[Current Balance: 11,890,136,222 R]
---
La Providencia, having no significant cargo to unload beyond personal effects and the supplies for their own journey, docked relatively quickly at one of the less crowded piers in Philadelphia.
The crew's main task was assisting Jonathan Hugh in the orderly disembarkation of the nearly two hundred and eighty passengers… the extended Kenway household staff, the forr slaves Thulani had brought from the Bristol farms (who now carried papers declaring them free individuals under Kenway employ), and their families.
It was a logistical challenge, but Jonathan, with his usual quiet competence, managed it smoothly.
On the quarterdeck, Alaric leaned against the railing, a fresh cigar already lit, watching the controlled chaos below. Kassandra stood beside him, her arm linked through his, observing the new sights of Philadelphia with interest. Nearby, William Penn, Leonard, Bernard, Thulani, and Reuben were engaged in a quiet but animated discussion.
"Let's have our products sold in these parts of the world..." Alaric overheard his father, Leonard, suggest, his voice carrying a hopeful tone. "The Celestial Tea was a hit in Ro, perhaps it will find a market here too."
"Yes, we can do that... just not here, not yet," Penn replied, shaking his head slightly. "Philadelphia, and indeed all of Pennsylvania, is still a British colony, Leonard. Word from London travels, however slowly. If the Crown learns we are openly establishing new trade networks here so soon after the… unpleasantness… in Bristol, it could draw unwanted attention, put the entire colony at risk."
"Yeah, I think so too..." Reuben chid in, nodding in agreent with Penn. "The British Crown have undoubtedly gotten news from the Bristol incident by now. We need to be cautious, establish ourselves quietly first."
Kassandra, who had been listening, turned slightly. "But we can still do so temporary business, surely?" she suggested, her practical nature showing. "Sell a few things discreetly, perhaps through trusted local rchants Penn might know? Just to gauge the market, bring in so initial funds before we… move on, or establish sothing more permanent further inland."
Alaric took a drag from his cigar, considering. "Hmm... alright," he conceded, nodding slowly. "We'll just do temporary, small-scale business here for the anti. Nothing too flashy. Penn, you likely have contacts here who could facilitate that without drawing the Crown's gaze?"
"Yes, lad... just to make a quick buck before we head out sowhere more… secure," Bernard added, ever the pragmatist when it ca to finances.
Penn nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, there are a few trustworthy rchants in Philadelphia, n of principle who value discretion. We can explore those avenues carefully."
Oldgate, having finished bellowing his final docking orders, stomped over to the group, wiping his brow.
"Oi, lads!" he called out, his voice still carrying its usual boom, earning him their attention. "As you can see, we've arrived! Philadelphia! End of the line for this particular charter!"
Everyone nodded their heads in recognition. One by one, they began to head towards their cabins below deck to gather their personal belongings, ready to disembark and face the uncertainties and opportunities of the New World.
Minutes later, the Kenway family, along with Kassandra, Reuben, Thulani, Flavia, Matteo, and William Penn, each carrying their respective bags and satchels, crossed the gangplank onto the solid wooden planks of the Philadelphia dock.
Alaric was the last to get off. Before he stepped onto the pier, he turned towards Captain Oldgate, who stood by the railing, arms crossed, a wide, satisfied smile on his face.
Alaric smirked and walked towards Oldgate, offering a handshake. "Where are you off to now, Whitebeard?"
Oldgate's eye twitched a little at the nickna before he grunted, taking Alaric's offered hand in his massive paw, making the handshake firm and strong. "To where my ol' captain is... Henry Avery. I'mma pay that man a visit down in Libertalia, give him so of these coins you've so generously provided."
"Your loyalty for him knows no bounds, Whitebeard," Alaric smirked. "Anyways, the money on my cabin... I gave you so presents too."
"It's not about loyalty, lad... it's comradery," Oldgate grunted again, then gave Alaric a hearty smack on the shoulder. "And speaking of generosity… I'll have my n transfer the coins from your cabin to my quarters. And those gifts you ntioned..." His grin widened. "Thank ye, lad... for everything. I've grown rather fond of you and your… unusual family."
