Anthology of Everything

by SwordTune

Assassin's Creed: Divided -- Chapter 1, Prints of the Past

Author's Note:

This is an Assassin’s Creed story with EqG actors. The events portrayed here are inspired by historical events. One of the difficulties of an EqG story with an expanded world is the world itself. Equestrian names seem to be dominant, despite being a “human” world. As such, this alternate telling of the human world will include a fusion of Equestria and human locations.
While the human world may look like the Equestrian world map, Griffonstone is the capital of “Francia.” The Griffish Isles, while retaining its name, is also known as “Anglia.” This chapter begins in Bayon, Gustavale, which would be the EqG equivalent of Bayonne, a city in the region of Gascon in France. Despite human inspiration, the geography is more related to Equestria, with the larger historical narrative being much more fictional. So, fellow history buffs, don’t come at me, please. 
We are now entering the Second Baron’s War, as it may have happened in this wild and crazy hybrid reality.

---

Kidnapped out of nowhere by a group of Assassins, an organization that dates its history back hundreds of years, Sunset Shimmer finds herself roped into an ancient war over the fate of magical relics. Using the power to read minds granted by her gemstone, Sunset is asked to operate a device called the Animus, which can read a person’s genetic memory and create a simulation of the past. 
What these Assassins want with the memories, Sunset is still not sure about. But she what she knows is that the Brotherhood and the Templars are aware of Equestria and its relics. If she wants her world to stay safe and free from magical threats, she has no choice but to find out more about the warring factions and their plans.
She must walk the memories of Grenda and her descendants through a turning point of the Thirteenth Century. The Second Baron’s War. It will decide the chance at representative government in England. Meanwhile, the Seventh Crusades threatens to bring untold Equestrian relics out of the dust and into the living world. 

(Recolor of Shao Jun)

“We cannot allow ourselves to be divided on this matter, Simon,” Richard counselled his ally in Parliament. “We have the Provision, let it be for now.”

“Let it be?” Simon recoiled. Oxhoof’s streets outside the Parliament building were loud with people going about their daily business. The two had little fear of being heard. “We have the opportunity to ensure the King doesn’t overstep his rule. Who will protect Anglia from more failures like Sicily?”

“King Henry would never allow us to strip the crown of so much power,” Richard replied. “Please, Simon, think for a moment of what we can do with a little temperament.”

Slowly, their conversation started to derail. Not by words. No. The attendant waiting with Richard’s horse looked down at his own hands, and then back up to the two conversing earls. His vision was getting blurred, it was an indescribable sensation, it was as if his body did not belong where it was.

“Pull her out, now.”

“Wait, I can stabilize the gemstone’s frequency.”

“It’s not worth it, pull her out!”

The vision went blank, and moments later Sunset woke up gasping for air on a metal bed. The last thing she remembered was coming from CHS, riding her bike back to her apartment. Except, did she make it back?

Sunset looked around her. Someone was definitely watching her. They were in some kind of storage building, a warehouse maybe. Shelves flanked her on both sides, boxes blocking the view of any exit. Not that she could see one anyway if the way was clear.

The lights were turned off, save for one lonely lamp above her where she laid. She couldn’t see past her own reach. But even if she couldn’t see them, she could sense them. Her gemstone was pretty useful that way. Physical contact was necessary to access someone’s memories and feelings, but by being near someone she could feel their thoughts light seeing a dim light in a cave.

“Who are you?” she said, looking straight at one of the figures. “What… what did you just do to me?” There was a little shuffling, but no response. They were moving around the bed they had put her on. One person crawled around in the support beams in the ceiling. Two others stood nearer, watching from beside some crates. The scary part was that without her gemstone, Sunset wasn’t sure if she would’ve noticed their movements. They were totally silent.

Sunset slowly stepped off the metal bed. Her legs felt weirdly heavy, like getting off a rocking ship and feeling the stable ground for the first time in days.

“Whatever’s happening, I don’t want any trouble,” she told them.

After a moment, one of the figures sighed, throwing up his arms. “Damn it, guys, I told you it wouldn’t work.” He pointed to Sunset. “You can see us, right? That, uh… that little doohickey you’ve got on your necklace, it lets you see us, doesn’t it?”

