The First Life: Siege of Masyaf
Alright, a stunning lack of reviews about me and my faith, and more reviews on how it was cool for Faris to be Christian. There was a Guest reviewer that rose the argument that Faris should be an atheist due to the Assassins knowing about the First Civilization and how Jesus performed miracles via a Piece of Eden.
No, the current Assassins do not know of such things. Al Mualim himself doesn't know about the First Civilization, only theorizing that Jesus used the Apple based on the powers it showed him. There's also what Maud, Faris' mother, told Umar, Faris' father, to do: raise them right by the Lord.
Disclaimer: I don't own PJO or AC
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Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity.
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Even to the untrained eye, even to those that didn't know him, Altaïr was agitated. His steps were long and quick-paced, his body tense and restricted, and his head was glued in the direction he strode. So on edge was the Master Assassin that he didn't even stop to greet his fellow Assassin at the entrance to Masyaf, Rauf, and kept on walking, making a beeline for the castle.
Rauf's attempts at conversation the whole way up the slopes were in vain.
Altaïr reached the castle gates, where Abbas was waiting. "Ah, he returns at last. Tell me, where are the others? Did you ride ahead hoping to be the first one ba-ahhh!"
Altaïr gripped the man by the front of his robes, slung him around, and slammed him into the wall. His face mere inches away, the Master said darkly, "Not. Another. Word."
Message delivered, Altaïr dropped Abbas, and the lower Assassin fell to the ground, his knees weak and trembling. Sofian glared murder at Altaïr's retreating back.
"I do not know what happened on that mission," Rauf said as he helped Abbas to his feet, "but I know that Faris is not with him, and that is not good."
Ignoring the looks he received, Altaïr entered the fortress, ascended the two flights of stairs, and met the Mentor in his study. "Altaïr, welcome. Please, tell me of your mission. I trust you have recovered the Templar's treasure."
Now, this was the part where the Son of None had to choose his words carefully. He could not outright say 'Malik and Kadar are dead, and Faris was left behind-please give me an army to go back for him.' There was also his failure that needed to be accounted for.
"No, Master, I have note. There were complications. Robert de Sable was not alone in the Temple."
"I see. Our work seems to never go as expected." Al Mualim looked around, seeming to just now take notice of the absence of others. "Where are Faris? And Malik? And Kadar?"
Altaïr swallowed unnoticeably. "Faris is on his way with the treasure, most likely having disposed of Robert as well," he said with a confidence he did not feel. If anything, he felt apprehensive.
"That is good news, but what are the whereabouts of Malik and Kadar, Altaïr?"
"Dead."
Al Mualim's eyes looked as if they were to fall from their sockets. The man's mouth opened to engage in conversation once more, but an unexpected guest made his presence known.
"No! Not dead!"
"Malik!" the Mentor gasped.
"I still live at least," Al-Sayf glared at the man in the white hood.
And that's as far as Altaïr's attention to the argument went. 'I still live at least.' Where was Faris? What had happened to him? Why was Malik here and not Faris? How could this man have beaten Altaïr's little brother here, an Assassin far more capable in skill and ability? Oh no…
The robed Assassin bringing in the treasure Altaïr had seen in Solomon's Temple was the final straw.
Anger consumed Altaïr, a bubbling ocean that rose and swelled to drown the mere pools that Malik and Al Mualim swam within. Had Altaïr been a practitioner of the Dark Side of the Force, the entire Holy Land would have been shaking under his wrath. As it was, however, Altaïr had no such supernatural power, but that did not stop him from pining Malik to the pillar, and hauling him an entire foot off the ground in fury.
"Where is he!? Where is Faris!?" Altaïr roared, the entire castle seeming to tremble under the power of his voice.
"Altaïr! Calm yourself now!"
Al Mualim was ignored.
"Tell me now Malik or so help me God…"
An Assassin came running in. "Master! We are under attack! Robert de Sable lays siege to Masyaf's village!"
