The Meeting

This first chapter is called 'The Meeting' because of just that, Connor Kenway, an Assasssin, meeting this mysterious female that refuses to speak. His mission is to bring her back to her home, but just where is she from? They have to travel South until they reach their destination. When he reaches it, he can't believe what he finds. ConnorXOC


34. The Discovery-Chapter II Continued


Connor took his time following the trail deep into the foliage where Midnight Rose had taken him days before. His destination was high above the village, to the pinnacle of the huge landmass that shadowed the cabins. The closer Connor eased to the dome shaped peak, he saw the Assassin cross-armed high above analyzing him with each step. The more Connor eyed the man, the slower his pace became. Enough to give himself time to think things through in how he was going to approach the training with Poison Tears.

One, he already knew the Assassin could not be trusted. For the two occasions the Cherokee came close to wounding him, had not left his mind. Second, just the thought that the masked man knew who he was, but he himself lacking the knowledge to the identity of the Assassin, was rather concerning. Third, was the detail that stood out the most. The fact, that even though the man was supposed to be on the side of good, there was an area to him the shade of gray.

As Connor finally reached the base of the monadnock the Assassin high above backed away disappearing from the brim, “So you are ready for this, good. I am not withholding anything. Be prepared, Cherokee.”

Connor smirked then quickened his pace into a sprint, free running around the small trees on the path until he found himself on the backside of the rock. He darted up the trail that seemed entirely different in the light of day. When he was halfway the length, he slowed. Connor was unsure what to expect from the waiting Assassin. The closer he came to the highest point of the rock. He took in the sight of the Assassin standing overlooking his village.

The man seemed so small in contrast to the scenery behind him. Even though he looked insignificant, Connor knew that this Assassin was the most dangerous person that he had met thus far in his travels. Apart from the man, that Connor had sworn revenge against until his dying breath. Something told him that this Cherokee was far more precarious than led to believe. For why would this person hide their identity from his own people? There was something there, which just did not sit right. A hard wind blew piercing Connor’s skin. Giving him a chill, not for the temperature of it, just the eeriness it gave while staring at the back of the masked assassin that only stared over the horizon.

The light brown coat the Assassin wore today seemed more in style to the robes that Achilles showed Connor when he was back at the Homestead in Davenport. The cream and blue robes that were to be his once he reached full Assassin status. An outfit that Connor wished to be wearing now, but still had to prove himself worthy. The material of Poisoned Tears robes was light and flapped in the wind as it snapped back and forth. The Assassin’s back was broad and his stance heavy.

Poisoned Tears slowly turned, arms still crossed at the chest, to study Connor. The Assassin loosened an arm to extent a hand, lowering his fingers in unison twice to motion Connor to come. Connor did not seem too happy in being told what to do. This made the Assassin huff in contentment.

“We are to train here. So your people do not notice you.” Connor declared, as he was close enough to the masked man to defend himself if other initiated an attack.

Poisoned Tears only stared at the Mohawk, crossing his arms once more.

Connor stated, “With what weapon have you chose to teach me in?”

A shrug, followed by a tilt of the head.

Connor’s eyes followed. To the right of Poisoned Tears were many different weapons that Connor could choose. Connor strolled cautiously over to a tree trunk that displayed a variety of swords, hatchets, throwing knives, blowguns, and pistols. There were also weapons in which Connor was unfamiliar.

“This,” Connor ran his fingers gently over a weapon. “I am not familiar. It seems as a bow, but much smaller and more complicated. In all these weapons, you are skilled,” looking up to the Assassin that faced his village once more.

The masked Assassin nodded.

Connor inspected each weapon weighing the pros and cons of each. “I have chosen.”

Poisoned Tears inhaled sharply and let out the breath in turning to retrieve the like weapon. In seeing that Connor had the sword at the ready, the Assassin ran toward the trunk as a swift sweep came down close to the back of his hood. Poisoned Tears rolled to grab the companion and on a bending knee battled off the next blow from the large Mohawk.

