Thomas Dickinson, the Assassin Leader, slowly walked down the steps of the run-down plantation that the Assassin's called home. It was a good thirty acres of farmland, though it was littered with training equipment. It was a rather small building itself, though they took pride in the land. Many Assassins had tried to restore the plantation to it's former glory, without the slaves, obviously, but they did not succeed. The building was plain wood, with almost no roof. This helped sometimes, as it got the Assassins used to the weather in battle and on missions.
The living quarters were plain sacks filled with hay and such, but were surprisingly comfortable. They each got one chest to fill with whatever they chose, whether it be from home or not, was their choice. The kitchen was poor and small, but was filled with food that they'd raided from previous assaults on Templar forts. In the center of the building was the meeting room. This was where all Assassins received their missions, contracts, and all around information. It had a single, large, rectangular table with the Assassin insignia carved into the center. There were chairs set all around it, each one with a different name carved into the back.
Thomas sat at the table, awaiting the Assassins to come. He was about to issue an attack on a Templar fort, one that seemed to have poor security. Each and every Assassin controlled fort could turn the tide in the war. The Assassins fought for the Union, so there were Union flags everywhere. He pulled back his hood, revealing his face, which was rarely seen. This meant that this was a serious matter. He fussed with his hidden blade, as he planned to attack this very day. It was still dark outside, the moon peeking above the horizon.
Night was the time to strike. The Templars would never have thought of it, especially with it being a smaller fort.
Jeremiah Sanders, the Templar Leader, sat inside of the center of the fortress, waiting for his Hunters to arrive. There was an ornate oval table in the center of the room, a large Templar flag hanging above it. It was a beautiful room, filled with nice vases, sculptures, and other valuables. There was a case, in which a golden crown lay on a small black pillow. It was engraved with the Templar emblem.
The living quarters were similar to that of a castle. Each Hunter had their own wooden bed, covered in soft red blankets. The kitchen was down below the living quarters, with several slaves working them. They were paid, sure, but only two cents a day. It was piled high with food, and they always kept the Hunters fed. The fort was small, and sort of compact, but it worked.
Recently, Jeremiah had received information of an Assassin plan. The Assassins were planning to attack the fort. This could not happen, that would be a great loss, especially for the Templars. They fought for the Confederates, and hung their flag proudly in the middle of the fort. He couldn't bear to imagine a Union flag flying in it's place. He sat at the table, awaiting his Hunters while tapping his fingers loudly against the wood. It echoed through the room. He could hear the soldiers training and firing their weapons outside. He loved this sound, the sound of victory, to him.
