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Arno Dorian's letters were missives written by the French Assassin Arno Dorian, addressed to his deceased father. Abstergo Entertainment came into possession of these and provided them to Robert Fraser, and eventually to Percy Westcreek, to further understand the subject they were researching in the Animus.
Monsieur de la Serre has told me I shud rite letters to you even though I know you are ded. He says it will make me feel better and also make my riting better. I am not sure it will do either but he has been nice to me and I want him too like me.
I know you must be worried about me in Heven. I want you too know that I am all right. Monsieur de la Serre, Élise's papa, found me wen I saw you and said I could come live with him and Élise. He is a very nice man.
I am so sorry Papa. I know I ran away and was late. If I hadnt been maybe you would not be ded. I broke the pocket watch. I'm sorry for that to. I keep it with me all the time it makes me think of you.
I don't know who kild you but I want to find out. And I want too hit him really really hard. I know it won't bring you back but I bet I will feel better.
I hope Heven is nice for you and you are with Mama. M. de la Serre and Élise are very nice. Élise is my age and she is funy and smart but she gets me into trouble a lot. I know you would tell me not to blame her but its true!!!
It is time for me to wash up for supper. See I try to be good just like you would want me to.
Bye for now.
- I love you Papa.
It is with chagrin that I must inform you that I am languishing in the Bastille. Yes, you read that correctly. I hope you would believe me if I told you that the charges are quite false.
I have been forced to relive the horror of stumbling upon the death of a father. I wonder why God would so despise me that He would inflict such a fate upon me. He robbed me first of your guidance, and then that of M. de la Serre, who took the utmost care of me when I was alone in this world. To stand accused of his murder is more painful that being in this place.
The greatest pain of all is the fact that I have heard nothing from Élise. Can it be that she believes these preposterous charges? Does she not know that I loved her father, and was to him beyond words? I would have thought better of her, but my only other choice is to believe that she is in danger from the same monsters who slew her beloved Papa. And that, I refuse to do.
I vow upon your grave and that of M. de la Serre that I will escape this unjust imprisonment and find the men responsible for the murders of you both.
I continue to hope there is a God and a Heaven, if only to be comforted that you and M. de la Serre are both in a better place. But as the days pass here, I find my faith fading.
I still have your pocket watch, my dear father. Like me, it is broken, but stubborn, and still keeps going.
Once I confessed to you that, while I earnestly hoped you were in Heaven, I had mighty doubts as to whether this was indeed such a place. Since that time, I have killed a man of the cloth—corrupt though he was—and have beheld a place right here in Paris so monstrous, so inhumane, that I cannot believe a just deity would abide its existence.
It is called the Cour des Miracles, and was ruled by a man so despicable he would order limbs, tongues, and eyes removed so that the beggars who paid him tribute would rouse more hearts to pity. You were an Assassin yourself. I wonder, did you, as I was forced to, ever stand by and watch, unable to interfere, as a man's foot was removed simply because of one man's greed?
It was only by keeping the mission uppermost in my mind that I was able to watch this. The trail of this poor man's blood led me where I needed to go, but my heart and stomach were both sick at the sight.
It was, therefore, with not a little righteous joy that I eliminate this Roi de Thunes. I am now closer to discovering who murdered M. de La Serre, and I must be content with that.
Another Rois de Thunes has arisen to take his place—one who used me to topple the late Roi. His name is the Marquis de Sade, and he has a most unsavory reputation. Have I eliminated the fox from the henhouse, only to allow a ferret entrance? Knowing de Sade's ... predilections ... one might think so. I do not know, and have no wish to find out.
I've done my duty, but it seems that for every answer, I find more questions. How I miss you, Father. You might have helped me make sense of all this. Never has the weight of your death and that of M. de la Serre weighed more heavily upon me than this moment.
I miss you so very much.
I was raised as de la Serre's own son after your murder, and I grew to love his daughter as much more than a sister. She is beautiful, and fiery, and fierce, and has a terrible habit of getting us both into—and out of—scrapes.
I wasn't sure, but now I know that she loves me as well. Perhaps I'll never be able to hold all her heart; it is too filled with many other dreams and deeds and adventures. But she'll have all of mine. And our children will be raised to remember and honor what both of their fathers stood for—the best of both Assassin and Templar. Unity.
I wonder, did you, in all your adventures, ever pause and think, "What in God's name happened to that man?"
I am thinking that about a man named Maximilien Robespierre right now.
In his early days of politics, he made eloquent speeches protesting the execution of criminals. He who once said that fanaticism was—if I recall correctly—"born of the monstrous union between ignorance and despotism," is now a fanatic of the highest caliber himself. The guillotine is working 'round the clock these days, cheered on loudly by those wearing or bearing the tricolor.
Is this, then, why the Brotherhood exists? So that we can cull those who drift from a path of light into a path of obsession and slaughter? And at moments like this, when I despair, I wish with all my heart that you and M. de la Serre had been able to bring about peace between Assassin and Templar. For there are irrational people on both sides of this secret war we wage.