Chapter 3: The Novice (Part 2)
Octavia looked about as the early morning darkness surrounded her. It was cool enough to run a slight chill through her arms and legs. Canterlot was crisp and fresh with little to no life in her winding and clean streets. The white structures appeared dull in the moonless sky and only the silhouettes could be made out.
The cheap hood over her ebony hair made irritating static energy that threw sparks out whenever she scratched her head. The cloak was wrapped around her arms, trying to keep the chill at bay. Her arms were playing an imaginary cello for a reason only a long habit could explain. It was her thinking stance, a stance she rarely entered these days.
The Den Master had ordered her here without ever speaking to her. She kept imagining what he would look like. Was his hair already gray? Would he take the form of weathered man like a sailor? Did he retain his youthful handsomeness? Was he ever handsome? She was certain the answers to all these questions would be irrelevant to her training.
Her boot tapped the Den's roof without a sound. The part she was on was not that high up, to be true it was only about fifteen feet above the cobblestone. The view point was not incredible and even less so in the darkness. All the other taller buildings laughed at the size of the Den. The outside of the Den was inconspicuous, lame, and uninteresting. Perhaps that was what made it such a concealable location.
Her fingers went up and down the neck of the invisible cello. She never enjoyed the instrument greatly, but she now longed for its comforting music and melody. She knew this art was going to leave her if she never played again. That would be foolish of me. She had to keep her ability to play the cello. It just felt right to her. It was the symbol of her failure and poverty, but also the symbol of her success and her road to a vision on the never-nearing horizon.
A quiet hum of a melody that she knew too well left her lips with a rejuvenated, but melancholic spirit. The rhythm quickened in some parts, giving much needed joy and then would slow down to long, sad notes of regret and loss. The song kept playing in her head. She had performed this traditional ballad numerous times in front of countless blank faces. She started to whisper the ballad's lyrics.
"Unforgotten was he,
Unforsake' was he, who held the land,
From the mountains to the unending sea.
Triumph and anguish,
He found them the same, him who last died.
What was there to distinguish?
Unforgiven was he,
Distrusted was he, who gave his friend,
to the Dark One called Everfree."
A voice interrupted her song. "You have a lovely voice, Novice."
Her mind snapped back to the present. On the roof with was a tall, broad man with a pointed dark blue hood over his head. A thick chin with various shades of gray bristles was exposed to the night air. A complacent frown was what his thin mouth formed. His hands were at his sides, as if ready to draw a weapon from his belt, but they were aged and bent in ways that displayed the hardships he had battled. His boots were worn, but so large that Octavia thought them of inhuman size. His robes were torn and covered with stained blood. The inside of his hood was lined with the fur of a Valley Rabbit, but the once soft fur was now knotted and greasy.
Octavia stood up and gave him a respected bow to which he did not respond. He simply stared at her with eyes she could not see. The crossbow that was on his back rattled as he shifted his weight from one thick leg to another. A tired grunt left his throat, but his lips did not move in the slightest.
"I am Whiplash, Den Master of South Canterlot."
"I've been waiting for you, Master," Octavia tried her best to sound respectful.
"And boredom has allowed your mind to wander," he stated. "Fret not, my girl, I understand the feeling all too well."
"I am ready to begin my training."
He breathed hard through his scarred nose. "You are hasty. It does not matter when you are ready, it matters when I wish to begin. I am an old man," he chuckled, "you must let me rest for a moment."
Without another word, he slowly brought himself to the roof's floor and sat in a crossed-leg position. Octavia blinked in both impatience and confusion before joining him. He no longer appeared to be a roguish thug, but a dignified gentleman. This difference was probably due to his wise voice. It was the type of voice that urged you to listen, no matter if you were furious, exuberant, or depressed.
"Ah, you are Miss Melody, right?" He waited for her to nod. "It is a pleasure to have you here. I used to train whole classes of new Assassins. We had a large recruitment spike when the Brotherhood lost Cloudsdale. Since that spike has faded, I am once again blessed to teach a recruit one-on-one."
"Blessed? Would not you like more recruits?" Octavia tilted her head.
