The crowd bustled as he moved through the many people. His target was in plain sight, this was it, his mission was almost at an end.

Unaware of his impending doom, the corrupt leader walked on through the city of Damascus as if his guards could protect him from anything. Civilians looked in awe as the high ranking man walked straight by them, amongst them. Not for much longer.

The dark figure slid in between people without drawing any attention to himself, gradually getting closer and closer until...

The target fell, but not by his hand. A blade had come from elsewhere, another assassin had struck. He looked about for his rival, spotting a figure on the rooftops just as a guard spotted the shining glint of a blade concealed in the would-be assassin's sleeve. At once they yelled, and he ran, as fast as he could, away from the guards and towards the killer.

The chase was frantic, darting from beam to beam, rooftop to rooftop. However, the assassin was too fast for him and soon got out of sight and away. He stopped, looking in every direction for the missing hooded figure. The guards were moments away when a hand reached out of a curtained gazebo and dragged him in, out of sight.

The free hand of the grabber clasped over his mouth as the guards ran past looking for him. He looked up to see a pair of brilliant blue eyes that quickly darted away from the connection. The hooded man's skin was tanned, with stubble covering his chin and jaw.

Once the guards were long gone the stranger left as quickly as he had arrived.

"Wait, I don't need to know who you work for, but you can at least tell me your name."

"My name?... Altair." He said before leaving the failed Assassin behind on the rooftop, hoping the two of them would meet again.

This was the story of Artix, his life in the third crusade, and his constant and regular run-in's with an assassin named Altair.