Deep in the realms of a dark time, there was a man. His name was unkown, his face hidden by shadows and rules. He walked among the streets as a saint, doing deeds cast out of hell. He was a dark, mysterious person. Always on my mind, always tearing at the corners of my thoughts with his bloody blade. A murderer, scum, the devil's servant. All his names. But I, an observant filth of a woman, was the only one who realized who he truly was. An assassin.

The sun burned like the pages of my new book. The flames licked and tore at the pages I dearly loved. I watched in misery, and in doubt. My mother stood beside me, her eyes full of fiery, screaming her curses at me while pointing her grimy finger toward the flames.

It all had started a few days ago. Clouds laced the horizon, something that was rarely seen in Damascus. It was the ill reminder of the rains, when water fell heavily from the sky. I ran through the streets, book in hand, its pages charred. A dozen soldiers chased after me, demanding me to stop. But it wasn't just the book they wanted. Other women would whisper of me as I carried water back to our house, my father close behind. I was never to leave, when I did it was ritual to be watched by the eyes of men while they followed close behind.

This day, it was different. I was alone, but I was free. I knew the city well, however, the guards knew it better. I turned right into a dead end, and quickly realized that I had to climb. I jumped to a basket and threw myself halfway up the clay wall, my book falling to my feet. I continued to pull myself to the top, my worked fingers clinging to the top as a pulled. But I was too slow. The men grabbed at my legs, pulling me downward to them. They laughed and quickly grabbed my wrists as they taunted me. I looked to the sky, silent as I prayed to the god on high.

Suddenly, quicker than the shadows, the men jumped back. I was dragged back with them, my wrists each clasped tight by a guard. My book lay by his feet, he slowly bent to pick it up. It was so sudden, it was as if the man in dirty gray and red robes had been there the whole time. For the first time, I heard his voice. It seemed to provide a feeling that I was not to be killed. That was because the words he said struck fear into my wardens and happiness to mine.

"Release your hold and your death may be less painful." The deep voice said in an angry haste. My captors yelled and drew their swords, all the while throwing me to ground. It was too fast for me to see. Blades crashing against one another while blood kissed my eyelids. In seconds, battered bodies lay around me. The figure stood, unharmed, in front of me. He reached out his hand, and I gladly took it. I stood on my feet again, rubbing the blood out of my eyes.

"You're safe now." He said quietly, I could tell it was his time to leave.

"Wait!" I cried, grabbing his cloak as he turned away. He stopped, head tilted low, covering his face. "Thank you. I…. If there is anything-"

"No. Not now, at least." He said quickly, and was gone. I slumped to the back to the ground and glanced at my book. I gave it a weak smile and reached for it. It was cradled tightly to my chest as I slowly fell asleep dreaming peaceful dreams in the most dangerous part of Damascus.

It was hell at my home. My mother was a wreck, changing emotions faster than my father changed colors. But, my father had no time for my antics and had to race off to his shop while my mother cleaned my clothes.

The said story was I had run from the guards after they took a fancy for me, in my running, I lost my balance and fell into a butcher's shop. I knocked myself out and was unable to wake until the butcher returned to find me there.

It was a great story my mother believed, though I had to tell her about my visit to the book burning. You see, at this time, in this year, the fourth crusade was ravaging the land. Bodies lay unburied, and cities were crumbling. That was what I heard, at least, I had no I idea since I had never left Damascus. But I knew, just like the way the sky looked before the rains came, that it was coming. Blood would be shed, covering the eyes of men like it covered my eyes that day, blinding them. There wasn't much time. I knew I wasn't the only one to think that as I thought of the man who had saved my life.

I told myself that I would, in fact, repay the favor. Somehow.

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Note: I wrote this after recently beating Assassin's Creed. It's one of my favorite games-well, my favorite game. I can't wait for the second one and decided to write and read about it to ease my mind. I don't know exactly where this is going but I know I'll have fun with it.. Either way.

Just to add... I am not playing the girl in my story. A lot of people put themselves into stories, and I am not one of them. I'm writing a book currently and am working on describing people opposite to me inside their heads. I don't know if that makes any sense so I'll just continue..

The man that saves (the girl has no name yet) is not Altair. He is simply another assassin not as accomplished. You could say an informer to Altair, though.

This story takes place during the time of the game. I don't know where it is going to end.. But I do know that this won't be the only chapter.

Hope you all liked it. I really do like constructive critism, just not on my editing. I know my editing is awful and am working on it.