Connor: Servant of the MasterChapter 3
“Charles!” Haytham's voice rose an octave. “I had said he was to be watched, kept close. Not sent out on a ship!”
Charles Lee lowered his eyes, mortified. Had he misunderstood his master's orders? Then the Assassin's sneering face appeared in his mind, the indifference with which his enemy had listened, had submitted, to his fate had been unsettling. Lee's face coloured at the insulting image and he raised his eyes to find the cold eyes of his master, waiting expectantly.
“Sir,” he tried and cleared his throat. Haytham's face was as cold as ice and expressed about as much of his emotion. Haytham was a man of cold ire: it did not blaze but smoulder for a long time. “Sir, I thought – I believed -...”
“You believed that letting him loose on a slaveship would solve our problem, Charles,” Haytham interrupted him coldly. “Now he is out there, alone.”
Haytham walked to the window and stared out for a momen
Friendship and BrotherhoodAltair dragged himself through the white wet snow, hand clasped to his side to keep the blood in. It was no use, he knew. The wound was too big to cover with one hand. Blood continued to trickle from the slashed flesh. Hed jerked the knife out and left it in the snow some way back. He hoped the pursuers would not see it. His blood was enough of a trail for them to follow.Friendship and Brotherhood6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
His breath was vapour in the air. He crawled on, face frozen in a grim expression of desperate determination. Malik was waiting for him back at that abandoned farm out in the country behind a snow-covered hill. He was no doubt worried that neither Altair nor Abbas were back yet. But he could do nothing they had agreed that he was to be ready to ride out when they got back from the task they had come to do.
The snow hissed under him, yielding to his body. His fingers were frozen from digging through it. His hand was so numb he did not feel it anymore. Nor was he aware of the cold gnawing at him, steadily w
Credere e' VivereEzio knew he was going to miss. He knew that with certainty when he felt his shoulder give and staggered, gasping. His sword dropped from his hand as he clutched at the arrow half buried in his shoulder. He watched it all happen in slow motion, in utter disbelief. He'd not known the archers were anywhere near. Had had no inkling that there were archers at all. He gritted his teeth, fingers slick with blood, as he glared at the soldiers who moved closer weaving their weapons back and forth in menacing arcs.Credere e' Vivere5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
The Assassin fought like a feral beast, winded or not, injured or not. He was a handful and that was no mistake. Estefano Reggio swore as his men died around him. The bastard was covered in blood and knives head to foot, seemingly pulling the shiny sleek blades out of thin air. If he'd not known better Estefano would have said the Assassin employed magic. But how magical was a man who stumbled and bled and gasped with every stroke? He was mortal. And this day of Christmas he would di
Connor: Of Heart and SoulHis breath rattled in his throat. His father held him easily by the front of his torn bloodied robes. They were soaked in thick dark blood that gently seeped from the gunshot wound to his side and sword cut to his chest. His body was a ruin of bruises and injuries and scars. He had not seen thirty summers – and now it appeared would not see any more.Connor: Of Heart and Soul2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
“The Assassins are finished,” Haytham hissed, shaking him and then letting him go. Connor crumpled bonelessly to the ground, his cheek pressed against the cool earth. He could not move. Did not want to move. Had no will. No strength to defend himself when his father’s boot kicked him over onto his side. The bitterness of defeat, of his immanent death, roiled in his mouth mixed with the blood that he could no longer summon energy to spit. It simply slid from the corner of his closed mouth in a red rivulet, slow like lava down a volcano. Haytham’s hand on his gasping chest was a distant, disembodied sensation.
Connor: Out in the ColdHe lunged forward, defiant. And missed his mark. His feet slid out from under him on the powdery snow as he was pushed back. He fell onto his back with a dry grunt and rolled over or tried to. He was rolling. Just not aside but down. Along the snow that whispered dryly under him, his fingers gouging tracks in a futile attempt to stop.Connor: Out in the Cold2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He slid right out over the precipice in a white cloud of white powder, his hands scraped raw red by the coldness of the snow. He dangled the abyss, snow slowly floating past him with a deceptive ease. He panted, chest constricted by the press of the cliff edge.
Only the leather strap around his wrist stopped his free fall. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder down. It was a long way down, a very long way. His heart pounded in his heaving chest. It hurt to breathe. His wrist pulsed with every heart throb.
A shadow fell over him. Reflex took over. He glanced up, fast. To see the black barrel of a gun pointing at his face, the hammer drawn back.
