WHHAAAAAAAT? AN UPDATE?!
Hey all! Sorry for the slow update, I've been trying to start some other fics at the same time, probably not the smartest idea, but hey… I DO WHAT I WANT :P Anyway, let me know what you think of this story so far: feel free to tell me what you'd like to see me do differently, or to continue doing! Special thanks to those that did leave a review, you guys motivate me to keep writing!
This chapter will be pretty short, I'm warning you now, but I have revisited the plot, and it will definitely be getting interesting from here…
As always, Ubisoft owns Assassin's Creed, not me.
Enjoy and review!
Altaïr slowly prowled over to the where he had just placed the guard's body, a small pool of congealing blood lay at the roots of the bush. He sized up the guard. Thankfully, he was much smaller than the Assassin of six feet. Altaïr removed both of his tunics, and selected the larger of the two, a coarse, sturdy flax weave. He tied the arms together, and then set about the unsavory task of stuffing the guard's body into the makeshift body bag. He grimaced as he lifted the body into the tunic, and slung it over his shoulder. He knew he would have to hurry before the blood seeped through his "body bag". Altaïr smirked to himself; it just so happened that he had overheard Maria inform Rida that Mamraj had planned a lavish party that was to be held this evening. Altaïr grinned darkly as he joked to himself, Here comes the main course.
Altaïr hadn't bothered to put the other tunic back on himself, instead deciding to squeeze himself into the Guard's tunic. After struggling to get his arms into the sleeves, he cut them off angrily, figuring he would have a better time getting into the kitchen full of women without them. He had, reluctantly, removed his hood; he did need to keep his status a secret. He didn't like the fact that his face would be bare – identity could either make or break an Assassin. However, he wouldn't be venturing out in the streets without his hood up, therefore his identity should be safe.
Altaïr sauntered into the kitchen, his stride slightly strained under the burden of carrying a grown man over one shoulder. He grunted softly as he threw the sack down on to the counter, quickly ducking out of the kitchen before any of the women got a good look at his face. Although he would be in and out, and therefore shouldn't have been worried about the cooks, it would not take long before someone realized just what exactly had been stuffed into that bag, and thrown onto the counter. He scampered out of the kitchen, making his way along a series of corridors. As each turn passed, he found himself growing more and more frustrated.
Where the hell is this bastard hiding?!
Minutes passed, causing Altaïr's nervousness to intensify. His left hand twitched nervously every time he rounded a corner, or heard footsteps echoing behind him. He had left his belt and sash in the bush outside, expecting to retrieve them after. He had planned his escape route with this in mind, figuring he would have time to stoop for his equipment before rushing into the crowded streets, replacing them after he would scramble into a rooftop garden or hay pile.
"Hey– you. What are you doing here?!" A voice echoed off the plaster walls.
Altaïr turned slowly, regarding the pair of armored guards with caution. Out of habit, his eyes flitted across their armor, looking for weak spots.
"Are you mute as well as stupid?" one of them sneered.
Altaïr swallowed a growl, "I'm sorry?"
The guards continued to walk up, one of them shoving him slightly, "You are expected to stay in the courtyard until the entire proceedings are over."
Altaïr blinked, confusion marring his calm exterior. He paused, trying to understand how he was going to get out of the situation, and still be able to perform his mission. Behind him, he heard several more guards making their round, much too close for Altaïr to kill the two in front of him, without the former noticing.
"Are you lost or something, ghabi?"
Altaïr grimaced, "Perhaps you could refresh my memory."
The guard shoved him forward again, pointing to the hallway adjacent to him, "We'll make sure you get there." The scowl on his face anything but friendly.
Altaïr was pushed along a labyrinth of hallways and down several staircases before finally reaching an expansive courtyard. Richly decorated and lavishly furnished, Mamraj's festivities appeared to be held in heavenly splendor. Distinguished guests sauntered about, sampling mouthwatering dishes and exotic imported fruits from faraway lands. The world flooded dark as Altaïr switched to eagle vision. Bright blues and reds saturated the majority of his field of view, while blinding whites of benches and other hiding spots caused him to blink and squint his eyes.
No sign of Mamraj.
Altaïr was pushed further into the courtyard, the indignant guards behind him hurrying along to finally be rid of him. Altaïr let out a frustrated sigh, annoyed that he wasn't able to take the opportunity of thoroughly sweeping the area from a higher vantage point. He kept his head low as he passed people, wary to keep his features as discrete as possible. They passed a group of Mamraj's harem girls, who winked at giggled at Altaïr and the guards, asking them to come watch them dance. After a few crude comments, they moved along, pushing Altaïr again.
If that happens one more time I will tear that damned arm from its socket, and shove him with it.
"Here– are you still lost, or should we lead you in your choreography as well?" The guards spat, leaving him beside a group of male dancers. Upon closer inspection, Altaïr's clothes did very much resemble those of the dancers, no shirt, and simple pants tied at the hip. Altaïr noted that the guards apparently failed to notice his vambrace and sturdy boots, where his counterparts wore sandals and gold cuffs.
It dawned on Altaïr then.
They think I'm a dancer?!
A/N
Ghabi- stupid in Arabic, ( not sure if the right tense or agreement, lemme know if you do!).
DUN DUN DUN! Whatever has Altaïr gotten himself into now. Read on to find out!