Chapter 1: The Masked Avenger

A/N: Will eventually be an Evie/OC story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, only my OC.


Gloucester, October, 1865

It was a moonless night, the Autumn air was cold and crisp, the trees nearly bare of all their leaves, as wisps of nighttime mist swirled around, giving the atmosphere surrounding the graveyard an eerie feeling.

A hooded figure approached the graveyard, looking around cautiously, checking that no one was watching him.

He walked through the graveyard, seeking something in particular, after a few moments, he finally found it, a group of three graves, freshly dug. Each one inscribed with the names of those buried beneath them.

Edward Bennett, Grace Bennett, Emily Bennett.

The figure knelt beside the graves, and laid flowers upon each one, when he reached Emily's headstone, the figure brushed his hand against it and murmured, "Forgive me, little sister. I have failed you, I couldn't protect you."

He faltered for a moment, but regained his composure, "It falls to me now, to carry on our family's fight against the Templars. I failed once, but I will not fail again."

He drew out a knife from inside his pockets, and cut across his palm, he then clenched his fingers, and spoke solemnly, "I vow to protect those who cannot protect themselves, no matter the cost. And I will not rest until you are avenged, and Crawford Starrick and all his works are destroyed," he declared, "I swear it."


London, February 1868

It was late in the evening, London's streets were nearly deserted, save for the Blighters who patrolled them. A hooded figure stood high upon a rooftop overlooking the street, he was tall, lean and well-muscled, but lithe, with broad shoulders.

The lower part of his face was concealed by a black bandana, he wore a black leather frock coat with a hood, a dark red waistcoat with gold buttons, a black ascot tie, black leather trousers and boots.

As he gazed down at the streets below, he glanced towards a particular house. The home of his target; Thomas Everett, a local loan shark and a bookkeeper for the Templars.

It was a relatively large house, imposing, but not overly opulent, no doubt, paid for with the blood money of Everett's countless victims.

Everett was alone in the house, he kept no servants, but he was smart enough to keep a small group of Blighters posted around as guards, but he could likely sneak past them easily enough, given that they were merely hired muscle and not paid to think.

'Okay, time to get to work.' he thought, as he performed a Leap of Faith off the rooftop, into a hay cart.


Quietly evading the Blighters outside, he managed to enter the house through an open window into the parlor, moving quietly through the house, looking for Everett.

Having searched the lower part of the house with no success, he crept upstairs and made his way to Everett's study, since it was likely the loan shark was occupied with work.

The study door was locked, but a sliver of light seeped from underneath it, revealing that his target had indeed locked himself in his study, and was going over his ledgers.

The locked door was an obstacle that was easily overcome, the lock itself was simple, and not hard to pick. The figure knelt down, and withdrew a lockpick from his pocket, and after hearing a slight click from the lock, he gently pushed the door open, and crept into the study.

Thomas Everett was a bespectacled, middle-aged man. He sat at his desk, facing the window with his back towards the door, holding a pen, hunched over a ledger, muttering figures to himself, "240 pounds and 10 shillings plus interest."

The figure crept quietly behind him and whistled, drawing Everett's attention from his ledger, "Huh, what's that?" He hurriedly stood up, his hand reaching for a revolver on his desk.

With a quick flick of the wrist, he unsheathed his Hidden Blade, and stabbed Everett in the back, and eased the loan shark onto the floor.

"Who the devil are you?" demanded the dying Everett.

"In your case, Mr. Everett, I am the hand of justice." the masked figure said, "Your days of usury are at an end."

"Usury," Everett scoffed, "There's nothing wrong with making an honest living." said the dying loan shark.

"There is hardly anything honest about taking advantage of other people's desperation." the figure replied.

"They were desperate, yes." Everett admitted, "But I didn't make them borrow the money, now did I? It's just… good business." he said, taking his last breath.

The figure shook his head, "The plight of mankind, and its welfare, is our business." he said philosophically, as he swiped a handkerchief with Everett's blood.


As he rose from the floor, he observed that the safe which held Everett's papers and financial records was open, in addition to the ledger which presently sat upon the desk.

With perfect coolness, the figure strode towards the safe, removed its contents and threw it all into the burning fireplace, then turned, took the ledger from the desk, and tossed it into the flames.

"And now that's done," the figure muttered, as he took a piece of burning wood from the fireplace, and used it to set a fire to cover his tracks. With a small blaze lit in the study, and checking that there were no Blighters or bystanders nearby, he leapt from the window and landed in the hedges.

Rising from the hedges, he stealthily fled the site of the burning house, once he was a safe distance away, he removed his mask, "Non est pax impiis." He muttered.


He had arrived at the agreed-upon rendezvous point, and was waiting for his colleague to arrive.

It had been a good night so far, he had given death to one who had deserved it, freed the people who were indebted to him, and he was one step closer to his goal of setting London,

He was brought out of his musings, when he heard a soft footfall, so soft it was almost unheard—Almost.

"How did you fare, Joshua?" asked an accented voice.

Joshua lowered his hood, revealing the refined sharp-featured, clean-shaven face of a young man, and a head of short dark brown hair. His face was solemn and he regarded the world with a pair of alert, piercing steely gray eyes.

He turned to face his interloper, an Indian man wearing white Assassin robes trimmed with gold, Henry Green, the leader of the Assassins in London, "Surprisingly well, Everett won't be squeezing anymore money out of anyone."

"And what of his ledgers?" Green asked.

"Turned to ash, along with his home, and himself." Joshua replied, "As far as anyone knows, Thomas Everett perished in a house fire, when he was going over his books."

Green nodded, "Excellent, our work brings one step closer to our goal."

"One step closer, yet still further than ever." Joshua remarked, "There's only so much the two of us can do."

Green nodded, "True, I have written to the Council again, asking for aid. I am hopeful for a response."

Joshua scoffed, "I wouldn't be so optimistic, the Council has grown too cautious, they will not help us. We are alone in this, Green."

And that was the truth, Joshua himself—for all intents and purposes—shouldn't have even been there. But he had become disgruntled with the Council's lack of action with regards to London, so he decided to take matters into his own hands.

In defiance of the Council's wishes, he had come to London to aid Green in the city's liberation. Any word from the Council regarding his 'insubordination' was pointedly ignored.

He firmly believed that what he was doing was for the best; although, at the start, a small part of him had come seeking vengeance against the Templars for his family's murder, but he soon put aside his anger, in favor of the bigger picture—though an ember of hatred for the Templars still burned fiercely—he remembered his vow, to protect the innocent, no matter the cost to himself.

He was the blade in the dark; the shield that protected the innocent, the sword that struck down the wicked who prey upon the helpless.

He was the Masked Avenger, and he would set this city free… Or die trying.


Non est pax impiis: No peace for the wicked.

A/N: After weeks of experimenting with different plot lines and editing and revising, I think I might have finally found the direction I want this story to take, after hours of trial and error. It should be relatively smooth sailing from here, I hope. The next chapter will be up soon enough.