White robes and a hood rushed through the winding, grassy path leading up to his home. The assassin's guild of Masyaf, more like a castle, really. Recently, his mentor had sent a pigeon stating his urgency to have him back for a new mission. One of upmost importance. So, with a drop of sweat streaking down the master assassin's temple, he hurried on.
The doors to the massive castle slamed open. Another assassin, noticing the rushed man's presence, walked up to him.
"Altaïr, he is waiting for you upstairs." He said. The assassin, now known as Altaïr, gave no notice to his lesser brother. Not even slowing his pace as he ascended the rock stairs, soon reaching his destination to his most trusted and skilled mentor, Al Mualim. The elderly man stared out an immense window (more like the frame of one since there was no glass to go with it), his deep and wrinkled eyes heavy with the sight down below. Turning around, hands still clasped behind him, he found Altaïr, already on one knee, head down, an arm resting on his leg, the other at his side. He was simply, waiting. Waiting for his next mission.
"Rise, my child." said Al Mualim. Altaïr slowly stood.
"You're orders, sir?" he asked, head still bowed in respect.
"There is another one here who resides in this castle. I want you to go to them, they need guidance." The mentor replied. The younger man groaned.
"I thought this was important. But here you are, sending me out to help novices, of all people. Why can't someone else do it?" He snapped, arrogance seeping through his words.
"Because I command it of you Altaïr!" Al Mualim spat back. The assassin said nothing. The elder man sighed, walking over and placing a steady hand on his student's shoulder. "It is because I trust you with this task. Also, I fear no one else but you can make him listen."
"Fine, where can I find him?"
"He is likely where he always is, among the fellowship's books in the small tucked away corners. Find him, and continue his training." Altaïr nodded in response. As soon as his mentor turned his back, he left, setting out to his objective.
It didn't take long, to find the novice. Partly since the known library of assassins wasn't that big. But mostly because all Altaïr had to do was follow the murmured comments of other brothers who spoke things like,
"Why does he only read?"
"Shouldn't he be training?"
"At this rate, he'll never be a master assassin, or really anything above a novice."
"I heard he has escaped every trainer Al Mualim has sent on him."
They all seemed to flourish around a certain area. So, soon enough, after rounding another corner in the small maze Altaïr found you, the beginner he was sent to educate.
Looking at your clothing, there wasn't much to see. The standard white robes, leather belt, and bracer. But the most noticeable commodity was your hood. It rested lightly on your shoulders instead of on your head. Ultimately, revealing your face. And any assassin's face was something rare to see. Your eyes nimbly scanned the worn book in front of you. Your chapped lips slightly open, mouthing words every now and then. And your scarred hands, which the light seemed to hit perfectly, exposing your thick but quick fingers which danced across the pages and every so often reached up to brush a short strand of hair away from your face. Truely, a strangely peaceful sight to see.
However, that peace was soon disrupted when a shadow blocked out the sunlight that had been falling on your book. You sighed loudly, 'this again'. Looking up to see Altaïr your eyes twitched in mild suprise. You had tough trainers sent on you before but Al Mualim must be deadly serious now to send this one. A true master assassin whom practically everyone admired, but was known for his cold heartedness. Smiling shyly, you spoke, simply stating your name and a 'hello' as a friendly gesture. Altaïr only stared back with a stony face.
Still smiling, you turned back to your large book as the older man took a place in the seat across from you. It was a small wooden chair, coupling yours, but came along with the minature wooden table you read your text upon. You, yourself, were quite petite for a man, so it all seemed to fit together perfectly.
"Why do you read?" Altaïr asked, slowly. You raised your head up towards him.
"Why not?" you countered in a content voice. "There is lots of knowledge and good stories to be found in books. Haven't you read before? Or do you not know how?" You asked with a boasting smile. Altaïr looked away.
"Of course I know how, novice." He barked, eyes forward, then slowly sneaking another look at the tome in your hands. "Just not very well..." he added. You laughed at that. This was sweetly suprising. A nice, casual conversation between two brothers. It almost seemed like rank didn't matter for a second.
"Well, I haven't had the time to practice my reading because I was practicing my skills! Speaking of which, we are supposed to do exactly that. Get up, novice. And put your hood back on!" Altaïr said hotly, then left. And that's where the sweetness stopped. You groaned inwardly. But complied by closing your book, briskly throwing on your hood, and following your new tutor outside. It was only as you were walking to the training grounds that you noticed how big this man was, towering at 6 feet. Already, you were a good 5 inches shorter than him, but the way he walked with such confidence made him seem even taller. Not to be outdone by Altaïr, you mimicked his movements, straightening your back and puffing up your chest. Already, however, you were beginning to dislike your new mentor. It could only get worse from here.