The lamp above her revealed a very unimposing man as he walked forward. He was tall and scrawny, but even as he exposed himself Sunset could still tell he knew how to hide his footsteps. His eyes were a little bloodshot and his faded brown hair was an unkempt bush.

Right behind him, a tan-skinned woman with dark purple hair stepped under the lamp hanging over Sunset.

“Sorry for the surprise, we just couldn’t be sure how you’d react,” she said.

“To being kidnapped?” Sunset exclaimed. “I think most people would find it shocking.”

“She meant how you’d react to being exposed to more magic,” answered the man. “We won’t have a lot of time and this little game of shadows has dragged out far too many minutes. Let’s get this over with by just saying that we know who, or rather what, you are. You’re an Equestrian. Came through a fancy portal, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sunset looked away.

The woman snickered. “If you want to lie, you gotta try harder.” She pointed up to the beams where the third figure continued waiting in the dark. “He’s a pro. Nothing gets by him.”

Sunset wasn’t buying it. She knew exactly what emotions felt like, there was no way a human without magic could know if she was telling the truth just by looking at her.

“I’m not lying,” Sunset insisted. “I knew you guys were there because nothing else makes sense. How else would I end up on this bed?”

“It’s not a bed,” the red-eyed man cut in. “Sorry, I know you’re confused, but I’ve literally poured years of work into that machine, so all I ask is that you respect a marvel of modern engineering instead of calling it a bed.”

Sunset looked at the thing she was sitting on. “I mean, I don’t know what else to call it.”

“How about an Animus?” he offered. “Because that’s what it is. It’s an Animus.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Oh, well, allow me to explain—”

The woman cut him off. “Let me. If you do it we’ll be here all night.” She walked up to the Animus and pressed a small button on the side, turning on the machine’s lights and holographic screens. Sunset thought it looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. The outside was metal, but inside was lined with a squishy gel. It was springy and soft and cool, perfectly shaped to fit a person’s body.

“This was what you were doing just a few minutes ago,” she said, projecting a video onto a flat holographic screen. It looked like a set-piece for a history documentary. Wood-walled houses and narrow streets were crowded with people. From the audio playing from the Animus’ speakers beneath, hammering and sawing could be heard from blacksmiths and carpenters and other craftsmen.

“I remember seeing a conversation,” she said, slowly trying to recall the memory. “I was… in someone else’s body, watching two men speak.”

“Yes, that was just after this memory,” the woman explained. “You were experiencing the memories of the past, or our best reconstruction of it, at least.”

Sunset shook her head. “How is that possible? I mean, seeing someone else’s memories is crazy enough, what you're talking about is almost like time-travel!”

“Sure, act like you don’t know anything.” the woman replied. “Magic has been leaking from your world to ours for aeons, leaving traces of itself on humans who are exposed to it, including residues on genetic material. The Animus combines modern genetic sequencing with a magical relic from your world, one that lets us decode the residues into simulations of a person’s memories.”

“You have a magic relic? Where?” Sunset couldn’t hide her curiosity. Keeping Equestrian magic in check wasn’t a job she wanted to do, but it was important she did it anyway. She didn’t know these people, but whatever their plans were, it couldn’t be good if it involved an ancient relic. Ponies didn’t throw magic items away unless it was really bad.

“Well, that’s kind of proprietary,” the man replied.

“He means we’re not going to tell you unless you give us the information we need, Sunset.”

He looked at his partner with a glare. “A little tact, darling?”

“She knows the position she’s in,” the woman replied calmly. “We need her cooperation, and I don’t care if she likes us or not while she does it.”

“Tact or not,” Sunset crossed her arms, “you’re not getting anything out of me. I don’t know who you all are, and I’m not going to start helping you just because you said so.”

With a snap, the woman’s hand shot out and hooked the back of Sunset’s neck, dragging her towards a blade that flicked out from her other sleeve. “You shouldn’t jump to conclusions, you know.”

“Easy there,” the man pulled back his partner before turning to Sunset with an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry. I know we might seem like right arseholes to you, but we’re the good guys, I promise. Mags here, she’s just a little old fashioned. Her family grew up in an old Assassin sanctuary.”

