#British Rite of the Templar Order

[nemo-in-wonderland]

SO.

Earlier this evening I was rereading my last chapter of "In The Heat of The Moment", and I realized that I never shared the wip of my concept art of how Byron, Ambrose and Phillip look like in this brain of mine.

So, if you remember, last year I posted how Dorothea would look like in her Grand Master Attire, and after that, I decided to model her Inner Circle's attire around that.

So, here you have Phillip in all his pompous uppitiness; Byron with eyes colder than a moonless winter night in Lapland; and Ambrose, with that freaking smirk. But oh, do not let yourself be fooled by that smirk: the man is as ruthless as his elder brother. Oh, and Dorothea is just there for height comparison.

I wasn't exaggerating when I wrote that Byron is a mountain of a man.

Since I always considered this a quick concept art of how I imagined my Templars, tonight I thought about sharing this WIP with you all.

I just need to draw Charlie dearest, Markus and Victor, and the most important of my Templars would be done lololol.

You have no idea of the amount of hours I spent, in the past 4 years, brainstorming and researching for them.

Sometimes, when I feel like giving up in writing this story, looking at them actually make me push through.

I cannot throw all the blood, sweat and tears I poured for them down the drain.

I truly cannot.

well, aside from that, I hope you will like this small WIP.

--Nemo

[thepixelatedbunny]

Following up to my previous post, is Haytham a black cross?

Reading the AC wiki:

-"It has been remarked that the unique skill set required of a Black Cross is akin to taking a cutting from the Assassin tree... And grafting it to that of the Templars."

Literally what happened in Forsaken. Cut him off from the assassins(killing his father), then raised him as a templar who killed traitors.

-"The variety of methods used by a Black Cross during investigations included other Assassins skills like espionage, pickpocketing, freerunning, interrogation, close-combat, ranged-combat, and blending using various socioeconomic statuses. "

As shown in AC3 sequence 1-3 , He's skilled in almost everything here. Infiltrating, eavesdropping and also disguises .

-"A Black Cross also committed assassinations of key individuals that became corrupted, a defining attribute of the Assassins, though these skills were instead used to maintain the Order's stability and integrity."

He assassinated a greedy merchant, an Austrian prince(Though they both may or may not be templars), The cheesemaker(Who was a traitor), and Braddock(Also a traitor).

The only thing not supporting this is the fact that he doesn't have the signature pin, but:

"After the silversmith François-Thomas Germain joined the Templars' Parisian Rite and became Grand Master François de la Serre's lieutenant, he crafted cross-shaped pins for the Order's members that would later become the Black Cross' signature weapon"

This implies that the previous Black Crosses don't have the pins.

[fromashesweriseuphiddenones]

Thoughts on Haytham

- from both ( @thegrandmasterhaytham & @mythicalvoid787 )

So there are 30 Templars I use in my writing and Rp with a split of 16 for the Selfish and 14 for the more noble ones. Haytham Kenway to me falls into the noble side of the Templars.

The noble Templars are those who despite the nature of wanting complete order still do their best to protect humanity and even go as far as to either protect or work with the assassins. Some other examples of the more noble ones are The De leserres, Robert De Sable, Alfred the Great, Shay Cormac, and yes I count him Edward Kenway.

Look if Shay counts as an assassin but never fully fledged, then Edward counts as a Templar never taking the order's vows, though he did work for them and gained from it.

In a list of top ten favorite Templars Haytham Kenway ranks in at number two because of his story, how he acts both to protect the native people from slavery and he told Lee to leave them alone God damn it man can you not listen to orders?! God Robert's men were better at this balance. Anyway.

Okay as far as Haytham Kenway goes as a character and why I like him? He is more complex. Rouge and 3 and a little bit of Black Flag give us small glimpses into who he is. I honestly think Jango Fett's line to Kenobi works best here

"I am just a simple man trying to make my way in the galaxy."

Though it would be the world but you get it.

Who is Haytham?

Really deep down, a traumatized ten year old who lost his father in a violent manner, who tried fighting back actually killing someone, who's mother his only other adult parent shunned and turned her back on him for killing, a little boy who's older sister was kidnapped (who truly knows what happens to Jennifer when she was in Damascus), and a boy who was groomed into a Templar. Again I pull a quote from Kingdom Hearts 2

"Xaldin... that's his name. He came from the darkness... He...used my anger to control me. He took all my sorrow, my sadness, my pain—and turned it all into rage. There was nothing I could do... I could no longer see the truth."

Though for Haytham it would be Birch. Brich brainwashed him into being a Templar, it didn't fully work because there was still enough of Edward in Haytham that he himself had killed Templars leading to the destruction of the colonial rite.

Haytham Kenway is a family man that is clear. He loves his parents, looks after his sister, respects Ziio enough to stay away when she tells him to and works with Ratohnhaké:ton even getting a bit miffed the Red Coat for saying "tasting the wild fruits" you cannot tell me he wasn't pissed that Ziio got insulted and that Ratohnhaké:ton was the only one mad. You also can't tell me he wasn't somewhat proud of the man his son had become.

As far as Desmond's ancestors go I would honestly put him at number Three because in terms of character development because he has four to five sources in which players can experience him. Ezio Auditore takes number one because he has four games, three books, and three short movies in which one can get to know him. Altaïr ibn-La'Ahad is on second with five, three games, his keys in Revelations, and Secret Crusade. Though in his case I guess you can count his Codex since you can read it in AC2 and on the AC wiki, so six.

Okay headcanon time!

So due to exposure to his memories Haytham gives Desmond access to the following languages and dialects

British/proper* English

Spanish (proper)

French (proper)

And German (Proper)

*when I say proper or honorific I refer to the way one is taught in the high school class when you take these languages. Or in the case of English the King/ Queen's English.

The following skills are also from Haytham Kenway

Diplomacy

Command

Negotiation

Gun use, 19th century

I think honestly that in his own way he'd be proud of Desmond for sacrificing himself to save the world from burning because there would be people who are descended from friends, colleagues, and even like Desmond, descended from Ziio and Ratohnhaké:ton's people and I doubt he would ever wish harm on them.

I hope this was enough, feel free, anyone to ask about other characters if you want this deep of a dive.

[house-of-hamartia]

It doesn't get more "Grand Master of the British Rite in visit to the Colonies" than this, tbh.

Like, honestly.

I will draw Dottie like this, because honestly, the whole pose is just *PERFECT* for a portrait (and I might borrow a few gowns from this movie because omg, the blue striped one is one of my fave).

Also, fact about Dottie in this particular AU that I was sharing with aiza-luna earlier.

Dorothea is the Grand Master of the British Rite during the events of Rogue because she coordinated with Haytham the killing of Reginald Birch, and then took over the reins of the British Rite.

Differently from her Syndicate AU, where despite being indoctrinated into the Templar Tenets ever since she was a bab she was still offered another POV thanks to meeting Jacob, in her AU with Shay she doesn't get the same chance: she doesn't get that moment of hesitation that makes her wonder and ponder if the Order is all there is and if she is doing the right thing by following in her father's footsteps.

In her AU with Shay, she fully embraces who she is and what the game is all about, and I like to think that she was the reason she also managed to keep the Assassins out of London after Birch's death.

Also, in this AU, she is older compared to Syndicate (in Syndicate, she is barely 19 years old, while in Rogue, she is 31 years old), so she is way more assertive and has more experience of the world. and those experiences have tempered her in a Dorothea that still has her characteristic delicate elegance but with iron underneath.

Also, I like to imagine that she is also cheekier and much more comfortable with her sexuality and sexual life, compared to Syndicate, where, let's be honest, she is a dork potato.

OK, THIS IS ALL FROM ME TONIGHT.

THANK FOR BEING HERE. <3

IT MAKES MY HEART FILL WITH JOY <3

--Nemo

[sweetcocopowder]

Day Eleven: Vampire/Blood

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist will come after October

Synopsis: Shay and Haytham are out on a longer voyage than usual. Haytham hasn't fed in a while and his hunger is getting to him. He doesn't want to attack Shay crew, so the Captain gives himself up.

Word Count: 2.8K

Genre: Assassin's Creed Rogue

Pairing: Shay Cormac/Haytham Kenway

Warnings: Blood/nsfw/Anal/Desperation/Biting/Vampire

The storm had caused havoc across the Morrigan. Some sails are torn and are having to repaired as they go. There wasn’t too much damage due to Shay’s sailing though. Any other Captain with less experience and less determination would have had their ship been ripped apart and thrown about in a storm like that. Yet Shay had gotten them out of there in one piece. But, it was still enough to set them back a couple of days… or three.

And it was enough to send Haytham over the edge.

It was that night of the news of delay that Shay found the Grandmaster in his quarters looking over his fleet reports with his back turned to him. Shay closes the door behind him with a click and locks it.

Haytham’s red eyes snap to him over his shoulder.

Knowing what the Grandmaster is, isn’t some secret within the Templar order. A creature of the night that feeds on the blood of humans to sustain their well beings. Nightwalkers and lovers of the moon. The British adopted the name vampire many years ago and the name stuck.

It should have scared Shay when he first heard that the Grandmaster of the Colonial American Rite was a vampire, but he only found himself intrigued in the unknown. He had seen a city fall to him disturbing an ancient site from people that lived millions of years before them. What is it to say that unfathomable creatures that don’t obey human laws might live among him.  

And this wouldn’t be his first blood donation to Haytham.

The Grandmaster looks away, as if ashamed that Shay already knows what’s coming.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” Haytham speaks lowly.

Shay moves forward, assuring the other with a hand on his upper arm. As far as Shay’s knowledge goes, Haytham was not born a creature, he was made. Turned when he had saved his sister and Birch’s last act on Haytham was a sin that would take him to the bottom of hell.

It was late one night when Haytham had told him the tale. Because he knew Shay wanted to ask but didn’t want to pry. Many other vampires are thousands of years old. But here Haytham is, still reasonably in his human years.

“The storm came by surprise. We couldn’t have expected it,” Shay tries to reassure even though he knows his words do little.

And in fact, it only has Haytham scowling downwards at the table where his hands grip the edges tightly. Shay’s hand falls from his arm as he steps away. He makes his way over to his weapons and clothes rack while unbuckling all the straps that crisscross his body. He neatly hangs them up before shrugging off his heavy coat and doing the same. Then follows his vest, the leather armour he wears and then lastly his shirt, all folded up and placed away.