As the Cherokee held the sword sideways, Connor’s blow came down hard and fast. The swords let out a loud clank as metal vibrated in hand. The Assassin under the masked smirked. For all the brute strength the Mohawk pelted down with, his stance was weak and open for any oncoming strike. Poisoned Tears swept Connor’s right leg from under him with his extended leg then pushed off to the right, rolling as the blade tip came crashing to the rock where he was knelt.

The sudden blow from the Assassin sent Connor down to his knee. As his knee came hard down to the earth he stabbed downward with the blade to no avail, the Assassin was faster. Poisoned Tears was now back on two feet. As Connor still on one knee shook his head, he noticed an extended hand.

“This pleases you does it not Cherokee.” Connor backhanded the help offered.

Poisoned Tears gave a shake of the head.

Connor huffed as the assassin once more offered assistance.

Poisoned Tears angered by Connor’s stubbornness, kicked the sword from his hand, placed his own blade to rest on the underside of Connor’s chin. In lifting the Assassin in training’s chin, he met resistance, causing him to squat down and reach out grabbing Connor’s chin forcefully. The masked Assassin maneuvered his own head around to catch the eyes of Connor. The Mohawk finally relinquished defeat to the Assassin for the moment.

The Cherokee unsheathed Connor’s stone tomahawk, shoving it into the Mohawk’s hand. Lifted his head to motion that the two continue, as Connor began to stand, the Assassin threw a thick sharp dagger at Connor’s feet, as the sword chunked aside. Connor bent to retrieve the blade as he felt the body of Poisoned Tears collide into his. The impact caught him off-guard, causing him to loose balance and the two to roll on the stone ground. Connor, defending with the Tomahawk in one hand, while the other reached for the blade that lay just out of reach. He gave up the fight for the knife, as he felt his hand weakening with the pressure of the Assassin on top of him pushing down with his own dagger held firmly in two hands.

Connor reached up with both hands to push the Assassin upward a couple inches, just enough for him to get a knee raised to strike Poisoned Tears in the stomach. This caused the man to arch ever so slightly, freeing more space. Connor now raised his feet to kick the man hard in the chest off him. Connor’s actions sent Poisoned Tears sliding backward across the rock. The masked man stood, winded as Connor retrieved the dagger. Poisoned Tears nodded as he motioned for Connor to make the first move.

The two circled each other, blades extended, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. “Come Poisoned Tears, you are the teacher by all means you go first.”

Poisoned Tears tilted his head forward, as he flinched the knife in his right hand, drawing Connor’s attention to the hand just long enough that he did not see the kick coming. The impact was not that hard, Connor thought as he stepped backward, thinking that was the end of the man’s assault. However, before he could regain composure Poisoned Tears had kicked him hard now in the chest with the other foot, and as Connor fell to one knee catching his breath, the Assassin once again held a sharp blade to his throat.

“I see,” Connor coughed, “I kick you. You get even. I tire of your games.”

No response.

Connor now enraged by the actions of the Assassin, and his lack of taking this session serious, provoked something deep within himself that Connor had no idea that resided there. He moved his head clear of the blade and lunged, encircling his arms around the waist of the standing Assassin. As Connor fell on top of the man, he ripped the blade from Poisoned Tears’ hand, threw it aside as he removed one of the Assassin’s Throwing Knives from their encasing on the back of the man’s left shoulder.

Connor held it to the man’s throat, “Yes it feels different on this side. You are not as strong as you think you are without all the weapons Cherokee.”

As Connor gloated, the Assassin behind the masked smirked, for finally Connor gave an instinctive reaction, not one from thought. However, Poisoned Tears did not like being on the receiving end of a blade, therefore Connor needed to be taught a lesson, and if he wanted it without weapons. Then who was Poisoned Tears not to be giving.