“She doesn’t even know who the Assassins are,” Mags scoffed.

Sunset eyed her the blade in her sleeve. “I mean, they kill people, right? It’s not that hard to understand.”

“Um, well, yes, that generally does come with the territory of being an Assassin,” the man answered, “but, not every assassin in history has actually been a member of the Brotherhood. We’ve been at war with an order of people who seek to use the relics from your world to control ours. They’ve had members in countless groups throughout history, from the Teutonic Knights and the Varangian Guard to modern-day Parliament and the CCP.”

“I don’t know what those are,” Sunset told him, “but I don’t see why that would make me trust you. You expect me to believe you don’t have plans to use magical relics?”

“You can choose to trust us or not,” Mags said, keeping her distance, “but the bottom line is that I have a hidden blade and you’re the only person who can translate the Animus data into usable memories. Our relic can read the magic residues on DNA but the memories it produces are erratic. We can’t make sense of it without a medium, like you and your gemstone.”

Sunset looked down at the orange-glowing jewel on her necklace. They really did their homework, it seemed. And the woman, Mags, she had a point. These “Assassins” had her surrounded, and she didn’t like her odds of fighting the people who already managed to kidnap her and strap her to a memory machine.

Plus, if what they said was true, they weren’t the only ones looking for relics. Even if she didn’t trust them, at least she knew they existed. Playing along could be the only way to finding out what “Order” they were at war with.

“So, you need me to recover lost memories” Sunset dropped her confused act. “I wish that sounded crazier to me, but that’s my life I guess.”

Mags and the other Assassin looked at each other, and they seemed to relax. Even the thoughts of the one hanging out above her seemed to soften, even if only a little. Sunset leaned back into the Animus and fit herself on the bed. It was actually surprisingly comfortable, she felt like she could lay there for hours and not feel stiff afterwards. Which was probably the point.

As soon as she was in, she felt her gemstone warming up. The Animus projected a console screen in front of her, displaying a jumbled web of memories. They looked like tiny black clouds, but if she focused on one memory she started getting flashes of visions.

“You’re going to need to synchronize with the relic’s memories one by one,” the man said as he fiddled with the controls. “Each memory builds on the other. If the first memory is not synchronized, the second will not have the context to build itself, and then the whole simulation falls apart.”

“Is that what happened with the one I saw before?” Sunset asked.

He nodded. “We were just testing you, but it seems we didn’t start early enough. We’ll be simulating a memory from the mid-thirteenth century. How familiar are you with Anglian history?”

“Uh, is ‘not at all’ acceptable?” Sunset asked innocently.

The man sighed. “Alright, that’s fine. It’s just the history of my people, but that’s fine. The genetic material we’re using is of an Assassin who fought on the side of Gustavale, a former duchy of Francia.”

“What were they rebelling for?”

“To remain with the mainland, for one thing. The Anglians took Gustavale from Francia during a previous war, but the people of Gustavale wanted to rejoin their kinsmen. Ah—there we go, I have the memory loaded up.”

Sunset saw flashes of a memory, but it wasn’t as random and disparate as before. She saw the place he mentioned, Gustavale soldiers seizing silver coins and food from storehouses. Somehow, she knew those were the taxes the king had collected from them, perhaps because the person whose memory she was seeing also knew it.

“I think I’m going in.” Sunset reached out with her mind. This wasn’t like taking memories from a living person, they did not rush into her head. She had to focus on the images, coax them out from the relic.

“Hello?” she asked, looking around for the Assassins. But she realized there wasn’t anything but fog beyond her vision. Even the Animus had disappeared. She was already in it, she realized. This was the memory.

---

21st of May, 1248: City of Bayon, Gustavale

Fog. The coast of Gustavale had tons of it rolling in when the night grew cold. My name is Grenda of the Brotherhood of Assassins, and I was sick of the damn fog.

It was past winter, but the warming weather still wasn’t enough to chase away the chilling fog. The city of Bayon was, as the name suggested, situated on the bay created by the mouth of the Guto River. It had a large residential population, rows of houses built side-by-side.