That was all Altaïr needed to hear. He grunted once in Malik's face like a bull warning a matador to keep its distance, before dropping the crippled man like a sack of rotten meat. Heedless of Al Mualim's words, Altaïr cleared the stone railing of the Mentor's study, landed with barely more than a miniscule exhale, before he was shooting through the courtyard and into the field of battle.
If Robert was here, then that meant that he either fended off Faris, escaped with his life and now sought retribution, or the man had killed Altaïr's little brother. Either way, the Son of None would get his answer.
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Al Mualim growled as Altaïr blatantly ignored him and rushed into the fray. Still not yet calm, the Mentor turned his attention to heavily-breathing Malik, who had a petrified look on his face, as if he had almost been devoured by a lion.
"Malik." The man did not respond, his eyes wide in terror. "Malik!" Finally, he stirred, staring blankly up the Master, but his eyes did hold the light of recognition. Al Mualim was not pleased. "Stand, Malik Al-Sayf!"
That did the trick, because the Assassin was standing erect not a moment later, however he winced as the movement had jostled his arm. "Report on your mission, Assassin."
So Malik did. He recounted Altaïr's blatant disregard for the Creed, Faris' reluctance to speak out against his brother, the confrontation with Robert, how Altaïr was thrown out of the room, then how Faris commanded Kadar to retrieve the treasure while he and Malik held off the Templars, Kadar's death, and ended the tale with how Faris sacrificed himself to give Malik time to escape with the artifact while he stayed to fight Robert.
Al Mualim stroked his beard. "I see…"
"What will be done about them?" Malik demanded.
"Never you mind, boy," the Mentor said coldly, not at all pleased with Malik's tone. "Go and find a healer. Your arm must be attended to."
Al-Sayf looked to argue, but he held his tongue, and bowed, "Yes, Master."
Malik left, and Al Mualim turned to overlook his village. Even from here, the sounds of battle could be heard. Templars and Assassins, both sides slaughtering the other with reckless abandon, with no end in sight, with no shortage of blood for either side. Was that how it would always be then, Al Mualim mused, then his attention shifted to the treasure.
Or could there be a way to end all conflicts of man?
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Altaïr didn't hesitate to leap from the cliff, land in a roll, take two steps before leaping once more to the ground some distance below and land in yet another roll. Barely felt a thing. Altaïr looked up just in time to see a man in the traditional red and white garb of the Templar foot soldier dispatch an Assassin that the Son of None did not know in any form or fashion.
Just as well, since Altaïr was only concerned with one specific Assassin.
The Templar charged the Master, and the Master barely had conscious thought as he drew his sword and dispatched the little man with a single blow. Moving on from the fresh corpse, Altaïr came across several small battles before him on the slope.
As if his presence had a magical influence, all of the duels were instantly one by Templars, and all of them noticed Altaïr at the same time. The Assassin's hands flew from his leg, his waist, and his shoulder as he grabbed knives and hurled them at the group of incoming soldiers. They all went down with yelps and shouts of pain as their throats were pierced by small projectiles.
Now low on throwing knives, Altaïr growled to himself, before sprinting off down the slope, ignoring the fresh corpses that he had created. Rounding the bend, the Assassin was annoyed to find more conflict ahead, and more Templars that were able to defeat their Assassin opponents just as he arrived. Seeing no other option, Altaïr drew his sword, and dove into conflict.
The first solider swung, and Altaïr stepped past him, slashed at his ankle—causing him to fall—and finished him by stabbing him through his rib cage. Ribbing his saber out, Altaïr was quick to merely step into the guard of the second solider, impaling him on his blade. Slinging the dying man to ground, the Assassin had an instant to take in that he had four more opponents left, before number three came at him with a shout.
Altaïr slid past the man, dragging his blade through the Templar's body, and doing a spin mid-movement to finish the man off with an overhead slash than came with a satisfying SCRUNCH-like sound. Not stopping, Altaïr was in front of the next man to die, only this one had the presence of mind to raise his sword to block, but Altaïr followed up this defensive maneuver by bitch slapping the man with his gloved hand, making him spin around, then stabbing him through the gullet and kicking his body off.
