December 21, 2012

I was laying on something flat and textureless, my body spread-eagled, limbs sticking out at strange angles. It was neither hot nor cool, yet it was undeniably there, although I had no memory of where I was or where I happened to be. One of the first things I noticed, however, was a strange stillness that had settled over me and my surroundings.

My eyes were shut tight, and my head was throbbing dully, like it did when I got out of the Animus. Not only that, but my right hand seemed to be the epicenter of waves of pain that were shooting up my arm; it felt like I had been burned, badly.

For a moment, I briefly wondered if I was experiencing the Bleeding Effect again, before the events of the Grand Temple came rushing back to me, in a nauseating, vivid swirl of colors. I grimaced, and cursed aloud.

"Does that mean I'm dead?" I wondered, still speaking out loud, reaching up my left hand to my still pulsating head and gently rubbing my temple.

"I'm afraid so, mio amico." said a masculine voice gruffly, with a thick Italian accent

I froze, and my eyes snapped open. I sat bolt upright, and looked around. Three people surrounded me as I sit in the floor of the Grand Temple, marble-white fog rolling in on us from all sides, the site of my death slowly fading from view. The three ancestors who's lived I have relived watched me carefully as I took in my surroundings.

Altaïr was wearing his Master Assassins' robes, and standing a little off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest. His hood was drawn up and his face clear of any emotion, both not unusual for him.

Ratonhnhaké:ton had his hood down, his dark, shoulder-length hair in a pony tail. His eyebrows were raised slightly, taking in the scene before him, his brown eyes trained on my own as they looked at him. I realized that there was something different about him, before I realized that he looked older than he had been in the memories I had relived.

Ezio was crouched next to about where my head was when I was laying down. He looked like he was in his early twenties again, maybe about twenty two, despite the fact he was wearing the gray robes he wore in his fifties. He was watching me intently, appraising me as I appraised him, a worried, almost pitying expression on his face.

So, of course, intelligently, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "You can speak English?"

Ezio shrugged. "Sort of. I can speak enough to communicate when necessary, but he's," he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Connor. "the only one that's completely fluent."

"It is an assassin's job to blend into every environment, so we were to learn the basics of many languages." Altaïr cut in flatly, much to my surprise.

"How are you feeling?" Connor asked cautiously, looking down at me.

I paused for a moment, evaluating. The white fog had completely obscured the Grand Temple from view, and the pain in my hand had faded to a dull ache. I shot a glance at it to see that it looked like it had indeed been burned, but before my very eyes, the burns were fading back into my normal skin tone.

"Headache-y?" I said slowly.

Connor nodded like he understood, shifting his weight from one leg to another. "It'll pass."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. I met the gaze of each ancestor, or at least what I assumed to be the gaze of Altaïr, as his hood was obscuring his eyes from view. Each of them seemed to be inspecting me as well. Eventually Connor and Altaïr exchanged a glance and moved over to me, each of them grasping one of my arms, and pulled me to my feet as Ezio stood.

"I don't understand." I said, my eyebrows drawn together, "Why are you all here?"

"We've come to collect you." said Ezio, sounding mildly surprised, like I had just asked about something that should have been obvious.

"Collect... me?" I repeated dumbly.

"You've done enough, Desmond." said Ratonhnhaké:ton gently, watching my face for my reaction.

"It's time to rest." Ezio added.

The three assassins turned towards a seemingly random direction in the fog and began to walk. Without hesitating I followed them. We walked in silence for a moment or so, the direction in which we were headed seeming to glow brighter and brighter, although not in an unpleasant way. The light seemed soft and comforting, in a bizarre sort of way.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"On." said Altaïr simply, without looking back.

Here's the latest story! I got such a positive response from Assassins Through the Ages that I've decided to start another series I've been tossing around in my mind for a little while, a collection of stories of the playable assassin characters and their thoughts and reactions when they were dead or dying. I decided to publish it in reverse chronological order, with the most recent death first (i.e, Desmond's death, obviously), and ending with the oldest death first. Because of this I am going to be putting the dates of the deaths at the very top in the beginning of each story, to make it easier for everyone to keep track. Most of these are canon, accept for Connor's, because we don't really know much about what happened for him past age twenty-eight.

Now, I know just about everyone has different views on what the afterlife may be like, or if there is even one at all, but please try to keep an open mind while reading these stories. I am writing this for fun, and not to open some big debate about what's going to happen after we die. Otherwise, please leave me a comment and tell me what you liked. I always appreciate getting feedback on my work.

And I know this chapter was kind of boring, but I promise you it will get more exciting soon. :)