"I owe you lots too, Captain," Alaric nodded his head before replying. "For the safe passages, the… entertainnt." He offered a genuine smile. "I'll check in on you once in a while. Maybe even visit Libertalia myself soday, if the mood strikes."
They both smiled, a mont of mutual respect passing between the young man with impossible powers and the old sea dog. Alaric then turned towards the gangplank and stepped off onto the dock.
During this ti, William Penn, with his revitalized energy and established connections in the city he founded, had already managed to secure a small fleet of carriages and wagons.
Enough to transport the nearly three hundred mbers of the extended Kenway household and their considerable luggage, as well as the initial, discreet caches of 'Celestial' products Alaric intended for their "temporary small business" venture.
The transition from ship to shore was remarkably smooth, a testant to Penn's organizational skills and the respect he still commanded in Philadelphia.
[Money Withdrawal: £50,000] (1,600,000 R)
[Premium Cigars (Pack) - 10 R]
[Quantity: 300x] 3000
[Sage's Herbal Infusion Tea Bags - 5 R]
[Quantity: 100x] 500
[Uchiha Fire & Spice Hot Sauce - 1 R]
[Quantity: 200x] 200
[Hyuga Clan Secret Ointnt- 1 R]
[Quantity: 300x] 300
[Total Deduction: 1,604,000 R]
[Current Balance: 11,888,532,222 R]
---New England---
In a sparsely furnished room, tucked away in a discreet hideout located within the busy streets of Boston, a woman sat hunched over a rough wooden desk.
The flickering light of a single tallow candle cast long, dancing shadows on the walls as her quill scratched across a sheet of parchnt.
Outside, the sounds of the colonial city… distant shouts, the rumble of carts, the occasional clang of a blacksmith's hamr… were a muted backdrop to the quiet intensity within the room.
A man leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, observing her. His face was stern, weathered by years in the shadows, his eyes holding the weary wisdom of one who had seen too much conflict.
"How does it feel?" he finally asked, his voice low and gravelly, breaking the silence. "You're now ranked as Master Assassin, Helena. A significant achievent."
Helena sighed, the scratching of her quill ceasing. She set it down carefully beside the inkpot and slowly rose from her seat, turning to face him.
Her own face, though younger, held a similar weariness, a quiet determination forged in the crucible of their clandestine war. "It feels… the sa, ntor Achilles," she replied, her voice was soft but firm. "The title changes little. The work remains."
Achilles Davenport, ntor of the Colonial Brotherhood of Assassins, stared at her for a long mont, then let out a sigh of his own. He pushed himself off the wall and walked towards her, stopping a few feet away. He held out two folded pieces of paper. "Helena… you need to rest. You've already made significant contributions to the Brotherhood, more than many who have served twice your years."
(This is Achilles' father, Connor Davenport's grandfather.)
"I'm fine, ntor," Helena insisted, a small, tired smile touching her lips as she took the offered papers. "We have so much to do here. So many Templars still lurking in the shadows, poisoning this new world."
Achilles stared at her again, a flicker of concern in his usually stoic eyes, before shrugging resignedly. He knew that look on her face; it was the sa unyielding dedication he saw in himself. He walked towards the door leading out of the small room. He paused with his hand on the latch, looking back at her. "We may have much to do, Helena, but please… rest once in a while. Your assassination of Governor Edmund Andros has already severely disrupted the Templar Order's presence and operations in these northern colonies. You've earned a respite."
"I will return to my son for now…" Achilles smiled. "God knows how much a four-year-old can run."
Helena nodded, her smile becoming a little more genuine this ti. "I will, ntor. Thank you."
The smile vanished the mont the door clicked shut behind Achilles. She unfolded the first piece of paper, her eyes quickly scanning the familiar coded script. 'Benjamin Tompson… Puritan poet, educator, physician… and secretly a high-ranking Templar fugitive, last seen heading towards the western frontier. Objective: Capture and extract. Information critical.'
She sighed, a wisp of air escaping her lips. She walked over to the flickering candle and held the corner of the paper to the fla, watching it catch fire and blacken.
'Assassinations are so much easier than kidnapping soone,' she thought, dropping the burning parchnt into a small tal dish where it quickly turned to ash.