He can feel Haytham’s eyes on his back but it isn’t anything romantic or alluring. It feels predatory. The delay in returning back to New York has set Haytham’s feeding back. Shay knew the risks of having him aboard and having such a tight schedule and yet he thought all would be fine yet here they are. Haytham had told him he had fed before, but this, this is different.

It’s not that Shay dislikes this. He would gladly give himself up to Haytham to save any of his crew meeting a much less pleasant fate. It is just the pain. His hand subconsciously runs over the nape of his neck where fresh scars lie from Haytham. The first time was the worst. But Shay will never admit that.

After kicking his boots off, he keeps his pants on and walks over to the bed. He sits down on the edge and meets hooded red eyes from across the room. Haytham hasn’t moved an inch. He reminds Shay of a cougar waiting to pounce, hunched over and staring without breathing.

“Come here, Haytham,” Shay coos over. “No need to be standing there with a frown.”

At that, the vampire huffs in annoyance and bows his head, his shoulders slouching. He takes off his hat and places it atop of the fleet reports and his cloak soon follows neatly folded. He walks over silently, his feet almost not making a sound against the floor of the ship. He stands in front of Shay, looking down his nose at him.

As much as Haytham wants to act or look like his vampirism isn’t affecting him, it is visible that is jaw is clenched and his hands are tightly fisted. And he isn’t talking. He’s more silent than usual and that only means his mind is running like a ship sailing at twenty knots through a thrashing storm.

As if doing this a million times before, Shay begins unbuttoning Haytham’s coat and undressing him. The one thing that they’ve figured out to make this a more pleasant experience for Shay is through sex. When Haytham is only completely naked is when he leans down to Shay. But it isn’t for a kiss. Shay stops him with two fingers over his mouth and slowly pushes him back.

“Can’t get greedy now,” Shay firmly yet softly states.

Haytham’s mouth is slightly parted and two sets of fangs can be seen. It’s almost like looking into the mouth of an animal. He licks Shay’s fingers before taking them into his hot mouth. His fangs threaten to pierce his skin as he sucks on Shay’s appendages. There was one time that Haytham had bitten down, lost in his own world and nearly took his fingers with it. So right now no one would give Shay shit for being a little weary as his heart beats rapidly in his chest. But his dick likes this, hardening in his pants.

Haytham’s red eyes stare intently at him as he makes work of sucking his fingers. When Shay bids it enough, he takes them out and shuffles up the bed. Haytham quickly follows, his eyes never leaving Shay for a moment. Haytham takes off Shay’s pants a little too eagerly before he comes down face to face with him. He licks his lips, staring at Shay’s own.

He opens his mouth to say something but Shay brings him down for a kiss instead. Haytham’s fangs graze against his lips, threatening to make him bleed. But Shay pulls away as Haytham’s teeth snap together centimetres away from his face.

“Enough of that,” Shay teases.

Haytham huffs slightly before he pushes Shay back on the bed. He parts his legs, shuffling himself in between them so that their dicks are flushed against each other. Shay is already hard and ready but if they go too quickly, there’s a risk of Haytham loosing control. And with a hungry vampire breathing at your neck, that’s the last thing Shay wants. He doesn’t want to end tonight with his head on the other side of the room away from his body.

Shay grunts as his ass is propped into the air. Haytham doesn’t waste any time by licking a strip over his ass. A shiver runs down the captain’s spine as Haytham’s silver tongue does it job of loosening things up. His tongue dives into his ass, hot and wet and-

Fangs prick at Shay’s cheeks and he flinches slightly. But Haytham feels it and stops, looking up at him from under his brow. He stares as he continues opening Shay up for the main course. Haytham’s mouth ventures up to his inner thigh, one hand cradling his leg as if it’s something delicate. His plump lips a breath away over his skin. His fangs a little too close to comfort but Haytham wouldn’t…

Before he knows it, fangs are sinking into his inner thigh. Without a warning. Without a notice. And Shay can’t hold the shout that escapes his mouth. The way his body convulses and how he instinctly grabs on Haytham’s hair. He groans as he feels his own hot blood dribbling down his thigh only for it to be licked up. He breathes heavily, trying to control himself and collect himself. But it is very hard. The thigh is much softer than the neck.

“Christ, Haytham,” Shay sneers.

Haytham would apologize but he knows damn well that he isn’t truly sorry. His lust and hunger got the best of him. He knows how to control himself yet every time he’s around Shay, he can’t help it. Especially when Shay is so willing to give himself up to Haytham. It’s a problem yet it’s a problem similar to a drug. A very addictive one at that.

The vampire sucks and licks at the bite mark until it stops bleeding, giving a small kiss before moving away. It still canes, the pain throbbing through Shay’s thigh but it’s manageable. He’ll just be walking with a limp from for the next few days.  

Haytham litters kiss up Shay’s stomach, to his chest then up his neck. A hand slithers down to his own cock and he lines himself up to Shay’s hole. He doesn’t want to wait any longer, he can’t. He dives into Shay a little too forcefully, pushing a deep, pushing a shaky grunt out of the Irishman. Shay holds onto Haytham’s shoulders, nails digging into skin. He pants loudly and shows his discomfort. But he doesn’t say stop.

Roughly, Haytham moves. His thrusts are short and uncoordinated. He’s desperate to get to the main course. Shay stops him before this gets too out of hand. He grabs Haytham’s face with both hands and makes the vampire look at him. He stops dead and his jaw is clenched so tightly that Shay can feel it.

“When was the last time you fed?” Shay asks, his voice all but a whisper.

The shaky inhale that Haytham does is all Shay would need for an answer. But he waits, because he wants to know how long Haytham has been holding out.

The vampire swallows, regaining some strength. “Three weeks before we voyaged out,” he softly responds, his voice cracking.

Shay’s lips thin. So that is why he’s so needy. So desperate to feed. He’s been holding himself together this entire voyage. Today was just his breaking point which is something not at all seen with Haytham.

A pit of guilt settles into the Captain’s gut that he didn’t notice anything. Yet, at the same time he knows he shouldn’t. Haytham has somewhat perfected hiding his vampirism. So, hiding his hunger until it gets bad would just be another thing he has worked on until flawless.

“You silly, silly man,” Shay finally responds.

This gets a short chuckle from Haytham. Which is a big win in Shay’s books.

“Alright now?” Shay asks before they continue on.

“I’m not some fragile antique vase,” Haytham grumbles back.

The man below him raises a brow. Haytham frowns deeply but it’s something along the way of amusement.

Haytham exits Shay so he can reach over the bed. He grabs one of the pillows and positions it under Shay’s back all so this is a better experience for the Irishman. Shay had taught him this little trick after learning it from the girls in Albany. He then reaches back over to Shay’s bedside table and picks out the small bottle of oil he keeps in there.

Truth be told, this isn’t for Haytham. He only needs Shay’s blood but to make this a better experience, the sex is needed. Haytham lathers up his dick with the oil and prods Shay’s ass with some so it isn’t as painful as before.

Haytham re-enters Shay slowly, with more care this time. The moan that comes form Shay’s throat is something that he didn’t know he had in him tonight. The oil does more wonders than just spit.

Haytham starts slowly, letting Shay feel good and let his body buzz with the pleasure. Letting him moan and pant with every thrust that becomes harder with each turn. Haytham comes down on his hands and knees, hot breath hovering over Shay’s neck. But he comes up and gives a small kiss to his lips. Telling Shay that he is here.

Shay holds onto the vampire’s sides as he moves to the nape of his neck again. The pleasure that holds onto him is only something he can get lost in before the next notion comes. He brings a hand down to his cock and strokes himself to the timing of Haytham’s movements. He relaxes his body, knowing that tensing only makes the first bite worse.

The vampire hesitates for a moment, his eyes grazing over the old and new scars that seem to litter Shay’s shoulders and nape. All perfect bite marks caused by Haytham in events such as now. He doesn’t want to think too much of it. Not when he’s starving.  

When the set of fangs sink into Shay’s skin, it isn’t something out of those romance novels he’s read. It hurts. Shay’s body tenses up as he fights his inner self to not push Haytham off of him. He has forgotten about his own dick and his holds onto the vampire for dear life as Haytham’s fangs sink deeper into his flesh. The pain is blinding. It’s almost too much with Haytham keeping an even pace inside of him.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he’s letting it out. And with his breath, comes out a pained cry. He can’t help it. Shay inhales in shakily, trying to control himself but, as Haytham drinks his fill. The burning pain only ebs down his chest and up his neck. He claws at Haytham, but the vampire doesn’t budge.

He can feel Haytham’s hot tongue lapping at the blood seeping from the bite mark. Pushing down so that more blood pools out. Shay grinds his teeth again, threatening them to crack. Haytham works carefully though. Not letting a drop slip down his body and onto his bed.

“Ah, Hay- Ngh…” Shay grinds out pass his teeth.

His head becomes dizzy, something familiar to what he’s felt before. The dizziness that comes with blood loss. He pants shallowly, his grip beginning to loosen and his dick beginning to soften.

Haytham pulls away, feeling Shay’s fight lesson. He licks at the wound that pearls blood. The taste sends a shiver down his blood. Metallic, coppery yet sweet. He licks and kisses until the bite mark doesn’t bleed profusely, but it still is something that will need attention. He did bite quite deep tonight. The scars will welt more than the others.

His thrusting pauses as he sits up to look down at Shay, who pats him on the thigh lightly. He looks pale, more so than he does usually.

“We can finish this later,” Shay groans out. “Clean me up, Haytham.”

Haytham pulls out and swats the pillow out from under Shay so that he can bring the man into a sitting position. He’s a little dazed but he can hold himself. He stays sitting while Haytham walks over across the room stark naked.

Any other time, Shay would soak in the view. But right now he feels so ungodly tired. He knows he can’t sleep just yet though. But the notion is so welcoming.  

When Haytham comes back, he wipes the blood that drips down his chest. He’s had his fill, even a drop more would be greedy. He dabs a rag with straight alcohol and places it on Shay’s wound. The Irishman hisses, seeming to wake up all at once.

“I-“

“Don’t apologize.”

Haytham frowns slightly. He continues dressing the wound the best he knows. All so that it doesn’t get infected. None of the others have ever gotten infected but Haytham doesn’t want to play his chances.

“Do you feel better?” Shay manages to mumble out.

