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miss_m_cricket) wrote2009-06-12 09:57 pm
miss_m_cricket) wrote2009-06-12 09:57 pm
Follow the Creed: Chapter 2 - Demotion in Damascus
Story Title: Follow the Creed
Fandom: Assassins Creed
Chapter: 2/100
Story Rating: Will eventually reach Adults Only
Chapter Rating: Any Age
Major Pairing: Altair/Aden (OFC)
Minor Pairings: Altair/Adha, Malik/?
Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, Altair or any of the other characters or places featured in the game. The plot, for now, is running parallel to the game and so some of the dialogue is taken from there. Thus I do not own.
Summary: When Al Mualim demotes Altair back to a Novice, and sends him out on missions to re-learn to be a Master Assassin, Altair is angry bur resigned. But unknown to Altair he sends another to follow him, and make sure he follows the Creed.
Chapter 2 - Demotion in Damascus
It was too late that night for Altair to start his journey to Damascus. It turned out that the task Al Mualim had assigned him had been the first of many such. 9 men had to die before Altair regained his place in the ranks of the Brotherhood. The master Assassin sighed with exasperation as he robed himself the next morning. Nine Assassinations? That would take him a number of months. Redemption, it seemed, wasn’t an easy thing to gain.
After showing some of the Novices how to wield a blade in the training ground, Altair made his way down to the stables outside of the city. The horses here were all communal, all belonged to the Brotherhood and thus all were ridden out when the men went out on their Assassination missions. The animals within all seemed to change from month to month as some were lost on mission and others were appropriated to take their places. But there were three who always come back.
Upon entering the stables Altair noted that the black mare, which the stable hands had named Ghada was not there and there was a small card attached to her stable. The card held the symbol of the Assassins and a name.
Aden.
Altair scowled. That boys name was coming up too often for his liking, there was a reason he has been distancing himself from other Assassins, they annoyed him. The ones who respected him bordered on respectful adoration that made him uncomfortable at the same time as it warmed his ego, and the others treated him with jealous contempt. Aden however treated him like he was an equal, and he had discovered that that annoyed him even more than the other two types.
Brushing thoughts of the delicate Assassin aside Altair mounted up on Kadin, the white stallion, and rode out towards Damascus.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Altair separated from his small group of scholars just beyond the entrance gate to Damascus. At once he scanned the crowd, eyes resting on individuals that caught his attention. Guards patrolled, hands on the hilts of swords. This was an unsettled time in these cities, with the Crusade going on. At the stall next to him a lovely young woman was buying some dried dates, and over there on those benches were some allies. Seated with them he could hide from the scrutiny of any unwanted attention.
Beside him the young woman looked up, large dark amber eyes widening. He realised he had been staring around him openly, with no concern for his cover. Quickly he ducked his head, hands piously clasped together. The young woman looked at him worriedly a few moments more before collecting her dates and scuttling off into the crowd.
Slowly the Assassin moved off, slipping easily through the crowd, head still bent. Subtly he glanced to the left and right. Here and there were guards, but they weren’t even looking at him. Ah the power of the mob, blend in and you were sheltered from all prying eyes.
Ducking down an alley he found a ladder, up onto the roofs he climbed. Here he felt even safer. Rooftops were the highways of the Assassins. No guard ever looked up, citizens only rarely spotted a white blur racing by. Most of the time they thought they were dreaming. Altair leapt across the beams of the connecting house frameworks and over a trellis until he came to the open roof of the Assassins Bureau.
Dropping down, silently like a cat, the Assassin moved into the main room of the Bureau. There Rafik waited for him.
“Altair, It’s good to see you, and in one piece.” The richly dressed Contact murmured, looking up from the book situated on his counter as the darkly handsome Assassin walked in. Many men underestimated Altair, but Rafik was not one of them. The man was dangerous, demoted now maybe, but still dangerous. Perhaps even more so since his demotion.
“You as well friend.” Altair murmured. He liked Rafik, and had been saddened when an injury had forced the man to take a more administrative role in the brotherhood. It was good he had this role now in the Bureau in Damascus.
“I am sorry for your troubles.” Was the courteous statement in reply. Rafik had been surprised to receive Al Mualim’s letter, but then again Altair had always been a bit headstrong.
“Think nothing of it.” Was Altair’s response, brushing off his problems with brusque dislike. He didn’t like to be reminded of his recent demotion.
“A few of your Brothers were in here earlier in fact. Ooh if you had heard the things they said. I’m certain you would have slain them where they stood.”
“It’s quite alright.” Altair rumbled, feeling annoyance ripple through him. He wondered how many other Brothers Malik had poisoned towards him. Later he would have to get the names from Rafik. Just before leaving maybe. Then the other man might be more willing.
“Yes you’ve never been one for the Creed have you?” Rafik sighed. So much potential and so much stubbornness.
