Disclaimer: My story my own characters. Ubisofts Characters belong to them. Anything you dont recognize from the game, belongs to me.
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This Sweet Lullaby
One would normally say: "It was a dark and stormy night…" but not for me, never for me. It wasn't dark, nor stormy, it was too hot, too bright when I came into this world. My mother I have no memory of. My true father, a Templar, stationed at Jerusalem, who was too drunk to notice me half the time, left me to myself. He raised me, kept me under his roof, fed me his own food, and raised me without my mother. His deeds may sound noble, but they weren't. He himself wasn't noble; he was a self-made man who trafficked in human lives. He bought, sold, and kidnapped children, men, women; whomever he could get his grimy paws on for gold. Most went to mines, others as servants to wealthy noblemen, and even some to darker fates too horrible for even me to mention. I was 15 when the White Angel came to claim his life, I barely remember it, but what I know, I shall tell you.
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There was an array of noise, the clash and clang of steel on steel, the sound of metal crushing bone into tiny fragments. My fathers lackeys were forming up to protect him, putting their own lives on the line to protect the man whose life they knew was forfeit. The man in the white hood took them down with ease, their blood splattering on his robes, blossoming like flowers into the fabric in great quantities. The slaves in the warehouse were screaming as the blood, hot from life, drizzled onto their sweat-drenched bodies as the men were turned into lifeless corpses. "Stay away from me!" my father cried as he shoved the last of his remaining lackeys in front of him as the White Angel advanced at a wicked pace. He threw the two men off the roof and onto the streets below, terrifying the innocent merchants and citizens. He tackled my father to the ground and dispatched his life with a blade in the throat.
I let out a small shriek of surprise as my father was assassinated. Fear went rushing through me like water through a broken dam. His gaze shot to my trembling figure huddled up against the roof garden I had been watching from. I was a witness to this murder, this strange liberation from a horrible man who I had once called and claimed as my father. The beak of the cowl hid the assassins' eyes in shadow, but he didn't seem too pleased.
I have heard of the infamous assassins, robed in white, walking the streets and eliminating their targets, skillfully never leaving a single trace of evidence behind. Their leader, Al Mualim, a name that few dare to utter, a man better known as "The Old Man of The Mountain", trains them in their deadly trade.
He advanced towards me, his blade drawn and steps even, I pressed up against the wall of the garden, paralyzed with fear. I couldn't feel my body, except for the increasing tremors. I focused in on the blade, an intriguing symbol forged into the base of the blade itself: a strange 'A' and quarter of a circle above it. He still advanced, taking what seemed dramatically, slow, even, and intimidating steps towards me. I caught a good glimpse of his face inside his hood as he hefted the blade over his head and brought it crashing down into my shoulder.
With a spray of hot crimson elixir, all went black…
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Well, this is the starting of my Assassin's Creed fanfiction. This is just the prologue. Tell me if you think I should continue it!
