MHC: Hello again. I'm back with yet another Assassin's Creed fanfiction… the big twist on this one is that it was actually for school! I used mostly my own characters… you'll learn more about them later. I apologize for the length, sometimes once I start, I can't stop. XD

Have fun.

(Tell a story about a day in which everything went wrong.)

D'un air Piteux

(Ruefully)

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Israel, the 12th century, 1193 AC. One year ago, the Third Crusade ended and the assassins' still hunt for those who dare to corrupt the peace within the Holy Land. Laying waste to their enemies swiftly and quickly, they protect the tranquility they fought so hard to beseech. Though most of the assassins' stories are equivalent to one another, some deserve to be told… and today we will explore one tale that changed a conceited assassin's life for the better.

There are many things that could go through your head in a critical situation. As Hilel lay on the ground in a pool of his own blood, groaning at the throbbing pain in the back of his head and the gaping wound in his side, he thought to himself:

Where am I and how did I get here?

It was a day like any other for an assassin like Hilel; get assigned a mission, enter a city unnoticed, gather information and eliminate your target. Today's victim is, or rather would have been, Girard Ciel: a conceited nobleman and slave-trader far too high on his superiority. Day-by-day, he snatches pedestrians off the street and sells them as servants for some extra pocket-change, which he uses to try and expand his ever-so-small empire. According to rumor, Girard was stationed within the sewers of Acre, transporting slaves underground to avoid any unessicary conflicts.

Earlier that morning, after blending in with a group of scholars and sneaking into Acre (thanks to the signature hooded white robes of the assassins, the similarities were uncanny, save for his weapon holsters and thick brown belt over lapping his blood-red sash), Hilel made a stop by the Assassin's Bureau for more information. He dropped down from the small entrance in the vine-coated roof, landing without a sound. Hearing the light ring of wind-chimes, he strolled into the opposing section of the bureau.

He entered the incense-smelling room and turned to a long counter in front of a book shelf. Behind the counter stood a man in navy robes, quill grasped in his tan spider-like hands, jotting down something in the musty pages of a book.

"Safety and peace, Rafik." Hilel greeted the elder man, earning a kind nod in return.

"Upon you as well, my brother," Rafik spoke in a gentle, aged tone; his eyes never leaving the book in front of him. "The birds have brought me word of your mission. What may I assist you with this morning?"

"I've come to collect the head of the nobleman Girard Ciel," He leaned a hand on the counter, "Have you any information that is of use?"

Rafik raised from his hunched-over position, "The man is young," He inquired, stroking his long, grey beard. "But he is brutal. None have passed under his judgment without relentless trial… that or being shipped off as a slave. That is why most fear him." Rafik nodded slowly, "Fortunately, his rein is minimal, and if dealt with quickly, he will not cause much of a disturbance."

"Quickly it shall be done, then." A smug smile graced under the shadow of Hilel's hood.

"Don't be so arrogant, boy," Rafik snapped, "The man may be a proud fool, but be forewarned, he is far more hazardous than he seems." His aphoristic eyes narrowed dangerously, "His guards are like attack dogs; trained only to rip apart and annihilate whatever they see as a threat."

"Rafik, relax!" Hilel laughed, unstirred by the warning. "I am but a blade in the crowd… I shall be rid of the target as swift as the wind."

Rafik raised a finger and hissed, "Heed my words, do not take such a task so lightly. The smallest mishap would result in the entire mission to be a complete failure. What would become of your pride then, hm?"

Hilel was about to protest, but was abruptly cut off as the smell of cinnamon infiltrated his senses.

"Leave him be, Rafik. He'll learn his lesson eventually, anyway." Both men turned to see the figure of a woman, wearing almost identical attire to Hilel, in the separate room's entrance.

"Ah, Karim. I trust your mission has gone accordingly?"

She took a few ghost-like strides toward Rafik, Hilel taking an automatic step back, and pulled out a bloody feather tucked into her sash. "Acel Faris of the Paladin has been eliminated." She stuck it back in and Rafik clapped his hands together in mirth.

"And in such short time! Well done!" The man reached below the counter and pulled out a thick, battered black book. "You didn't cause much of a stir either," He murmured as he flipped through the book's pages. After a moment he stopped, retrieved his quill and scribbled something down.