Altair: Madness of the BeastKerak, 1187 CEAltair: Madness of the Beast6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
He had fought like a beast. And so they had chained him like one.
The darkness was so absolute it seemed solid, hard enough to touch. Nothing penetrated its veil: no daylight for there were no windows to allow any, nor was there any torchlight for the door to the cell was solid wood, covered in rusted steel plates on both sides. The cell was made of large stone blocks, roughly squared but well fitted together with mortar. It was small in size, six feet from the back wall to the door and across from wall to wall: a square shape. A stone box. A strong cage. For an Eagle.
The prisoner shifted, chains clinking. The sound of metal moving was loud in the darkness. As grating as the regular heartbeat reverberating in the room. How could no one hear it outside? Since hed been thrown here two weeks had it been that long? Hed lost track of time down here in this dank damp slime covered box of a room ago he had hardly seen anyone, least of all the man who&
Altair: Eagle's Soul3Chapter 3Altair: Eagle's Soul35 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
On the road to Baghdad Summer 1188 CE
Having seen everything he needed to see, Altair crawled back from the edge of the cliff and, once sure no one would see him, stood up and headed back down the slope, loosening the sabre in its sheath. Twenty Templars, he counted mentally, picking his way carefully down to the horses and the little camp theyd made in the hollow under the cliff. Twenty very careless Templars. Their camp had no organization whatsoever. Easy prey for him: apparently theyd forgotten that he was the Shadow of Death hanging over them, the white-clad ghost that could blend in with any Templar troop. And take many of them down before they even knew he was there.
Adah had waited with the horses, her brow set in a frown. Theyd argued about the wisdom of chasing twenty well armed Knights of the Church all the afternoon but his mind had been set the moment hed seen the homestead and the look on her face that shed tried hard to hide. For w
Altair: Eagle and HoundThe archer squinted into the driving rain, trying to aim but cursed when he saw nothing. Where in hell were ? He KNEW his men had chased that white robed Assassin into a corner of the square between two dilapidated houses: a warehouse long in disuse and an inn whose clientele were unsavoury to say the least. God, how could they have lost him?Altair: Eagle and Hound5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Rain. That was the problem. Rain and thunder all day long. Unrelenting as Gods punishment. He cursed more, an uninterrupted stream of oaths muttered. His lord back in his quarters in Aleppo had sent them to kill this impudent wretch whod dared to kill his uncle, the previous lord of Aleppo. For weeks theyd pursued him till theyd chased him here into this abandoned little town where the population was barely visible.
Ah, there he was again. The archer once more put arrow to string, moving swiftly across the roof of the old house to the next, eyes on the speck of white as it moved and dodged between houses. Hed led
Gli Sogni dei L'AquiliVenezia 1486 CEGli Sogni dei L'Aquili5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Ezio ran across the square, the armoured guard in hot pursuit, pikes abristle. They would never catch him, he laughed. He was lighter of foot, younger, fitter. And he had just killed a man, one of those whod plotted against his father Carlo Grimaldi, a Venetian noble whose insolence knew no end. Hed sunk his hidden blade into il bastardos throat with great relish. Of course hed not been able to effect a quite graceful peaceful exit some of the targets knew he was coming for their heads and took measures. Not that those always sufficed. Not against an Assassin like him.
He leapt lightly up onto a stack of crates and then up to a beam with a light swinging from it. The lamp was not lit now as dawn had broken already. The early shoppers gawked at him, whispering but not for long as the guard came barging through, throwing people aside in their zealous haste. Breathing lightly he went up the face of the building across from the b
Altair: Peace and JusticeAltair: Peace and JusticeAltair: Peace and Justice6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Arsuf September 1191 CE
Altairs blows were growing weaker. Hed fought for hours, cutting his way to the Crusaders Kings tent. He had waded through the Muslim and the Crusader outposts, leaving a bloody body-strewn trail miles long. His conditioning had taken a beating. His breath rasped in his burning parched throat. He heaved air into his lungs as he parried the Templars blow. Hed already fought his best men and laid them low, all ten, but it had taken even more out of him. He staggered, his right arm numb with the force of the swings and countless parries hed done to keep the broadsword of the Grand Master of the Templars and the Kings right hand man away from himself. Robert pressed his advantage laughing grimly behind his helmet. His face was hidden from Altair. He did not need to see it though. He had come to kill this man.