"Keep your eyes on your opponent as you attack them!" Altaïr yelled towards you as he swung the back of his blade towards your armed hand. Instinctively, you grabbed the hilt of your sword with both hands, swiftly turning it against his attack and successfully pushing it away. Taking this chance, you swung for his side but was blocked immediately by Altaïr's broadsword. You panted heavily as you both pushed the blades against eachother with equal force, the cold metal screeching as they scraped against eachother, battling for dominace. Altaïr had hardly broken a sweat.
"Good." He said smoothly. Suddenly, an outburst of strength overcame your falchion, steering it away from your mentor's intended path. "But you'll have to be faster than that!" He grinned, swinging at you again with full force. You grinded your teeth, knowing you wouldn't be able to block this swing. Instead, you dodged to the side, another swing, another dodge. Altaïr eventually continuously kept thrusting towards your face and torso. You avoided every attempted stab with relative ease.
"What's wrong, novice? Scared to actually fight?" He taunted. It was meant to set you off, however, it only made his current attack slower. It was the opening you had been waiting for. Rolling to the ground, away from his front, you then quickly rose up to his side, an attack seamlessly following you about to strike his left. But in that limited moment, when you almost had bested him, Altaïr blocked in the nick of time. Again the sound of metal ripped through the air as you were determined to stand your ground this time. Your body and Altaïr's almost touched if not for the barrier of blades. He scoffed, dropping his smirk to instead grit his teeth, not unlike you.
"You nearly got me that time. Still, you'll have to do better against a real opponent." He grunted, finally starting to show the wear across his face. This second pushing battle seemed to be more unconclusive, as both of you were using every ounce of strength in your bodies to subjugate the other. Suddenly, Altaïr's honey-colored eyes glanced down at your feet, if only for a second. Your eyes widened, realizing what he was doing a half second after it had already begun. The older man's leg sweeped under yours, pulling your body out from under itself. Your back made impact with the ground, knocking the wind out of you, your sword resting beside you. Altaïr pointed the tip of his blade at your face, which was now, once again, uncovered.
"Give up." He ordered. The raw power practically glowing off of him. However, those two words only sparked your anger as you tightly grabbed the hilt of your falchion.
"Never!" You spat. In a quick move, you pushed Altaïr's blade away with as much controlled force as you could muster. The broadsword knocked out of his hand, clattering to the ground, which gave you time to roll away and stand up not so gracefully. You would attack Altaïr as he stood there; swordless and seemingly baffled, but you needed to catch your breath.
"Oo, he's not gonna like that." You heard a voice murmur from behind. You almost forgot you were simply training and there was a small crowd watching. Finally coming back to reality, a slow, but painful, stinging bloomed on your face. Still panting, you reached up to your left cheek. Feeling something warm, you turned your eyes to your fingers. A small trickle of bright red blood ran down your calused thumb. You figured, Altaïr's sword must have cut your face during that last little skirmish. Also, it must have been near your eye since now half of your vision was completely red. At this point it was only another injury to add along with the other cuts and bruises. Also caused by Altaïr in only a half-hour into this nonsense.
"WHY WON'T YOU JUST SUBMIT!?" The shouting turned your attention back to Altaïr, who was now rushing at you, full speed, sword in hand. There was barely enough time to block his attack. Your opponent's eyes burned bright with a murderous fire. Altaïr's expression was more than disgruntled or unpleased. It was downright deadly. After realizing his attack did not meet the requirements he launched another one. And another, and another, as you continued to meagerly block them, pressing your open palm to the fuller of your blade for extra support. You wanted to cry, to give up, Altaïr was attempting to attack you in every place imaginable. A right, a left, by your feet, by your shoulder. He never stopped to push at your blade. Every attempt was met with another at lightning speeds, spining and turning and twisting. He was like a dancer. However, every abuse on your falchion was transfered abuse to your arms which weakened them considerably with every strike. Again, you wanted to cry, but for some unknown reason your face didn't let you. It kept an eerily calm disposition with the occasional lower lip bitting. Even as you finally were unable to hold your sword as your fingers and arms were numb with pain. Even as Altaïr kicked you to the dirt, panting madly like a dog. Even as he once again pointed his sword at you, silently telling you to give up. Even then as you wanted to beg him, 'Yes! Yes I give up!' you didn't, and your face remained ever peaceful and content. It was that exact expression that drove Altaïr mad with rage. His arrogance for worship, for power, plauged his mind to the roots.