"Thank you for your praise," She smiled, "But I do what I have to do—There's really no need."

"How modest," Hilel mumbled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"So," Karim turned to her predecessor, ignoring the latter's earlier comment. "I've caught word you're after Girard Ciel, the part time slave-trader?"

Taken aback, he spluttered, "I… how—?"

"News travels fast," She gestured toward the roof. "And the Assassin's Bureau isn't totally sound-proof."

Hilel twitched—something he did whenever he was annoyed—and glared down into Karim's emerald eyes, shrouded in the shadow of her hood. And they though he was smug… "It is not of your concern. Unless you've something important to tell me—"

"Oh but I do!" She chimed in merrily, "I'm sure you'll find this of use…" Reaching into a pouch hooked onto her belt, she pulled out a folded piece of paper. "As you know, Girard's slave trafficking occurs in the sewers… the area were he keeps the slaves, however, is in a warehouse in the middle district with a drain leading into the trafficking site. The place is heavily guarded and it will be tricky getting in, so I got you this." She handed him the paper and he took it. Unfolding it, he skimmed over the various shapes and lines drawn accordingly. "It's a map detailing the guards' rounds and the easiest ways to get around them unnoticed." She tapped the paper and winked, "This ought to save you a pick-pocket."

"My thanks, Karim," He folded the paper back up and stuck it in his own pouch. "However, you should really learn to keep out of other people's affairs. I think I can handle myself." Karim's smile immediately dropped.

"Karim," Came the voice of Rafik, and she twisted to face him, "You should return to Masyaf. I'm sure Malik would like to hear of your success." She nodded and turned back sharply to Hilel.

"You're two years older than me," Karim jeered, glaring daggers up at him. "So start acting like a 19 year-old should and get your conceited head out of the play-pen before you hurt yourself." She gave a quick nod to Rafik. "Safety and peace," Karim shoved past Hilel and with one final glare she scoffed, "I doubt the same will apply to you," and left.

Hilel blinked. Who knew she could be so frightening?

"You should get to your mission," Rafik prodded in amusement, "I suppose you've grown tedious of the 'play-pen', yes?" The young assassin twitched and Rafik chuckled. "Climb the church on the west side of the middle district for a good view of the area."

With nothing but a string of curses and a flushed face, he left Rafik to obtain facts about his target. Afterwards, Hilel hurried to complete his mission—within hours, he had gathered more than enough lore on Girard through rumor and background chatter alone. Apparently, the nobleman was the main topic of the city gossip these days. The actual knowledge gathering confirmed more than half of what he heard. When he returned to Rafik in the bureau, Hilel piled the information on him immediately, ecstatic about the challenge the locals stated Girard and his men were.

"I've also learned he has his own quarters in that warehouse of his; he retreats to it to arrange a caravan to get the slaves out of the city." He stated in excitement, and Rafik nodded solemnly, inditing every word as rapidly as he could. He had asked Hilel often these past moments to calm down and talk slowly, but he was frequently drowned out with more and more facts.

'It is a blessing my mind is as keen as it has always been…' Rafik mentally rolled his eyes. "Well then, Hilel," He announced, still scrawling things into his book, "You have given me just the right amount of information on Girard. Who knew such a low-ranked man could cause such an uproar?" Rafik wondered aloud; finally finishing his documentation. Reaching under the counter, he pulled out a single white feather and passed it to the young man. "I give you leave to go. Be sure to take caution, brother—danger lies in the most blatant of places."

"There's some encouragement," Hilel shrugged and smiled, "Honestly, what could go wrong?"

Oh how he rues to moment he said that. He caught himself in his own jinx of a web and he feared he was stuck in it. Curse him. Curse himself and his stupidity! Sighing, Hilel though back onto just moments before…

Camouflaged within the shadow of a tower, Hilel stared intently on the warehouse before him. According to the prattling of an informer, Girard Ciel was to meet with a prince of some sort and afterwards would retire to his quarters to plan out his newest deal. With, levity flashing in his eyes, Hilel scanned the streets for his target. The sun was at its highest point in the sky, signaling it was noon; the informer was correct, as Hilel saw a man on a snow white horse riding next to a chain-mail clad knight.