Hed ridden all the way from Jerusalem for weeks, practically killing Aisha. She
Altair: Eagle's ChoicesChapter 1Altair: Eagle's Choices6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Masyaf, late November 1189 CE
Altair put the letter down on the table gently. He put his hands before his face in an attitude of Christian prayer, sighing into them. He stared at the door across from the table lit by the late afternoon sunlight but did not see the polished dark wood anymore than he heard the sounds of birds coming in through the open window behind him. He sat absolutely still like a statue adorning one of the numerous fountains in Jerusalem.
The letter was from his father. It had arrived in the morning. He had read it and reread it ever since. He had no idea what he was looking for. The request was a simple one: Wafid invited him to his house in Tripoli to visit with the family. The amir obviously wanted to know him better and make him part of his large household. Altair was not sure if he felt comfortable with that. His home and family were here at Masyaf among his fellow Brothers.
But that was not all. He sensed there was something else below the simple wor
Wisdom, Sorrow Chapter 1Assassin's Creed - Post Game AltairWisdom, Sorrow Chapter 16 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
I've never seen anything like it," Malik said, his voice tinged with awe as he stared at the apparition cast by the Piece of Eden. Though he'd retrieved it for Al Mualim, he'd never seen what the treasure was capable of. "Altair what is it?
Its a curse. A weapon of lies and deception.
Will you destroy it, then?
He didnt answer. The biblical passage that Al Mualim had recited as he died still rang in his mind. For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow. There was much truth in the words, he reflected, though it seemed an odd thing for Al Mualim to have on his lips as he passed on to whatever heaven or hell awaited him.
His first impulse had been to crush the thing with the broad side of his sword, but something stayed his hand, even as he heard Al Mualim taunting him. The thought had struck him that there may something he could learn from
Altair: Eagle and SultanCairo, Egypt, 1189 CEAltair: Eagle and Sultan6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Altair swore loudly. He came to a complete stop as people looked at him aghast at such profanity from so handsome a man. The men ahead of him Sultans Personal Guard no less stood barring his way, swords drawn. They had seen him and now slowly advanced, keeping him in sights. Ignoring the shocked murmurs of the populace about him, Altair scanned the street quickly for any way out. Cart, pile of refuse, a shop door, a crowd Well, that last was certainly unavailable now as the citizens stared at the Mameluks in their expensive armour bearing Salahadins crest and him. Staring Suddenly he realized his hood had come off during his run. He thought of pulling it back up, then gave up. Too late. His face had been seen. By everyone. The Mameluks. The sheep in the street. Just when had it fallen off? Idiotic question, he told himself.
The citizens were starting to panic a little at seeing armed men in their midst, Salahadins troops
Malik Al Sayr: ShamblesI want the journals, Malik.Malik Al Sayr: Shambles5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
I stared up from the book Id been reading with cold steel knot in my belly by the hour to see a ghost of a man standing in the doorway, leaning on the side with one shaking arm. The man was more scarecrow than human, the once vigorous frame racked with pain and wounds I could only imagine. And I had a share of my own too. The left arm still wanted acknowledgment of its ghostly existence. But the once empty place in my heart, where my brother had dwelt until his death, battered, sore, was now again filled. The walking corpse in the doorway to my chambers filled that void. It was Altair.
Out of a ravaged pale sunken face eyes gleamed like twin fires of the night watch, two black dots that sparkled with life where every other part of him was shrivelled. I heard the wheeze of his breathing, saw him lean and limp inside pulling the door closed behind him. Altair, once the man I hated above all for a few months. Now a month after the t
Altair: Eagle's Soul2Masyaf, Summer 1188 CEAltair: Eagle's Soul26 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
The comb went through the dark brown hair, along the shimmering shine the tresses had in the midday light. The hair was smooth and long, a little curled from the braid it was worn in often. There was a measured pace to the movement of the comb through the womans hair. The quiet almost sibilant hiss of the hair parting as the combs teeth untangled its length. The arm wielding the comb was strong and muscled using the instruments of war and womanly arts with equal ease. The face in the polished bronze mirror before her was distorted but she did not need to see herself to know that shed been changed.
Change was her very nature, she knew. She had started out as a slave, sold as a child to a man who set her to wait on his wife. She had grown up there under his wifes kindly guidance. She had been more like a daughter than a servant. She never remembered her parents all she knew was that her name was her grandmothers and shed n
Altair: Eagle's TalonsChapter 1Altair: Eagle's Talons6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Rheims, Champagne, December, 1187 C.E.