“Yes.” The vampire pauses in thought. “I appreciate what you do for… this.”

“Mm.”

This, referring to his vampirism. This, referring to his curse. This, referring to his bloodlust. All that Shay is more than willing to help for. Something that Haytham -in his own eyes- doesn’t deserve but yet he receives.

“Lay down now, Shay,” Haytham murmurs. “Gist has the helm.”

Shay doesn’t lay down straight away though. He pries open one eye and looks to Haytham. He stares for a moment, at the red staring back at him that now seem to have dulled.

“Stay with me? Hm?” He asks, his accent making his words slurred together.

Haytham softly places a hand over Shay’s, his own cold compared to the living. He shouldn’t linger any longer than usual. Last thing he wants is to have the crew talking, or let along Gist.

But it’s Shay. The one that has given up so much for their cause. For the Order. For Haytham.

“Just for a moment.”

[jurakan]

May I have my July 2024 fun fact? (My only one for the month, as I was traveling the last 2 Fridays and you’ll be out for the next one!)

So on my post listing upcoming Fun Facts, I didn't refer to this one but it's July, so an American history Fun Fact may be in order? I thought maybe I did a post on this, but I can't find it, so, uh, I hope this isn't a repeat, so Today You Learned about the Green Dragon Tavern!

No, not that one, the actual one. In Boston.

In colonial Boston, on Union Street, there was a pub called the Green Dragon. It passed hands a few times after being built in the early 1700's, until eventually it was bought by the local Freemason Lodge in 1766, who used it for meetings. One of those Freemason Grand Masters who led meetings there? John Hancock. Yes, that one, who signed the Declaration of Independence and was President of the Continental Congress.

Because of the Masons, the pub began a place where "secret" societies and clubs liked to hang out, including! The Sons of Liberty! I mean, other Boston groups part of the Revolution also met there, but the Sons of Liberty is the famous one. This is the place where major figures from the American Revolution planned stuff. It's here that Sam Adams and others plotted the Boston Tea Party. From here, Paul Revere rode to warn about the incoming British regulars.

[Probably helped with organizing that several Founding figures, like Revere, were Masons.]

You'd think that an important place like this would stand for all time, right? Well, no. The place was demolished in 1832, and a warehouse was put there. They put up a plaque, though, in August of 1892 which read:

On this spot stood THE GREEN DRAGON TAVERN The secret meet place of the Sons of Liberty, And in the words of Webster, the Headquarters of the Revolution. To mark a site forever as Memorable as the birthplace of American freedom, this tablet is placed by the Massachusetts Society of the Sons of Revolution.

And that's all that the Green Dragon's location got.

There is a Green Dragon Tavern on Marshall Street in Boston, which is a tribute to the original, though it's not in the same spot or directly related to it.

Also! It appears in Assassin's Creed III, especially in the introductory segments where you play as Haytham in Boston. Notably, and appropriately enough, the Colonial Rite of the Templar Order uses it as headquarters and meeting place:

Hope this was a good Fun Fact for you!

[the-whole-pursued]

The Wildest Woe

France is in the midst of being torn apart and reborn. Alexandre Chasten is a young Assassin of the French Brotherhood, who is slowly going through his own process of death and rebirth, gaining and losing in equal measure. Around him is his brother Theodore and his best friend Celeste, and standing before him, even more of a threat than the Templars, is himself.

Part I: 1789-1794

Part II: 1796-1800

Part III: 1800-1802

Main Characters

Alexandre Louis Chasten - A young Assassin who is attempting to find his place.

Théodore Millard Chasten - Alexandre's younger brother, one of the best Assassins of his age.

Céleste Touchard - Alexandre's childhood friend, also an Assassin.

Henri René Mason Bescond - Alexandre's lover, and a free agent who does not know about the war between Assassins and Templars.

Annabelle Manley - Second in command and wife to the Grandmaster of the British Rite of the Templar Order, and agent to France after the French Revolution. She has her own connection with someone important.

Taron Pickford - Templar member who answers to Annabelle. Has his own designs of the Templar order.

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

||“In the Heat of the Moment”|| Characters Masterlist -The Templars (pt.2)||

THE TEMPLARS OF THE BRITISH RITE -1868

Name: Phillip Edmund Starrick

Faceclaim: Dan Stevens

Date and Place of Birth: 23rd July 1847, London.

Height: 1.83 m

MBTI: ESTP

Temperamental Ensemble: Sanguigne

Main Colour: Burgundy, Gold and Black

Theme Song: “Become the Beast” by Karliene

Bio: Youngest son of Alfred Starrick, Crawford Starrick’s oldest brother, Phillip Edmund was the rightful heir to the part of the Starrick’s Empire that his own grandfather Robert had left as his legacy. With his imposing figure, hypnotic blue eyes and silver tongue, Phillip was a man of notable handsomeness, charisma and charm, able to get away with many things just through his words and look alone. Notorious casanova, he wasn’t shy to entertain relationships with men and women alike it they could serve to his scope; this, however, was something he kept secret from everyone, even his brother and cousin, for as much as he was willing to do whatever it took to reach his goals, he didn’t want the two people he loved the most in the world to think ill of him. Ambitious, highly intelligent, meticulous in all that he did and extremely well read, Phillip had always looked up to his uncle Crawford Starrick for the way he had wielded power -unrelenting, incredibly unyielding, and yet capable to keep the ranks under check with relative easiness-  and aspired, one day, to become exactly like him, much to his own father’s chagrin. Phillip, infact, had an extremely strained relationship with his Alfred who, even though he was able to see his potential and his skills, was never nurturing enough to actually allow that potential to blossom fully, something that Phillip had to find a way on his own, in order to accomplish all his ambitions, Anything that Phillip had ever accomplished, anything that he had ever done was always met by his sire with a lukewarm reaction at best or a reproach at worst, something that had shaped up Phillip to be a man that is unable to do something without aiming for perfection; He strove for excellence in all aspects of life and more often than not managed to achieve it through cold blood, careful planning, his own intelligence and a ruthlessness that no one would predict from his pleasant appearance and charming mannerism. If ambition is not driving him, the joy to spite his father and show to his face that he will be better than him is what made him get out of bed each day. Phillip operated with spies around London, and was unofficially referred to as the “Master of Secrets”, a title he never truly embraced but one that suited him perfectly. Due to his flamboyant attitude and penchant for the dramatic, he had been known to work closely with Maximilian Roth, with whom he had an “intense relationship”: of what nature this relationship was, it’s up to anyone to guess, and something that was probably known only by the Grand Master himself. Although Phillip presented himself as a strong, confident man, that was but a facade that he projected to the world in order to survive both the brutal environment created by the Grand Master within the Order, where weakness of character wasn’t allowed in any form, and as a way to hide his own insecurities. However, he always had a confidant in his cousin Dorothea and his eldest brother Charles, the two people he loved the most in the entire world. The three of them resembled each other so much in appearance that people often mistook them for siblings rather than cousins, a situation that sometimes they took advantage of, be it to mess around with people or to achieve something. It wasn’t uncommon for the Master Templars of the Rite to refer to them as the “Starricks Triplets”.

Name: Countess Annette Ingrid Margareta Starrick (Née Bielke)

Faceclaim: MyAnna Buring

Date and Place of Birth: 22nd September 1830, Sturefors, Sweden

Height: 1.67 m

MBTI: ENTJ

Temperamental Ensemble: Choleric

Main Colour: Teal, Purple and White

Theme Song: “Only Us” by Miracle of Sound ft. Karliene

Bio: Countess Annette Starrick was born in Sturefors, Sweden, in 1830. The youngest daughter of the Bielkes, one of the oldest noble families in Sweden one affiliated with the Swedish Rite for over three centuries, Annette grew up, much like her daughter after her, surrounded by Templars and their tenets. A woman of sharp intelligence and great observance, she grew up in an environment of relative freedom, especially compared to her eldest siblings, who instead  were favored to create powerful allegiances within the Swedish Rite and with the ruling Royal Family of Sweden. Because of this, she was educated in drawing, painting, music and dancing, all disciplines that suited her rank as lady, but because of her fiery temper and stubbornness, she would often forsake her lessons in favour of following her father around, much preferring to dwell in politics rather than something boring as the arts. Her father, Nils Bielke the Eldest, holding an incredible soft spot for his youngest child, allowed her to attend meetings of the council from the age of 14, and would often discuss all that happened with his daughter, albeit not with the intent of preparing her to become part of the Rite. Infact, despite her keen interest in joining the Templars, Nils never truly wanted his daughter to entangle herself into the Order’s politics, preferring for her a much quieter life; but his desire never found the light, for Annette, ever stubborn, ever willful, would play into her father’s favoritism for her, and obtained precisely what she wanted. At the young age of 16, she was inducted in the Swedish Rite alongside her younger brother. It was on that occasion that she met Crawford Starrick, her future husband, come to Stockholm on Templars’ related business, and between the two was attraction at first sight. Despite the best effort of her family to marry Annette off the son of the Natt och Dag family, Annette knew that her heart belonged solely to Crawford. And after a period of long distance courtship that lasted until Annette’s father’s passed, the two married when Annette was sent to London by her own mother, as a way to create a solid allegiance between the Swedish and the British Rite, an allegiance that was standing still true and strong in 1868. Annette was a caring and nurturing mother and a fiercefully devoted faithful wife to Crawford, standing by his side in all situations, for good or worse. Crawford, in return, adored his wife and despite the advice of his own brother Alfred, who never loved his sister-in-law’s influence over his brother, Crawford would often seek Annette’s counseling, wherever he found himself in a position of incertitude on how to pursue certain matters. She was the one that, with her example, moral standing and her constant caring, influenced Dorothea to become the wife and mother that she would eventually come to be. Becoming pregnant for the first time in early 1848 with hers and Crawford’s first baby, Annette delivered a son, Adam, that didn’t live past the first month due to a fever that took him away from his parents. This experience left her with a profound scar in her soul, and it led her to withdraw for a while from social life. Worried by her deep state of sadness, and unwilling to have her committed to an Asylum, Crawford hired the best doctors to help his wife recover, and did all that was in his power to be by her side, his duties as Master Templar notwithstanding. After recovering, she would soon find herself pregnant again, this time with twins. She gave birth to two baby girls in 1850, Dorothea and her sister Theodora, both born prematurely. Of the two babies, only Dorothea managed to survive, while Theodora died hours after birth. Distraught by having yet again lost another child, Annette wasn’t able to rise from her bed for days, leaving Dorothea in the hand of a wet nurse, at least in the beginning. Crawford stayed beside his wife, and tried to comfort her as much as he could, while also overseeing the care of his only living daughter. Thanks to intense care of the midwives and doctors and a good dose of luck, Dorothea managed to survive those first months. When Annette was strong enough, Crawford brought her their daughter, and the woman fell in love with the small bundle in her arms. From the moment forward, due to the tragedies of losing two children, Annette became extremely protective of her Dorothea and forbade anyone to come close to her, the only exception being her husband. However, losing Theodora had been the coup de grace for both parents, and together they decided that, were Dorothea to survive infancy, they would not have any other child. Due to the heartache she suffered to deliver her baby, Annette poured all the love she had on her child, and Dorothea became the light of her mother’s eyes, although, over time, Annette’s protectiveness over her only daughter would increase and become overbearing and somewhat smothering, even if she had all the good intentions of the world toward her.