“Is that all.” Was Altair’s cold response, even friends could step over the line sometimes.
“I’m sorry.” Rafik said ironically. “Sometimes I forget myself. What business brings you to Damascus?”
“A man named Tamir.” Altair said, voice becoming professional and businesslike. “Al Mualim takes issue with the work he does. I’m meant to end it. Now tell me where to find him.” Even for Altair this was intolerably rude and Rafik bristled. Al Mualim was right to demote this arrogant pup, he thought; time to lose that arrogance before we lose the talent along with it.
“Surely you remember how to track an enemy.”
“Of course.”
“Learn where he will be an when.” Rafik continued as if he had not heard the other man.
“But that sort of work is best left for-“ Altair stopped before the next word left his mouth. ‘Novices’. “I understand.” He said quietly.
“Go and search the city.” Rafik said, more kindly now, standing up and moving closer to the bench. “Determine what he is planning and where he works. Preparation makes the victor.” He said, quoting an old training saying and spreading his arms with a grin.
“What can you tell me of him?” Altair asked, with a slight emphasis on the ‘can’. Rafik smiled. It might take time, but Altair would learn. He was not so stubborn as to be completely stupid.
“Tamir makes his living as a Black Market merchant, so the Souk District should be your destination…”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The young woman with the dates, turned the corner and then immediately blended back into the crowd heading back the way she had came, just in time to see the man in white slip off.
He now moved with the shuffle of a scholar, back bent from long hours reading a poorly lit scroll. It was very convincing and she would have believed it, if she hadn’t seen the eagle eyed stare he had been giving the crowd.
The gaze was dark and brooding, and well un-scholar like. She knew scholars, and they were usually near sighted and rather vague, wrapped up in their learning rather than the world around them.
She saw him dart down and alleyway and quickly followed, watching as he climbed up on the rooftops. She hesitated for a heartbeat or two at the bottom of the steps. Should she follow? Yes but wait a bit, she counselled herself. She waited and then climbed up, watching as the white robed man leapt across the rooftops. Gingerly she followed, her many layers of robes and female dress were not designed for roof clambering.
Soon enough she reached the rooftop from which she had seen the man in white vanish. There, there was a square gap, bordered by trellises. And down below was the man in white, resting on pillows. She shrank back and waited, listening. When she was sure he was sleeping she slid over the edge of the trellis and dropped down.
Peering at the figure on the cushions she was relieved to see he hadn’t woken, and so moved over to the door.
Rafik looked up and smiled. “Well Aden? How did he do?”
Fandom: Assassins Creed
Chapter: 2/100
Story Rating: Will eventually reach Adults Only
Chapter Rating: Any Age
Major Pairing: Altair/Aden (OFC)
Minor Pairings: Altair/Adha, Malik/?
Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, Altair or any of the other characters or places featured in the game. The plot, for now, is running parallel to the game and so some of the dialogue is taken from there. Thus I do not own.
Summary: When Al Mualim demotes Altair back to a Novice, and sends him out on missions to re-learn to be a Master Assassin, Altair is angry bur resigned. But unknown to Altair he sends another to follow him, and make sure he follows the Creed.
It was too late that night for Altair to start his journey to Damascus. It turned out that the task Al Mualim had assigned him had been the first of many such. 9 men had to die before Altair regained his place in the ranks of the Brotherhood. The master Assassin sighed with exasperation as he robed himself the next morning. Nine Assassinations? That would take him a number of months. Redemption, it seemed, wasn’t an easy thing to gain.
After showing some of the Novices how to wield a blade in the training ground, Altair made his way down to the stables outside of the city. The horses here were all communal, all belonged to the Brotherhood and thus all were ridden out when the men went out on their Assassination missions. The animals within all seemed to change from month to month as some were lost on mission and others were appropriated to take their places. But there were three who always come back.
Upon entering the stables Altair noted that the black mare, which the stable hands had named Ghada was not there and there was a small card attached to her stable. The card held the symbol of the Assassins and a name.
Aden.
Altair scowled. That boys name was coming up too often for his liking, there was a reason he has been distancing himself from other Assassins, they annoyed him. The ones who respected him bordered on respectful adoration that made him uncomfortable at the same time as it warmed his ego, and the others treated him with jealous contempt. Aden however treated him like he was an equal, and he had discovered that that annoyed him even more than the other two types.
Brushing thoughts of the delicate Assassin aside Altair mounted up on Kadin, the white stallion, and rode out towards Damascus.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Altair separated from his small group of scholars just beyond the entrance gate to Damascus. At once he scanned the crowd, eyes resting on individuals that caught his attention. Guards patrolled, hands on the hilts of swords. This was an unsettled time in these cities, with the Crusade going on. At the stall next to him a lovely young woman was buying some dried dates, and over there on those benches were some allies. Seated with them he could hide from the scrutiny of any unwanted attention.