No one saw a white-clad man standing atop the entrance roof of the Cathedral of Notre Dame on a cold December day. They were all too intent on the execution taking place in the plaza in front of the building. People were chatting, catching up on the late news from the Winter Fair taking place in another part of the city, disciplining children, eating the hot pasties bought off the wandering sellers who hawked their wares loudly. Children begged for sweets. The atmosphere was one of a holiday, the watcher remarked. It was as if the hanging bodies were some gory decoration, not men who were kicking a moment ago as the ropes bit into their necks, crashing the windpipe, choking them.
Thered been snow during the night, a lot of it. Now, it was nothing more than dirt trampled by the hundreds of feet. The Cathedrals roofs were knee deep in the white fluffy flakes. Hed seen children outside the walls of the city gleefully playi
Altair: A MaelstormKerak 1187 CEAltair: A Maelstorm6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
They came for him a week later.
A sharp dry crack of bone echoed in the big room. A sheen of sweat accompanied the sound. The prisoner did not make so much as a twitch of a lip. He stared straight ahead, at a torch on the opposite wall, focusing on the orange leaping flames, driving everything else out. He swallowed. A sharp intake of breath resounded in the still chamber. Altair thought clearly and detachedly, My wrist is broken. The left one. The terrible implication was obvious: he would not use the Hidden Blade anytime soon. If ever.
He had been strapped to a chair, forearms pushed between planks that were squeezed slowly to induce pressure on the limb and eventually to break it. Stiff leather bands ran across his chest holding him in place immobile. His legs and feet had suffered a similar fate: chained to the lower portion of it. The chains were tight, biting at the merest movement. The chair sat in the middle of the room. It was made of steel and wood, not for comf
Ezio Auditore Di FirenzeIt had happened again.Ezio Auditore Di Firenze5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Ezio rubbed his face irritably, feeling the hopelessness that had been growing in him for years finally overtake him.
He splashed water on his face, gasping at its coldness, slowly rubbing it in to the skin, then looked up into the mirror over the washbasin.
The face of his dreams he sighed. Well yes of course it would be! was staring out at him. The same scar on the lip, the same fuzz over the mouth, same black stare. The face of his ancestor. The implacable face of the white robed Assassin whose life hed read and re read constantly since he had been old enough to understand words and their meaning. He knew it by heart at this point. The Assassin had had a name.
Altair, Ezio spoke to his reflection, bitter, tight, not seeing the mirror or his bedroom anymore but instead the dream that was not quite the ones he was used to. There he had met the man he could have used for a shaving mirror, the man who many said he resembled so uncan
Altair: Eagle's DreamsDestroy it. Destroy it as you said you would. The Masters voice mocked him. Taunted his impotence. He was fascinated with the ball in his hand that seemed to be fused to it. His Eagle screamed in warning but he ignored it. His eyes drank it in. He tried to force his hand but He could not. He had no idea why but he would not risk destroying this treasure for which hed suffered so much.Altair: Eagle's Dreams6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
I I cant.
He was holding the Piece of Eden in his hand, face illumined by the harsh light it gave off but no heat. He was standing in the pool in the Garden that was empty of anything save him. He could not look away from the burning ball in his hand, fascinated.
His chest rose and fell, his mouth was slightly open. He could not will his eyes from it. His hand seemed glued to the smooth surface no longer silver but aflame. It flowed through him: into his fingers, up his arm, filling him with a sense of fulfillment. It sat all too easily in his grasp.
Altair: the ChasmEpilogueAltair: the Chasm6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Masyaf Autumn 1187 CE
You have forgotten the Creed, Altair.
Altair ignored that, staring intently at the page of the book before him. Maliks strident tones really grated on him these days. He knew Malik was only trying to help but he did not care for that. He did not need help. He simply wanted to be left alone. He did not really see the letters on the page. His eyes slid over to his left hand bound in bandages. The bones had been set the pain of it had sent a convulsion through him hed not been ready for it. The Healer Brother had hissed at the others, Malik among them, to hold him still. Altair had tried to will a calmness but failed. He had closed his eyes, seeking that familiar calm space but could not find it. It eluded him. His Spirit was unresponsive. He had spent the last weeks trying to find it again. He was angry and miserable. His attempts at covering it and maintaining some sort of tenuous control were failing.
