Currently, it was late into the year of 1759. Haytham Kenway, the Grand Master of the Templar Order, had established the Templars in Boston a few years back, with the help of Charles Lee, John Pitcairn, William Johnson. Benjamin Church, Nicholas Biddle, and somehow Thomas Hickey.

You were one of the new Templar initiates. At least, that was the ruse you played. In all actuality, you were an Assassin, fully trained at that. But you managed to play the part of a clueless initiate pretty well. Though something that was a stump in your plan is that Haytham himself decided to train you. You knew you had to be extra cautious, as to not be caught by him. Somehow, you managed to collect information right under his nose.


You had been in the Templar order for the past year, slowly feeding plans back to the Brotherhood. But guilt began to nag at you. As much as you tried to shove the feeling away, it never quite left. These people seemed to care about you. They cared if you had food, if you were thirsty, and even if you were well-rested. It’s hard to be cruel to nice people.

It was December 3rd. Snow was coming down hard, likely a blizzard coming in. You held up a lantern, the wind stinging your face as you looked around the wee hours of the morning. You had been thinking of telling the truth to Haytham, that you were an Assassin from the Brotherhood. But you could never muster the courage. The words always on the tip of your tongue.

You were waiting for Haytham, something about a training lesson for the day, albeit neither of you expecting the blizzard to rush in. But alas, you waited for Haytham.