Assassin's Creed Hidden in the Shadows

The date was 1398, the battles between the French king, Charles VI, and kings of the forgotten lands were raging battles far worse than anybody could have imagined. Our tale begins at the battle of the outskirts of Damascus.

As the cannon fire stopped, the battlefield fell silent. Men dead all around, the green grass stained red with the blood of the victims of cruel, painful, merciless attacks. The soldiers that once battled for their homelands now lay silent in death. The battle was seemingly a lengthy one, the soldiers left alive were resting against cannons and laying in puddles of their friends' and foes' blood with the high-pitched leftover sound of steel weapons clashing against armour, shields or each other. However, there stood one man, dead centre of the battlefield with a circle of same-factioned enemies around him. His sword still unsheathed and held by his side with blood trailing off of the now dull tip. He was panting, minor cuts across his cheeks, but seemingly no damage had been dealt to his armour. His mid-length dark brown hair was covering his face as his gaze turned to the severed head beneath him, but an unsettling smirk was somewhat clear to the eye of those watching him. Who was this man? How did he come out of such an intense battle without even a scratch to his armour and only minor, what seemed to be, near-hitting arrow marks across his face? More importantly, why was his smiling? The man let out a deep sigh and raised his head to the normal position before turning to soliders resting against the cannons of which were still smoking after being intensely.

"You've done us a great deed, sir. But what is your name? And what purpose do you have here?" Said one of the soldiers, nervously and gripping harder on the handle of their sword.

The soldiers wore blackened armour chestplates, leggings, boots, gloves and helmates, which were on the floor where they sat. Underneath their armour they wore rag-like clothing that had the colours of the great city Damascus, red and yellow.

The man reached behind his head with one hand while still holding his sword and pulled up a hood, his smirk now vanished from his face and he became more serious. He wore strange robes under his armour. They were long, black with red trimming with a crest that was unfamiliar to the soldiers.  
>The hooded man pointed at the severed, still crowned head of a fallen man. He sheathed his sword after wiping the blood from it onto the rag of a fallen enemy.<p>

"He is my buisness. King Charles VI, a great disruptor to the peace of my land. I was sent to eliminate him, and seeing as he was mid-battle, getting the job done was not difficult."

"What is your name, sir?" Repeated the soldier.

"My name is unimportant, you've been told enough already."

"Are... Are you going to kill us, too?" The soldier was staring at the circle of dead bodies and blood of which the hooded man was standing dead centre of with fear in his eyes.

"I only kill those who need to be eliminated. You do not need to be eliminate. Heh.. That's unless one of you 6 are thinking of disrupting the peace of my lands, too. But my thoughts tell me otherwise.' The hooded man started walking towards the cannons of which the men rested upon. 'Do you know in which direction I may find your city, Damascus?"

One soldier pulled out and looked at his map and pointed to his right. "Keep heading that way and you will find a path that will lead you to the city gates. But I wouldn't get my hopes up about entering if I were you, the guards there aren't letting anybody, other than traders, noblemen and, of course, us soldiers, in."

"That should not be a problem. Thank you, brave soldiers, you have been helpful. Be wary on your travels back to your castle, I hear highwaymen often roam around these parts in the late hours of the day."

"It is the least we could do, you helped us win this battle. But I must ask you, your accent is that of an Englishman, correct?"

"Yes, but I left that place as soon as I was old enough to fend for myself."

"It can't be..." The soldier muttered to himself then looking back to the hooded man. "The way you fight and the robes you wear make me curious. Are you the one everybody speaks of? The soul reason cities close their gates? The shadow of the battlefield and the silencer of evil, Washi Kota?"

'Never heard of him, you must be mistaken, friend. I bid you farewell. Safe travels to you and your men.' The hooded man walked in the direction he had been pointed toward. "Haha, so I'm already famous enough to be known even in these lands, eh? Even after I changed my name. Rightly so, I guess. I'm the only one who can handle missions like mine now. All of the others are either too old or novices these days" he mumbled to himself.

Washi, whilest walking, unclipped the torso armour he had been wearing and let it drop to the floor. His shoulder, wrist and shin armour was kept on as it was not of the same material. They were of a seemingly indestructable metal that was as light as a feather and easy to maneuver in, but much stronger than any armour any soldiers used. With that, he unclipped his sheathed, blunted sword and, too, let that drop to the floor. "Worthless trader armour" he muttered. Washi suddenly stopped in his tracks. He could hear light footsteps and the cracking of small twigs near. He reached behind his back and held the handle of his knife. Suddenly, in one swift movement, he drew it from its upside down holster, ducking down and twirling into an upwards spiral, slashing the throat of a highwayman. Blood sprayed from the neck of the man as he crashed to the floor, his blood bubbling until his last breath was heard. Washi stood with his legs a little further apart, his hands in a boxing position, his left hand open and right wielding his blood stained combat knife. He always held the knife the opposite way one would hold a sword so he could make smoother swipes at his enemies with ease and effectiveness. He was moving his head left and right, staring the 3 remaining highwaymen down.

