Hey guys! This is my work, based in Victorian London, in the year 1890. The "hero", 21 year-old Geoffrey, is a bastard son of a Lord, orphaned and raised by his Mentor, a Chinese Assassin named Lǎoyīng (L-OW-Ying). This story begins as Geoffrey is finishing his final training before becoming a Master Assassin...
Chapter 1: The Water of the Thames is Very Cold
I landed on the cobblestone in a heap, busting my lip on the cold rock. Cursing myself for falling, I looked up just in time to see my Mentor leap from the steeple of the St. Martin-of-the-Fields Church, spreading his arms and keeping his legs perfectly straight as he flipped his body over in time to land on his back in a large hay bale.
As Lǎoyīng climbed out of the bale, he gave me a stern look, and I knew what he was going to say before he said it:
"Geoffrey, climb the church again. Do it right this time." His Oriental accent was thick, even more so when he was frustrated with me. And he was right to be. I had been training to be a Master for the past three years, and I kept making monumental mistakes.
"Yes, Master," I replied, "Dāngrán." And I started running to the gates of the church. Right as I leaped onto the first window brace, I heard a deep voice, its Cockney accent thick and disgustingly drunk.
"Oy, get off out of it, or I'll have you playing Victoria and Albert quicker than a bookie's runner!" shouted the policeman. Damn, I thought to myself, That's the last thing I needed today. I climbed down and put my arms in front of me so the Constable could take me to the Yard, when he started to pull out his revolver emblazoned with a silver cross on the handle. I started turning to Lǎoyīng, shouted, "Templar!" and extended my wrist, letting the flexor muscle in my arm release a high tensile blade hidden under my sleeve. I launched myself at the Templar spy, slicing at his throat. He shoved my arm away and attempted a wild hay-maker to my side. As his fist connected, I could feel one of ribs snap from the blunt force. But I gritted my teeth and forgot the pain.
When the Templar tried to deliver another blow, I grabbed his arm, employing the martial arts that my Mentor had trained me in. I brought my elbow down on the policeman's wrist, breaking it completely and making him drop his gun. I didn't give him enough time to reach for his billy club, and drove my blade through his throat, shoving him into the hay bale that Lǎoyīng had jumped into earlier.