The new robes suited him as if he was never meant to sport anything else. The dark hood covered part of his face and the light of the candles in the place where the meeting supposedly was, mainly highlighted his eyes. “Good afternoon,” he greeted politely, receiving a foul look or two. Haytham ignored it: it was not as if he could blame them. He had been raised a Templar, after all. However, now was the time for new opportunities.

     He avoided making eye contact, not wanting to provoke the other assassins. Perhaps it was better to keep a low profile for now: later, his time would come. One of them proposed an introduction and so he started. “My name is Haytham Kenway. Some of you might know me as a Templar. However,” as he continued, his voice took on a dark tone, clearly somewhat agitated, “I have decided to shift my loyalties to those whom deserve it.”

anonymous said:

(((WHAO NICE GRAPHICS)))

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(sdfkjsd, I am just playing around with styles because Waka finally mentioned clipping layers enough times that it stuck with me. I am not sure if I will stick with this style or not, ahhh, if people have opinions, you should let me know. ;v;a  -M)

♟  anxrchic  ⨾

          The godswood remained a place of quiet even after she had left
             King’s Landing and it’s walls filled with unwanted ears, it was
             still the place where she could pray to the gods of the North,
             regardless of if they heard her or not. It had been ver since the
             queen had locked her father, ever since she’d been left to her
             gilded cage of pretty walls and pretty dresses where she was
             meant to simply look  p r e t t y  and not sad. Never sad, no one
             liked to see her sad. Sansa was the prettiest when she smiled
             quietly and did not speak. The marks upon her body reminded
             her of the consequences of speaking out of turn still. They would
             never leave her, nor would the memories.

          They would fade, become invisible to strangers,
                                                             but  n e v e r  truly gone.

          This time however, she did not pray for Joffrey’s kindness, did not
             pray for her father, nor her mother, nor her brave brother. They
             were gone, lost to the war that still raged outside, the fight for a
             throne no one truly wanted, no one truly knew what to do with.
             Sansa knew what she’d do with it tho. She’d melt it away, she’d
             use the steel to build whatever the small folk had need of, she
             would sell it for food for the families that had need of it.

          Sansa was praying for an end to the war, just like she had for so
             many years now, seemingly unheard. Per chance this time her
             prayers would be heard and the gods had always made her not
             feel so alone in the world.

          Outside were the knights who had accompanied her here, the ones
             who insisted a lady should not travel alone and who cared not for
             the crime she stood falsely accused of, or who cared not if she
             was guilty or not.

                                                           Sansa did not know which one was preferable.
          If having them think her capable or such an act as murder or still 
             believing her as innocent as they claimed she looked, a little girl 
             who could never do anything for her North. She did not  a s k ,  
             did not want to know the answer, did not want to know herself 
             as a killer or still a silly little girl.

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          A rustling of the leaves told her it was time to leave, told her she had
             spoken all her prayers and now she could only wait for them to be
             answered and for the war that seemed so close to be prevented,
             for as many as possible to be spared should war still come, for
             comfort to the families who would lose one or more members.

       ❝ Have you come to pray, my lord? ❞

          The man at the entrance to the godswood had a strange feeling
             about him, something that made her shiver slightly despite the
             layers of fabric in between her and the autumn air. He did not
             seem like he was coming to pray, but why else would someone
             dwell near a heart tree?

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