"In a way, yes, but large amounts of Novices can lead to some not learning enough and dying on the field or compromising the Brotherhood in some way. The fewer there are, the less likely there is to be trouble. The Brotherhood doesn't survive with numbers, it survives with quality."
"But there could still be those who fight within the Brotherhood. With fewer Assassins, the tensions also become more personal and more hurtful."
"That is true. I am glad you are already catching up on my worries. That is why I am here. I'll teach you and train you so that you will never bring trouble to this Den. That is my goal, that is my purpose. Miss Melody, my father was a Royal Guard in the 16th Cloudsdale Regiment. He taught me and my brother, Maverick, how to lead. You don't lead by treating everyone equal or the same. You treat them in a way to get the most out of them. It's different for every person. However, as a leader, you have one overall goal. Would you like to guess what it is?"
"To bring success?"
"No, to make leaders. A leader makes leaders. When I take a boy or girl who doesn't know anything, I'll train him or her not only to know things but to be able to pass them down to another. That's what I'll do with you. I train you, visioning you as the future Den Master. I'll have to make you the best Assassin, but also the best teacher. I want you to be in my position one day, so that you can train a Novice on your own. That's my vision."
"You seem to place plenty of hope in me already," Octavia mused.
"Well, I have to. I'm old, Miss Melody. My brother and I have spent our lives as Assassins. We were taught like this. It's the only way I think we can retain leadership in the Brotherhood. Without good leaders, we would fall apart."
Octavia listened to his words carefully. She had heard something similar from Celestia, but never took it to heart since she believed only an Empress would need such insight. Whiplash gave an old smile that was barely visible in the darkness. Now that he had ceased to speak, Octavia could hear his uneven breathing. It was quite loud and disruptive of the peaceful silence. A sort of wheezing that came with age.
"Now, since I gave you my talk, we shall begin. I'm sure your head is filled with free-running and fighting, and yes, we will get to that. However, this is a Brotherhood, not a military. I am not a drill leader for the Royal Guard. I will not make you put on eighty pounds of armor and jog from one of side of Canterlot to the other. I am to prepare you mentally and physically. Tonight, we do the mental part."
Octavia folded her arms. "You are going to throw me off a building, aren't you?"
Whiplash was aghast. "Who spoiled the surprise?" he demanded.
"That would be Vinyl. She threw me off one already."
"That ruins my fun. Well thank you," he added sarcastically. "Since you have tackled that part, I'll just do things differently. I'll throw you off a spire."
"You can't do that. No haystack will catch me from that height. That's murdering me."
"You are right, no haystack will do, but what about a large pool of water?"
"Ha, good luck finding one deep enough."
Whiplash stood up and adjusted his sleeve. "To the West Pools we go."
"This is suicide."
"Not really, you are not trying to kill yourself."
Octavia frowned at the Den Master. Whiplash was leaning on the railing of a decorative spire's top they stood on. They had spent a time climbing up the tower's curving stairs until reaching the circular porch. Below them were the deep waters of the West Pools, a giant public bathing house with no roof. It was usually full of peasants bathing, but the early hours left it empty except for a pair of drunks who passed out beside the pool's edge.
As one traveled away from the spire, several arches crossed high above the waters, appearing almost like a rib cage of a snake. Shorter spires were placed at specific points around the massive pools. The spire they were on was the only one where their plan could be feasible.
"How deep is it?" Octavia asked.
"About 25 feet. This isn't the bathing part. This is the diving part. We'll be fine," Whiplash assured her.
"You are jumping too?"
"Yes. Been awhile since I last swam, but I'll hold up."
"Then you go first," Octavia suggested.
"You take me for a fool? If I go first, it'll ruin what I'm trying to do here."
"What? Scare me? I have a fear of heights and this isn't helping. How is making me jump going to take away my fear?"
Whiplash chuckled. "It isn't about taking your fear away. Octavia, there is a word for the fearless: dead. I'm not dead, am I? I have fear, every Assassin has fear. Nothing wrong with it. You hear all the talk of the brave or fearless Royal Guards who go out and get slaughtered on a battlefield. Those who have fear survive. It's all about how you use fear. It's not your enemy, it's your friend. It's what keeps you cautious and what keeps you from getting too confident. This exercise is about using your fear, not escaping it."