"What do you want from me, I have no money, no valuables, nothing that would interest you." He yelled with a hint of fear, but that was overwhelmed by anger.

"Oh, we think different. Give us the letter you stole from the French dog." Said one highwayman, circling Washi and holding a similar sized knife, but not one as effective as Washi's.

"You do not want to do this. If you wish to live, walk away now before I deal you a more painful end than I did your friend here."

"Haha! You're outnumbered! What harm can you d-"

The highwayman was interrupted by the crunching of his skull. Washi's blade had, with the speed of a shooting star, been swung with such power and grace to smash through the man's skull and into his brain, blood and brain matter flying from the crack as the blade was taken out and the highwayman collapsed to the ground with a loud, earthshaking thud, more brain matter and blood pouring from his skull onto the floor on which he now lay. Motionless. Washi was, however, still cautious about the two other highwaymen, but their confidence had been shaken by their leader having his skull broken through and their partner having his throat slashed open, both acts of which had been done without enough time for them to react, let alone for their parnters to react.

Then two remaining highwaymen, still startled by the speed and skill Washi had displayed, lunged forward with aggression, one of the attacks landing a blow on Washi. Luckily, it had been on the shoulder armour and the attack just bounced off, only slightly shaking Washi's balance. This, however was a perfect opening for Washi. He ducked, causing the other highwayman to stumble over his own feet as his attack had missed, stabbing the knee of the one whose attack had landed so he fell to his knees, then, twirling his blade around, piercing his neck and pulled it upwards to open a horrifyingly bloody wound as the man held his throat, panicing and making half scream, half gurgling noises as the blood filled his throat and mouth, coming out from both places. He was finished, in a few seconds, the man would be joining his companions in yet another pool of blood. But before Washi could stand back up straight to face his last attacker, the highwayman had jumped onto him, pinning him down, but stupidly leaving his arms free. The highwayman, now furious, clenched the handle of his dagger with both hands before pulling them back to ready his attack. Washi, reacting quickly, grabbed the man's hands as they plummeted dangerously close to his chest. Struggling to push the attacker's arms back at him, Washi decided to use the man's own strength to put him off balance. So, with surprising ease, Washi pushed the dagger and man's hands to the side of him, causing the highwayman to have his dagger stuck deep in the soil and him laying face down on the ground. Washi quickly put his knees on the man's upper arms to make sure he could not use them, then grabbed and twisted the man's head, cracking his neck and causing him to join his friends in death. Washi stood up, put his knife back into its holster and faced faced the bodies of his fallen attackers. He shook his head and carried on walking with a slight limp, he realised one of the attackers had, without him noticing, plunged a small dagger into the side of his leg. He knelt down and pulled it out, letting out a slight groan of pain and throwing it to the floor in anger then continuing his journey into the night.

The path to Damascus had been long and difficult, mostly due to Washi having used his energy to fight off his attackers and having been slowed down by the wound on his leg.  
>He had finally reached the gates of Damascus, however, and was, to no surprise, denied entry. He sat at a bench among the merchant stalls on the outside of the city and reached inside his overcoat, pulling out a piece of parchment that had drawings of Damascus castle walls and an arrow pointing to the side of the wall from where the gate was. There was supposedly a secret tunnel that would lead inside the city from there, but Washi would have to think of a way to distract the guards from seeing him use this secret passageway.<br>Washi, walking up to a stall, noticed another hooded man. He was at least 10 years older than Washi and had many scars on the parts of his face that weren't hidden by the shadow of his hood. The man ushered Washi him over to the stall a little to the left of where he stood. Washi looked around to make sure he wasn't being watched and took a place on a bench next to where the strange man stood, facing the opposite direction.

"Peace be with you, brother." said the strange man.

"You too, my friend. What news do you bring?" Their voices were both quite and wary of any listeners.

"As I'm sure you're aware, the gates are closed due to the paranoia rulers have because of you ending the lives of other city controllers. But that drawing of which the master gave you shows you can, indeed, still get in. The ruler of Damascus, Sayf ad-Din Tanibak, is obsessed with power and overwhelmed with fear that you might remove him from control. If anybody even utters a single word against him or his ideologies, they are imprisoned, enslaved or even killed. Not before being tortured for answers about you, that is. You have to stop this madman."

"How am I to distract the guards? I cannot get to the path if they are there watching me."

"I'll take care of the guards, you worry about getting in there and hiding yourself. Wait for me at the hideout once you've entered, there I shall guide you on your search for information. Good luck, brother."

"You too, friend. See you soon." 


End file.

Assassin's Creed, Adventure, Fantasy