Hey there!
I had this idea for a story awhile ago and never really wrote it out. This was originally going to be an original story not centered around the Assassin's Creed storyline but I got the game a couple weeks ago and decided that it fit PERFECTLY. So, lucky me, I loved the game (of course!) and decided to write this in the world of the game!
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story except the OCs and the plot of this particular story. Altair, the basic background, and any other future characters introduced most likely belong to Ubisoft (sadly....)
High noon.
The time of day when it happens.
The hangings' trial.
Peculiar as it was, the trial was after the deaths. A crowd gathered in front of the elevated wooden gallows, listening to an accuser speak of the supposed heinous crimes of those unlucky individuals whose bodies now hung in the air by a rope. Unfortunately for those three, their families were forced to watch as they clung tenaciously to life. Their necks just refused to break and their lives refused to end until the color of each one of their faces turned blue. Limbs flailing, fingers clawing uselessly at their throats, quiet sobs could be heard from sensitive individuals of the family making the scene even more horrid. They couldn't have been older than sixteen. Their deaths lasted for what seemed like hours. However gruesome the scene had become, the accuser kept prattling on and on, making up crimes.
Haltingly, he vividly described a rape and murder done by one of the individuals. An elderly woman fainted, to be caught by a son of hers and carried from the crowd. Several calls went up that the accuser should end it already, that these words were not meant for women's ears. The vulgarity of the description was astounding as the man continued, unabashed, to make up details of the event. However, he managed to rile the crowd up so they too wanted to see the individuals suffer again. Gesturing and pointing wildly, swishing his cape to and fro, he was completely unaware of the killer perched on a wooden slab in front of the bell of the bell tower. Like a predator, the killer fixed his eagle-like gaze on the accuser. Chills ran down the man's spine but he did nothing to show his uneasiness. Glancing around the crowd, the man didn't see anyone that could be fixing him with a gaze that strongly.
The killer on the bell tower stood in a relaxed stance, not bothering to hide behind a pillar or the bell itself. He enjoyed when people saw him coming for them, especially his assigned targets. The fear mixed with hatred mixed with pain was always satisfying to look upon. He always felt powerful in those moments. Always felt invincible. That is, until he was hit with a sword or punched by an assailant. In the moments before the kill, his prowess from past missions flooded into the front of his mind. A predatory smirk found it's way onto the assassin's lips. This was going to be very simple and very quick.
As the clock struck and the bell clanged, the assassin used the noise to mask the heavy thud of his descent into the crowd. Gently pushing his way to the front, he found he was running out of time. His insistent pushes turned to shoves at the crowd's reluctance to parting. Drawing a crossbow at the guards' approach, he fired straight into the first guards chest. The thin bolt flew straight into his chain mail and pierced all the way into his heart, killing him almost instantly. The second guard came forward with a sword drawn. With the crossbow, the killer hooked the edge onto the man's hip, yanking forward while twisting slightly and dislocating the joint with a loud pop. Finally being able to focus on his actual target, the accuser looked positively terrified. The assassin leaped into the air and time seemed to slow as the hidden blade at his left wrist revealed itself. The two men collided as the knife cleanly sliced through the accuser's jugular vein. He collapsed, his body now a lifeless shell as the assassin slid his eyes shut. For a moment, everything was completely silent.
Only for a moment.
As the other guards realized that their superior had been killed, they began rushing forward to attack the killer. Getting to his feet, the killer sprinted off of the raised platform of the gallows, guards in tow. Carefully dodging swords, arrows, and people, he jumped to a handhold on a building and began to climb swiftly. Leaping what seemed like impossible distances, he jumped from building to building getting out of sight of the pursuers. The killer flew across rooftops as he heard the guards still racing noisily after him. How they could run in all that metal, he couldn't fathom. Killing one last unfortunate in-the-way guard, he was boxed in by a door on one side and guards on the other. As if planned, the large wooden door opened moments after the assassin's arrival in front of it. Another slight smirk spread across his countenance as scholars filed out. He easily blended in with his white hood and red sash allowing an inconspicuous escape route back to the assassin's bureau.
Simple and easy.
----
Dropping down gracefully from the partially open ceiling of the bureau building, the assassin collapsed in a pile of cushions from fatigue. Murdering people always took a lot out of him, as it would any other human being. His muscles ached slightly from sprinting, leaping, and dodging the guards determined to kill him. He should have been much more sore but the line of his work saw to it that his muscles never went more than two weeks without another heavy exertion and even two weeks was a stretch. The job of saving civilians, killing idiotic guards, and interrogating people whipped the body into shape in no time. Even training to be an assassin wasn't easy or without pain for him. For any of the novices, really.
"So, the great Altair is finally tired, eh?" said a voice from the other room, quickly approaching the doorway. "I never thought I'd see the day!"
Altair groaned in annoyance. "Of course. Now, leave me be so I can rest, Irfan!"
"Sorry, friend. Your presence is needed in Masyaf immediately," Irfan responded, looking at the floor.
"They can wait."
"But--"
"Leave," Altair replied with a voice so forcefully quiet and a glare that could kill. He wasn't in the mood for an argument. Or any talking for that matter.
"Will you let me speak?" Irfan questioned exasperatingly.
"No."
Irfan sighed. "Alright, but when Al Mualim tans your hide, don't expect me to bail you out!"
