As Abraham stepped aboard the dock of Port Tabriz he took in the scent of the air, it smelled of salt, fish and blood. The smell of blood took him by surprise until he remembered where he was, this land was after all the birthplace of the assassins. He put his pipe back in his mouth as he waved farewell to the submarine that brought him to this barren wasteland. He soon realized that he stuck out like a sore thumb out here, in the desert while wearing the furs needed to keep him warm in his homeland. He sighed as he began walking towards the town, boots making noise as he walked through the sand. He hated the idea of being heard, always had been more partial to being silent and deadly over loud and brutish. He truly was different from the rest of his family. He laughed slightly to himself at that, everyone in his family was a bit strange now that he thought about it. His grandfather Dimitri died before he was born, however he had always heard stories of his heroism and honor in the liberation of the Steel Imperium, and the Elven Civil war. His father Bjorn the Black was renown for his bravery and survival for slaying the Demon Cavaro and saving the Motherland during the Rise of the Phoenix. His Uncle Ivan however was remembered as both a great and awful man. Leading Valorono through many great reforms however going mad with power and ultimately killing himself and Abraham's father. He cringed at the memory of seeing his father die, telling him that he was now the king of winter, that he was now the Black wolf. How wrong his father was he thought to himself as he shook his head, for he was no wolf; he was a lion. He shuddered away the memory as he realized he was in the town square. However oddly enough he heard no talking or for that matter saw anyone, the 19 year old Assassin continued walking however avoiding the creeping feeling at the back of his mind. He decided he would walk into a nearby tavern and see if he could find his contact there, or if they would find him...