'Now…' She picked up the second, thicker piece of paper, this one sealed with the wax insignia of the English Brotherhood. Her brow furrowed slightly as she broke the seal and unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning the dense, elegant script.
'My Dearest Sister Helena,
I pray this missive finds you well, though the news I bear from England is anything but. The shadows deepen here, and events have taken a turn most alarming, compelling to write to you with utmost urgency.
It has been fourteen long years since your initial reports from Bristol concerning the boy, Alaric Jonathan Kenway. You spoke then of his unusual knowledge, his awareness of our Brotherhood's history, and his exposure to what you believed to be an Isu Fragnt. You acted with comndable foresight in protecting his identity and location, for which the Council was, and remains, grateful. For years, his na was but a whisper in our archives, a curiosity. Now, that na has resurfaced, not as a whisper, but as a thunderclap at the very heart of a national crisis.
This Alaric Kenway has authored and disseminated writings across Bristol, and now further afield, condemning the Crown… the new King George, specifically, for the betrayal of a secret pact. This agreent, it is claid, was forged between Kenway, William Penn, and the late Queen Anne Stuart. It promised the complete abolition of the slave trade in the port of Bristol in exchange for a staggering forty thousand vials of the Celestial Salve… that miraculous healing compound which has beco both a blessing and a source of intense political maneuvering.
Shortly after these accusations were made public, Alaric Kenway vanished from view. The Crown's betrayal, as Kenway terd it, ignited Bristol. The city is in open revolt. Its gates are sealed, and French vessels are now being openly welcod in its harbor, so have even reportedly fired upon the Crown's ships attempting to approach. Bristol, once a key provider of affordable crops to much of England, now trades almost exclusively with France, causing significant economic disruption and food shortages in several regions.
The situation escalated horrifically at the sa ti. Two thousand of the King's soldiers, deployed under the official pretext of "reestablishing order" in Bristol, were found… annihilated… barely a kiloter outside the city gates. The scene was one of utter devastation. Our intelligence, pieced together from panicked whispers and the terrified testimony of the sole survivor, suggests the Crown's true objective was the brutal restoration of the slave trade in the region, using the hunt for a legendary figure known as "Il Corvo d'Ombra" as a cover.
This "Shadow Raven," as you may or may not have heard in your colonial dealings, is a figure of almost mythical status, an assassin credited with dismantling countless Templar operations and eliminating high-ranking targets throughout the Papal States, Tuscany, San Marino, Parma, Mantua, Genoa, Savoy, Milan, Venice, and even into Spain over the past year or so. A veritable phantom.
The eyewitness account from the lone surviving soldier speaks of a single man, blond-haired and clad in a distinctive crimson Justacorps, who single-handedly decimated the entire regint. Whether this was truly Il Corvo d'Ombra, or another warrior of impossible skill, remains unclear. The Crown, however, is taking no chances. A bounty of one hundred thousand pounds sterling has been placed upon this man's head… a sum unheard of, reflecting the sheer terror he has instilled.
Helena, your early instincts about Alaric Kenway were, it seems, profoundly accurate, though even you could not have foreseen this. The Brotherhood here is in a state of uncertainty. Is the Shadow Raven a genuine operative, perhaps one of ours working deep undercover, now returned to England? Or is this blond man in crimson soone else entirely? And crucially, what is Alaric Kenway's role in all of this? Is he this warrior? Is he connected to them? Or is he rely a catalyst, a wealthy and powerful individual whose actions have unintentionally unleashed these chaotic forces?
We need answers, Helena. Your discretion and skill are needed now more than ever. Be vigilant. Any information you can gather, any insight you might possess regarding Kenway or these events, would be invaluable.
May the Creed guide your path, Sister.
Yours in Brotherhood, Senior ntor, English Rite.'
Helena finished reading, the parchnt trembling slightly in her hand. Goosebumps prickled her skin despite the stuffy air of the small room. She sank back into her chair, her mind reeling.
Alaric… the strange, quiet boy from Bristol she'd encountered all those years ago, the one who spoke of Assassins and Templars with an unnerving familiarity, the one whose potential she had sensed but couldn't quite define…
'Alaric... no doubt about it…' she thought, her breath catching in her throat. 'That kid… he… he killed two thousand soldiers… alone…damn…'
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