Connor: Lesssons of Compassion 1He slithered to the top edge of the sloping ravine and peered over. A wide dirt road wound below, between the birches and the oaks green in the full summer leaf. The sun had turned the deep green into a shinier colour giving an eerie light to his surroundings. The grass and underbrush fed by the spring rain were tall and springy under his feet as he'd run lightly. He had not had any intention of coming here. He had just been out for a run, an exercise in escape, of subsuming his troubles in the simplicity of physical activity. Things had not gone well for him lately, not for the Assassin cause either. The British had seemed to have anticipated their many moves. His Indian allies had been either routed or rounded up as spies. Such concerted operations could only have come about as a result of the British spies and informants among the Assassins. The defeats and the consequent realignment of thought and plan had driven him to seek the solitude of the forest, the big primeval refuge thatConnor: Lesssons of Compassion 12 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Altair: Lonely SoulsKerak 1187 CEAltair: Lonely Souls6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
They laughed at the beast. They taunted him, mocked him, hit him. He did not fight back but absorbed every blow of boot and fist. He could not fight back. A month of starvation had reduced his strength to nil. He was nothing but skin and bones. He was dry and hot. A fever stalked his body, making his mind wonder. He saw things hed never believed possible. He saw memories of his past come alive. Some events hed forgotten had taken place. He watched with amazement as they came alive.
A vomiting fit hit him, interrupting his delirium momentarily. Reflexively, he heaved and bent to avoid hitting the soiled bed. He breathed spasmodically, black spots dancing in his eyes as he leaned back to hit the wall. His shackled right hand was a claw. They laughed all the more, jeering him. He closed his eyes to shut their ugly gap-toothed grins out. He wished he could do the same to his ears. But that was impossible. Both his hands were useless, immobile.
He felt clear-headed
Altair: Eagle and Sultan2Cairo, Egypt, 1189 CEAltair: Eagle and Sultan26 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Altair drifted. Directionless. Bodyless. He knew not who or what he was. His name had ceased to matter. The pain had ceased to matter. His mind had retreated from it wrapped in the Eagle spirit. He felt nothing. No smells. No touch. No sight. No sound. No taste. He was but a mind called Altair. But even that did not make sense anymore. What was Altair? A name? A thing? He could not summon the strenght to answer or think about it. Cradled on his Eagles wings, he drifted, safe and content.
The voice was soft and called him. Altair Ibn La-Ahad. He ignored it. The name was painful. He remebered it. It carried too many memories of pain. He did not want to face that pain. He shrank. Into the safety of his spirit.
The voice came again, a little louder. Altair Ibn La-Ahad. He had no idea where it came from, that voice. Or whose it was. He felt a lethargy on him, a lassitude that dragged him, his mind weighed down by something
Connor: Lessons of Compassion 2The sun had gone down before Connor had the few quiet moments to look to his own injuries. The blood had stopped flowing, unless he moved about. The Indian boy, a little cleaner and less hungry after his meal of rabbit stew, had rolled in the horse's saddle blanket and gone to sleep. Connor had watched him for a time, awash in sudden memories until the throbbing in his arm and leg had drawn his attention back to the present.Connor: Lessons of Compassion 22 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He flexed his arm the muscles were stiff, the body readjusting to the damage. He grunted taking off his over coat. The sleeve of the shirt beneath was covered in blood with a double hole one in the back and the other in the front burned black around the edges. One handed, he cut off the ruined portion of the sleeve. He had one bandage left using it on the leg would be impossible since the bullet was still lodged in his thigh. His breathing was ragged from loss of blood. He must be pale by now, the moon would cover the pallor of hi
Connor: The Stuff of LifeHe walked right into it. He grunted, confronted with five men. They were a hard faced sort, smudged skin and clothes. Their chins had not seen a razor in weeks, probably. Not that he was worried about their appearance. At least not in the hygienic sense. It was what they held in their hands that drew his attention. Pistols. Swords. One of them had a rifle but no bayonet. The long barrel was pointed at his chest.Connor: The Stuff of Life2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
With his feet in a wide stance, Connor stood, assessing. Retreat was still possible. He did not sense anything behind his back. He had never been one to fall back, however. Not from battle. Threats did not frighten him.
"And just where do you think you are going, friend?" one of the cutthroats asked, his dark eyes glinting dangerously.
Connor did not answer, just fixed him with a long hard stare. He held his hands carefully away from his weapons. Perhaps this was a mistake, possibly it was not him they really were waiting for. But then, he'd never believed in coincidence. There