Name: Charles Magnus Starrick

Faceclaim: Tom Mison

Date and Place of Birth: 29th December 1843, London.

Height: 1.87 m

MBTI: INFP

Temperamental Ensemble: Phlegmatic-Melancholic

Main Colour: Dark Blue and Golden

Theme Song: “Numb” and “Castle of Glass” by Linkin Park

Bio: Eldest son of Alfred Starrick, Charles Magnus was the first born of a new generation of Starricks, and because of this, the greatest expectations had been put upon him by both his father and his grandsire, Robert Alaric Starrick. Ever since childhood, he was followed by the best tutors and given the best education, but after a few years, it was becoming increasingly evident that Charles, despite all his efforts and his will to make his relatives proud, was having an hard time keeping up with their strict education and discipline imparted to him by his Templars preceptors, something that became even more evident after Phillip was born: where Phillip was eager to drink from the fountain of knowledge their tutors provided, Charles was reluctant, questioning everything that was proposed to him. Even when faced with the strict evidence that Phillip, and not Charles, was Alfred’s true heir, in spirit if not in name, the patriarch of the family still believed that, as firstborn, Charles was to do as he was told to and his place of birth dictated, and kept him on the path that would make him, one day, prepared for a role of great importance within the Order. One of the most creative souls within the Starricks family with a knack for building small trinkets, a peculiarity this that he inherited from his own mother Amelia Starrick, Charles found delight from a very young age in the creation of small mechanical toys that he would often play with in the solitude of his rooms or, whenever he were to visit Dover, away from his father’s ever inquisitive presence, he would share them with his baby brother Phillip and baby cousin Dorothea, whom he adored. Seeing the happiness those small toys brought in the people he loved the most, he hoped, growing up, that he could somehow find a way to break free from the chains that fettered him to his own name, and pursue instead the path of invention and specialize in those clockwork toys that he had always been fascinated with ever since he was a small child. But despite being a brilliant young man, whose mind and hands could create the most beautiful, enchanting things, his personality was a gentle one, and thus considered weak. The lack of a strong will, his eagerness in wanting to please those around him and putting their wants before his own, and his rectitude were met with disdain by his father, for he saw the corruption of his own late wife’s principles into his eldest child, something that he made sure to correct in Phillip, who never benefited of Amelia’s gentle nature. Despite all this, Charles maintained an optimistic view of the world, to which he often looked at with almost childlike wonder and curiosity, never truly losing hope that better times would come and that all things would eventually pass. The few times he ever showed the short temper all the Starricks were famous for was when he stood up against his father Alfred whenever his sire would vent and berate Phillip for whatever motives or whatever things Phillip might have failed to do. Extremely protective of his younger brother, he couldn’t tolerate any besmirching of his name, not even from his own sire, and would not hesitate to intervene, despite Phillip’s own discomfort and embarrassment at being “babied” by his own eldest brother.

Aaaand another round of bios is FINALLY COMPLETE. I actually had this file a long time in the making, but I always found myself dreading having to revise it and edit it (don’t ask me why, my brain doesn’t work properly, you know that by now). Anyway, here I present to you three more ocs that will have a big role in my story, “In The Heat Of The Moment”, aka THE STARRICKS. They will gradually appears in the next chapter (although some of them you might have already met in some of my one shots, albeit in a cameo role).

I am truly looking forward to write more about them in the chapters, and hopefully, you will love them all as much as I do.

--Nemo

[prctectedlegacy]

To be absolutely unoriginal on main, aka jumping on the bandwagon that @finnegansson created, Abagail Horningold and Charles Lee

First, read Teou's post here: X

The best way to describe Charles Lee and Abagail Hornigold's relationship is, they don't like each other. She thinks that he is overly pretentious for the role that he had been given, and the fact that he immediately assumes that he is the second in command after Haytham makes her roll her eyes to heaven.

But let's talk 1776.

The Order in 1776 looked different than the one in 1743-if there even really was an Templar Rite on the continent in that year. 1743 is the year that Abagail herself became a templar at the age of 20, and so she spent the first few years in Europe and the West Indies, until 1752 when she arrived on the continent.

Charles Lee, in a way, took a lot of the roles she had gained in Europe for his own, and for the most part was ye olde sexism of the time.

But in 1776? The Order had been losing members for years thanks to Connor and Achilles, and then the pivot to go to the patriot side rather than stay on the side of the red coats and the British. Abby, having Declan (@finnegansson) as a brother and knowing that he would remain a red coat no matter what the Order said, simply...left.

And I know that seems anti-climatic, especially for her, but she dislikes arguments. She is stuck between two worlds, that of a Sage and that of a templar, and she is unwilling to chose between two people who are her family.

So, she leaves. Gathers her family and leaves. She sees it as better than having to feel like she's betraying one of her family members and knows that, in leaving, she'll be considered a rogue, sure. But I would be better to explain that, than her betrayal.

[nemo-in-wonderland]

THE TEMPLARS ARE HEEEEEEEEERE.

Almost.

Hiyoooo everyone <3

Just passing by really quick to share a small WIP of an artwork that I have been working on and off when I was not busy writing Chapter 5 of my Syndicate Story! :)

Since that chapter will be focusing more on the Templar's side and I actually have some difficulties in working when I don't have a clear idea of how the characters look, here you have my WIP with Byron and Phillip (and Dorothea too, although she is mostly there so that I can have a reference in terms of height). I also sketched Ambrose, Marcus and Mr. Sterling himself, but they are in such a sketch stage that I cannot show them yet.😅😅

Also, if you know me, you know I would never say no to designing uniforms for my beloved brainchildren (gods you have no idea how much I love them. All of them. I kiss them on their brows each day.).

I truly cannot wait to share this chapter :)

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to dive down into writing again!

*takes a dive and swim away*

[tipsycad147]

The eight (or nine, or 13) tools of Wicca

by Michelle Gruben

What ritual tools are required to practice Wicca? Theoretically, none at all—as the Witch’s will is the most important tool. But Wiccans, it may be said, rarely travel light. This article looks at the traditional altar tools that are used in the Gardnerian tradition of Wicca.

Gardner's legacy

Gerald Gardner, who first described and named the Wiccan religion, prescribed a list of tools for the Witch. His books and papers talk at length about the acquisition and use of ritual objects. Gardner was influenced in his thinking by Aleister Crowley, English Freemasonry, Solomonic magick, the new field of cultural anthropology, and various myths about European witchcraft.

Though the information in Gardner’s writings is spotty and often contradictory, it has been hugely influential. Many of the Gardnerian tools are found on the altars of both Wiccan and non-Wiccan practitioners. Others, like the scourge and cords, have largely fallen out of use, except in the strictest traditional covens. The descriptions of the tools come from Gardner’s 1954 book Witchcraft Today, and the collection of papers known as the Gardnerian Book of Shadows.

So what are the “true” tools of the Witch? It depend on who you ask. Even within Gardnerian witchcraft, the number, order, and use of the tools varies. But first, a list of the tools of old-school Wicca:

Sword

The Sword is a long knife. It symbolizes power and authority. The sword entered the Craft as a legacy of Western ceremonial magick, where the magician wields a consecrated sword as an implied threat to unruly spirits. The magick sword was traditionally made of the finest smithwork possible, and engraved with Hebrew prayers or magickal glyphs.

Wiccans use the sword to cast a circle. It may also be a symbol of rank within the coven. Gardner says that a chief priestess may wear a sword on her belt when standing in for a priest. (But that no tool enables a priest to stand in for a priestess.)

While the sword is often listed first among the magickal tools, many Witches, including Gardner, say that the sword is not really necessary if you have an athame. Because of the size and cost of a ritual sword, it is common for a coven of Witches to share a single sword.

Athame

The athame is a small (relative to the sword, anyway) knife with a variety of ritual uses. Gardnerian Wiccans prefer a black-handled knife with magickal symbols inscribed on the handle. It is usually double-edged. Both the word “athame” and the black-handle requirement come from the Key of Solomon, a medieval grimoire which was studied by Gardner.

In Wicca, the athame stands for the element of Fire. It is used to cast the circle, charge objects with energy, and to represent the God in a symbolic Great Rite. It is never used for violence. If an athame draws blood, in most traditions, it must be either ritually cleansed or destroyed. Most Witches use the athame purely for magickal/energetic work, and have a separate knife for cutting objects.

Boline

This is the “White Handled Knife” described by Gardner. Sometimes it has a curved blade. Basically, the boline performs cutting tasks on the physical plane, while the athame works on the spiritual/astral planes.

Witches use the boline for magickal-mundane work, including harvesting herbs, cutting cords or parchment, and inscribing ritual candles. Boline is alternately spelled bolline, boleen, or bouline. It is an archaic word related to burin, a carving chisel.

Wand

The wand is the elemental tool of Air (or Fire, in Golden Dawn influenced trads). For Gardner, it is related to the staff of Mercury used to escort souls to the afterlife, and the thyrsus, the pinecone-tipped rod of Dionysus. Witches’ wands are usually made of wood—especially from a tree with magickal significance. It may be personalized by carving or painting. Gardner names few requirements for the magickal wand, except that it be phallic in shape.

Witches use the wand as an elemental tool, for directing energy, and sometimes for casting the circle. The wand is sometimes substituted for the sword or athame by those who object to the violence implied by the blade. Gardner tells us that the wand is used for calling up spirits “to whom it would not be meet to use the sword or athame.” These beings may include Angels (who may be invited, but never commanded) or Fae, who are known to dislike metal.

