Information
Essa_Cavazza
Legacy Name: Essa_Cavazza
The
Bloodred TelenineOwner:
Age: 14 years, 4 months, 6 days
Born: November 12th, 2011
Adopted: 14 years, 4 months, 6 days ago
Adopted: November 12th, 2011
Statistics
- Level: 1
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 0
- Books Read: 0
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
Profile Graphics and Overlay by Deja_Vu, Coding by FallenSamurai, Story by User not found: librarian
My feet made the softest slish as the velveteen on the base of my slippers slid ever so gracefully across the cobblestones on the la strada per l'inferno (the road to hell). It was night, the stars watched me with their ever disapproving glare as I made my way under the window of the mansion of Vincention de Lombardi. I ran my finger over the wooden frame and smiled. Old balsa, from the forests near my home town. This man had tastes, I could give him that. I felt along the stone bricks for any give. Solidly built, no rotting portions what so ever. This man either had a very uptight personality or a wife. I tended to lean towards the later, though no doubt his bed was a favorite stop of the puttane (brothel girls). Naughty, naughty Turk.
I slid to the back of the house and gently lifted the latch to the service door, holding my breath. There was a small clink that reverberated through the long empty hall ways. I sighed in relief and moved through the door way, my leggings swishing lightly as I made my way down the hall. A servant lay across the door, attended by two dogs that looked at me with big glowing eyes. They didn't bark, just growled quietly. I took out my pocket handkerchief and dropped it inches from the animals. Their ears perked up and they hurriedly sniffed the fabric, only to fall down seconds later with a dull thud. Rabbit's blood and chloroform, it worked every time. I picked up the scrap of cloth once again and laid it on the face of the servant, leaving a small kiss on his cheek. He wouldn't be moving for a long while.
The hall way was dark, but I knew my way around. Every thief was expected to know their target inside and out, no exceptions. You didn't get to become Mezzo by sitting on your duff in a bar and bragging about your exploits. That only got you a short drop and a quick stop. I came to the bottom of the servants' staircase and smiled. The floor boards were as new as the ones around the window. I tested the bottom one. No creaks, grazie a Dio sopra (thanks to God above)! I stole up them quickly, alighting on the top stoop in a matter of seconds.
The house was large but empty, there being no children and few servants. Such a rich wine merchant, I thought, moving deftly to the handle of the master bedroom, such a waste of a life. I stole into the shadows and watched for any sign of movement from the large ornate bed in the center of the room. No sound. I made my way to the box by the bed side, opening the clasp and snatching the contents out in one fluid motion. That was when I saw the shadow steal across the window. A shadow I would know anywhere, the assassin I had seen often around the market. I should've made myself invisible, it would've been easier for us both, but something told me to stay where I was. He came through the window. Not breaking it, just resting his feet gently in the cracks of the stone and pulling it open with his fingertips. Then he would swing in and alight on the floor with no more sound than a mouse sneezing. His hood was always pulled down over his eyes and his knife always stuck out a quarter of an inch from the base of his sleeve. He moved towards the bed, his intention toward the man clear enough, and then he noticed me.
“Shadow?” He mouthed.
I blinked in reply, surprised he remembered my name.
His eyes motioned me to the window, and I slipped quietly out and down the rope he had left for me. I always wondered if he knew I was going to follow him or the rope was just a courtesy to tell others to stay out. I hit the ground running, but I never got myself far enough away. I always heard the scream of the wife right before he killed her. Always. I turned and plastered myself against the wall, breathing hard and trying to melt into the shadows. I let my hand move to the tattoo on my arm. That was where I'd gotten my name, the shadows. They had christened me once before, but the second was in blood. This name was the name they all knew me by. All but two.
I turned around and flicked out my thin rapier like knife, cutting a large heart on his wanted poster. I hastily drew an ornate “E' in the center and then vanished into the night. When he came by later to tear them down he would see it. I never knew if he smiled, but he would always hesitate before shredding those ones. I turned to vanish into the trap door below my little tavern on the edge of the river. That was when a hand caught me by the shoulder and spun me around to face him. I knew it was his before I saw his face. The cloak was the same, there was no one else I knew who would wear one like that. And I knew what he was going to do. I stood still, completely still, just breathing. Warmth shot through my body as his fingers, still sticky with the fresh blood of his last kill, touched my neck. He grabbed the bodice of my shirt and quietly unlaced the back, exposing the only secret I had left. He gazed the tattoo, one of a devil-angel heart that had my first name in the center, a long time before shoving me away. He didn't say anything for what seemed like hours. When he finally spoke his voice sounded half strangled, as if he was keeping something hidden from me.
“Goodnight, Essa.” He said, and then vanished down the street, leaving me alone with the mocking stars glaring down at me and my longest secret. Now there were three who knew, and for some reason I didn’t mind.
Pet Treasure
Colonial Handkerchief
Used Short Sword
Flashback Wild One Heart Tattoo
Pet Friends
Altair_Ibn-La-Ahad
I have a feeling that maybe you kept one of those wanted posters
Ezio_Auditore_da_Firenze
Another assassin? Perhaps you know the one who I seek?