Dashing foreword, he vaulted off the building and landed right on the edge of another one. As he drew closer, he saw the two men were being surrounded by bulky and heavily armed guards. Upon concentrated surveillance, he saw that the man riding the horse had ruffled sandy-blonde hair and bared a royal symbol on his long, maroon cape.

'Evidently, that is the prince,' Hilel nodded to himself; approaching further before glancing at the opposite man. 'And he must be my target.' The other man's skin, under his rusted armor and chain-mail, was very lightly tanned, and judging by the mixed accents in his voice he was an obvious blend of Arabic and French. He was equipped with a spear in a holster, and this threw Hilel off a bit. One thing that stood out more than anything else was his shocking brown-tainted red hair—never had Hilel seen such a peculiar mix of race, and this only made him want to move in closer. If his hunch was correct, the man's eyes would the typical Arabic brown.

As he advanced, he started to overhear their obnoxiously loud conversation.

"…and I certainly hope your slaves are truly in top shape." The prince pressed in a haughty English tone, "Anything below perfect is too embarrassing for my demeanor, Girard."

Hilel Smiled. 'So my surmise was accurate,'

Girard exclaimed vainly, "But of course my liege! Your uniform perfection is only what I hope to improve ten-fold! In fact, I shall make the extra effort and gather only the finest of men, and women," He paused to wink before continuing, "so when you make your visit tomorrow you may choose whomever you wish to appease your every whim!"

"I certainly hope so," The Prince said, "Until tomorrow, then." With that, the prince trotted off, his guards following, leaving Girard at the entrance of his warehouse, waving avidly. A moment afterwards, he slipped into the prison-like holding area.

'Now's my chance,'

Looking over the rooftop of the warehouse, Hilel counted the seven archers stationed on top of it. They surrounded an open passage with a ladder leading down it; no doubt it was the rooftop entrance into the fortress. He paused, waiting patently for the opportune moment to strike. Eyes training on the men intently, he readied himself. The second all seven of the archers turned away from the opening, he sprung from the edge of the roof, and with an eagle-like motion, dived in between two of the guards and soundlessly rolled into the open hatch. Hilel clung to the ladder; quickly switching to the other side of it here it was hidden in a shadow.

"What was that??" He heard a bewildered archer ask.

"Probably just a bird. Filthy mongrels can't seem to find business elsewhere."

After a silent sigh of relief, he surveyed the area under him only for his eyes to widen in shock. There were guards and cages everywhere. No wonder they didn't see him dangling from above, there was so much commotion about the place; prisoners crying out, men shouting orders and the clanks of metal as guards escorted prisoners through a large passage into a deep tunnel.

'That must be the sewer.' Just then, Hilel caught eye of dramatically bright red-hair.

"That selfish brat!" Girard cursed, shoving a poor old man out of his way as he stalked up a flight of stairs, followed by two large guards. "How dare he propose I only work of withered elders?! Hardly any are of the sort! I keep my slaves healthy… the healthier the servant, the wealthier the buyer, right?!" He screeched at a guard and the bulky man nodded wordlessly. As Girard rambled on Hilel started to scale the ceiling; fortunately, there were copious amounts of cracks just the right size of his hands and he crawled over to the furiously carping man.

Hilel looked balefully at his left hand, right at the stub of where his ring finger used to be. The initiation into a full-fledged assassin was simple: watch your own finger get severed (Getting there was the only real hard part… the hours of throbbing and numbness where the ghost of your flange used to preside is enough to bawl about as well.). When Hilel, only the tender age of 14, stared in horror and bid his last goodbyes to the ligament, he practically but his tongue off in the process of trying not to scream. It was even worse when, about two years later, he held Karim's hand as she glared readily down at her own finger. She never cried since.

The severing was absolutely necessary, because with all the weapons on an assassin, there was one that was more important than the rest: the hidden blade. The ring finger was removed to allow better access to the blade, and a simple but effective way to assassinate. Heel of the hand to the neck, twist of the wrist, instant fatality. Easy said, easier done.

Back to the matter at hand, Hilel watched closely as Girard rounded a corner that probably followed down a hallway. Fortunately, Hilel was right above the top of the stairs and he dropped down with a gentle clink on his weapons but it was stifled by the bustle on the main floor.

