"
"--and come up with what?" Haytham gave Charles the best glare he could muster. "I shouldn't've bothered coming back to this bloody country."
The look on Charles' face once the words had left Haytham's mouth was one he had never seen on the man before. He looked utterly crushed.
Before he could dwell on Charles' curious behaviour however, Connor thumped the table with his fist, and started to speak again.