A tall man, hooded and dressed mostly in white pulled himself slowly out of the canal. He favored one arm, his right, as he struggled to get up and out of the dirtied water.
On closer inspection, a dark red stain and a small round hole in his clothing suggested he'd been hit by an arrow. He'd obviously removed it, but the damage had been done.
His breathing ragged, he dragged himself out of the open, and into the shadows in a narrow alley.
He sat still, trying not to bring any more attention to himself, and inspected his wound.
It was then that he heard the sounds of heavy boots hitting the ground, and shouts from what had to be the ga
Another Turn of the Hourglass by StardomBound, literature
Literature
Another Turn of the Hourglass
Jerusalem, summer 1192 A.D.
The young rafiq, Malik al Sayr was on the roof of the bureau soaking up the rays of midday sunshine that fell on him and the city of Jerusalem. He closed his eyes, a slight smile gracing his lips; it was so revitalizing to stand outside in the fresh air, letting the breeze wash over him, gently ruffling his dark brown hair, it was so peaceful. Nothing but the normal noises of the city, all calm and serene until with a shout a certain white-hooded assassin tackled him, he tumbled down the entrance, the grey eyed man's hands still held his robes, he expected to hit the pillow strewn stone floor of the bureau but the
Ezio 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.
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
Connor: the Last Assassin 2 by altair-creed, literature
Literature
Connor: the Last Assassin 2
Chapter 2
The old man sat near the fire and watched his guest toss and turn on the bed. As he had feared the fever had set in before he’d had a chance to make the young man warm. With the amount of cold water that had come spilling out of his lungs, time had been a factor. Despite his apparently iron constitution the Native had taken sick quickly. There was evidence of wounds and his skin was so pale as to hide the fact he was only half Native. His eyes idly slid over the groaning form, noting numerous scars on his body. Clearly his guest did not live a life of ease. Here was a fighter, a hunter if that bow was anything to go by. The W
Connor: An Assassin's Trust by altair-creed, literature
Literature
Connor: An Assassin's Trust
Reaching out to grab the redcoated soldier by the arm, the tall young man pushed the man’s back against himself as a shield and braced. The firing line had already discharged their muskets and so had to watch in horror as the bullets hit not their intended target but one of their own. The looks of chagrin under their tricorners would have been a source of jollity if not for the seriousness of the situation.
The dead man sighed and gurgled, sagging against the Assassin who let him drop to the paved ground of a New York street. He threw a challenging look at the firing line and then pointed his own gun to his left. Without even looking h
Connor: Family and Freedom 2 by altair-creed, literature
Literature
Connor: Family and Freedom 2
It was an hour later that he came back wearing a black uniform that looked very much like the ones that the five men in front of the compound wore. The sky was just barely beginning to pale to the east, the stars gradually disappearing. The moon still shone with a brilliant light. A soft breeze came in from the ocean. The streets were deserted now. It was the quiet time before life asserted itself once more.
Haytham critically examined Connor’s outfit and made a few minute adjustments.
“That should do,” he approved. “Follow me.”
Together they approached the gated compound walking as if they belonged there on b
Connor: the Angry Chef by altair-creed, literature
Literature
Connor: the Angry Chef
“Stephane, what is wrong? Where is Sam Adams?”
The Frenchman turned around angrily. He had been going through his boxes, overturning some and upending others as if looking for something. His gestures had gotten more and more jerky, his muttering more furious.
“Who cares?” he snarled, throwing his arms in the air. “I’ve been robbed!”
Without any more ado, Stephane snatched his meat cleaver from the wooden block by the fire place and charged past Connor, swearing sulfurously in French under his breath as he pushed past. The young Assassin sighed tiredly. In the short time he’d known the man he