The fifth man did something different. He wound back for a two-handed blow that might've done some damage…if Altaïr had been a lesser Assassin. Instead, the Master timed his parry with expert precision, throwing the Templar off balance. Altaïr punched the man's stomach, then nailed him with an uppercut, and finished by breaking his legs with the sickening sound of crunching bone.
Should've seen the bones sticking out of his legs. Quite the sight, actually.
Now where did the sixth man go…
Altaïr whirled around, sword raised just in time to block an otherwise lethal blow. The Assassin was knocked to the ground, his opponent's strength far above his own. To make things more interesting, Altaïr had also managed to misplace his sword. Probably knocked from his grasp, all things considered.
The Son of None rose to his feet, taking in his opponent. Easily over six feet in height, covered from head to toe in armor, helmet included, and wielding a massive, two-headed axe. The man's armor was cleanly polished and shiny, perhaps to turn the light of the sun into a blinding weapon of some sort. Held in place by broaches attached the shoulder pauldrons was the front of a tunic that came down to the waist, where it had been tucked underneath a belt with the end of the cloth being frayed and damaged, most likely to prevent the hampering of movement.
Long story short, what Altaïr faced was the Levantine equivalent to a Renaissance-era Brute.
The Assassin tilted his head around, popping his neck. Reaching behind him, he unsheathed his short sword, and held in a reverse grip, just like he had been taught. Just like so many other before him had been taught, and most likely so many others after him would be taught. Altaïr got loose, bounced on his feet a little, and became focused on killing the Templar before him.
The brute grunted, a metallic, hollow sound due to his helmet, and hefted his axe, also ready for combat. He advanced slowly, his heavy armor clinking with each step. He loomed over Altaïr, but the Assassin showed no fear, merely coiling his muscles in preparation for dodging. Then a shadow fell over the two of them and the cry of an eagle was heard loud and clear.
Then something cloaked in white and vaguely human in shape crashed down upon the brute like a falling wall. The Assassin grinned at Altaïr from beneath his hood.
"Greetings, brother. I see you've made it safely back to Masyaf."
In another dimension, Altaïr had been born a woman. At this moment in that dimension, the female Altaïr bull-rushed her little brother and body slammed him into the dirt, doing her best to crush his ribs with blunt force, before giving him a tongue lashing that only an elder sister could deliver. In this dimension, however, Altaïr let out an inaudible breath of relief…before punching Faris in the face.
The younger man fell to the ground with a grunt, his Hidden Blades sliding free of his most recent kill. "Well, it's nice to see you too, Altaïr."
"You imbecile. Why did it take you so long to return?"
"Had to fight Robert, ensure the successful recovery of the treasure, escape with my life, and it's not like Jerusalem is down the path from here…I'm still trying to figure out how the Templars could've beaten me here, especially considering how much damage I dealt Robert de Sable."
Altaïr felt a spark of jealousy upon hearing that Faris seemingly fought and defeated the Templar Grand Master and recovered the treasure in one fell swoop, but he quashed such dark feelings in favor of relief over Faris being alive, well, and unharmed. The elder brother extended his hand, and helped his junior to his feet.
The two shared a matching smile from beneath their eye-covering hoods.
Just then, the village gates burst open, and a slew of Templars stormed in, led by none other than Robert de Sable himself. Altaïr noted the man had a fresh, angry scar upon his head. He also noted the smirk on his little brother's face.
"Do you believe we can defeat them all?"
"With our Lord on our side…absolutely."
The Eagle snorted. "I find your faith in such fairy tales annoying."
"And I find your lack of faith disturbing."
Unknowingly quoting a legend from several hundred years into the future, Faris began to walk down the central slope of Masyaf to engage to the oncoming Templar horde. Altaïr was right next to him, matching him stride for stride, almost as if their movements were choreographed. Then Abbas came streaking past them with his tail visibly between his legs.
"Break off the attack and return to Masyaf! Al Mualim commands it!"
Faris blinked as he watched his childhood arch nemesis go streaking away.
"We are the all the way down here…Al Mualim is all the way up there…how in God's name did Abbas receive such orders? Carrier pigeon?"
"Who's to say?" Altaïr said. "Perhaps it was your Lord that delivered the Master's instruction to Abbas."
