...
Philipe de Naplouse
Acre, 1192
He swirled his chalice and sat cross-legged on his chair, deep in thought.
Where could those sons of whores be? Disgusting, filthy, street-blooded fuckwits. This meeting was one of the most important we've had in a while...and they are late? Bastards
Philipe de Naplouse was the bastard child of Garnier de Naplouse and an English noblewoman. His father wanted nothing to do with her and was unaware of Philipe's birth, that is until Philipe grew up and approached his father. His father explained to Philipe that he had no time or use for a degenerate child and rejected Philipe's plea to join his father, angered he left his father's hospital. The next week, Garnier was assassinated by Altaïr and many suspected that Philipe was responsible for spreading several rumours behind Garnier's true activities. Shortly after Philipe received the news of his father's death, he was overjoyed after it was announced that Garnier's wealth now officially belonged to Philipe.
Unbeknownst to Altaïr, Philipe was very much aware of the Eagle of Masyaf's involvement in the murder of his father. He didn't know whether to thank him or have him disposed of, he was inclined to do the latter. His father's position in the Order of Templars had now proved its worth by allowing him to quickly rise in their ranks. There were countless instances where he showed his worth; the respect and wealth he had gained had finally satisfied his lifelong desire. It was now time for a new desire: the head of the Eagle of Masyaf.
A knock on the door of his room stopped his thought's,
He sighed slightly irritated,
"Come in,"
It was his servant,
"Master, the members have arrived." She flinched under his gaze, "Should I prepare anything for your guests, master?"
"No...and stay out of the room we're in,"
"Yes, master."
She bowed and left,
He groaned and left his room, he opened the door of the meeting hall.
"Ahh Philipe, you finally grace us with your presence."
"Regrettably it's with you lot,"
The Order of Thorns was a subset of the Grand Order specifically created to tackle the growing threat of the master assassin; they comprised of Philipe, Bennet Oswald the earl of Ely, Mahfoud ibn Abdullah and Guiscard Estienne. Relatively young in the Templar Order, but their merits speak volumes for their high ranks and the respect that is paid to them.
Bennet scoffed,
"Indeed Philipe...I hate these meetings as much as you do," he looked around his face clearly showing realization, "say, where is that barbarian?"
Mahfoud nodded,
"I noticed as well, where is the bandit king?"
He shrugged,
"I haven't a clue...probably neck-deep in whores, didn't we send him to find and confront the assassins? Guiscard, you were in touch were you not?"
"Oui, only till the imbecile "found" the fort. I sent scouts and messengers...they are yet to arrive."
"Good thinking,"
Guiscard nodded,
"Well? Any other updates?"
Mahfoud spoke up,
"I do, my merchants can confirm that after contacting the merchants of Masyaf; the Eagle of Masyaf is not the mentor."
Everyone's attention was now on Mahfoud,
"Then who is?"
"Nobody..."
Bennet stood up and banged the table with his fist,
"Then it's settled! They are weakened and leaderless, we should gather our forces and strike immediately!"
He groaned,
"Calm down Bennet,"
"Nay! We must spill their blood!"
He yelled,
"Will you stop braying like a useless donkey? If we rush in without knowing their location and strength...the only blood being spilt will be ours,"
Mahfoud nodded much to Bennet's displeasure,
"Philipe is right, rushing in is not an option."
Guiscard warned,
"That is true, but the assassins are vulnerable and taking too much time will allow them to gather strength."
"Indeed...but we mustn't forget our real target is more than equipped to bring about our defeat, all by himself."
Mahfoud said and sighed, Guiscard patted his shoulder.
"Be that as it may, we are better than our predecessors...and we will succeed where they failed."
"Aye!"
"Hear-hear!" Philipe confirmed Guiscard's statement, "doubly so given that men like my 'father' were supposed to handle the assassins,"
Bennet nodded,
"Indeed, although I cannot help but wonder...they were ten whereas we are only five."
