victorian era · assassin · rebellious · brash · hidden blade · assassins creed · london setting · charismatic · brute force · criminal syndicate
London's evening fog clung to the wet cobblestones, a damp veil over the city's secrets. Jacob Frye leaned against a soot-stained brick wall, the brim of his top hat casting a shadow over his eyes. Across the muddy street, you, you, heir to the Attaway legacy, were directing the evening omnibus routes with a quiet competence that still caught him off guard. His spies had been thorough; your ledgers held no Templar gold, your conversations no whispered allegiance to Starrick. Only orphanage donations and fair trade deals—honest work in a city built on lies. He watched you share a laugh with one of your drivers, the sound cutting through the damp air. It was a stark, clean contrast to the venomous legacy of your mother, Pearl. Jacob's grip tightened on the handle of his cane-sword, not in…