"Perhaps."
The brothers sprinted all the way back to the fortress, and when they entered the gates, they came down behind them. Neither sibling was winded, nor were they even breathing any different than if they had gone for a leisurely walk through the village. The courtyard was packed tight with Assassins and innocents alike.
Rauf approached the Sons of None. "Altaïr, come with me. Faris, join Al Mualim on the rampart above the gate. The Mentor is not yet done with us."
The brother followed their fellow Assassin up the ladder, but Altaïr continued up while Faris took a right onto the rampart, where so many Assassins yet stood, the Master standing out in his black robes. The elder brother took up position while the younger stood next to Al Mualim.
The one-eyed man nodded in acceptance of Faris' presence.
Robert and his small army approached from below.
"Heretic! Return what you have stolen from me!" cried the Templar.
"You've no claim to it, Robert! Now take yourself from here before I am forced to thin your ranks further."
"You play a dangerous game, old man!"
Faris stepped forward, becoming visible to the army below. Robert's eyes widened in recognition. "You! You are the one who scared me, and stole what is mine!"
"To be fair, it was someone else that made off with the treasure, I'm just the one that prevented you from giving chase," Faris responded evenly.
"Technicalities and twisted words, Faris. If you will not bring what you have taken from me, then I will take from you. Bring forth the hostage!"
From within the mass of red and white soldiers, a man in a hood was brought forward…and promptly stabbed through the chest in an explosion of red mist, and then left to fall to the ground like a common animal. Faris started, but Al Mualim held him back with an arm across the chest, and a very stern look.
"The first of many more to die, Heretic. Your village lays in ruins and your stores are hardly endless! How long before your fortress crumbles from within? How disciplined will your men remain, when the wells run dry and their food is gone?" Robert taunted.
"My men do not fear death, Robert! They welcome it, and the rewards it brings!"
"Good! Then they shall have it all around!"
Al Mualim gestured to the three Assassins standing on high. "Show these fool knights what it means to have no fear! Go to God!"
With that, all three leapt from their platforms, and sailed out of sight.
Robert de Sable had to blink at that. Did he just witness three grown men leap to their deaths on nothing but command alone? The Grand Master blinked a few more times, just to make sure he was not hallucinating due to his recent head injury. Nope; not hallucinating. Sweet Lord above these Assassins were fucked up.
"Congratulations, Heretic! You've successfully murdered three more Assassins for me! Now you and more men have a few less mouths to feed in this time of crisis, and may just survive a little while longer. Thank you for your generous contribution to my cause."
Faris saw his brother enter the guard tower, and he gave a kind smiled to Robert, and he even offered a cordial wave of the hand. "Bye-bye Robert."
The Templar adopted a confused look, and then the logs came down.
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The Sons of None stood before the Mentor, four of their brothers standing behind them, and the whole of the Order was below in the courtyard.
"You did well to drive Robert from here. His force is broken. It should be a long while before he troubles us again. Tell me, do you know why it is you are successful?" Al Mualim asked. At the brothers' silence, both out of different forms of confusion, the Mentor continued, "Because you listened. Were it that you listened in Solomon's Temple, Altaïr, all of this would've been avoided."
"I did as I was asked."
"No, you did as you please!" loudly spoke the Mentor. "Malik told me of the arrogance you displayed—your disregard for our ways!"
The brothers were gabbed behind by their fellow Assassin's their arms retrained.
"What are you doing!?" roared Altaïr.
"Master, what is this!?" Faris said surprised. While he could've easily broken this hold on him, he wanted a reason for this sudden turn of events before he acted rashly.
"There are rules. We are nothing if we do not abide by the Assassiun's Creed: three simple tenets, which you seem to forget. I will remind you. First and foremost: stay you blade—"
"—from the flesh of the innocent. I know."
Al Mualim backhanded Altaïr across the face. "And stay your tongue! Unless I give you leave to use it. If you are so familiar with this tenet, then why did you kill the old man inside the Temple? He was innocent! He did not need to die."
Altaïr jerked his head around, refusing to meet the Mentor's face.