Beside him the young woman looked up, large dark amber eyes widening. He realised he had been staring around him openly, with no concern for his cover. Quickly he ducked his head, hands piously clasped together. The young woman looked at him worriedly a few moments more before collecting her dates and scuttling off into the crowd.
Slowly the Assassin moved off, slipping easily through the crowd, head still bent. Subtly he glanced to the left and right. Here and there were guards, but they weren’t even looking at him. Ah the power of the mob, blend in and you were sheltered from all prying eyes.
Ducking down an alley he found a ladder, up onto the roofs he climbed. Here he felt even safer. Rooftops were the highways of the Assassins. No guard ever looked up, citizens only rarely spotted a white blur racing by. Most of the time they thought they were dreaming. Altair leapt across the beams of the connecting house frameworks and over a trellis until he came to the open roof of the Assassins Bureau.
Dropping down, silently like a cat, the Assassin moved into the main room of the Bureau. There Rafik waited for him.
“Altair, It’s good to see you, and in one piece.” The richly dressed Contact murmured, looking up from the book situated on his counter as the darkly handsome Assassin walked in. Many men underestimated Altair, but Rafik was not one of them. The man was dangerous, demoted now maybe, but still dangerous. Perhaps even more so since his demotion.
“You as well friend.” Altair murmured. He liked Rafik, and had been saddened when an injury had forced the man to take a more administrative role in the brotherhood. It was good he had this role now in the Bureau in Damascus.
“I am sorry for your troubles.” Was the courteous statement in reply. Rafik had been surprised to receive Al Mualim’s letter, but then again Altair had always been a bit headstrong.
“Think nothing of it.” Was Altair’s response, brushing off his problems with brusque dislike. He didn’t like to be reminded of his recent demotion.
“A few of your Brothers were in here earlier in fact. Ooh if you had heard the things they said. I’m certain you would have slain them where they stood.”
“It’s quite alright.” Altair rumbled, feeling annoyance ripple through him. He wondered how many other Brothers Malik had poisoned towards him. Later he would have to get the names from Rafik. Just before leaving maybe. Then the other man might be more willing.
“Yes you’ve never been one for the Creed have you?” Rafik sighed. So much potential and so much stubbornness.
“Is that all.” Was Altair’s cold response, even friends could step over the line sometimes.
“I’m sorry.” Rafik said ironically. “Sometimes I forget myself. What business brings you to Damascus?”
“A man named Tamir.” Altair said, voice becoming professional and businesslike. “Al Mualim takes issue with the work he does. I’m meant to end it. Now tell me where to find him.” Even for Altair this was intolerably rude and Rafik bristled. Al Mualim was right to demote this arrogant pup, he thought; time to lose that arrogance before we lose the talent along with it.
“Surely you remember how to track an enemy.”
“Of course.”
“Learn where he will be an when.” Rafik continued as if he had not heard the other man.
“But that sort of work is best left for-“ Altair stopped before the next word left his mouth. ‘Novices’. “I understand.” He said quietly.
“Go and search the city.” Rafik said, more kindly now, standing up and moving closer to the bench. “Determine what he is planning and where he works. Preparation makes the victor.” He said, quoting an old training saying and spreading his arms with a grin.
“What can you tell me of him?” Altair asked, with a slight emphasis on the ‘can’. Rafik smiled. It might take time, but Altair would learn. He was not so stubborn as to be completely stupid.
“Tamir makes his living as a Black Market merchant, so the Souk District should be your destination…”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The young woman with the dates, turned the corner and then immediately blended back into the crowd heading back the way she had came, just in time to see the man in white slip off.
He now moved with the shuffle of a scholar, back bent from long hours reading a poorly lit scroll. It was very convincing and she would have believed it, if she hadn’t seen the eagle eyed stare he had been giving the crowd.
The gaze was dark and brooding, and well un-scholar like. She knew scholars, and they were usually near sighted and rather vague, wrapped up in their learning rather than the world around them.
She saw him dart down and alleyway and quickly followed, watching as he climbed up on the rooftops. She hesitated for a heartbeat or two at the bottom of the steps. Should she follow? Yes but wait a bit, she counselled herself. She waited and then climbed up, watching as the white robed man leapt across the rooftops. Gingerly she followed, her many layers of robes and female dress were not designed for roof clambering.
Soon enough she reached the rooftop from which she had seen the man in white vanish. There, there was a square gap, bordered by trellises. And down below was the man in white, resting on pillows. She shrank back and waited, listening. When she was sure he was sleeping she slid over the edge of the trellis and dropped down.
Peering at the figure on the cushions she was relieved to see he hadn’t woken, and so moved over to the door.
Rafik looked up and smiled. “Well Aden? How did he do?”