"Well, my fear is telling me not to jump. Guess I should listen to it."
"That's not your fear, that's your doubt. Fear is about what could happen, doubt is saying you can't do it. By using fear here, you make sure that you do everything right. Doubt troubles you and makes you mess up. Be confident in your survival. you know what you are risking here, but know that you can do it. There is also another factor to this."
"What's that?"
"Faith. We like call this type of jump a Leap of Faith. This is crucial. This is the part that makes you jump. You have faith in yourself, but also in that water. You have faith in what you believe in and that all you do for the Brotherhood is worthwhile. That takes faith. If I go and jump before you, you will lose your faith. You will only jump because I jumped. If this situation ever happened and you are alone, without me, where would your faith go? You would hesitate and that will cost you your life. Faith is never hesitant.
"Use your fear and have faith," he continued. "This task isn't easy, but it is very feasible. You will not land headfirst, but feet-first. Keep your body still and level. When you surface, I'll follow."
"And if I don't surface?" Octavia gulped.
"Then I have no reason to go down there," he shrugged.
Octavia yearned to continue arguing with the Den Master, but she knew it would be in vain. This height was twice as high as the building Vinyl pushed her off of. The dark waters did not invite, but seemed to just sit there, waiting for her to interrupt its calmness.
Her heart raced and she placed her hands on the stone railing. It was a thin, but rectangular railing that was not hard to balance on. She placed her feet on it and stood upright. From this view, she could see that the sky was turning a slight pink from the approaching dawn. The Den Master simply leaned on the railing and watched her without much care.
"When you take this leap, you'll find that there is nothing you can't do," he said.
She looked at him. "Is it worth risking my life?"
"And that question proves you are ready, Octavia. Always keep that question," he remarked with a sincere finger.
The Novice looked down at the awaiting waters. She had to leap outward, otherwise she would land on the stone floor beside the pool. She was surprised she had even made it this far. Her hands twitched, her arms felt weak, and her heart was about to give out. Not even a pistol pointed at my head frightened me so. This thought made her pause. They both had the same result: death. Was there an actual difference here? Yes, there is a difference. This one is by my choice. If I die, it is my fault. I cannot let that happen.
"You don't have to jump," Whiplash stated with sympathy.
"See you in the water," she told him.
With a powerful leap, she threw herself off the railing and into the air. A moment was present before her, a moment where she felt like she was not falling nor soaring. Her whole soul seemed to curse her for her actions. In that moment, however, all parts of her body agreed to one thing: survival. She made herself perpendicular to the ground, forming her body into the shape of a pole. The air caught on her hood and cloak, making awful noises as it whipped through the rushing air. The moment of peace was now gone and the water approached her at an alarming speed.
Her eyes began to water and she felt like screaming. As the water came closer, a part of her began to relax. A warmness that told her she had already survived the fall. Was it confidence? Was this faith? She did not know. The black waters now parted before her feet and she closed her eyes and held her breath.
When she opened them, she was deep in the water. The darkness was startling to her. Her gaze drew upwards, towards the less dark surface. Her clothes were heavy with the soaked up water, but she climbed up despite it. In what felt like a eternity, she popped her head above the water with a tremendous gasp for precious air.
She had not recovered from the shock of it all when a great splash erupted now five feet from her. In little time, the balding head of Whiplash surfaced with a crooked smile. He was weighed down by pounds of weapons and gear unlike her, yet he was keeping afloat better.
"Not so bad, was it?" he laughed.
"Actually, no," Octavia surprised herself with the answer. "It was actually quite exhilarating!"
"That's what my old ears needed to hear," he smiled. "The first part of your training is already done. The rest will come easy with your new found confidence."
"I hope so. This life may not be so bad," Octavia mused.
"It's the best life one can life, Sister."
"Do not expect us to go to the Den, Octavia," Whiplash informed her as they tried to dry their robes off.
"Why not?"
"Because what you learn there will be through grinding. Out here, there is much more to be done. An Assassin does not sleep, even when the dawn reveals him. We operate at every position of the moving sun and moon. The morning light approaches, but we will not seek shelter from its rays."
