1. Stay your blade from the flesh of a innocent
2. Remain Subtle
3. Never compromise the Brotherhood
Crimson Blade Chapter 3Altair watched from the shadows as Quamir al sahd, a slave trader, examined his latest import of slaves. Now was the time to strike! Altair quickly checked his weapons one last time. When Quamir turned to gaze into the shadows where his death awaited he saw nothing of the assassin hiding there, only shadows. Perhaps he had heard the slight intake of breath or the barely audible click of Altairs' blade as it slid into the base of his glove. Whatever had caused Quamirs' paranoia quickly passed as he shrugged and turned to finish his examination.
" Take this one out." He snapped at one of his guards. they bowed and pulled a struggling woman out of a cage to Altairs' left. Altair silently assessed the woman in the dim candle light. Black, no brown hair. Her face was covered in grime and her large eyes told him that she was scared beyond wits end. She was tantalizingly familiar. A spark lit a fire in his mind and Altair gasped. He recognized her alright, she was Ahda, his wife.
" Such a bea
Crimson Blade Chapter 2Altair slowly walked through the streets of Jerusalem. The guards were being particularly nosey, or more than usual anyway. That ass Merrick didn't think he had enough information. So hard to reason with him, that man can hold a grudge. He sighed and cursed when he heard the "pleasant" shouts from the guards behind him.
He turned around to see what all the shouts were about. He already knew, it was all to obvious. The sword on his hip and blade on his back were just screaming Assassin. Luckily some of the guards were either too stupid enough or slow enough to think he was a well armed monk. Some not all. Like these ones for example. Altair burst into a sprint and knocked down some stalls, ran down a few beggars, until he decided that he'd been leading them on long enough.
Altair whirled around. The guards were still there, albeit all the way ay the end of the street. He sighed, exasperated.
Do these guys ever give up, he thought as he rushed into a back alley.
He could still hear the c
Chapter 1:InformationAltair sat in a murky tavern, wary of his surroundings. Information gathering was a thankless and tiring job but he was required to do it in order to be in the right place at the right time. He sighed and took another sip of water. He sat there for about an hour until he finally got what he was looking for. Three guards had just walked in the door, bringing the news from the city, parts where Altair hadn't visited yet.
"Have you heard," One said as they sat down at the table behind Altair," People are disappearing all over the city."
"10 in the rich district is what I hear."
The one that had just spoken shook his head sadly.
"Why would anyone want children?" the first one asked.
"Who knows, what I want to know is who's doing it." The Black eyed one across the table inquired.
"Have no idea, I hear it's only lads who have been taken."
"Nope, a young woman got snatched just last week."
"How do they do it?"
"Takes em' in the middle of the night, they do. And come morning, t
-Transformers- DichotomySometimes, humans terrify Optimus.
It makes no sense, to be so affected by small organic beings that could fit in the palm of his hand, and yet he is. These tiny, vulnerable creatures create a low thrum of near constant apprehension in the Prime.
They are so small, so soft, so fragile. The gentlest of bumps leaves rainbow hued bruises littering their skin, and their own bodies occasionally turn against them what with their delicate organic systems. 'Milk makes strong bones.' Optimus knows he's heard this phrase before, and he wonders at how it can be said when he also knows just how easily those same 'strong bones' can break and shatter into pieces.
He also knows that the very organs that keep a human alive can fail for seemingly no reason at all, other than that it 'was time' or that it had 'worn out' or some other phrase human physicians use. It terrifies Optimus that humans are so vulnerable to every thing, that even their own emotions can kill them. 'You
Ezio: FamilyRoma 1502 CE
Stefano put the leather piece between Ezio's teeth.
"Here, bite for me, my friend."
The Master Assassin was sweating and shivering. His chest had been laid bare so Stefano could remove the bullet. His eyes followed every move the condotierro made.
Stefano examined his implements of surgery. Knives, scalpels, a bowl for water and bandages. The only thing he really needed now was Ezio unconscious. But that was not likely. His friend was holding on to awareness like a lifeline. Reluctant at best, Stefano thought, to relinquish his control on his life.
He bent low over Ezio.
"Your sister is going to take my head off probably a piece at a time."
His friend's hand closed around his own. Humour lines crinkled at the corner of the Assassin's mouth.
"Bastardo," Stefano muttered. "You find that funny do you?"
Ezio's face became a fixed mask of humour that slipped badly as unconsciousness loomed. He was pale, his skin was clammy, hair plastered to his forehead.