Immediately, he pressed his body against the wall. Peering around the corner, he saw his guess was correct as there was a long red-carpeted hallway. Girard Ciel and his guards were approaching a door at the far end. Although the guards were large and menacing ("Like attack dogs," to quote Rafik), they were walking on either side of Girard. Hilel smiled. Practically effortless.

Pushing off the wall, he turned the corner and made a muted sprint toward his target. He closed in quickly, and when he was within a yard of Girard, he leapt upwards. The assassination would be easier this way. His wrist twitched and his blade retracted with a 'shink'.

Suddenly, his stomach dropped and a very bad feeling engulfed him.

In that moment, time somehow slowed down. With one swift motion, Girard had done and about-face, drawn his spear and hurled it at the assassin. Hilel flinched and leaned heavily to the right. Just as he thought he dodged the spear, a burning pain ripped through his flank and he let out a cry of agony. He fell to the floor, gripping his side.

"So, you've finally come, assassin," Girard sneered as he approached Hilel with his hands folded behind his back. The young assassin pushed himself up with his arms, but immediately went back down when a steel-toed boot connected with his stomach. "Stay down," Girard hissed "Or I'll make you,"

"Lowlife…" Hilel spluttered, straining to get back up. Girard gave him a gentle push with his foot, rolling Hilel onto his back forcing and the assassin to look up.

'It seems I was correct,' Hilel thought bitterly as he glared into Girard's cold brown eyes.

Leaning over, his target gripped him by the collar, lifting him off of the ground with ease and walked toward something. "Well it seems I am in luck," He muttered spitefully, "An assassin will get quite the attention of buyers; I might even make a small fortune off you." He stopped walking and Hilel turned his head to see they were at the top of the stairs again, over-looking the warehouse's first floor.

"Gaspard!" Girard called, and a man in black armor, with red-tinted brown hair and skin shockingly similar to Girard's looked up.

"Yes brother?" The man called back and Hilel's eyes widened. Ciel had a brother?

"See to it our… 'guest'," He gestured toward the assassin, "Gets the best cell we've to offer. I need him in mint condition for tomorrow when the prince returns."

At that, Hilel gripped the death-lock on his cloak and attempted to wriggle violently out of the other man's grasp. "I swear I'll have you and your brother's heads before I am ever shipped to do bidding for a pompous master!" He snarled, punching and kicking at the other man.

"We'll see, assassin," With one last smirk Girard pulled back and threw Hilel off the ledge. If it was one thing about jumping or being thrown off of something, Hilel had acquired an extra special attribute for just these occasions. A reaction.

In one brisk movement, Hilel grabbed a throwing knife from the holster on his shoulder blade and flung it at Girard. "An eye for an eye," He smiled.

Girard recoiled, eyes wide and frozen in shock. Neither of the guards had time to take the hit for him. When he finally moved, it was in between a second too soon and a second too late—the knife was headed for his throat, but Girard shifted just in time to let it embed itself in his shoulder. With a surprised shout, he sunk to the floor pain. Hilel snickered but his laughter came to an abrupt halt as the back of his head connected with the hard wooden floor of the warehouse.

Hilel was good at a quick reaction during falls, but he'd forgotten his landings need much, much more work…

The pain shot through his body like a bolt of lightning and he cried out, rolling onto his stomach to take the pressure off his back and neck. Yes, there are many things that could go through your head in a critical situation. Ruefully, Hilel hissed out, "Oh yeah… that's what happened…"

Hilel wanted to get up and kill that loathsome excuse for a nobleman and laugh as he watched his body convulse on the ground, but judging by the way his vision had blurred and was fading in and out, he would faint soon. He heard the half-stifled shouts of Girard, Gaspard and various guards in the background, they probably figured he was dead by now and went to aid their master. Hilel twitched and silently prayed Girard died a very slow and painful death; whether by his hand or not.

Looking down at himself—or at least trying to, since it was quite difficult in such an awkward position—he saw the blood seeping out of his wound and pooling around his body.

"Ugh," he moaned, the pain now a dull numbness in his side, "If that stains I swear I'll gouge Ciel's eyes out with a quill covered in lemon juice…" He trailed off, feeling sleep engulf him. The last thing Hilel noticed before fainting was the shadow of a woman over him and the faint scent of cinnamon.