Pentacle

The pentacle is a round object bearing the five-pointed star, the primary sacred symbol of Wicca. It may also be called the disk, coin, paten, or platter. It represents Earth, and the life-giving properties of that element. In the Gardnerian material, the role of the pentacle is in summoning spirits, consecrating tools, and blessing offerings of food.

Perhaps mindful of Britain’s anti-witchcraft laws, Gardner suggests making a pentacle that can be easily concealed or destroyed if the Witch is discovered. He recommends a pentacle of wax, or else a platter with the magickal symbols painted temporarily in ink. These days, of course, Wiccans may keep a more permanent altar pentacle. Wood, metal, and clay are appropriate materials for the pentacle or Earth disk.

Censer

The censer (and incense) are used to prepare the ritual space.  Ritual censing banishes evil, and makes the circle more inviting to spirits and deities of the desired kind.

Wicca came about before the invention of quick-lighting incense. Early British covens would have preferred a traditional swinging censer with a lid, along with resin incenses. But Gardner states that the censer can be replaced, if necessary, with sweet-smelling herbs and a dish of coals.

Cords

The Witch’s cord, or cingulum, is a length of rope that may be worn as a belt. In Wicca, the cords are often given to the new initiate and worn at each subsequent ritual. Along with the athame and the censer, Gardner lists the cords as one of the three tools that must always be present in the Witch’s circle.

The cords are generally braided by hand from natural fibers. The traditional length of the cords is nine feet (three times three, an important number in Wicca.) In some traditions, the color of the cord signifies the Witch’s rank within the coven.

Besides keeping the Witch’s robes in place, the cords have various other uses within Wicca. A nine-foot cord, folded in half, is used to measure out the radius of the nine-foot circle. Knot magick—tying and untying knots to release energy—is another ritual function of the cords.

But let’s get down to brass tacks: Gardner, like many a proper British gentleman, was obviously a little bit into BDSM. The Gardnerian Book of Shadows is full of rituals that involve tying up initiates in circle. The mild, schoolboyish kink of his Wiccan rites is another use of the cords. He also hints that the cords can be used in blood and breath control—a spiritual/erotic practice that can be extremely dangerous when undertaken by beginners.

Obviously, tying up aspirants is not the kind of thing that goes on in public rituals and fluffy-bunny Wiccan covens. Wiccans face enough PR trouble without innuendos of hazing. The Wiccan covens I know who use cords use them for mainly ceremonial dress. The cords are presented to the initiate with each new degree. Over time, they become kind of a souvenir belt, dangling with various tokens of the Witch’s experience and offices within the coven.

Scourge

Ah, the scourge. The ceremonial whip is another of Gardner’s ritual tools that’s sometimes embarrassing to modern Wiccans. The scourge or flail is an age-old symbol of power and domination. In Gardnerian ritual, it represents the pain that everyone must endure in life. It stands in contrast to the kiss, which symbolizes pleasure and the gifts of life.

Maybe Gardner was inspired by the ritual flagellation in mystical branches of the world’s great religions. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to be tied up and whipped. We’ll probably never know. In any case, the scourge has eight tails with five knots in each tail. It is usually made of leather or rope. The scourge is not used to draw blood, but only for light flogging to raise energy in circle and to purify the aspirant. The scourge is the last item in the canonical list of Gardnerian tools.

Chalice

The chalice symbolizes the eternal womb and the generative power of the Goddess. On the Wiccan altar, it is used to hold beverage offerings. (Traditionally wine, but also water, milk, mead, or ale.) The chalice stands for the female principle in the symbolic enactment of the Great Rite. To Gardner, it is related to the Holy Grail of the Knights Templar, a mystic cup with boundless power to heal and restore.

A core Wiccan ritual involves the High Priest and High Priestess sharing a drink from the chalice, which may also be passed around the circle. A silver chalice is traditional, one large enough to hold the beverage offering.

Cauldron

In the Gardner materials, the words “cauldron” and “chalice” are often used interchangeably. (The cauldron being a Celtic-inflected version of the womb of the Goddess.) Yet many witches keep a ritual cauldron separate from the chalice or cup, and use it in subtlely different ways.

The main advantage of the cauldron is that it can carry heat. It is a dark, warm vessel where alchemical transformations can take place. The cauldron may be used to burn incense, to prepare potions and brews, or to ritually mix spell ingredients. The cauldron can also hold food or drink offerings, or water for scrying.

Besom

A Witch’s broom is called a besom. It is made from a bundle of twigs or straw tied to a handle. In Wicca, the besom is used to purify the circle by sweeping away negativity. It also plays a part in the handfasting ritual of “jumping the broom.”

Bell

The bell is primarily used in Wiccan rituals to focus the participants’ attention. The Gardnerian Book of Shadows prescribes a certain number of knells of the bell for each different ritual. Solitary Wiccans may keep a bell for energetic clearing, meditation, or invoking the Goddess.

Necklace

The necklace is not among the core tools of Wicca, but Gardner mentions it on several occasions as a requirement for the female Witch: “At witch meetings every woman must wear one.” There are many tales of necklaces in world mythology, and depictions of Goddesses who are nude except for a necklace. The circular shape of the necklace is thought to symbolize the eternal cycle of rebirth. The necklace may be decorated with talismans or symbols of rank. But, the material and design of the necklace are unimportant, “as long as it is fairly conspicuous” (Gardner, Witchcraft Today).

So how many tools are in Gardnerian Wicca, again?

According to the “Father of Wicca” himself, there are eight. They are, in order: The sword, athame, boline, wand, pentacle, censer, cords, and scourge. Gardner was almost certainly influenced by Freemasonry, which also has eight tools. Eight was an important number to the Knights Templar, the mystical Christian order which has trickled down into Western esotericism.

But wait! Not all of the tools on Gardner’s list are easy to come by. The poor witch may have to improvise with things found around the house, or do without. Gardner tells us that only three of the Wiccan tools are really essential for ritual: The athame, the censer, and the cords. These three, “and one or two other tools are quite enough to work with.” The other five are used only occasionally.

More troubles with the eight: The sword is often conflated with the athame. Why have both if they’re basically the same? Then there’s the whole issue of the vanishing pentacle. (Now it’s a pentacle, now it’s a biscuit tray. Move along, Inquisition—there’s nothing to see here.)  Gardner never really explains how a Witch can have a set of ritually consecrated tools and regularly grab stand-ins from the kitchen or hearthside.

A handful of Gardnerian tools—the wand, pentacle, and sword/athame—are recognizable as three of the “elemental weapons” of the Golden Dawn traditions. But there is a conspicuous absence: We have three different knives (and a wand and a scourge), but no chalice, the elemental tool of Water.

So where is the chalice in Gardner’s list? Gardner claims his source was a secret cabal of hereditary Witches, and that he doesn’t know why the chalice was omitted. Perhaps it is a holdover from the Burning Times, when Witches were afraid to have a cup lest they be accused of parodying the Eucharist. (Goddess knows how they drank their daily ale.) Gardnerian rituals make extensive use of the chalice, but it doesn’t make the list.

Wiccan groups deal with the omission in different ways. The Alexandrian tradition (which is similar to Gardnerian), solves the problem by substituting the chalice for the censer in their list of eight. Alexandrians burn just as much incense as anyone, of course. But the poor censer is demoted to the rank of “altar dressing.” One Gardnerian coven I know just adds the cauldron/chalice to Gardner’s list—bringing the total number of tools up to nine. (An elegant solution, I believe, since nine is a sacred number in Wicca.)

What about the outer circle of tools: the besom, bell, and necklace? Though these show up repeatedly in Gardnerian rituals, they are not “officially” tools of the Witch, and are not presented to the initiate as such. Instead, they are objects that Witches use in ritual. We also don’t count the Book of Shadows, which is not a tool of ritual, but a tool used in preparation for ritual. Okay. I’m as stumped as you are.

In conclusion, there are eight, or nine, or thirteen tools (and tool-adjacent objects) in Gardnerian Wicca. Unless you are a male Witch. Then you don’t get a necklace, so there are twelve at most. And if you are setting up at Pagan Pride Day, best to cross the scourge off the list. And probably the sword. Maybe count the tablecloth and iPhone speakers, instead?

I’m not trying to make fun of Gardnerians here. (Except for one or two—you know who you are.) It’s just an example of the way traditions evolve and change over time. You’re no less a “real Witch” if you’re allergic to incense, or think ritual flogging is kind of silly. Whatever path you follow, build a collection of tools that resonate with what you feel is magickal.

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/the-eight-or-nine-or-13-tools-of-wicca

[ragingbookdragon]

Even In Different Lives, We Always Find Each Other PT. 5

A Connor Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 1,799 Warnings: None (Well, minor angst lol)

Author’s Note: I honestly have no clue how many parts this story is going to be. Enjoy! -Thorne

If the training dummy had been a real enemy, they’d be dead and trampled by now. He reached up, wiping the sweat from his brow before moving back into the routine, palms slapping against the wooden pegs. Thousands of thoughts crossed his mind, and ever since he’d been banned from the homestead manor for a week from his insubordination, they’d only grown more worried. (Y/N), in this world was the Colonial Rite’s deadliest assassin hunter. His wife, the very one who stood beside him, was standing on the opposite side of him now. If she was saved by Shay who was supposedly the grandmaster, he’d no illusions that she was likely in the same position he was. Learning what had happened in their world, wasn’t what happened here. Of course it didn’t. He thought. My parents are still living. And assassins no less. He shook his head, trying to burn off the concerning feelings. He needed to focus, needed to dig up enough information in order to get back to (Y/N); no doubt she was doing the same. So caught up in his training, he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until he caught sight of someone standing in his peripheral. Twisting, he pulled the tomahawk from his waist, raising it in defense. The cocked eyebrow from his father made him falter and he lowered it as the man said, “You’ve been here for a long time Ratonhnhaké:ton.” Connor frowned, sheathing the hatchet.

           “I need to clear my mind.” Haytham took a step forward, undoing the cloak he wore before moving to his hidden blades.

           “Then shall we spar?” The young assassin watched him a moment before nodding, setting his coat and blades aside. They stood a few feet away, circling one another, and his father asked, “I am curious to know why you’re so attached to (Y/N) Cormac.” Connor knew it was bait, and he raised his hands, trying to shield his expression as he countered,

           “You say that, but you mean something else. What do you really mean?” Haytham stepped forward, tossing an easily deflected punch.