The city was built on the river, a long brick bridge connected the two halves of the city. Built centuries ago by the Boreas Age of Griffstone, it was a symbol of unity and engineering, preserved throughout the rise and fall and empires. Yet the Anglian King, Hazelnott of the Griffish Isles, thought he could make a claim to the duchy through his pawn.

I spied the ships coming into port. Not trade ships, these were Simon de Montforte’s men, sent to crush Gustavale’s rebellion. The Earl of Ledecester had only been in the duchy for a month, but his ruthless strategy was beginning to work. Many nobles feared to get in his way, though they were often arrested anyways.

We had been watching his movements through Gustavale—I and the other Assassins in the city—for some time. What were we to do? Many of the new Assassins in our ranks were recruits, taken in from the streets and countryside of Gustavale itself. They were well trained and understood our history, but their hearts were with the people and land that were born with. Many requested, and demanded, that the Assassins take action against the king’s men. Gustavale was Francian land, though and through. They would not accept an Anglian King any longer. The rift in our ranks made it difficult to move forward with a plan.

From the top of a townhouse, I watched the soldiers in chainmail carry their weapons and ammunition from their ships. As they worked, the captain stepped off onto the dock to trade words with one of the soldiers. Decorated with the bright colours of Montforte, I recognized it as one of the Earl’s own lieutenants.

The weapons and soldiers did not concern me, I was after information. There was a great worry within the Brotherhood that Simon de Montforte was a Templar agent, searching to use a relic in Gustavale.

Traditionalists in the bureau were the other half of the division within our ranks. Like myself, they were the sons and daughters of Assassins, their family was the Brotherhood first, Gustavale second, and that did not sit well with the newer recruits.

But I can’t say I blamed either side. Simon de Montforte was stunningly effective but ruthless. Nobles who revolted against the King were treated like criminals. Backed by a king’s retinue of soldiers, he crushed them wherever they made trouble. Still, the Brotherhood hunted Templars for a reason, and we could not let ourselves be easily distracted.

The notice had been sent to all corners of the mainland that Grovis of Griffonstone, King of Francia, was preparing for another crusade to Saddle Arabia and Somnambula. A crusade meant one thing to us Assassins, that the Templars were going to plan their next grab for power.

Relics dotted across the world were treasured by the Templars, and when the last crusade gave them the Holy Lance, it sparked the war that turned Gustavale to the Anglians. The relics and their powers were the main agents of the Templar’s success in the recent generations, and for the Assassins to preserve the balance of power, those who sought to use a relic to oppress the people around them needed to die.

So, the question of the year was whether or not Simon de Montforte acted as a pawn of a king or the agent of the Templars? His control over Gustavale could spread all the way to Griffonstone itself if another relic was discovered.

“Good evening, sister,” I heard a familiar voice, but one had I had only met recently. Brighton, an Assassin from our bureau in the Isles. “What do you see, Grenda?”

“Rien,” I told him. “Only soldiers from Montforte. Did you come with news of the Earl? Has the bureau sent you to inform me that I can leave this damned cold? Je vais me geler les tetons ici.”

“News of Simon? I am sorry, sister.” He shook his head, the motion gently ruffling his hood. “Nay. My brothers on the Isle have no proof that he is a Templar. But they found his letters to King Hazelnott. He was eager indeed to join King Grovis on the crusade, only reluctantly agreeing to end the revolt if he was offered a better deal.”

“Many innocent men of faith go on crusades. What was the deal?”

“A full refund on the expenses, plus regency over the duchy for seven years once the rebels surrender.”

“That explains the soldiers and weapons, he’s not concerned about the cost, and he has been crushing the nobility with his show of force. But it doesn’t prove any Templar connection.”

I pointed to the ship, guiding Brighton’s gaze to the dock where Montforte’s lieutenant supervised his soldiers. Another ship had pulled into the port now, and with a shout from the lieutenant, the troops began unloading their supplies.

“That man, he wears Montforte’s colours, non? He’s dressed like a lieutenant.”

“You think he may know something?”

“Bien, it can’t hurt to try, right?”

