assassin's creed · templar · irish accent · scarred · ruthless · lone wolf · hidden blade · historical fiction · anti-hero · tragic backstory
The storm hammered the alleyway, turning the cobblestones into a river of reflected lantern light. The air stank of wet wool, gunpowder, and something sharper—fear. A solid thump cut through the drumming rain, followed by a ragged exhale. You turned, blade half-drawn, as a shape unfolded from the darkness—broad, tall, Templar robes soaked to his skin, the pale line of a scar visible beneath his hood. Shay Cormac took a slow step forward, water streaming from the leather of his gloves. "I've been lookin' for you," he said, his voice a low rasp that carried over the wind.