My father is dead. Charles Lee now leads the Templar Order in his place. I see now why ours is an eternal war. For each piece taken from the board, another is placed upon it. Back and forth we go. Across the world. Across the ages. Some days, mine feels an impossible task, but I can’t afford to be consumed with doubt. The people need me, now more than ever. I must stop the Templars. I will kill Charles Lee.
This horrible comic was brought to you by my gameplay of Assassin’s Creed Brotherhood where I accidentally made Ezio loot his dead, younger brother. I am so sorry, Ezio. So very sorry.
This made me laugh though.
she goes wherever the wind takes her
Based off of this post
…and Ziio becomes the Assassin.
90% of the story, if not more, would be the same, with her madly pursuing Lee and having lots of sassy arguments with Haytham.
can someone bring capes back into fashion
when the fuck did they even go out of fashion
Why the fuck did they even go out of fashion
The first time the Incredibles took over a post and I am so happy about it
dON’T BLAME ME FOR THIS but honestly think of how good a father Haytham tried to be and how devoted to Connor he was even if he really didn;t show it often
and think about how happy he would be when Ziio tells him he had a son and that he looked so much like his dad …
and the happiness slowly fading away as he noticed - it was all in the past tense
THIS IS YOUR FAULT))
"A son…?" He hasn’t seen her in… God, it had been years, and this is how she greets him? So bluntly, too, just like always. For some reason, she has her back to him.
“A son.” He repeats, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. At first he’s confused, then finally, the excitement sets, and it’s like he’s sitting on his own father’s knee at Christmas time - would that be their family, soon enough?
“A son- Ziio, that- this is fantastic!” And he grasps her shoulders, turns her to face him, and though they don’t meet his her eyes disagree. Is she still nervous, he wonders, about whether or not he means it?
“How old is he?”
“Five years.” And her voice breaks and she pulls away and his brow furrows, why is she this upset?
“Five… Well, that’s far longer than I’d have liked to have waited - where is he?” She turns around again, so he frowns and asks another.
“What’s his name?” A pause, and she turns again, hugging herself.
“His name… Was Ratonhnhaké:ton.”
And just as he’s about to quip that she could have named him something easier to pronounce, perhaps Connor, he stops. Even as he draws her to his chest, he doesn’t feel her. That explains her behaviour - she was always too proud, too much so to cry, even over the loss of…
I never wanted an Oscar anyway…