Age 22:
The clouds above were dark and stormy. The streets were empty in preparation of the obvious rain to come, the air already feeling thick with humidity. A lone figure strode towards the village from the enormous fortress at the top of the hill.
Altaïr glanced up at the storm brewing above, inhaling the moist air deeply though his nose. He paused and he couldn't help noting how different it was from that day, so many years ago.
He knew the village below Masyaf like the back of his own hand, and did not hesitate on his way to get to where he was going. He knew the location of this place especially well, as he had been visiting it annually for the past several years.
Altaïr strode into the pub. He cast a sweeping glance over the people of the village of Masyaf before finding a table in the corner of the room, turning a chair around so that he was in the corner, facing outward towards the entire bar, mostly out of habit. He highly doubted that he would be attacked here, of all places, but better safe than sorry.
The barkeep who saw him enter waded through the crowded tables towards the assassin, who ordered a random drink. Altaïr didn't usually drink, but today he figured he may as well. It wasn't long before the barkeep returned with his drink, who sipped from it thoughtfully as he continued to survey his surroundings.
He was exactly twice his age since his father's execution. Not that it was really a happy day of remembrance, but in Altaïr's mind it was something to be acknowledged. Thus, on the anniversary of Umar lbn-La'Ahad's death, his only son would drink to his honor, if possible. He felt like it was the best way, other than being the very best assassin he could be, and making his father's sacrifice worth it.
Since Altaïr had become a full member of the order, he had been rising in rank steadily, Malik following close behind him. Altaïr figured that if he continued his progression at that rate, it would only be a matter of time before he achieved the rank of Master Assassin. Only a couple more years at the most, which would mean that he would be the youngest in the history of the Brotherhood ever to achieve the title.
Altaïr gulped down a couple more mouthfuls of the burning liquid, and deciding that he didn't like it as it slid down his esophagus. Altaïr scowled down at his tankard, swirling it around a little, before downing it in one gulp so that he wouldn't have to taste it.
Altaïr wiped his arm sloppily across his mouth before crossing his arms behind his head and propping his boots up on the table as he continued to survey the bar from his position. As he watched, a small group of maybe about six Novices headed inside and sat at a table across the room from him, appearing not to take notice of him. Altaïr's Eagle Vision activated briefly, and he spotted a flicker of blue in the crowd of the other white Novices. Kadar.
Altaïr watched the Novices, amused, as they huddled together in a group and muttered in hushed voices to one another before one of them kicked Kadar's shin in a playful sort of way. Kadar stood up and walked awkwardly over to a barmaid, his face flushing a bright scarlet as he started to talk to her, gesturing with his hands animatedly as he did so. The barmaid watched him, amused, her cheeks turning a pale pink. Altaïr could see the other Novices snickering at the youngest Al-Sayf. The barmaid gave Kadar a small, pitying smile before slightly shaking her head and walking away, leaving Kadar alone. Kadar's face flushed an even brighter red, and his eyes swept across the tavern, his blue eyes passing over the other Novices before coming to a halt on Altaïr, seeming to realize his idol was there for the first time. Kadar buried his face in his hands, looking like he wanted to die.
Altaïr didn't acknowledge Kadar as he swung his legs off of the table and rummaged around in his coin pouch for some money and placing it on the table as he stood, hoping that it would be enough for his drink. He made his way to the entrance, still ignoring Kadar, partially to save him the embarrassment and partially, must it be said, because he didn't particularly want to deal with him or any other Novices at the moment.
Altaïr opened the taven door and left, heading back towards the fortress, wondering if Al Mualim had any missions for him to do, as large drops of rain plunked on the top of his hood. As he walked, he casually activated his Eagle Vision. Near the main gate of the fortress, Altaïr approached the shining blue figure that was shifting around frantically. Altaïr noted that the blue wasn't as bright as it once was, but he pushed that thought aside as he stopped and stood next to him.
"He's at the pub." Altaïr said flatly, allowing his vision to go back to normal.
"What?" Malik asked, turning towards him.
"You really shouldn't worry." Altaïr added, "Kadar's almost nineteen now. You really don't need to baby him."
"You stay out of my business, and I'll stay out of yours, lbn-La'Ahad." Malik said spitefully, crossing his arms across his chest and giving him a scowl that would have made a lesser man cringe.
Altaïr said nothing and held the eye contact for another moment until Malik turned away and headed towards the direction from which Altaïr came, muttering something under his breath about the morons he was to work and that he couldn't believe they used to be friends with that Altaïr didn't quite catch due to the soft shhhhhhhhh of rain.
Altaïr shook his head out of their conversation and began his trek back to the main fortress once more, his mind focused back on any possible missions that the Master may have for him.
Sorry for another short chapter. They'll get longer, I promise!
Speaking of which, we only have three left! Gaah! Can you believe it!? I didn't think I'd get this far! XD
The only ones left are ages twenty-five, twenty-six, and twenty-seven! (Mostly because I couldn't think of any good stories for twenty-three and twenty-four. :P )