           “You were insistent that she was an assassin and not a templar. Almost like you know more than you’re letting on. I’ve never seen you so passionately defend the enemy before.” Connor brushed off his punch, throwing one of his own; Haytham shifted out of the way but grunted when his son took another step, throwing out his leg. “Is there something you wish to speak about?” His son halted, lowering his arms, returning to an idle stance as he surmised,

           “We are not sparing to clear minds, father. You are sparing with me because you think it will distract me enough to tell you what is on my mind.” Haytham knew he was caught, and Connor knew it too because he pointed at him, adding, “You are digging for information you need not obtain or understand.” His father matched his stance, questioning,

           “Why are you acting like this Ratonhnhaké:ton? What’s changed in the past night and day that makes you so adamant to protect a templar?” Connor couldn’t fight the anger boiling inside him and he took a step forward, voice holding back his barely contained rage.

           “My thoughts and actions are my own and I do not owe you an explanation for them.” Haytham’s eyes went wide at the threat but they quickly narrowed, and he demanded,

           “They do if they’re compromising your faith to the brotherhood.” His son shot him one last glance before turning, pulling on his coat and blades.

           “Rest assured father, my faith in the brotherhood is far from compromised.” Haytham took a step towards him, pleading,

           “Then please, tell me what is going on. I want to help you son.” Connor stopped, fingers twitching in the laces of his hidden blade, and suddenly felt his anger dissipating. It wasn’t his father’s fault he was here. Wasn’t his fault that he and (Y/N) were on different sides. Their reality was different from this one. He let out a sigh, turning to face his father once more, allowing himself to be calm.

           “Father, I understand you wish to help me, but this is not something you can help me with.” Haytham’s face twisted with hurt and he added, “It is not that I do not trust you, it is the fact that the changes are too great to speak of right now. I need to figure them out on my own, and when I do, I will come to you with them.” His father opened his mouth to respond, but Connor reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Please father…trust me.” Haytham stared at him a moment, then nodded, reaching up to take his son’s hand in his own.

           “I do Ratonhnhaké:ton.” He offered a sympathetic smile. “But you know I worry about you. You’re all Ziio and I have…we don’t want anything to happen to you.” Something inside Connor snapped and he looked away, pulling his hand back; his father frowned, but in an instant, Connor had him in a hug, arms wrapped around his back. “Ratonhnhaké:ton?” He reached up, returning the hug. After a few seconds, the young assassin pulled away, reaching up to wipe at his eyes.

           “I apologize. I just-” Haytham chuckled, placing his hand on his shoulder.

           “Don’t apologize son. I understand.” Connor offered a tight smile, then he cleared his throat, saying,

           “I need to get to Boston.” With confusion written across his face, his father asked,

           “For what?” He went silent, thinking of an excuse, then he admitted,

           “If (Y/N) has escaped her fate then we need to find her.”

           “And you think you can?” Connor nodded.

           “I have studied her movements for some time. I know where her safe places are.” Technically what he was saying wasn’t a lie. He did study (Y/N). He knew her better than anyone where she’d hide if need be. “I can find her and take her down.” Haytham shot him a look that told him he was unconvinced of his reason, but he said,

           “You’ve been placed on watch for insubordination, but if what you’re saying is true, then I’ll take this to Achilles and see what I can do.” Connor nodded and moved to walk to the stairs, but his father grabbed his forearm, warning, “But do not leave the homestead until you’ve been given leave to do so.” A remark of indignation crossed his mind, but he nodded and Haytham continued, “Then you go home, and I’ll go see Achilles.” They climbed the stairs, and Connor watched him leave in the direction of the manor. When he was out of sight, he turned, heading to the stables. As he entered, he was startled when his mother entered his vision, arms crossed across her chest, face set in a mask that screamed You’re in trouble.

           “Mother!” She took a step towards him, questioning,

           “And what are you doing, my son? Not leaving without permission, I hope?” The inquiries were rhetorical, and he knew it, so instead of floundering for excuses, he sighed.

           “I was trying to.” Ziio frowned, tipping her head to the doors; Connor let out another sigh, obeying her silent command. The two stepped outside and she waved a hand as she passed him.

           “Come with me.” His face pinched, but still, he did as she commanded, following close behind her, listening as she talked. “You have made quite a scene today Ratonhnhaké:ton. Many are displeased with your actions.” He hadn’t been scolded in such a long time, especially by his mother that he looked at his feet, mumbling,

           “I am sorry mother.” She let out a huff, tipping her head to look back at him.

           “I am more concerned with whatever reasons you had that made you act like that.” Before he could speak, she added, “And I heard you with your father. I trust you, but I do not trust that you are telling him the whole truth.” She spun on her heel and Connor went still as she asked, “What changes were you talking about earlier?” He worried the inside of his cheek, trying to decide what to reveal to her and what he should keep silent. Sighing, he said,

           “Mother, I awoke yesterday and…and I…” He started trailing off, she tipped her head to the side, urging,

           “Yes?” Connor took a deep breath and admitted,

           “And I am not remembering things the way they have occurred.” Ziio’s face turned with suspicion, but also concern.

           “What do you mean?” He raised a hand, feeling around the back of his head until it met the center of the wound.

           “I think I fell and hit my head…I am…” He waved his other hand, fumbling for a vague truth he could commit to. “I am remembering things differently from how they have happened.” She took a seat on a stump, patting the ground next to her. He sat down and she questioned,

           “Like what?” Connor swallowed thickly and looked up at her, begging,

           “Will you promise to not think me crazy? I know it will sound like I am.” Ziio gazed at him a moment, then nodded and he sighed, “Mother…I watched the British leave the colonies a year ago on Evacuation Day. The patriots won the war…we were free of the Crown and templar control.” Indeed, she certainly looked at him like he was growing a second head and he turned his head, words tasting like soured grapes as he spat, “You think I am crazy.”

           “No.” The sudden response made him look back at her and she said, “You must have hit your head. Ratonhnhaké:ton, the British have controlled the colonies since they were established.”

           “But the war-”

           “The patriot army was defeated at Trenton and Saratoga by the British. However, many of the generals of the Crown spoke to the king and begged him to make reforms in the colonies. Taxes were alleviated as well as the repeal of British soldiers in colonist homes.” Connor went silent and she sighed, “I have heard of things like this happening with head wounds.” She smiled, reaching a hand out to him. “We will help you remember what has happened.” He wanted to smile, but the pending question on his tongue made him inquire,

           “Who is we?” Ziio cocked an eyebrow and explained,

           “Me, Haytham, and Ahyoka.” Connor blinked at her, questioning,

           “Who?”

           “Ahyoka? Your wife?” For a moment, he couldn’t speak, and she watched his mouth open and snap shut a few times before he blurted out,

           “Excuse me? I am not married to a woman named Ahyoka.” Her face revealed a stunned expression and she murmured,

           “My god…you truly do not remember what has happened recently.” All Connor could manage to say was,

           “Evidently not.”

[corvideus]

                                     lettie is a member of a dying breed of templars .

                        the games explore a variety of different rites & members, but something i’ve noticed is that by syndicate ( the victorian era ) its become very black and white, templar bad and assassin good, which previously had always been a sort of grey area the player explores ; in unity &rouge we get entirely different views because we finally get a chance to see the other side & explore characters who we believed were bad but actually were just plain antagonists, not villains . (  its important to know that antagonist =/= villain  )

                        marletta wholeheartedly believes that the templar order can be a force for good, believing that through order peace is achievable . she doesn’t believe the order was created out of malicious intent or that it’s wholly villainous in nature, but that similarly a sword it can be used to kill just as it can be used to defend ; this is where she draws a common thought process with the brotherhood’s whole motto of  “  we work in the dark, to serve the light  ”  & that while they’re murders  (  cause thats what an assassin is lbr  )  they’re doing it out of what they believe to be good intentions . This leads her to be a black sheep among the british rite  (  & certainly more rite’s to come  ) because she believes the order should be used to aid & protect the people of london, not force them into a drugged haze of fear & poverty as we’re shown starrick & the rite does ; it’s why she doesn’t approve of the gangs as well, because she’s seen how brutal they are &knows fear is a barbaric method to control others .

                        lettie is a dying breed among the templars & only has good intentions ; if she was given the opportunity to rebuild the rite under her leadership  (  whether the time period/verse  )  she would use it wholly as a force to implement good & protect all those under her . this means that she would never give up being a templar because it has so much meaning for her, not just inherently but as being the only lifestyle she has ever known & committed herself to . she’ll always be a templar, but that won’t stop her from trying to solidify peace with the brotherhood or try to implement the order as a force for greater good .

[blackphoenixalchemylab]

Harvest Moon + Friday the 13th

The Harvest Moon is sailing toward us, arriving nonchalantly on Friday, 13th 2019 as if that’s a perfectly normal and acceptable thing to do. The nerve!

But we are here for it, and you, with a cluster of Lunacy offerings to sweeten the season and ward off any unnecessarily hard luck. 

Here’s everything you’ll need!

++ A LITTLE LUNACY

HARVEST MOON

Harvest Moon is celebrated in almost every culture, and the bounty of the season is marked in a myriad of ways. Harvest Moon touches the Equinox, the festival of Janus, the culmination of Homowo, the “crying of the neck” in Cornwall, and the Women’s Festival of the Moon. This is a day that celebrates abundance and beauty, fertility and progress, and the light of this full moon blesses new undertakings and reunites lost loves.

The Harvest Moon, by definition, is the Full Moon that falls closest to the Autumnal Equinox, and thus, it shares some of that Sabbat’s characteristics. This Full Moon was thus named because it rises within half an hour of the sun’s setting, in the Northern Hemisphere, and at this time farmers are able to work longer into the night by the light of this Moon. As the year draws to a close, the Full Moon rises an average of fifty minutes later each night, with the exception of a few nights surrounding the Harvest Moon, which only rises 10-30 minutes later. This moon is also, to the human eye, the fullest and largest of the year’s Moons, hanging gloriously huge, yellow and low in the night sky, and many lunar illusions play tricks our eyes at this time.

