Oh Arno, what have you done? I know we didn't part on the best of terms, but to go running to the Assassins? My father kept you away from them for a reason. Their Creed is like wine - sweet enough at first blush, and in moderation it makes life seem more bearable, but drink too deeply and you find naught but madness and anarchy.
No doubt they've already filled your mind with tales of how dreadful we Templars are, that we would make slaves of humanity and place our boots on the world's neck. You knew my father, and you know me - I can only pray that is enough to give the lie to those tales. My Order has turned against me, and I am hunted by those I once called friend. I could not bear it if you turned against me also.
Think of me and be well,