It is with considerable trepidation that I put quill to ink in a meager attempt to record my thoughts and fears. By no stretch am I a great scholar nor a wordsmith – I am many things: a bladesman, a rogue, a thief, a murderer, a liar, a Lost Soul likely damned to burn for my sins of which there are many. Of the Lord’s Commandments, I have violated all but two – never have I sought a God other than the Almighty, nor have I made false idols in His Name. All the rest have I broken and none do I regret more than my sundering of the Fifth.

But my thoughts wander astray and leadeth me into temptation. Who am I? I am Gabriel, of the fallen House Auditore, late of Crane and of Megalos. And, like my father before me, and his father, I was an Assassin.

I fear not these words falling into false hands, for I compose this using the codes and cyphers taught to me by my father, who learned from his father, and so on, back to the beginning. If you have the skill to break these cyphers, then I congratulate you and pray that I am already dead.

But no matter. I fell from Grace long ago, and now seek my path as that of a common mercenary, selling my blade to those who can afford it and seeking adventure where I should seek forgiveness. I am at peace with the Lord’s plan – would he save me from the cruel fate that fell upon my House if he did not have a Plan? He placed my feet upon this Path and I shall stride forth, eager to serve as he directs and be his blade where he needs me. The Lord knows I am a sinner – perhaps it is a sinner and not an upright man that he requires.

Of late, I travel with three – a northerner named Rainald who is strong of arm and of heart; a Franciscan named Mendel who is unlike any priest I have had the misfortune of dealing with; and an archer known as Talon, who is hunted for a crime he did not commit. An assassin – I know not if this man possessed True Training or no – slew the duke of Tacitus, and Talon is now hunted for this crime. Though this murderer – I hesitate to call him an Assassin – was later slain, my curiosity, ever my bane, has kept me at Talon’s side – if the murderer was truly trained in the Art as I was, then those he called Master must invariably move against any they consider threats. I had believed that the conspiracy that robbed me of my House was slain by my actions but now I wonder if it was wider than I feared.

But again I digress. I blame these meanderings upon poor sleep. My dreams have been dark of late, ever since the Great Desert. My companions and I ventured deep into its heart with a scholar and met what I can only call demons. The scholar lies in a deep, unnatural slumber and I wonder if ere he shall wake.

Tonight we sleep here in Bordertown. It is an ugly place with no grace or beauty. Men come here with dreams of glory and venture forth to die with naught but those dreams. If e’er I must enter that desert again, it will be too soon. Rather would I spend interminable weeks listening to theologians debate trivial points of the Bible than face one of those sand demons again.

But I tire and my hand weakens for I am unaccustomed to such scribe work.