The Harvest ushers in many celebrations, including the Equinox and the Festival of Janus, God of Doors. Janus is the Roman Lord of Gateways, beginnings and endings, and transitions. Thus, the Harvest Moon is a time for blessing new ventures, the onset of new and progressive phases in one’s life, and rites of passage into adulthood. This time of year also marks one of the Festivals of Dionysus, Lord of Ecstasy and the Vine.

This Harvest lunacy blend combines the autumnal scents of dry leaves, mulling spices, balsam fir, pine needles, cedar, juniper berry, clove, saffron, damson plum, white sage, yarrow, and lily twined with Dionysus’ sacred grapes and ivy, a bounty of apple, black fig, and pumpkin, and the amaranth and lingum aloes of Janus, all touched by a gentle breath of festival woodsmoke and sweet wine.

(Don’t forget, you can also purchase Dan Santat’s Harvest Moon illustration, pictured above, as a tee shirt!)

++ DUETS

A fresh batch of simple, two-note perfumes!

👯 LIME AND WHITE MUSK

Startlingly invigorating!

👯 RED AMBER AND OUD

Fierce, warm, and animalic.

👯 TUBEROSE AND MANGO

Sweet and strangely sensual.

👯 BOURBON VANILLA AND YELLOW CARNATION

An absurdly happy scent.

👯 RED ROSE AND TOBACCO ABSOLUTE

A filthy, heady bouquet.

++ FRIDAY THE 13TH

13

13 is significant, whether you consider it lucky, unlucky or just plain odd. Many believe it to be unfortunate…

…because there were 13 present at the Last Supper.

…Loki crashed a party of 12 at Valhalla, which ended in Baldur’s death.

…Oinomaos killed 13 of Hippodamia’s suitors before Pelops finally, in his own shady way, defeated the jealous king.

…In ancient Rome, Hecate’s witches gathered in groups of 12, the Goddess herself being the 13th in the coven.

 Concern over the number thirteen echoes back beyond the Christian era. Line 13 was omitted form the Code of Hammurabi.

The shivers over Friday the 13th also have some interesting origins:

…Christ was allegedly crucified on Friday the 13th.

…On Friday, October 13, 1307, King Philip IV of France ordered the arrests of Jaques de Molay, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, and sixty of his senior knights.

…In British custom, hangings were held on Fridays, and there were 13 steps on the gallows leading to the noose.

To combat the superstition, Robert Ingersoll and the Thirteen Club held thirteen-men dinners during the 19th Century. Successful? Hardly. The number still invokes trepidation to this day. A recent whimsical little serial killer study showed that the following murderers all have names that total thirteen letters:

Theodore Bundy

Jeffrey Dahmer

Albert De Salvo

John Wayne Gacy

And, with a little stretch of the imagination, you can also fit “Jack the Ripper” and “Charles Manson” into that equation. 

More current-era paranoia: modern schoolchildren stop their memorization of the multiplication tables at 12. There were 13 Plutonium slugs in the atomic bomb that was dropped on Nagasaki. Apollo 13 wasn’t exactly the most successful space mission. All of these are things that modern triskaidekaphobes point to when justifying their fears.

For some, 13 is an extremely fortuitous and auspicious number… 

…In Jewish tradition, God has 13 Attributes of Mercy. Also, there were 13 tribes of Israel, 13 principles of Jewish faith, and 13 is considered the age of maturity.

…The ancient Egyptians believed that there were 12 stages of spiritual achievement in this lifetime, and a 13th beyond death.

…The word for thirteen, in Chinese, sounds much like the word which means “must be alive”. 

Thirteen, whether you love it or loathe it, is a pretty cool number all around.

…In some theories of relativity, there are 13 dimensions.

…It is a prime number, lucky number, star number, Wilson Prime, and Fibonacci number.

…There are 13 Archimedean solids.

AND…

…There were 13 original colonies when the United States were founded.

Says a lot about the US, doesn’t it?

This version of 13 is a departure from our usual theme for this ongoing project. So many of us are going through so much right now; it seems right to make an oil that contains 13 herbs, flowers, and resins of peace, tranquility, and grounding: lavender, litsea cubeba, sandalwood, ylang ylang,  king mandarin, patchouli, blue tansy, Roman chamomile, bergamot, Oman frankincense, angelica, hops, and borage.

++ VIRGO SEASON

VIRGO LOCKET

The Zodiac lockets have returned! Exquisite, elegant, and exclusive to Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab.

These are heavy lockets, thick with silver, and are perfect for use as a perfume oil conduit. Dab your favorite Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab concoction onto muslin, velvet or cotton, and place the swatch inside the locket. Your body will warm the silver, and the locket will exude pure, unadulterated scent.

The Zodiac lockets are hand cast 925 sterling silver that has been partially gold washed using a method popularized in the 19th century, and each is adorned with at least one stone corresponding to the sign the locket represents. Each locket’s bale sports one of the BPAL logos: the alchemical symbol for brimstone. Portions of the face of the lockets have been deliberately tarnished. They measure approximately 1.25″ in diameter. These lockets are heavy. They are not fragile, filigreed pieces; they are durable, extremely weighty with silver, and are suitable for your most adventurous airship excursions.

These lockets are exclusive to Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, and were created by and for Black Phoenix. They cannot be found anywhere else in all of Heaven and Earth.

Each piece is hand cast.

Our lockets come with a 24″ nickel-plated iron chain.

The Zodiac lockets were designed by Alicia Dabney of Elements and Artifacts.

VIRGO SOCKS

Created in the USA by the wonderful people at Sock Dreams for Black Phoenix, these socks are exclusive to Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab!

They’re made from 80% cotton, 15% nylon and 5% elastic!

...Also, PSST! Guess what? We’ve freshly restocked our REVENANT RHYTHM!

[lily-of-the-eyrie]

🔍💭 Study: Reginald Birch

To solidify my understanding of just what is going on with the British and Colonial Rites in the years leading up to the events of ⟪✠ The Virginian Rite ✠⟫, I’ve decided to do some studies of the key players of the time to straighten up things.

In this exercise, I’ll cover the following figures:

Reginald Birch, Grand Master of the British Rite

Achilles Davenport, Mentor of the Colonial Brotherhood

Lawrence Washington, Birch’s Delegate in the Colonies #1

George Monro, Birch’s Delegate in the Colonies #2 (I realized I’ll be pretty much just coughing up all my HCs rather than do any actual analysis if I have to cover everything about the Colonel, so I’ll just leave this one out...)

In putting this together, I primarily used character database entries, Rogue’s war letters, the ACIII novelization Forsaken, and of course, the relevant games themselves. Hopefully I’ll be able to put together a convincing story for everyone involved once I’m done with this.

Okay, let’s start with Grand Master Birch. 

[⚠️ This is a pretty lengthy document.]

◈ Contents ◈

Timeline

Templar Career 　When did he become Grand Master?

Reputation & Personality 　How did he come across to the other Templars?

Birch’s “Agents” 　Who are they, and how did he get them to work for him?

The British Rite under Birch 　“You have not encountered cunning or danger until you have faced a British Templar.“

✠ Reginald Birch (1705-1757) ✠

☙ Timeline ☙

1733 - Already acquainted with Edward Kenway 1735 - Obtained Edward’s journal 1738 - Entrusted Lawrence with the Order’s goals in the colonies on his return to Virginia 1740s - Devoted himself to scouring the globe for Precursor sites and artifacts 1750 - Ran out of patience with Lawrence’s lack of progress; sent Monro over 1754 - Sent Haytham to the colonies

☙ Templar Career ☙ When did he become Grand Master?

　Birch seems to have been Grand Master of the British Rite for as long as anyone can remember. He certainly had been by 1738, at which point he refers to it as “my Order”, over which he had the power to decide the priorities of—and presently, that priority is the Grand Temple (✉️“Lawrence of America”, 1738). He’s 33 years old by then, which sounds kind of young for a man who controls what’s arguably one of the most powerful and influential Rites of the time, but then again Grand Masters have come from quite a range of ages. But reason would dictate that you won’t want someone who’s too young and/or inexperienced to be appointed the Grand Master of an old and storied Rite, so the earliest point at which Birch had most likely earned his title is probably in his late twenties.

　I can’t find much information on the metrics used to appoint someone the Grand Master of a Rite, but I suppose their immediate superiors, the Inner Sanctum, are the ones calling the shots if they’re already around. Given how Birch’s obsession with the remnants of the First Civilization was clear as day to his contemporaries, I guess the bigshots thought they could use someone who’d look for Precursor sites etc. seriously? It’s always been a major preoccupation of the Order.

☙ Reputation & Personality ☙ How did he come across to the other Templars?

　With how he was, I think most of his allies would know him as “that Precursor artifact addict” 😂 Some, like his buddy Harrison, or his friend in the French Rite, Lévesque, didn’t seem to mind, and were actively helping him; some others, like Braddock, thought he’d gone mad; the rest, while understanding towards his requests for assistance, didn’t share his passion for the search (eg.-a couple of members of the Portuguese Rite, who made their sentiments clear through their letters, ✉️”The Omani Arabs”, 1743, and ✉️”Dead End”, 1746). In any case, a fixation on Precursor research was undoubtedly one of his most defining characteristics.

　That said, if Braddock’s assessment of his character before he made Precursor research his main goal is to be believed, he used to be a “man of honour, of discipline, of principle”, and was “the embodiment of everything that made [the] Order great” (✉️“The Siege of Bergen-op-Zoom”, 1747). Now, I do have some doubts about whether or not Braddock’s definition of these descriptions matched most normal people’s standards, and whether or not Birch was also posturing in front of him. Either way, he’s at least good at pretending to be an honourable gentleman, and as someone who seems to frequent places favoured by the upper crust of society, which he’d also have to regularly rub shoulders with, he would have at least learned the necessary etiquette to project that impression.

　If there’s one thing you can’t take away from Birch, it’s that he was definitely very talented in getting people to work for/with him. We can see him masterfully employ a wide range of incentives (gifts, promises of power, military assistance, personal charm, money, debt) in order to either inspire or force people to obey him. Even without anyone comparing him to Crawford Starrick, a future successor of his office who’d have complete control over London a full century later, it’s clear that the was a very powerful man in his own right. All his activities certainly made his name known among his colleagues—even another Grand Master had gone to him asking for help once (✉️”The Hospitaller’s Plea”, 1747).

☙ Birch’s “Agents” ☙ Who are they, and how did he get them to work for him?