"Of course not. It's not like I saved your life or anything," Altair mumbled from exhaustion with a hint of sarcasm. Sparing one last look at his friend, Irfan shook his head and left the room. Finally alone, Altair closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. After what seemed like endless minutes of trying to find a comfortable position, he gave up. Returning to a sitting position, Altair surveyed the room. The vibrant green ivy that draped over the walls and hung from the ceiling were really starting to get out of hand. Cream colored stone that the walls were made of were barely visible. The only thing the vines hadn't encroached on was the Creed's crest and the small fountain below it. Stretching, Altair got to his feet slowly. He walked into the other room where Irfan had his back to him, reading a book.
"So, Al Mualim wishes to see me?" He said loudly.
With a flinch, Irfan exclaimed, "Goodness, Altair! Give a man some warning before scaring the wits from him!" Altair waited patiently for his friend to recover, a crooked smile on his face. "Yes, he requested that as soon as you returned that you make the journey back. He didn't mention what it was about but it seems greatly important for you not to be able to rest. I suggest you take a horse on your journey, and a fast one at that."
"Alright," Altair's thoughts raged on what sort of subject his summons could be on. There couldn't have been a chance that he was demoted again. That would be just plain disgraceful! One fall from grace had been enough humiliation for an entire lifetime. "Though one more day to rest should be understandable, correct?"
"I suppose," Irfan reluctantly agreed.
"It's settled then," And with that, Altair walked from the room and climbed out onto the roof. The city should have calmed down enough for him to make another appearance.
"I don't call that resting!" Irfan's call reached his ears, making a smile spread across his face. Quickly hiding his amusement as smiling stupidly in a crowd was not the best thing for blending in, Altair looked among the shops of the center of town. He marveled that people couldn't see through the various scams of the marketplace.
"Assassin!" A shout went up from a random guard. Cursing quietly to himself, his muscles tensed as he began to sprint. One of the guards got to close and landed a slicing blow to his side. He stumbled slightly, feeling the blood slowly dripping down his side and the stinging of freshly sliced skin, but increased his speed. Rounding a corner and breaking their line of sight, he began to climb a building and quietly slipped into an open window ungracefully clutching his side and hitting the window frame with his arm. Altair's vision swam as he heard a feminine gasp of surprise and a pair of curious deep brown eyes met his before his world dissolved into blackness.
----
Anisah had never been one to expect anything abnormal to happen to her. The life she lived was one of absolute normality. Her family was an average, middle-class family. Her parents were both respectable people among many in their workplace. She didn't think, nor was given any reason not to think, that she was beautiful or intelligent or musical. Being free, absolutely free, was her one wish though many girls her age wished that. Most girls, including Anisah, also wished that their life was extraordinary but they all knew better. Nothing abnormal, weird, or even slightly out of place would happen in their lives. There was nothing that wasn't average about her life, even her thoughts. Except for the fact a strange, bleeding man had just entered and collapsed in her bedroom.
Walking slowly over to him, Anisah noticed the man laid on his uninjured side while the red stain grew rapidly. Alarm bells rang inside of her head as she hauled his immensely heavy body onto her bed, careful not to let his wound touch her sheets for fear of the blood staining that too. He needed help, and fast.
Running down her stairs to the front room of her family's house, she found a needle and thread and dashed back upstairs. Luckily, no one was home to ask her questions and slow her down. Before she could stitch the wound, she needed to remove his top layers. Blushing slightly at the thought, Anisah set to work. She removed his arsenal of weapons, from throwing knives to a heavy sword, first. Next, she removed his outer white robe and hood, leaving him in a tunic and pants. The face under the hood seemed tormented even in unconsciousness however it was very handsome. High cheekbones complemented with deep set eyes gave a mysterious, almost ageless look to him. With great difficulty, she hastily removed his tunic, knowing she was running out of time and seeing the extent of his wound bleeding freely. Gasping slightly at the amount of scars on his tanned chest, she gingerly set to work on her grim task. Carefully threading the needle into and out of his skin as he breathed deeply unnerved her. She absolutely hated the sight of blood and the thought of even slightly puncturing skin. After about twenty minutes, her task was complete. She tore strips from his tunic to bind the wound to prevent infection. As she bent down to tear another piece from it, she felt eyes on her back. Anisah turned around to see the man, awake and glaring with intelligent golden brown eyes at her actions.
"H-hello," she stuttered. He continued to glare so she continued on. "I sewed shut your wound and bound it using ripped pieces of your tunic. I'm sure I could sneak one of my father's away if you need another."
The man's eyes quickly darted around the room in a panic. "Where...?"
Anisah almost gasped at the hoarse huskiness of his voice. The dangerousness hidden beneath the surface of cold emotionless-ness was barely concealed. "Your other clothes are in the corner," she gestured to a folded pile. The man made a move to get up, wincing at the pain in his side. Anisah laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. His eyes met hers in a fierce glare as his hand shot up to grasp her wrist so hard that the bones clicked together. Biting her lip in a whimper of pain she ground out words coldly, "I'm trying to help. If you get up now, you'll just tear the wound right open again and never get back to where you came from. You'd be dead within ten mere minutes so I suggest you release my arm so that I could get you some water and food."
The man warily let go, allowing Anisah to spin on her heel and walk to her door. She paused, "Do you have a food preference?" The man shrugged. "I guess that means no," Anisah mumbled as she began thinking of food that could go missing without her family noticing. There wasn't much. Grabbing a few slices of fresh bread bought not even two days ago, an apple, and a clay jar of water, she carefully made her way back up the creaking stairs. However, when she got to her room, the man was gone; disappeared through an open window along with his clothes and weapons. She sighed.
Good riddance.
So!
What did you think? :D
Please inform me of any mistakes (other than the crossbow being in the wrong setting of 1191 AD. I am aware. It's just artistic interpretation.)
Thank you for reading!