Greetings all, its been a while since I've written a story but I can't for the life of me remember why I stopped, so here's a new one!
First of all, it was influenced by Assassins Creed and the hassanssins from Prince of Persia, but I don't consider it a cross-over because you don't need to have watched/played them in order to understand this fic. Also the hashishim are, in my mind, discworldified.
Secondly, I'd like to acknowledge the contribution of A. E. Pessimal, specifically his hashishim fic. I didn't even know Discworld had hashishim until I read it! It also meant I could make this fit the Discworld… er, world better. (I would have called them hassanssins and made them just like the ones in Prince of Persia, but now they are Discworld hashishim!)
Lastly, I'm well known for giving constructive criticism to other people to help them improve their writing, but when it comes to my own writing I am practically blind to any imperfections (yes, I am an egomaniac). So I would really appreciate it if people gave me some constructive criticism, instead of just telling me it's fantastic and that I'm fantastic and their life is now so much better because I started writing. It also means that I'll write better stories that you can then enjoy, so you benefit! (I don't believe in pure altruism). :)
Yes, so criticism is good, but… please be soft about it. I can get offended and start throwing things when someone doesn't think I'm the most awesome thing that ever happened to them. :)
Anyway, enjoy the story!
Lord Neville Gumbute was sitting in his favourite chair, sipping the glass of wine that had been handed to him by his manservant, and ranting about the latest thing to irritate him.
Once again the Assassins had refused a contract, and for no other reason than it was 'too hard'.
"Too hard! When I was a young Assassin I practically begged for the most difficult contracts," Gumbute exclaimed, pausing only long enough to draw breath and sip his wine.
"Downey doesn't know how to run the Guild, he's ruined the assassins and spoilt them! It's because of those new girls they're letting in. They have to drop their standards to allow for their delicate dispositions. Hah! They're better off at home sewing and learning proper women's work. You'd think a man like Downey would resist the corruption of a fine masculine establishment like the Assassin's Guild.
When I was a lad we were expected to grin and bear it, to endure the worst pain and suffering, it made us tough! Even when we were half frozen and starved and dizzy from blood loss, we had to run across the entire city, with dogs on the ground and older assassin students hunting us from the rooftops! They wouldn't do that these days. These new assassins are too concerned about looking good, practicing their pose in the mirror instead of their knife throwing. Charging rates through the roof, just so they can buy the latest clothing.
They even retire after only a few years! If it wasn't for my knee I'd still be taking contracts, and I'm in my seventies! These young people are all degenerates! You'd think Downey would do something about it! He should teach them what being an assassin is all about!"
Ali Dhin, Lord Gumbute's long suffering manservant, listened for any key phrases that could possibly require a response, but otherwise ignored the tirade completely. Lord Gumbute had something to rage about almost every night. Ali suspected his lord actually enjoyed it.
"Hah, do you know some of the reasons they come up with! 'The contract is too hard.' What are they afraid of ninja's for? They're assassins! 'We're being paid protection money,' or 'they're hiring one of us as a body guard, it's a conflict of interest.' Hah, they should stir things up a bit and take the contract. Assassins will get a lot sharper if they have to fight each other.
Lipwig, Vimes, Carrot, they're all supposed to be better alive for the 'public good.' What does Downey know about the public? I'm the public and I want them dead! 'We owe them a favour, they're a retired assassin, they're a current assassin, we don't kill our own, not worth the effort for so little money, don't exist,' excuses, excuses! So many bloody excuses!"
Lord Gumbute was a regular customer of the assassins, but he'd been complaining about them a lot quite recently. Mainly because as an old person he thought the younger generation was corrupted, but also because they'd been refusing a lot of contracts. Twenty-seven by Ali's count.
"The Hashishim wouldn't refuse a contract," Ali thought.
"What? Who?" demanded Gumbute.
After a moment of confusion and panic at his lord's new found mind reading ability, Ali realised he'd actually said the thought out loud.
"Apologies sir, I didn't mean to interrupt you"
"What are these Hashishims? Why haven't you mentioned them before? They sound foreign to me, they're not some sort of mystical legend you foreigners are prone to believing in are they?"
Ali thought of a few 'mystical legends' Lord Gumbute believed in, but was very careful to make sure he said nothing.
"They are Hersheban assassins. The original assassins actually, they've been around for thousands of years," he explained.
"Are they any good?" Gumbute asked.
"There are many legends about their amazing feats and abilities," Ali said, ignoring Gumbute's remark about superstitious Klatchians.
"They are said to be fearless and will complete any contract given to them, even if it means a thousand of them will perish in doing so.
There is a story that long ago when he was invading Hersheba, the great Latatian general Tacticus laid siege to the Hashishim's fortress. He woke up in his tent one morning to find a dagger and freshly baked hot cakes on his pillow. A Hashishim had made it past his entire army and with impunity made it clear how easy it would have been to take his life. Tacticus took the hint and left."
Ali was becoming more enthusiastic as he told the tales of the Hashishim, but was interrupted by Gumbute, who asked, "Why hot cakes?"
"… Pardon sir?"
"Why hot cakes? Why not a hot roast?"
"… I suppose it would get oil all over the general's pillow."
"Considerate, these Hashishim – for foreigners at least. The hot cakes were poisoned!" Gumbute declared triumphantly.
"I don't know, sir," Ali replied. When it appeared Gumbute would say no more Ali continued, but he'd lost his enthusiasm after the interruption and so finished in a deadpan tone of voice.
"They will accept and complete any contract. They will accept alternatives to coin to pay their fee, including bullion, Ankh-Morpork dollars and dates. They also demand a gift of hashish before they begin their assignment."
"what's Hashish? What do they want that for?" Gumbute asked. Like many nobles he was offended by things he didn't know.
"Uh, it's stuff that comes from a type of plant. Legend is that they use it to go into a trance and see visions of their target, so they can find where they are and plan how they will inhume them. It is even said they can find who the target is even though they haven't been told a name or description or anything! They just get paid for a contract and find out who it is and everything through the trances!"
"Bah, superstition," Gumbute said, waving a hand dismissively, "no doubt they just like pot plants."
Ali was about to correct him but just shrugged. He was close enough, even if he didn't realise it.
Chapter 2 coming next week!