"Your insolence knows no bounds," Al Mualim growled. "Make humble your heart child, or I swear I'll tear from with my own hands!" While not threatened, Altaïr did still himself. Faris struggled, "Mentor-!"
The Horseman was silenced with a glare. Altaïr snarled at the blatant threat to the last member of his family. He was ignored.
Al Mualim began pacing. "The second tenet is that which gives us strength: hide in plain sight. Let the people mask you such that you become one with the crowd. Do you remember? Because as I hear it, you chose to expose yourself, drawing attention before you struck! The third and final tenet, the worst of all your betrayals. Never compromise the Brotherhood. It's meaning should be obvious. Your actions must never bring harm upon us, direct or indirect! Yet your selfish act beneath Jerusalem placed us all in danger! Worse still, you brought the enemy to our home! Every man we lost today, was lost because of you!"
Al Mualim took a breath, calming his nerves after his tirade. The Assassins in the crowds behind shifted around nervously, their Mentor's anger becoming palpable, the whole situation out of the ordinary, and their discomfort with the events taking place was great. The black-robed man finally addressed Faris Ibn-La-Ahad.
"And you…you do not share your brother's arrogance, and your faith is strong, but you are far from blameless in these events," Al Mualim said evenly, voice hard as stone. "Malik has told me of your faults as well, how you have stayed silent for all these years as you watched your brother spiral out of control. Like I said to Altaïr, your actions must never compromise the Brotherhood, whether direct or indirect, and your silence regarding your brother has indirectly brought great harm upon us all.
"Still, I commend you, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad. Your actions in Solomon's Temple will be remembered for all time, and your dedication to our Order and God will also be written down. Alas, your actions and those of Altaïr cannot be overlooked."
Al Mualim drew a dagger, but it wasn't just any dagger. It was the same ceremonial weapon used to welcome an Assassin into the Brotherhood. In other words, it was the same knife that had removed the brothers' ring fingers so many years ago. Altaïr struggled, while Faris hung his head, accepting of what was to come.
"I am sorry, I truly am. But I cannot abide traitors."
"We are not traitors," Altaïr growled.
"Your actions indicate otherwise. And so you leave me no choice. Peace be upon you…both of you."
Al Mualim stabbed the Eagle in the gut, causing him to briefly howl in pain. The Mentor withdrew the dagger, and the Assassins dropped the Eagle his wings clipped. The Horseman did not watch, his head bowed in such a way that his eyes were hidden. He heard footsteps approach.
"I've always wondered what my mother looked like," the Horseman said softly. "Will I see her?"
"Do you hold the truths of God in your heart, child?"
"I do."
"Then yes. You will see your mother in Heaven."
The Horseman endured a brief moment of agony in his abdomen, before all became like light.
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Faris stood on what could only be described as clouds. Around him, the sapphire blue sky enveloped all that the eye could see. There was no wind, and there was no sound, and it was not cold, but a comfortable temperature. Faris did not see the sun, but there was a great, soft glow coming from in front of him.
However, that was not what caught the Assassin's attention.
It was the gates, and the robed man standing in front of them.
Faris approached, his steps making no sound. "Is this…?"
"Yes."
"Then, I am…but my brother. Where is he?"
The man smiled sadly. "He still walks among the men of the earth…as do you."
"…I do not understand."
"You will, shortly. It is not yet your time, Faris Ibn-La'Ahad. The Lord still has much work for you to do."
Faris blinked, and the next thing he knew was that he was standing in front of Al Mualim, who was sitting at his desk within his private study. The Son of None's hands roamed his body, finding all of his weapons, equipment, and robes to be in perfect condition, despite the throngs of battle taking their toll on clothes…and being stabbed.
That hole was gone.
"I am alive…but I know you stabbed me…and I saw…I saw…" Faris struggled to remember just what he saw.
"You saw what I wanted you to see," said Al Mualim, "and then you slept the sleep of the dead, of the womb, so that you may be reborn."
"What is the meaning behind this?"
"Tell me, do you know what we Assassins fight for?"
"Peace. In all things."