"I see. Then what is next."
"You may not like it," Whiplash coughed.
Octavia shifted her stance. "I just threw myself off a spire, I don't believe anything can top that."
Whiplash did not say a word and reached into a pouch he had been carrying. He pulled out a wrist blade device that was just the right size for the Novice. He did not smile and simply handed it to her.
"This is a hidden blade. It is our signature weapon for dispatching evildoers. We only use them for surprise attacks, but never direct combat. Assassins work in the dark, Octavia, do not be caught out in the open."
Octavia slid the device on her right arm and fashioned the leather straps. A treble clef was stitched into its thin leather. The top of the device had a metal Assassin insignia and feathers that were lined around it. A ring with a string was placed over her ring finger. With a rough tug of her hand, she ejected the long steel blade. The blade was not completely solid, as it seemed to have a floral pattern carved into it.
"Rarity's touches," Whiplash chuckled. "That Bearer knows her style."
"Such an odd device, why not just hold a dagger?" Octavia asked.
"Because a hidden blade gives a unique wound. Anyone with an observing eye could tell an Assassin kill from a simple murder. We want others to see the victims of our justice. By others, I mean the Templar."
"Am I going to use this today?" Octavia asked hesitantly.
"Yes. The Grandbearer gave me a target before I met you. He's not the smartest and will be easy to track down. I'll put this plainly. You are going to kill him."
"Now? But I just got this weapon! What about being invisible, not being caught, climbing, and all that?"
"We shall learn that along the way. I am your guide but not your only teacher. The Grandbearer arranged for you to meet three women she knows well. You shall learn those skills from them. They are not Assassins themselves, but they are close allies. When they take over, I shall take a backseat. If you come into trouble, I shall bail you out."
"This seems rushed training," Octavia huffed.
"We haven't much time. A Templar assault could happen any day. We must be ready, even if that coming day is tomorrow."
"I understand, Den Master," Octavia sighed in defeat.
The sun rose much faster than Octavia hoped. Each second was a second closer to the action that was about to unfold. All of Canterlot was unaware of that some unknown man had a target on his head. As the crowds, rich, poor, and in between, mingled and went about their chores, they did not know that a member of their race was about to perish violently. Perhaps they would not be surprised by the assassination, but they would never expect it.
Whiplash, as they walked on the streets, appeared to be thinking Octavia's concerns. His lips would part as if to speak and his eyes would wander as if he was unsure of what he was doing. Octavia took good note of this behavior. She wanted him to be rethinking. Jumping off a spire is one thing, but killing another without training? It felt absurd to even think.
Half of her said she was fine and to rely on the combat skills she learned from the Empresses. The other half told her to protest against the Den Master. Her indecision only helped the former side. Each second passed was a second that she went along with the Master's orders.
"We shall meet the three at the back alleys behind the Orange Brothel. Your target resides not far from there."
"Who is this man? What is his name?" Octavia hissed.
"They shall inform you. They were the ones who called for his assassination. Now before you see wrong with this, they are good friends with the Grandbearer. In fact, she knew them before being chosen by her Element. We have the highest trust with them. So do well to show respect."
"Is he an enemy of the Brotherhood? Is he Templar?" she persisted.
"I do not know." he almost snarled. "Octavia, not all our targets will be Templar. Sometimes there are men and women who just need to die. Slave dealers, murderers, bandits, and the like. This man may be any of those. Like I said, they will inform you."
Their walk was slow but steady. The rising sun dried their robes the rest of the way. Whiplash nor Octavia ever said another word until they reached the Orange Brothel. The name properly fitted the building as it was a bright orange that stood boldly out from the white structures. Roses and hanging gardens lined its walls and corners. One felt an instant warmness by just looking at it. Octavia, however, felt only dread as it was reminder of what she was doing.
"You go through," he told her quietly. "Just go through and head out the back. That's where they'd be."
He simply stood there and waited for her to respond. Octavia sighed and covered her head with her hood. The door slid open before her and a young woman greeted her with only a bow. When Octavia entered the brothel, the women there barely took heed of her. They must be used to Assassins. With a single glance around the room, the Novice began to make her way to the other side.
