Alain Lausard was born of noble birth and lived most of his young life as a member of the aristocracy until the French Revolution; where the French people rose up against the monarchy. While his family was executed Lausard managed to escape and lived in poverty as a thief in Paris until he was caught stealing a loaf of bread and sentenced to death.
While locked up in prison Lausard and many of the other prisoners were recruited by Napoleon Bonaparte to bolster the numbers of the French Army. As he was trained in swordsmanship and horse riding during his youth his talent was quickly noticed and he quickly became a Sergeant. From hunting down revolutionaries in the gutters of Paris to kidnapping former aristocracy and fighting in battles from Egypt to Poland, Lausard fights not only for his emperor and his country but also to try and restore his honour and pride.
Battle vs. Haytham Kenway (by Wassboss)
Sentry duty. Almost always a dull affair, standing in the freezing cold and squinting into the darkness in case of attack from the enemy. Tonight, was no different although Alain Lausard is silently grateful the wind has died down to at least make it bearable. And at least it gave him some time alone with his thoughts. He ponders, as he often does when he’s alone the strange circumstances of his situation, a nobleman, turned thief, turned soldier. Would the men he called comrades and friends still accept him if they knew he once belonged to the aristocrats they had despised in the days before the Revolution? Lausard is shaken from his musings at the sound of footsteps approaching. From the darkness steps Napoleon Bonaparte himself, flanked by two guards. Lausard is surprised to see him but not completely shocked, Bonaparte sometimes visits the sentries to try and boost morale. “Any sign of trouble solider?” the Corsican asks.
“Nothing tonight General Bonaparte.”
“Excellent. Keep up the good work.” With that he goes to check on the next sentry, leaving Lausard alone once more. He checks his watch and sees that it is almost nine. He frowns, the next sentry should’ve have been here by now to relieve him. It’s at this moment he hears what sounds like a struggle, coming from the direction Bonaparte and his guards had walked off in. Peering into the darkness he can’t make out anything and realises that investigating the noise means leaving his post, a potential court martial offence. But equally if he doesn’t investigate and it turns out to be an ambush he’ll also be punished. Torn between the two options Lausard eventually makes his mind of and goes to investigate the disturbance.
As he gets closer the noises become louder and he quickly recognises the sound of steel on steel. Kicking his way through the undergrowth he comes across the body of one of Napoleon’s guards, throat slit. Now certain his general is in trouble his pace quickens and he burst into a clearing where the second guard also lies dead. Further away he can make out the features of Bonaparte who is struggling with a mysterious figure. Suddenly the figure ducks down and plunges something into the Corsican’s stomach and he gasps in pain. Snarling in anger, Lausard jams his rifle butt into his shoulder and fires at the figure but in his haste the bullet only grazes his hat. Nevertheless, the figure is startled and runs off into the forest. Lausard rushes over to Napoleon who is hunched over. “General Bonaparte are you alright?” he asks.
“Yes, yes. Did you see where that assassin went?” Lausard looks around but the mysterious man is nowhere to be seen. “Sorry sire, I didn’t,” he replies.
“Damn it. Well anyway we need to get to the medical tent so I can get my injury treated.” At that moment a there is a flash in the darkness, a loud bang and Lausard throws himself to the ground as a bullet whistles over them. His head snaps around but whoever fired the shot has disappeared again. He helps Bonaparte up, this time checking around him constantly to try and anticipate the next attack. He feels the air shift above him rolls out of the way, just as a figure slams into the ground, blade sinking into the earth. Lausard puts himself between the assassin and his general as the man straightens up. Haytham Kenway looks at the pair, a feint hint of annoyance on his face.
“General Bonaparte get back to the main camp. I’ll deal with this assassin.” Lausard says and draws his cavalry sabre from it’s scabbard. Haytham draws his own sword and lunges at the Frenchman with a stab but it is batted away fairly easily. Haytham continues to press and force Lausard on the defensive, not giving him a chance to retaliate. He does however find an opening after parrying one of the attacks and slashes diagonally making the Englishman have to take a step back for the first time in the fight. Haytham responds with another stab but Lausard is expecting it and pins the sword to the ground with his own blade and driving a kick into Haytham’s chest, disarming him of the sword. Now that his opponent is seemingly defenceless Lausard swings his sword in a powerful downward chop but Haytham raises his hand and his hidden blade pops out, deflecting the sword away and slams into him with his elbow. The momentum of the blow takes them both to the ground and Haytham straddles the Frenchmen, punching the hidden blade down at his throat.
Lausard grabs his hand before he can and brings his knee up to hit him in the crotch. Gasping in pain Haytham stabs the hidden blade into the offending knee, twisting and dragging it down. It’s Lausard’s turn to cry out in pain and he instinctively kicks out with his good leg, throwing the Templar off him. Haytham recovers quickly and advances on Lausard who scrambles backwards desperately. As he does so his hand claps around the butt of a rifle and he swings it around wildly, hoping that it has a bayonet affixed to the end of it. Thankfully it does and Haytham is forced to lean back as it whistles just past his throat.
Lausard jabs the rifle forward to keep his opponent at bay as he scrambles around for his pistol, which has become stuck between his body and the ground, with his spare hand. Haytham lets a stab slide between his body and his arm and clamps it down once the blade has passed, trapping the rifle and yanking it out of Lausard’s grip. He turns the weapon around and is about to use it to stab his downed opponent, just as Lausard manages to free his pistol. Taking aim, he fires a bullet right into Haytham’s chest, ripping through his clothes and burying itself in his chest. The Englishman topples backwards and hits the ground hard, his breathing heavy and laboured from the mortal wound.
“You have no idea what you’ve enabled do you?” he says. “Napoleon Bonaparte will cause nothing but chaos in his quest for glory. A mere solider like you couldn’t possibly understand what is at stake here.” Lausard carefully reloads his pistol and fires another bullet, this time into Haytham’s skull. With his opponent dead and the adrenaline wearing the blood loss from his leg wound is making him weak. He sees lights flashing in the distance and sound of crashing footsteps as a group of Dragoons burst into the clearing, led by Rocheteau.
“Alain! Are you alright?” he says worriedly rushing over to his friend.
“My leg is badly wounded. But I’ll survive don’t you worry.”
“I see you took care of that assassin. You saved Bonaparte’s life you know, you’re a hero Alain.”
“Not a hero old friend, just a soldier doing his job.” With that Alain slumps forward the blood loss finally making him pass out. Rocheteau calls for the other dragoons to help him carry Lausard to the medical tent, leaving the body of Haytham Kenway for the creatures of the forest to feast on.
Winner: Alain Lausard
This was a remarkably close battle and many of the advantages each had over the other was slim at best. Haytham had the better firearm but was the inferior marksman and Lausard brought the better melee weapons but was the inferior swordsman. Lausard ultimately won because he was the more experienced head on fighter of the two whereas Haytham was more reliant on stealth and simply didn’t have the breadth of combat experience that Lausard had fighting in the Napoleonic wars.