I'm back! Who missed me? Did you miss me? How about you? I got bored with Archer and Richtofen, but God forbid I should stop writing all together! I decided to just take a break for a while. And so it was that I wrote... this! It'll be a series of assassination one-shots that don't have any particular plot. I will still update my other stories though! Oh, and this is the odd first chapter, the really cinematic one. The rest will be in first person. Without further ado, please, enjoy!
Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad stole through the crowd, his traditional white robes blending with the scholars'. His target was the herald, standing on his small podium that resembled a gallows. The man was preaching of assassins, not the true words that Altaïr knew, the ones telling of defending the Holy Land. No, he preached of murderers that rampaged through crowds, killing civilians and Templars alike. He spoke of heartless men who massacred towns, burned cities to the ground.
The lone assassin climbed up a nearby church, noting an archer giving him a glare. However, the man did not raise his weapon; Altaïr had given him no reason for distress. Of course, the officer wasn't technically supposed to allow men on the roofs, but he would make an exception for the man who looked dangerous. So, the assassin perched upon the large iron cross… and listened.
"These… men believe that they are noble. They believe that what they do is right, is just! However, their leader, the treacherous Grandmaster Assassin, has taught them in the ways of the unprincipled killers. He has ruined the men who could be doing right in the world; he has spoiled them. And for that, he must be eliminated! All of his soldiers must be eliminated! Every single one of them MUST BE CLEANSED!" He finished his roaring and stepped off of the podium, walking through the crowd, which parted to let him through. Altaïr waited, noticing the man walk over to a narrow alley. The Master Assassin leapt forward off of the cross and landed in a barrow of hay, climbing out of it and startling the seemingly mindless citizens out of their heads.
The figure in the white robes gently pushed the people out of his way, seeing the herald turn a corner. Throwing caution to the wind, he began running, knocking bystanders out of his way as he did so. Altaïr was in hunter-mode, and he planned to deliver a quick death to his prey. All who slander the brotherhood must die; this is the truth that all assassins knew.
He was now in the clear, although he had lost sight of his target. He dashed through the passage, pushing off of the wall in order to keep his momentum. The herald was strolling down the alley, onto the longer part of the "L" shaped passage. The assassin kept running, unsheathing his hidden blade in anticipation. He knew what would happen now; what always happened when he ran after a target. The herald turned, hearing his footsteps pounding against the ground. Altaïr was never sure why the men ran; did the herald see his blade? Did he fear divine intervention from the lies he so confidently shouted?
Whatever the reason, the tale-teller began to run, his brown robes flapping behind him as his sandaled feet slapped against the dirt-covered ground. The assassin increased his speed, his left arm extended to the side and back of him as he tried to catch up with his prey. The herald was screaming… fool. If he was smart, he would not expend the energy he could be using to escape on shouting. Altaïr always waited for these opportunities; the times when the prey made their mistake were the times when the hunter struck. And so it was that this hunter struck his prey down; the assassin's white robes flew behind him as he leapt through the air, his blade piercing the man's neck.
Altaïr smiled, realizing what was happening now. He and his Order had the ability to enter a trance-like state with their kills; in the instant before their prey died, the hunters spoke to them.
"W…why?" the herald asked, his voice weaker than it had been on the podium. How ironic, thought Altaïr, that the man who used his voice for profit would lose it in the end.
"You spoke lies about my noble Order. I do not know what you were told, I do not know who told you, but it was your responsibility to discern between the truth and lies. Your time has come. Are there any last words that you would like to preach? Any last questions you would ask?"
"No… simply… goodbye, noble assassin." The herald's body shook one last time before he groaned… and died.
"May your words be forgotten. Rest in peace." Altaïr gently shut the man's eyes and came back to reality. He placed the man's body on the ground, retracted his blade, and calmly walked back out into the crowded marketplace. Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad had done his duty, for himself… and for his Order.
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