--

'What's that sound?' Wondered Hilel; absent-mindedly listening to the soft ring of wind chimes in the background. As he slowly came to, he noticed a gentle poking and tugging at his skin near his stomach. Opening his eyes, he saw he was in the first room of the Assassin's Bureau lying on his side on a soft mat.

Finding his voice, he drawled out, "Am I dead…?"

"Oh look, the daredevil is awake," Hilel heard a sarcastic voice from behind him. "Try not to sit up, you lost a lot of blood."

"…Karim?" He turned his head groggily, to see none other than Karim, her hood down and her shoulder-length brown hair was tucked behind her ears. She seemed to be sewing something, as Hilel's vision didn't recognize exactly what it was. "Embroidery?" He scoffed, "I find you more of a knitting individual."

She smirked, "Well it is much more enjoyable when you're sewing skin." Eyes wide, Hilel looked down. Sure enough, she was stitching up the laceration he received while trying to assassinate Girard Ciel. "Oh how the mighty have fallen…" She said more to herself than anyone else.

Twitching, Hilel ignored the spiteful comment. "I thought you left for Masyaf,"

"And leave you here to make disarray of you mission?" Karim grinned, "Maybe you should have listened to Rafik's warning."

He heard the elder man in the other room mumble something along the lines of "Foolish teenagers…"

"Besides," She continued, "Had it not been for me you would've bled to death in that warehouse. And if you survived, you'd be giving the prince a pedicure before tomorrow evening." She gave his arm a pat and he looked down to see she had just finished stitching him up. "Fortunately, the wound wasn't too deep, and since I started fairly soon, there are hardly any chances of it scarring."

Hilel nodded and for a moment and slowly sat up. He was silent, watching Karim shuffle around for something behind her, until… "Incompetent lecher." Almost instantaneously, she stopped and turned around—the look of a deranged serial killer of her face. In her had was a small glass vile filled with a clear liquid. "Erm…" Hilel muttered nervously, "Karim, what is that?"

Without a response, Karim dumped it onto Hilel's, stitches and the young assassin howled in pain. "For what it's worth, a lecher is a man." She growled, watching her predecessor squirm on the floor in agony.

'It burns! It burns! What in the Holy Land is that?!"

"Rubbing alcohol," She gave what was left of the vile a swish, "It's used to kill the bacteria that causes infection." Reaching behind herself again, she pulled out a tin canister and opened it to reveal a gelatin-like substance. Sticking her finger in it she swiped out a dollop of the matter and Hilel, having recovered from the stinging, tensed. "Relax, it's just an aloe salve," She assured before gently rubbing it into his skin.

"…Thank you Karim," She glanced up to see an abnormally kind smile on Hilel's face, and felt her face heat up. "I apologize for my cruel words earlier,"

"That is so unlike you. I'd think you a different person if I weren't in front of you right now," Karim looked him over, "Why the sudden change in attitude?"

Hilel shrugged, "I don't know… I was arrogant, and until today, I failed to realize that being too head-strong can get you in quite the fix. I owe you, and Rafik," He raised his voice for a moment, earning a grunt from the other room, "my apologies and thanks. I'm lucky to have made it out alive."

Karim stared in awe, "…who are you and what have you done to Hilel?"

He laughed, but stopped when it stung his side. "Really… I think I've learned my lesson." A look of vengeance flashed over his face, "But I doubt Girard Ciel has learned his," Hilel grinned wickedly, "His life is mine tonight!" Karim gave him an agitated look and his smile dropped, "That is, of course, after I've rested."

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MHC: Wow! This was long… Anyway, I decided I'd clear up a little something about my characters (the villains I mean). I haven't started their actual story yet so I don't want to leave anyone in the dark.

Girard Ciel means "strong spear from Heaven" which refers to his weapon of choice… the Heaven bit is quite off, though. Gaspard Ciel means "treasurer from Heaven" (Gaspard is an interpretation of "Jasper" which is Persian for "Treasurer"); the name is precise to his character as he is very greedy but he has a deep love for his younger brother (not like that, perverts) which is why he's working for him. Acel Faris of the Paladin, who is briefly mentioned, means "adherent of a nobleman knight". You'll learn more about him in upcoming fanfics.

Well I hope you all enjoyed this! I worked very hard on it so I'd appreciate positive reviews (that do NOT include netspeak or flames).

Safety and Peace.