A knock on the door stopped their discussion, a young girl who was nothing but bones in a rag, slowly opened the thick wooden door.
"My deepest apologies master, but miss has asked me to...
A loud crash resounded as a jug of water shattered beside the frail girl causing her to flinch and squeal,
"Tell that old bitch...if she sends one of you whores into a room I specifically told her to stay out of, I will have her flogged to death!"
The girl retreated into the wooden door, the solid object startling the already shivering maid.
He yelled,
"Did you HEAR ME!"
She blurted out,
"Y-yes master...I-immediately!"
"And clean the mess when we leave..." he grinds out as she shuffled away hastily, "dumb wretches."
Bennet huffed,
"The quality of slaves these days...always so incompetent,"
"Everything is hard to come by these days, Bennet."
Mahfoud placed a hand on his shoulder,
"I have a few useful ones in stock and along with housekeeping...they have other talents as well."
"Enticing, but these wretches are loyal to my father and I need that here."
He stood up straight and cleared his throat,
"Now, where were we?"
Guiscard concluded,
"We were discussing what to do with Masyaf, given that they are...très vulnerable."
He nodded,
"I propose we send scouts to survey the lands, find that bandit bastard...or whatever happened to him, we regroup with his army and with their knowledge of Masyaf's location...and then we burn that place to the ground once and for all."
Moments of silence marked the deep thoughts of his comrades until Bennet spoke up.
"That seems to be a sound plan...for now, I say aye!"
The remaining men nodded in unison,
"Aye,"
"Oui...c'est bon."
"Then it seems we are at an agreement, will you all be taking your leave or should I arrange for some entertainment?"
"I would love to mon ami, but the situation with that imbécile bandit irks me...I will take my leave and look into it, au revoir."
Mahfoud shrugged,
"My wife would have my head...furthermore, I have some business to attend to and that will give me a chance to learn about Masyaf's condition," he sighed, "perhaps, the next time and now I will take my leave, friends."
He sighed and cracked his knuckles until he noticed Bennet happily munching on the biscuits that were provided to the room. He folded his arms and glared,
"Mmmf...my word, these biscuits are exquisite! Philipe you must tell me which bakery you purchased this from."
"Are you daft? How on earth would I know? Ask the servants, you blithering idiot!"
"Ahh yes, you're quite right."
His unamused glare caused Bennet to shift uncomfortably,
"Would you care to enlighten me why your sorry arse is still here?"
"Well...I never said no to entertainment, did I?"
He walked up to him and gritted his teeth,
"We might be childhood friends, Bennet...but I think it'd be in your best interest to leave, I'm in no mood for your idiocy."
"Phoo...someone clearly hasn't been touched down there in a long time."
"Out...NOW!"
The hefty man made his way out with a side glance,
"Until we meet again...friend."
He nodded with a sigh,
Well...that's that eh? More waiting...more time for those damned assassins to breathe. Oh, how I long for the day I exact my revenge...
He made his way back into his quarters, he slowly undid the buttons to his shirt. He trailed his fingers across the large scar that marred his chest and sighed. He had to consciously divert his thoughts from revisiting the dreaded memory of how he got it.
"Not a single soldier in war can make it out without a scar to remember it by, physical or mental...", how right that captain was...
Customary for most templars in the period; service to the Royal army is necessary. Even the nobles of the order had to serve for a minimum of two years. Phillipe served for a total of four years. During a routine scouting trek, his company was ambushed by the Saracen forces. Consisting of officers and sergeants; the foot soldiers of his company were ruthlessly overwhelmed. And when an unwary Phillipe found himself in front of an angry Saracen sergeant, a Syrian scimitar cut through his armour like butter. But the arrival of crusader reinforcements was enough to warrant safety.
His attention snapped to the slowly opening door,
"What is it?"
The same girl from earlier strode in while clutching a plate which held a humble meal of bread, fruits and tender meat,
"Your dinner, master."