　We know Birch had a few really close subordinates, who presumably are also his most trusted. They also seem to frequently get orders directly from him. To list out the ones we know:

John Harrison 　Harrison seems to be Birch’s closest and most loyal subordinate; they both share an obsession with the First Civilization, and they’d been working together for a very long time. He also seems to be his main man in the business of searching for Precursor sites and items, and was constantly on the move, reporting back to Birch from various places across the globe on whatever leads he could find about the subject. He’s also his representative when dealing with faraway Rites. Harrison shared Birch’s more callous attitude, as can be seen in his casual suggestion to stir up war between the European powers to create a cover for the Order’s activities (✉️”The Manila Galleons”, 1742).

Edward Braddock 　While he and Birch were already falling out with each other by the 1750s, the fact that he was the one the Grand Master went to when he needed someone to help him attack the Kenway mansion is probably enough to suggest that Birch at least used to trust him (enough to make him his dirty jobs guy, which is saying a lot). Braddock’s disrupting of Haytham’s attempt to find his father’s killers, essentially a cover-up of Birch’s involvement in the murder (✉️”The Siege of Bergen-op-Zoom”, 1747), can be seen as a show of goodwill to a former friend, so it seems that something still remained from the mutual respect they used to have.

Haytham Kenway 　It’s probably not inaccurate to call Haytham Birch’s protégé, what with the personal rearing and tutoring the Grand Master did for him since Edward’s death when the boy was 10. Having painted a picture of himself as not only his caretaker and teacher, but also a benevolent Templar Knight™ who only meant well for the world, it’s not hard to see why Haytham thought serving him was a good idea. On the other end, Birch seemed to have absolute trust in Haytham as his student and personal executioner (he obviously has great confidence in his skill at long-term deception here). 

Lawrence Washington 　Birch most likely met Lawrence when the latter was studying in a grammar school in England (1729-38). We don’t know how old Lawrence was when he was inducted into the Order, but by the end of his school years, he was already a Master Templar, the direct subordinate of a Grand Master, at a mere 20 years old (!). I don’t know what he did to earn that promotion, but that’s a fast track runner if I ever saw one 😂 If even fledgling Assassin Shay knew he was an important Templar, he must have been quite something. The only clue we have as to why he joined the Order was that he had “great ambitions that Templars have helped fulfill” (Rogue Seq1-3, “Tinker Sailor Soldier Spy”) . Birch probably had a hand in that, and the exchange of favours for loyalty certainly fit into his usual tactics. The Grand Master showed that he had a lot of faith in this new overachiever in his parting letter to Lawrence, mailed when he was going home from England to Virginia in 1738 to look for the Grand Temple, so I imagine the disappointment he showed in his next letter in 1750 was well-warranted when, after 12 years of waiting, he still has no idea where this Precursor structure was.

George Monro 　So, the Colonel. Much like Haytham, he was explicitly named as one of Birch’s agents, and was dispatched to the colonies to pick up the slack in Lawrence’s efforts to locate the Grand Temple (✉️“Monro”, 1750). However, since Monro’s history with the Order before his transfer to the colonies is just one giant black hole, it’s hard to pinpoint how or why the Colonel got close enough to Birch to be sent for this exact purpose. Given that the Grand Temple is Birch’s #1 priority, he’d hardly just throw random people at the task; it could be that he was just sending the best Templars his Rite has to offer at the moment (and the Colonel sure looked like he belonged in that category), but I think it had to, above all, be someone he trusted could get the job done. Monro was already obviously very loyal to the Order, and with an absolute respect for authority, sounded like he’d do virtually anything if the Grand Master of his Rite commands him to (orders from above and all that, right? *wink wink*). Given these traits of his, I don’t think Birch would ever need to manipulate/blackmail/bribe him into serving his needs… But was it really as simple as just saying “do it for the Order”? 🤔 We can have several very different versions of the Colonel depending on how one writes this part out.

☙ The British Rite Under Birch ☙ “You have not encountered cunning or danger until you have faced a British Templar.“

　According to Miko, the remaining co-leader of the British Assassins after Edward’s death, in a letter of warning to Achilles, a British Templar is the most dangerous Templar there is (✉️”Warning”, 1751). It’s an interesting statement, and a believable one too, since he’d had the chance to go toe-to-toe against them in person; and with his work also taking him around Europe (ie. that Corsica episode with Haytham), I think we can assume he said this while also taking other Rites into consideration. If the statement is true, this sheds a bit of light into the state of the Templar Order at the time: although it’s still got ways to go before becoming the biggest empire on Earth, Britain’s global influence was on the rise at this point in time, and the British Templars and Assassins would both naturally want to capitalize on the fact to strengthen their own parties (or, to put it differently, if one of them went for it and the other one didn’t follow suit and get there first, the loser would surely get wiped out). The Templars won this round soundly by getting rid of both the Assassins’ leading figures in London (Edward in 1735, Miko in 1754) and tossing the net of their influence far and wide, all the way up to the court of King George II (✉️”The Swedish Levant Company”, 1748).

　As for how it came to be, Birch’s ruthlessness and thirst for Precursor knowledge likely played a considerable part. Nothing is sacred to him when it comes to finding more leads on First Civilization remnants; even Edward’s and Miko’s deaths were arguably more about the research and artifacts they owned than the positions they held within the British Brotherhood. This hunt also had the side effect of driving him to expand his network of contacts across other Rites and distant lands, evident in the locations where the slew of letters addressed to him were sent from, to make a global search effort possible. Of course, he needed money to fund all these operations, but as a successful merchant and the head of the British Rite, financial problems were probably not an issue for him. So under his leadership, the British Rite became a well-funded, well-connected enterprise—if the Templar Order was a country, the British Rite would’ve become something like its capital city. As of Birch’s time, they appear to have held a leading position among the other Rites.

　If this was what happened, I suspect the British Rite’s members would probably have to be (or become) as tough as nails to survive, considering there’s no way the local Brotherhood would just sit and watch as their enemies’ influence grew, and would try their best to curtail it. Assuming the Assassins stepped up their game to match up with the Templars, and managed to at least cull the weaker members (while the stronger ones would be the only ones left—oops) before the Order took London entirely from them until the end of Starrick’s reign, it’s not hard to imagine that the kind of Templars Miko had to deal with would give him this particular nasty impression. Also, considering Birch’s nature, the kind of Templars that thrive best under his rule would probably be more like him than not, creating a pretty vicious collection of adversaries for the Brotherhood. 

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

*sneaks into the inbox* Hello, darling! 💕 Please tell us what does Dottie's typical day look like? Thank you!

SUSIE, DEAREST!! welcome in my inbox!!

You bring me such delightful question, and about my darling Dorothea too!! <3 I shall gladly answer it!

Buckle up, because it's going to be a long answer (alas, the Gods have not seen fit to bestow upon me the gift of synthesis)

Let's take a day in the life of Dorothea while she lived in the Family Manor in London, in 1868!

For a start, Dorothea would most likely need to be awaken by her Governess. She usually sleeps until 8 in the morning,due to the fact that she goes to sleep late (she conducts a rather active social life, participating to various social events under impromptu of her parents that want to see her married well to a rather distinct gentleman as if).

Usually, she spends the first hour of her day taking care of her own personal toilette, dressing herself appropriately and then joining her mother Annette for breakfast. Most of the time her father Crawford has already left the house by the time she is up and about, but in the rare occasion he is home and not busy with Templar Business (or Business Business, since the man is still running a financial empire, alongside the Templar Rite), Dorothea has breakfast with them both.

After Dorothea is done with eating, she has a variety of activities she can choose from, but more often than not, she practices playing the violin for a few hours, devoting herself completely to maintain the proficiency she has reached throughout years and years of practice.

Alternatively, she would take care of her correspondance, and particularly after joining the British Rite, she would start taking upon herself to help her father, in order to both learn the trade directly from the Grand Master himself AND acknowledge the situation in London.

If needed, it wouldn't be unrealistic to say that she would take upon herself to oversee in person some of the Templar Operation around the city (although, in that case, she would most likely go accompanied by either her mentor Byron Harrison, or, if he is unavailable for whatever reason, either Markus Barklay (which she doesn't like one bit) or her own cousins Phillip and Charles. Crawford is still adamant that his only daughter is always escorted, especially if those pesky Frye twins are around sowing chaos *and Jacob is starting to sow those pesky pesky first seeds of the love that would later bloom with his dearest Dorothea ahem*)

Usually, after a quick lunch at her own house, she is out and about with her mother Annette, calling some family friends, or organizing small tea parties, where she entertains herself with some chitchat about the latest events in London. She doesn't particularly love these events, because she knows that the biggest reason her mother pushes her to organize them is partially to subtly parade her because she is of an age to be married and because she is training her to be the Mistress of the House, once she has found a husband. But Dorothea is a good daughter, and she loves her mama dearly, so she quietly acquiesces with grace to her mother's will, even if she would very much prefer reading her books, or writing her pieces for her violin.

The evenings in Dorothea's daily life are varied, depending on the season. If it's THE SEASON, she would very much be busy with as many dancing balls as her mother manages to make her participate, and she is generally chaperoned either by her mother or her cousin Pearl, if her mother is unavailable for whatever reasons (although, honestly speaking, she much prefers to be accompanied by Pearl than her mother, because Ms. Attaway is not as pushy as Lady Starrick, and she usually allows Dorothea to just sit somewhere and read one of the books she has sneakily taken from the house, instead of having to submit to the umpteenth dance with the umpteenth gentleman. Needless to say, Dorothea is not too eager to get married, especially not for duty).

However, on the nights when she doesn't need to participate in any social events, and both her parents are home, she gladly plays the violin to accompany her father as he plays the piano, and they sing together, much to Lady Starrick's delight. Alternatively, she enjoys reading out loud for both her parents and her mentor Byron, and this, needless to say, is her favorite way to spend the evenings.

After having bidden her parents goodnight, she would usually sneak out into her mother's hothouse and botanical garden for a little while, where she would find her favourite bush of lilies and with a heavy blanket and a lantern, she would sit by her favourite flowers, reading and daydreaming about the love of Guinevere and Lancelot, wondering when she will meet her own Lancelot.

After a little while, she would sneak back into her room, and fall asleep in her bed, usually with her sweet Mops and Ophelia snoring at the feet of her bed!

and this, my dear Susie, is an example of the daily life of Dorothea!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS ASK, I ADORED WRITING ABOUT IT! <3

--Nemo