“In that case, if you’re ready,” Brighton gave a half-grin, “why don’t we begin?”

---

Brighton approached the lieutenant’s ship from behind, while I removed the guards in the fore. We were swift but silent. Soft leather soles let us go up to Montforte’s men, completely unnoticed until the moment to strike. Killing a soldier, if necessary, was not forbidden by the Creed—a fact a few too many took to heart. I preferred the quiet approach.

The Templars were not the only ones with gifts from the crusades. A Somnabulan poison, purified from the strychnine seed, convulsed the muscles and made breathing difficult. With a conservative dose, it could put any guard or soldier into a useless, but recoverable, state. And it was a perfect gift from our foreign brothers and sisters.

Four soldiers tasked with accounting for the arrows and bows fell silent by my hand. A silk kerchief soaked in a mixture of water and poison put them to sleep in minutes. I then mimicked a crow’s caw, signalling Brighton my task had been finished.

The ship grew empty as time passed. Once most of the equipment was moved to the docks, most of the soldiers took their leave in the inns and taverns around the city. Bayon was a nest for sailors and merchants, and it had more than enough space to host a small army.

I slipped past the few guards on the lieutenant’s ship and came to his quarters. Brighton was to buy me time from the back, causing a distraction or whatever else necessary to keep the lieutenant from returning.

I did not know him personally, but I trusted his reputation. He had been sent to gather information from our brothers in the Isles, with hopes of learning if the Templars had any intentions in Gustavale. Though only gathering information, it was a mission he conducted alone, which spoke volumes of the confidence the Grand Masters had in his skill.

So inside I went, picking through the lieutenant’s belongings. With gloved fingers, I lifted the pages of notebooks and scrolls. The lieutenant, a knight known as Sir Glen Green, was a devout man, it seemed. His sword may have been close to his bed, but his Bible was closer. Below his bed, hidden under a wool rug, was a second sword. Fighting and prayer, prayer and fighting, those were the things this knight concerned himself with.

“Psst! Grenda!” Brighton’s voice came from outside the lieutenant’s door. I stuck my head out and saw him, hidden blade flushed with blood. “You done yet, or what?”

“Merde, what happened?”

“A guard with a faceplate, the poison could not reach his mouth in time. Have you found any evidence?”

“Damn it, no. He is innocent and we’ve taken a useless risk, his notes are all clean. The only other thing he has are his sword and this Bible—” I had picked up the Bible to show Brighton my frustration when I felt the book slip in my hand. The thick, leather-bound text felt light in my hands.

I immediately opened the cover, revealing the shock of a Bible hollowed out by a knife. The detailed penmanship of a dedicated monk still showed itself in the margins of the pages. Notes and inked illustrations of priests in the corners of the book were lively recreations. But in the centre, the pages had been cut out clear through to the back cover, and inside the gap was a small pocketbook.

“That looks promising, but we have to go.” Brighton spun his head around. He checked the corners of the ship, pressing his ears to the walls and listening for any commotion outside. “They haven’t noticed the body yet, but they might if they search the arrow crates.”

“Vite, vite, don’t waste time warning me, come on!”

We stole away into the foggy shadows of the streets around the port. Just as our padded feet hit the walls of the houses when we climbed our way up, the Montforte’s men started rousing their comrades. Somewhere down there, the lieutenant knew who had passed under his nose.

I would not find out until later that morning, but Simon de Montforte was not a Templar. That, however, did not stop his closest lieutenants from being one of their ranks.

Comments

[red-sun]

i like this story

[Bronie312]

Is there going to be any kind of chapter related to the comic "Reflections"?

[SwordTune]

10340465
No. While I certainly did like those comics, that isn't in my plans right now.

[Bronie312]

10340560
Dammit!... Oh, well. I think I'll have to enjoy it, anyway! Let's read!

[SwordTune]

Note: I did do a slight rename a few hours after uploading this chapter. I thought it strange to initially have Francia and England, but without renaming England as I did France. So I simply had England be "Anglia" in this world.

[SwordTune]

Go straight to Chapter 2 Now!
https://www.fimfiction.net/story/472386/8/anthology-of-everything/assassins-creed-divided-chapter-2-in-silence