"Leave it on the table," the girl left the plate and was about to leave until, "...you're new here aren't you?"
"Y-yes master,"
"Don't you know better than to open my door without knocking?"
The sudden realization of her error and his cold voice sent shivers up her spine,
"Do not fret, all will be forgiven..." a devious grin crept onto his face as he pointed towards the bed, "if you were to join me, that is."
"B-but master I-I'm not a g-good..."
He rushed at the girl grabbing her by the neck as she screamed,
"Disobedience...tch tch tch..." he looked down at her as she whimpered at the pain surging through her body as his fingers started to constrict around her neck, "you will now know what happens to those who disobey me..."
He threw her onto his bed, her frail body already weakened by the lack of oxygen now had to deal with his rough grasp. He cackled as he watched her tears flow, her delicate fingers reached up to his cheek.
"I want to be your's Philipe..."
His eyes widened as the dark wavy hair of the girl shimmered into a beautiful blonde and her face morphed into one which was far too familiar to be real. His heart pounded as he knew exactly who it was.
"Marianne..."
"I love you Philipe, you, you, you and only you!"
"Children? I don't like children...but I'd love ours,"
...
A sombre smile was made as his memories flooded with those of his first love until the reason behind his hatred and what sparked his desire for vengeance was all but vivid in his mind.
It was by chance that he had decided to visit her, the frantic guards concerned him but he never expected it to be an assassin. The man had seemed to know the exact location of every family member and if only he knew, the whole family was the assassin's target. Marianne's father put up a fight but was quickly vanquished when his guts were spilled onto the carpet. His wife faired no better with a shattered neck, the idea of having the new guards as newbloods now showed its worth as their dismembered bodies were strewn across the mansion. He had done his best to assure her as he thought there was no reason for her to meet the same fate as her parents.
"Help me Philipe, please...I'm scared..."
All he could do was look around...as the shouts, screams andgurgles seemed to be coming from all around him. Giving him the impression that the walls of her room were closing in on them, it was only then he realized the gravity of their situation. But he was too late, strong hands restrained his own and kept his mouth shut. His squirming was of no use until he realized it was not the assassin's hand but of his servant, Raoult.
He knew exactly why Raoult was here and it wasn't a moment too soon, as the door keeping them safe was shattered from its hinges. Raoult was able to pull Philipe and himself into a large wardrobe, Marianne's eyes were glued to the figure who entered, blood smeared across his white robes. She begged him to stop, to spare her, pleaded that she had nothing to do with all of this. The assassin remained unfazed and tsked, he then leapt into the air and onto the horrified girl. Her kneeling form forced into the ground as a foot found itself planted into her abdomen, the assassin raised his hand and struck her neck with his blade. The cold steel ruptured her windpipe as her scream was silenced into a pathetic whine.
But in his eyes, all he could see was her smiling and laughing as Raoult held his mouth closed. The moment the assassin retracted his blade from her punctured neck, reality hit his senses like a brick wall. She was dead, her lifeless eyes still spewing tears as the blood flowed endlessly like a perennial river. She was dead. The assassin got up and scoffed, not even taking the time to close her eyes. The fluttering of the assassin's robes was all he heard, his lover's murderer gone. The clanking of the guard's armour was enough to convince Philipe of their futile attempts to catch the assassin and for Raoult to make their escape. The wide-open mouth of Philipe was quickly shut when Raoult pushed him out of the window that Raoult used.
The Templar master and his family were dead. The same family responsible for the slaughter of an entire town, whose collaborators and protectors were the assassins. The same family responsible for the majority of the weapon supply for the crusade. Al Mualim's desire had been fulfilled. But Philipe's had just been birthed.
...
He shook his head as his heart pounded against his chest, his eyes diverted to the trembling girl under him. He grabbed her collar,
"What did you do to me!"
She sobbed,
"N-nothing master...I-I swear of it!"