The masked Assassin punched Connor in the ribs, nothing. Poisoned Tears once more tried to punch the man that now pinned his shoulders down.

“Try harder, Master.” Connor’s voice has menacing.

As soon as Connor finished, Poisoned Tears lifted a leg and wrapped it around his torso to slam him backward to the ground. The two stood eyeing each other. Poisoned Tears began loosening all the buckles to the weapon belts worn. As all the leather and metal crashed to the ground, one gloved hand after the other loosened the latches on the Hidden Blades and tossed them onto the trunk. Connor understood what the masked man was implying. As he too loosened, his quiver and slid his bow from his shoulder.

Connor ran to a head shaking Poisoned Tears, as soon as the Mohawk was close enough, the Cherokee bent down and pushed up as Connor’s momentum made him flip in midair and land on his back. When Connor collided with the hard rock, he kicked his right leg forward connecting with the calf of Poisoned Tears. Sending the Assassin crashing down to one knee as Connor sat up, wrapped his left arm around the neck of the man, and punched the right side of the masked man repeatedly. The man brought an elbow speeding backward to connect with the side of Connor’s head, ceasing the blows.

Poisoned Tears took a staggered step in standing. Winded, but not down, took a breath. Held his side then stomped Connor in the ribs as he straightened his posture. The force from the bottom of Poisoned Tears’ moccasin sent Connor’s arms down in front of him, catching himself before he crashed to the ground. The Assassin took advantage of the opportunity to stomp at his side once more. The impact made Connor fall over to the ground sideways. The Cherokee tried once more, this time Connor caught the incoming foot. He gripped the ankle tightly, jerking, causing Poisoned Tears to fall flat on the ground with a heavy thud.

Connor stood and began kicking the Assassin now in the left arm. He used all his force, but the masked man did not yell or flinch with agony. How much more pain could he inflict upon this Poisoned Tears before the man would call him off. The Assassin then raised his legs to grab Connor between the legs and up his torso like scissors. The hold was extremely tight. Connor had never felt such a force. Then with one swift motion, Poisoned Tears stiffened his body and brought him crashing sideways to the ground.

Connor caught his breath then climbed onto the masked man with one desire on his mind. Breathing heavily, “what do you look like Cherokee?”

As Connor leaned closer, grasping the man by the neck, he started for the hood when Poisoned Tears raised a knee hard between the legs of Connor. The Mohawk rolled off, holding himself panting. The Assassin stood to foot, then for good measure stomped once more on Connor’s sore side. Connor, with his excruciating pain had no idea how he reached and pulled a leg from the Cherokee. The man stumbled and fell sitting next to the Mohawk. Once more the Assassin stood, this time he stomped Connor’s chest, making the Mohawk curl in more pain.

“What in the hell has gotten into the two of you! I send you to spar, not try to kill each damn other. Back away from him Poisoned Tears. Connor stand, you should know better, and you Poisoned Tears, I know you know better.” Milagros scalded the two.

Poisoned Tears offered a hand to Connor, this time the Mohawk accepted the help. The masked Assassin pulled him to his feet, patted him on the back, and walked over to gather his belongings.

Connor held his side as he eyed with hate the Assassin buckling his Hidden Blades back in place. The man turned to leave, but stopped to hear Milagros speak.

“Don’t go too damned far Poisoned Tears, since the two of you can’t seem to play nice, you will have another spar, this time if the two of you want to see who’s dick is bigger, then you will do it on level ground where the only damage can be done is from the each of you. I am giving the two of you four hours to recoup, then it’s back to the, in your damn case, battlefield.” Milagros demanded as she shook her head.

Connor slowly walked to gather his bow and quiver. “You forgot to mention that the Cherokee fight dirty,” then stormed down the path.

Milagros smiled as she called out, “Remember in for hours, the two of you will meet under the willow tree, at the foot of the stream that runs close to Midnight Rose’s cabin.”

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