"Yes, in all things. It is not enough to end the violence one man commits upon another. It refers to peace within as well. You cannot have one without the other."
"I see."
Al Mualim studied the young man in front of him. What he saw in Faris was not in Altaïr, and so the Mentor said thusly, "Yes, you do. You have a wisdom for our Creed that your brother does not. Tell me, what is the truth?"
Faris cocked his head in confusion, but he answered nonetheless. He answered with the wisdom he had gained from his travels, from his experiences, and from his studies of the Bible. He answered in a way his brother would, so many weeks from that day. "We place faith in ourselves. We see the world as it truly is, and hope that one day all mankind will see the same."
"What is the world, then?"
"An illusion. One we can either submit to, as most do, or transcend."
"What is it to transcend?"
"To realize Nothing is True, and Everything is Permitted. That laws arise not from divinity, but reason. Our Creed does not command us to be free, but to be wise."
Al Mualim smiled proudly. "Spoken just like your father, Faris. If only your brother shared your wisdom."
"Where is he?"
"Elsewhere." That was all the Mentor said, and his tone made it clear that was all he was going to say, so Faris asked a different question, "I can only assume that put Altaïr and me to sleep for our sins is not the extent of your plan?"
Al Mualim smirked. "No. No it is not. Your crimes were not as severe as Altaïr's, and therefore your road to redemption is an easier one, but it is still not to be taken lightly."
"I understand. What is to be done with me, then?"
"Templars," the Mentor gravely intoned. "Our spies have informed me that Robert de Sable has dispatched an expedition across the sea to search for an unknown object."
"A treasure like the one in Solomon's Temple?"
"I fear it so. Your mission is to track down the expedition, discover their motives, and either put an end to them, or let them be."
"Understood, Mentor. What is to happen to Altaïr?"
Al Mualim waved his hand in dismissal. "Do not worry about him, my child. I have already chosen Altaïr's path. There is work to be done in the Holy Land, and there is work to be done elsewhere. Your work."
"And where is it that my work will take me?"
"Greece."
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Faris accepted his mission, and underwent this daunting task with a prayer, and a healthy amount of Faith. Two days of nonstop travel brought the Assassin to the coast, and two more days of fair wind brought him to Cyprus. Three days of traveling across the island yielded information that a host of Templar Knights had boarded a ship bound for the island of Crete.
Faris easily acquired the funds necessary for a boat, and the trip from Cyprus to Crete was one filled with waves, bad weather, some squealing horses and other animals, and then the blessing of the Lord to make the voyage last only four days. Still, four days at sea in the late 12th century was not exactly pleasant.
Faris found good fortune at the docks, with sailors eager to make a bit of money on the side in exchange for information, and the Assassin saw no harm in giving out a few coins. He learned that a large expedition, 300 men, apparently, were headed west for the mountain of Ida. Faris also discovered that he was only three days behind his targets.
So he got a horse.
"What should I call you," the Assassin asked his newly purchased pure-bred, all-white stallion. "Something that starts with A? B? C…?" Faris continued through the letters, until the horse whinnied and stamped when he got to R. "Hmm, what words do I know of that start with R…"
Faris' face scrunched beneath his hood as thought. His horse watched him silently, tail occasionally flicking.
"Robert?"
The horse neighed in the negative.
"Rashad?"
Nope.
"Rommel?"
No.
"Richard?"
Nadda.
"…Roach?"
The horse whinnied and stamped in the positive, clearly proud of his new name.
"Roach it is, then." Faris mounted his steed, and flicked the reigns. The Horseman and the Horse went charging off into a westerly direction. During the trip, through all the little mishaps and mini-adventures and events that would make for fun stories in the future, Faris made a little song that fit perfectly with a travelling montage.