"Never seen her before," a prostitute stated casually.
"She must be new," another suggested.
"Certainly. Look at those robes! So drab," one chuckled.
"Bearer Rarity would never allow those kind of cloaks unless something is up," a girl shrugged.
"I think she looks nice," another defended.
Octavia did her best to ignore the girls who kept giving her these casual remarks. Luckily, the brothel was not that large, so she reached the backdoor in little time. The prostitutes watched her eerily as she opened the door. Octavia looked back at them one last time before exiting.
To her disappointment, the back alley was hardly an alley at all. It was similar to a small plaza with a unfinished gazebo-like structure over it. The back streets went around these structure and into shadows where the tall Canterlot buildings blocked the sun. Under the gazebo was a swarm of girls (with accompanying men), sitting on benches and giggling all the while. With no signs of any "three women," Octavia decided to approach the gazebo.
"Is that her?" a girl asked.
"She's a pretty gal," a man whispered. "Though smells like she's been swimming..."
Octavia stood on the edge of the structure's shadow and crossed her arms. "I'm looking for three women who could help me."
A silence fell among them. One woman who was dressed more modestly cocked her head. "Who's asking?"
"Octavia Melody. Assassin," was the answer.
"Nice way of revealing yourself," a woman with blue and white hair chuckled. "Lucky you ain't dead already."
A laugh shimmered through the girls and men there. Octavia was not amused by this, but knew the women she was looking for was in this group.
"I know I am among allies. There is no need for secrecy," she grumbled.
"Oh really?" a woman with big eyes and curly light blue hair laughed. "What makes ya think that?"
"Because even a bat can see through your disguises," Octavia answered.
A pink-haired woman cackled. "She's got a tongue! I already like her."
The three women who had been talking all stood up at once. They were not dressed like the prostitutes they were hanging out with. The blue-haired one was the tallest and sturdiest of them. The big-eyed one was long and thin, but tough. The pink-haired one seemed to be the most stoic of the three, yet hiding a some cruel sense of humor behind her sandy skin.
"So the new recruit has arrived," the blue-haired one chuckled. "Let's be acquainted. I'm Minuette."
"I'm Lemon Hearts, but never call me 'Lemon!,'" the big-eyed one threatened.
"And I'm Twinks. If ya couldn't tell, I'm the brains of these two," the pink-haired one finished. "And we're gonna turn you into a killer."
~
Stats
Page generated in 0.024 seconds
Total duration
941 users online
1,227,418 hits today, 2,004,447 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Octavia has a good eye that she caught this part of her training. Now on to the most difficult part the actual assassination.
6718756 Studying mythology does help sometimes (and give me more love for MLP as it always references them).
Glad you liked it! Read on my friend!
Do you mean it's the best life one can live, Sister?
lh3.googleusercontent.com/-FlYYPLgVUY4/VPCHtiT-OII/AAAAAAABE-c/RPxv6hxq6QA/w506-h372/Nobody%2Bwill%2Bnotice%2BIf%2Bthere%2527s%2Bnobody%2Bto%2Bnotice..png
....I have failed the brotherhood
(I couldn't find a assassin creed image that worked on the site so this will have to do)
I look forward to the next chapter
6721501 cdn.memearcade.com/2013/9/4/f54a15a15cb1651fc19e9d03c1026c25.jpg
And you got that little reference. Good job.
6777940 They definitely aren't immortal in this one.
6781617 Thank you! Yes! I shouldn't be afraid of using him in any story. But I know he likes to bring dislikes with him.
There is something wrong grammatically about this.
6781714 Well, yeah, this Octavia is much younger too. HC Octavia had already experienced all her troubles in early novice stage, this one has not.
Starlight's "Equality" is indeed faulty. However, since there are no cutie marks to worry about in this universe, there's gonna be some differences. This is only the tip of the iceberg for her philosophy. I love Starlight and writing about Starlight, so expect some things with her (especially things I couldn't do with HC's villains)
What? I see nothing wrong with that. *slowly edits* See? Nothing wrong.