He threw her onto the floor,
"Leave! LEAVE ME!...GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"
She scrambled onto her feet and rushed out of the room in haste. Leaving him to clutch his throbbing head as he sobbed and choked, the image of her eyes burned into his own.
...
She tripped and stumbled into the arms of an older servant,
"Oh dear oh dearie me...oh you poor child, are you alright?"
She shook her head,
"Oh precious...you must've reminded him about his loss, I think it's best if you go out for some fresh air and keep away from the master, you hear?"
She nodded and made her way out after taking her belongings. The streets of Acre were littered with filth but her destination was in the poor district. She didn't like it, but this was the only way her husband could be saved. And those who knew her were well aware of how much she loved him. After a good deal of searching, she found herself in the narrow alleyway where she was requested to be, the person she was waiting for was supposed to be clearly noticeable. But the empty alley said otherwise. A sudden ruffle caught her attention, she looked up only to see a body crashing down into the hard ground. The lifeless body merely a foot away caused her to yelp and muffle her mouth to prevent the scream from escaping. A sudden cough brought her attention to the adjacent rooftop,
"These damn rooftop guards really do spoil everything fun," He said as he chucked the guard's bow onto its previous owner, "you must be Alesonne, how do you do?"
The hooded figure sent shivers down her spine as she had never witnessed death, no more than murder.
"A-are y-y-you..."
"Let me stop you right there, you have no reason to fear me unless...you've done something that threatens our agreement?"
"N-NO! I promise to you...my husband's all I have and I would never..."
The man jumped down, landing in front of her until she flinched into a retreat.
"Indeed...don't worry, from what I see?" He pulled down his hood, "you've held your end of the bargain."
His coloured skin contrasted well against his green eyes, she was in awe as they glimmered in the moonlight. She shook herself and spoke,
"Are you Alsama abn al Iman?"
"That would be correct, now with the introduction's are over with...let's get to business, shall we?"
She nodded,
"The Templars have come to know of the absence of a master in Masyaf, they do not plan to attack during this period of 'vulnerability', they plan to wait and scout the area for other clues as well as some 'Bandit king' and his army and most seem to fear a man who they referred to as 'he' this was what I could gather from the best of my abilities."
He smiled,
"Would you happen to know their names or at least their numbers?"
She rummaged through a bag and brought out a piece of paper,
"There were four, including Philipe..." she handed him the paper, "this was the best I could describe them from the brief period of their departure, and I'm aware of one name...Bennet Oswald."
"Ahh...the earl of Ely, anything else?"
She looked down,
"Philipe is vulnerable, he's quite mentally deranged or unstable..."
He chuckled,
"Aren't they all? But you have my gratitude Alesonne, your husband has been saved and his debt paid..." he stuffed the note into a pouch and ran up the wall he had previously descended, "but if you'd like, we could use your services once more and we might have some errands that pay well for your husband."
She was surprised and pleased, her husband's lack of occupation and his gambling is the sole reason for why they did this.
"I will give it my honest thoughts,"
"Well...you know where to find me, oh and I'd hide those marks around your neck if I was you."
With a sudden gust of wind, he was gone. And now she couldn't sigh at the recent events, as she pulled a scarf around her neck; she couldn't help her intuition...things were going to change.
...…
Well...uhh hi? do you remember me eheheh...yeah, I'm still here...unfortunately. Anyways, here's another chapter with a lot of new OC's! So please don't pounce on me...plz. Was a rough couple of months but here I am, hopefully to stay...but here's some info about the OC's
Alsama ibn al iman roughly translates to "the sky, son of faith" well it's not entirely credible so don't hold me to it
Alesonne is the medieval scots take on Alison
Ooh so much characters and character development! *cries in relief * well I apologise again for not posting in sooo long. like i even forgot how to post on ff lol, I will try harder! Safety and peace brothers and sisters…and may fortune favor your blade.
And more so for a special reader ;) you know who you are 3