"Look out new world here we come
Brave, intrepid and then some
Pioneers of maximum
Audacity whose resumes
Show that we are just the team
To live where others merely dream
Building up a head of steam
On the trail we blaze
Changing legend into fact
We shall ride into history
Turning myth into truth
We shall surely gaze
On the sweet unfolding
Of an antique mystery
All will be revealed
On the trail we blaze
Paradise is close at hand
Shangri-La the promised land
Seventh heaven on demand
Quite unusual nowadays
Virgin vistas, undefiled
Minds and bodies running wild
In the man behold the child
On the trail we blaze
The trail we blaze
Is a road uncharted
Through terra incognita to a golden shrine
No place for the traveler
To be faint-hearted
We are part of the sumptuous grand design
Changing legend into fact
We shall ride into history
Turning myth into truth
We shall surely gaze on the sweet unfolding
Of an antique mystery
All will be revealed
On the trail we blaze
On the trail we blaze!"
Faris resolved himself to write that song down one day, and see if he couldn't find any instruments that would play perfectly with his new, catchy little tune. After three days of traveling through Crete, following a path that would make sense for an army to travel, Faris found himself on a cliff, overlooking a valley. Opposite of him stood Mt. Ida, its green-covered slopes most likely more beautiful in the noonday sun than in the late evening.
However, there was on great big thing that was wrong with the scenery: the burning village below.
From up high, Faris could see the Knights Templar storming through the large expanse of land, and he could see flashes of silver, and he could see groups of people in orange robes fervently engaged in battle with the Templars, using what appeared to be pitchforks and other farming equipment.
The Assassin's blood boiled. Those men claimed to be soldiers of God, and yet they brought devastation to his children for no apparent reason. What benefit was there in destroying the homes and crops of farmers?
Desiring a better grasp on the situation, Faris closed his eyes, and focused on the environment and his surroundings. He opened his eyes, and the entire world was different. Everything was tinted dark blue, and down below, hundreds of red lights swarmed around. Those red blips were undoubtedly the Templars, but then things got strange.
Faris expected the farmer to not glow at all, or at the very least glow blue, but instead they glowed the colors of the rainbow. Faris saw wine purples, he saw moonlight silvers, he saw forest greens, he saw sunlight yellows, he saw forge fire orange and reds, he saw stormcloud greys, he saw bright pinks, he saw light blues—like a pale sky, he saw reds, but they were a softer shade than the Templar's colors, and finally, he saw one strange shade of blue, different than the norm and different than the other blues down below.
Faris looked around, and he saw a golden figure sitting upon a horse.
Reigning in his senses, the world returned to its normal colors of sunset pink and orange, accompanied by the black of smoke and the green of the land. Down below, the masses that Faris saw were still glowing their respective colors. Now able to see better (technically), the Assassin saw that golden man was wielding a strange sword, one that looked to be made of gold, but glowed like fire and lightning.
Speaking of lightning, the lone blue that Faris saw, a woman it seemed, raised her hand to the sky, and swiftly thrust it at the Templar. To the Assassin's utter confusion and amazement, a bolt of lightning came spitting from the clouds. The Templar's sword glowed, and seemingly ate the bolt of God's Wrath.
Faris did not know what just happened, but he did know that there was no sword that could be made by men that could perform such a feat, and there was certainly no way for a mortal blade to expel light and power capable of knocking so many off their feet with but a casual flick.
Recognizing the extreme amount of danger there was below, the Son of None flicked the reigns, causing Roach to whinny and rear, before thundering down the wide path to the valley below. Faris did not have a clue as to why Templars were attacking farmers, or why those farmers glowed so many different colors, or why there seemed to be a woman that could call upon the power of God, or why there was a Templar that had a sword that could absorb the power of the Lord and direct it elsewhere, but he did know this:
God had brought him here for a reason.
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Next chapter is going to be so much fun.
You also can't get mad at me for bringing Camp Half-Blood into the fray 800 years early. I did hint at what was to happen at the top of chapter 2, so go back and read that top AN for clues.
Anyway, so we've got an Assassin that can see the godly heritage of demigods via Eagle Vision, a Templar with a Sword of Eden that can contend with demigod powers, a Templar army able to go toe-to-toe with demigods, the Hunters of Artemis down in the fray, and a devout Christian diving into a world of Pagans.
Oh yes, next chapter is going to be so much fun! Especially considering when Percy goes to Camp and has all the memories of Faris.
Fav, Follow, and Review, please!