Working title for now: The Silent Blade
Warnings:
I do not own Altair or any other characters in Assassin's Creed.
I have taken full creative licence and liberty regarding certain events in the game, certain tenants of the Assassin's Creed, the Hashashins/Order of Assassins and tweaked certain historical information to fit my story and purposes.
This story contains spoilers for parts of the game, and although it does not follow the game's storyline, it borrows heavily from certain parts.
Consider this an Assassin's Creed AU.
Rated M for violence and lemons.
Prologue:
Night falls over the city of Acre. A lone church bell rings… slowly... methodically… signalling to the citizens the nightly curfew. The people in the street below begin to scatter… quickly walking back to their homes as the merchants close their market stalls for the evening.
High above the town, perched on a ledge overlooking the streets, sits a lone figure. Silent...still…not moving a muscle. His back curled, his body hunched over as his leather boots just barely settle on the wooden beam he sits on. His gloved hands touch lightly onto the wood to help him keep his balance. His breathing, slow and steady, is the only motion he makes, his white robe rising and falling with each breath he takes. A peaked hood covers his head and leaves his eyes and face mostly in shadow. Only his nose and mouth are visible… a slight shadow of stubble peppers his upper lip and chin.
The church bell rings again. This time when he looks down, he sees the streets are almost empty, save for a handful of guards dutifully walking the streets to ensure the citizens obey the curfew and peace is kept.
An eagle soars overhead, letting out a shrill cry, looking to land on the perch that the hooded figure has claimed for his own. The man looks up and then slowly unfurls his body to stand on the balls of his feet. He holds his arms out to either side for balance. His long white robe blows in the slight warm evening wind. The red sash tied around his waist flutters at his knees. He shifts his weight slightly and the leather belt holding his throwing knives creaks from the movement. His long sword nestled in the scabbard attached to his left hip, clanks in the still night air. He places his left hand on the hilt to silence it.
Without another glance down, he takes a tall leap into the air, arcing his body headfirst to the ground. His arms held out behind him, he dives straight down, his feet pointing to the sky. The wind rushes around his body, licking at his face, blowing his robe behind him as he falls. Then, a few stories from the ground, he flips his body forward, almost doing a half-somersault in the air, so now he is falling in a sitting position, his bottom and legs parallel to the ground, slowing his descent just slightly.
With a soft whoosh, he lands into a pile of hay sitting in a wagon below the tower he just jumped from. He peeks out from underneath the hay pile to make sure there are no guards patrolling nearby, before he jumps out. His leather feet barely touch the cobble stoned road when he is off and running. Hay flies off his body, falling out of his robe, as he leaps and jumps his way up to the roof of a nearby building. Nary taking a second to ensure his footing at each ledge, windowpane, and brick, he moves swiftly and silently through the town. Only the slight clank of his weaponry giving any notice to his movements.
Finally he pauses on the top of a building, catching his balance near the edge, he slowly looks over to the ground below. A soldier stands at the back of the deserted alleyway; but this is no ordinary soldier. Instead of the usual brigandine armour and chain mail coifs the Acre guards typically wear, this soldier is decked out in a full suit of chain mail, covered only by a white tabard down to his knees with a red stylized cross on the front. A long sword hangs in a scabbard attached at his hip and a red steel bucket-style helmet sits on his head, covering his face with only small slits for his eyes. The helmet shows much battle damage – dents and scrapes cover the top and sides, with much of the red paint worn off.
On the ground behind the soldier sits a large black chest, locked presumably, and his upside-down teardrop shaped shield, white with a red cross in the middle, sits leaning on the ground next to it.
"Templar…" hisses the hooded figure under his breath. Reflexively he flexes his left hand, the leather bracer creaking around his wrist, and with a soft "ssshhhhkkk" sound his hidden blade pops out from underneath his hand. With another small curl of his fingers, the blade slides back out of sight.
Glancing to his right, he notices a ladder leading down from the rooftop to the alley below. Shaking his head slightly, he forgoes the ladder… perching on the edge of the roof; he barely hesitates before leaping down onto the Templar below. Tucking his legs up underneath him, he flies down through the air.
The Templar's back is to the hooded figure, but a slight breeze rises up at the exact moment he pounces. The Templar turns his head, looking up…his mouth opens in a large silent "O"… seeing the robed man leaping onto him from above. He sees the left hand reaching out to him, the cold-steel blade erupting from the palm of the hand, and the missing ring finger where the blade cleanly seeks passage. 'Assassin…!' the Templar forms the thought in his mind, but no sound comes forth from his mouth except a gurgling moan, as the blade slices into his neck, cutting through his jugular in a spray of blood.
The Assassin jerks the blade upward further cutting the Templar's flesh to make sure the job is done and then pulls his hand back. The Templar drops to the ground in a large heap, the blood running down his neck onto the clean white cloth of his tabard. The red fluid leaving stains the same colour as the red cross in the centre of his chest. The Assassin wipes the wet blade on the Templar's tabard, and then sheathes it back to its hiding spot inside his bracer.
Working swiftly before the dead body is discovered by the other guards, the Assassin searches the Templar's clothing, quickly finding what he is looking for. A small steel key is hiding inside the Templar's leather boot. The Assassin palms the key and then turns to the locked chest sitting on the ground. Crouching down beside it, he inserts the key into the chest and turns it. The lid of the chest effortlessly opens. The Assassin reaches inside and picks up what he had come for; reaching around behind him he places it inside one of the small pouches attached to the back of his belt.
Standing back up again, he quickly surveys the alleyway… still empty. No guards were alerted by the silent scuffle. In a flash, the Assassin turns, and leaps up the wall… bounding over the rooftops his white robes flowing behind him… invisible… silent… effortless... he disappears into the night.