Word count: 902
In which a Templar's thoughts are recordedNovember 27th. 7:05am
Books always bother me; they always follow the path of the heroes. What happens with the villains? Do they just cackle maniacally and brood in dark corners all day long? No, that’s just plain silly. I mean, surely the villains don’t think they’re the villains, right? That’s what makes them so evil? Yeah, the villains think they’re right. They think that the hero is the one that is insane, or whatever they think. This is what makes Assassins to horrible. They think they’re right, and that the Templars are wrong- It’s plain to see, however, that the Templars are doing what’s right! They are an organization built with the hopes of saving the world, and keeping it safe- not like that band of delusional psychopaths one would dare call “Assassins.” Bah.
The history of the order was a shaky one, filled with attacks from those Assassins, it seems. It is reasonable, though, that they do this, after all, do birds not walk to fly from their cage? Do house cats not want to escape into the wild every now and again? I’m sure even a goldfish has wanted to see the sea. Just like the owners that keep the pets, the Templars have always kept them in check.
As I walked down the corridors of building, a maid would nod to me and say good morning every so often, or another Templars would greet me. As I am in no mood to talk, I walked rather quickly to front door, failing to acknowledge any of the others. When I got to the door, and opened it, I was reminded just why I was inside; it was freezing out there. The winter air, mixed with the freeze of a starting blizzard, was truly horrible. I quickly decided that a cup of tea, a book, and a nice stop next to the fire would be much better.
November 27th. 8:51am
Met with a high-raking Templar in the halls, he informed me that I will be leaving to Boston tomorrow morning. I suppose the book and fire will have to wait. It seems a little Assassin problem has sprung up there. It shouldn't be any trouble, but as I go out there, I should lay off the writing for a while, and focus on finding the problem, and smothering it.
December 14th 4:20pm
Today, some of the newer Templars decided that chasing after two Assassins would be lovely. They ended up getting themselves murdered on spot, and the whole thing left with me with a new gash. Other than that, nothing exciting has been happening at all.
December 15th 10:32pm
I can’t sleep. The pain from the wound is much more than I remember. That Assassin that struck me must have hit something important, I suppose, as the wound looks like bad news. The doctors say it’s infected, and may need to cut the leg off. I hope they don’t, I quite like my leg.
I’m having a hard time keeping the book steady as I write, so I will be signing off now. I think the writing has also made me tired-hopefully.
1:00am (I think)
It hasn't made me able to sleep, just tired. I believe I have reached the point of tiredness where everything I write is odd, and everything I hear is just a bit funny. I truly hope this isn't true, as I don’t want to wake the entire Templar order with my giggles and such.
3:58am
Have you ever noticed that diaries are quite odd? You write your feeling down in a book for everyone to see. Why not just think those thoughts? What’s so important that you write it all down?
Just laughed until I woke someone up.
December 20th 10:00am
I slept, and it was wonderful. I believe I remember having the strangest dream. I can’t remember all of it, sadly, but the parts I can remember are quite silly. There was a dog, and I was talking to him. I asked the dog, “What is it like, sitting and walking and eating on the floor? And what it is like biting and clawing, and wagging ones tail?” And the dog just simply looked at me, and replied with, “what is it not like??” And that is all I can remember.
February 20th 2:00pm
I got to keep my leg, and I've healed wonderfully from the infection. Apparently the doctor had to keep me around a little longer, because some of the Templars thought I was insane from all the sleepless nights and writing to myself. He insisted that I was fine,
and now I am back to my ordinary work schedule
February 22nd also 2:00pm
I look back at the first entry I made before coming to Boston, and smile. I had so much though just a few months ago. Now, I am stuck on the streets, searching for any suspicious activity. I look like an Assassin myself as I trudge through the roads and alleys, as I listen in on the conversations of shady men. It gives me a thrill of sorts that words fail to describe. I must stop writing now, and get back to stalking and lurking, for I am not off duty yet!
Feb 22nd
Poisoned. Assassin. Blue coat, white hood. Throwing aaa…
(The rest is just a line falling across the page, and a blotch of blood mixed with vomit.)