A plated boot came crashing into your unguarded stomach. You doubled over to the dirt coughing up a small sized puddle of dark blood. You rested your forhead against the dirt. It was blissfully cool even in this summer weather. Suddenly, the thought of dying took over your mind. For some odd reason, this felt like the end. Using the last bit of muscle to roll onto your back you looked up at Altaïr, his head blocking out the sun. From this angle, he almost looked like an angel with the rays of light beaming from his hood. However, the thought of your mentor, this painfully stoic man, as a being of God, forced an almost hysterical laughter out your throat. Hell, you were gonna die, might as well laugh. As you laughed, you realized it was the only sound emiting from the area. The watching crowd was hushed and tense watching the scene play out, assassins and citizens alike. Not one daring to cross the master assassin Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. Still chuckling, you stared at your tutor's face, half of it blurry from your bloody eye. You smiled at him, not feeling even a morsel of anger towards him. He spat to the side getting ready to kick you again, not taking this happy response as a surrender.
"ALTAÏR." A voice yelled. You couldn't see who it was, or more or less move your head to see the saviour. But you did see Altaïr set down his foot and walk away. A small grunt made you figure he had left the ring. But more huffs close to you made you conclude someone was coming for you. You stared up. It was a cloudless day, such a pretty light blue the sky was. Perfect for dying under, you remembered. A man knelt next to you, another assassin, it seemed. One of lower rank.
"Can you walk?" He asked, in a sweet, high voice.
"N-No." You barely whispered out. The other man nodded, carefully starting to lift your arm around his shoulder. He grunted, struggling to stand up your structureless weight. Your head was now about the extention of things you could move. The assassin pointed at a novice whom had been watching the whole time.
"You. Help me get him over the fence and to the doctor." She nodded, struggling to lift you over without hurting you more than Altaïr already had. Soon the three of you started your course to the guild. Painfully slow and steady. The man on your left spoke.
"I am Kadar. And that, over there-" He gestured with his head over to a clearing where Altaïr and another assassin, who had short black hair and a small stubble outlining his jaw, were arguing. Although it was mostly the black haired assassin gesturing wildly and occasionally hitting the other on his head. "That is my older brother, Malik." Kadar chuckled.
"He is another master assassin. I was watching you fight Altaïr from afar, you fight well for a younger rank. But especially against Altaïr, holding up as you did. Very good. But as soon as I saw him kick you down I knew it was serious. I ran to get Malik since he is the only one, besides Al Mualim, who can tame him."
"Thank you, my friend." You spoke softly. "I admit, I was prepared to die near the end there."
"I thought laughing like that was very courageous." The woman to your right spoke next. "When you smiled at him like that, even thought you were on the ground and bleeding badly, I could see how truely happy you were. I don't think Altaïr really understood that wasn't a taunt. Altaïr doesn't have the luxury of making friends and learning about friendly habits." You looked at her, grinning fondly.
"What is your name?" You asked, curious. She shook her head.
"Where are my manners, I am Nada." She stated. You pondered at her name.
"Your name is fitting. Nada means generosity, yes? You are generous to help carry me up here." You complimented. Your new female friend blushed.
"We are here." Kadar declared. The last few steps to a doctoring bed were not too complicated. Slowly, you were lowered into a sitting position on the bed. A doctor suddenly walked into the room getting straight to work on your injuries. He was obviously used to this kind of thing.
"Strip. I need a better look at your afflictions." The doctor said cooly.
"We should probably go.." Kadar commented. Nada nodded in agreement turning to leave rather quickly.
After saying your goodbyes you slowly peeled off your blood soaked tunic and shirt. Wincing every step of the mile. The doctor tsked, looking at your various scrapes and small cuts but most noticably at the bruises forming on your wrists and the thunderstorm like bruise on the right side of your torso.
"How in the world did you even get these?" He asked.
"Training." You shruged. The medic raised an eyebrow.
"Are you sure it was just training or not someone else." You decided not to answer. He sighed. "I can heal these smaller injuries just fine but this one will take time." He pointed at your massive purple and blue cloud.
"I heal fast." You stated. The doctor nodded, starting on your cuts.
"I am sure. But I am confining you at least one days rest before you try anything. If there is anything else you need, I am only an earshot away." He said, finishing things up around your eye and other various areas.
"Thank you, doctor."
"No problem. Oh, also rinse that eye out when you get the chance." And with that he left. You groaned, falling back on the matress, immediately regretting it from your new bruise yelling at you.
This was going to be a long and excruciating day.