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Post by Blade Knight on Mar 4, 2009 21:00:13 GMT -5
Based on the game of the same name.
With this RPG, I present to you a stunning medieval world of adventure. Anyone familiar with this game will have an easier time imagining this world, but you do not need to know anything about Assassin’s Creed to have fun here. You will step into a different time period in the shoes of whatever role you wish and experience life in the Holy Land, beginning an epic quest of ancient mystery and excitement.
Before we get into the opening prologue, I will start by explaining what this RP is all about and state the rules. I must say right up front, this game is not for everyone. This will not in any way be a simple game. It has a defined system of rules that, in just about all cases, are inflexible. If you cannot adhere to these rules, if you do not follow this system, then you’re better off not joining. For example: one of the main elements is detailed, well-written, fairly lengthy posts. You need not only follow the rules, but be a capable writer as well. Also, be prepared to read a lot. If you don’t like reading, then don’t even bother. You can start with the following information, ALL of it. Print them out, study them, sleep with them under your pillow… I don’t care what you do, just know the rules. That is the most important aspect in this game. Well, the second-most actually. The true first rule is to be creative and have fun!
Here’s what’s going on: ---------------------------------------------------------------
SETTING
It is 1191 A.D, near the end of the Third Crusade. It is an ancient Arabian world of swords, majestic landscapes, and grand cities.
Located in modern-day Israel, the Holy Land is generally a semi-arid place. With one major river running through the middle, it is actually quite hilly and green in the north, but gets flatter, drier, and more desert-like in the south. There are assorted tree species, with palm trees along the Mediterranean coast and others types dotting the landscape. Livestock includes sheep and goats, as well as horses and camels. Farming is not especially good, and mostly wheat is grown, if anything. There are, however, lots of citrus fruit trees. Common foods are breads, fruits and wine, milk, cheese, and sheep/goat meat.
The large masses of people are dressed in long tunics and robes and shrouds and sashes. The days get hot and the nights get cold, so light, loose garments are worn to offer optimum climate control. Hoods and turbans and head shrouds are all common ways to protect one’s head from the glare of the sunshine. Clothing is often secured by wrapping sash-like strips of fabric rather than wearing belts.
In the cities, the earth-colored stone, brick, and wood buildings are tightly packed together, and are generally three to four stories tall, and no two buildings are the same. They have features like balconies, open roofs, wooden plank bridges, protruding poles, stone carvings, ect, ect… making all unique in some way. Then there are the awe-inspiring architectural wonders, including high towers, colossal monuments, and other glorious structures. Overall, the urban environment is a distinct, crowded, and exiting place.
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CHARACTER
Despite being inspired by the Assassin’s Creed setting, do not feel in any way obligated to be an assassin. The game system can be adapted to fit any role, but my suggestion is that it would be most fun to choose a warrior-type character. By all means, be an assassin if you’d like, just be aware that there are many options available to you. A crusading knight, a local thief, a mercenary soldier, a desert marauder, these are all great ideas. Virtually anything is available to you, use your imagination.
Naturally, I require a profile before you begin playing. This is to give myself and other players an overview of who you are, and it will serve as a sort of initiation test. Your profile is your opportunity to prove that you are capable of providing quality posts, so please be as detailed and creative as possible. You only need to include six things in your profile:
-- Your name. Make it appropriate, please. If you are a German knight, you should have a decent German name, and that goes for all nationalities, too. Also, be inventive with your names. I don’t want any crusaders named Richard the Lionheart or an Arab named Aladdin. Be original. -- A theme song. Yes, you read correctly. As I will explain later, music will play a role in this game, and as such all characters need their own theme song. I do not care whatsoever what it might be. Just this once, you are allowed do transcend the historic boundaries and select any song you want, so have fun with this one! When you have decided on a song, find a youtube video featuring it, and include the URL in your profile. -- Your role. By this I mean your profession. The examples listed above are: Assassin, Crusader, Thief, Mercenary, and Marauder. Heck, you can be a Farmer, Sailor, Slave, or Peasant if some bizarre reason compels you. Just state in one word who you are. -- Your description. This should give us an accurate idea of who you are as a person Appearance, personality, and all related information should be well defined. -- Your skills. Make a huge list of them. What are the things your character is good at, and not good at? Be thorough, but be realistic. A crusader would be excellent at sword fighting, but cannot perform the same kinds of acrobatics an assassin can. If fishing is not one of your skills, you will not have as much success doing that as another player who can. Your skills are a very important aspect to your character, so be very careful when choosing them. -- And one object of your choice. Your character may begin with only ONE object at the beginning of play. This object can be a weapon (like a sword or a throwing dagger), a tool (a map or a common knife), an animal (do you have your own horse? Or camel?), a personal item (a special amulet, your own house even?), whatever you can think of. It is entirely up to you, but you cannot begin with any sum of money. You must earn whatever you need. Further stuff can (and will) be acquired as you play, but you can only start with one.
With these six aspects, you should have more than enough information to generate a decent profile. You can write your profile in any way you want, including any extra details you might want to add, just so long as those key points are detailed.
Now than, once you have done all that, I would like you to send me your profile via Private Message. If I like it, I will PM you back with authorization to post it in this profiles thread. This is so all the profiles are in one place and are not interrupting the role-play. In that message, I will also provide an opening scenario for you to start the game from.
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GAME SYSTEM
Okay, here’s the fun stuff. Make sure you know and understand all these rules by the time you send me your profile. In-game errors will not make me very happy.
Here’s how it’s going to work. First of all, it does not matter to me how often or not you post, just so long as you stay active. If you are interacting with another player, it is only polite to try and post more often. People will not appreciate you making them wait for days or weeks just to continue their story. As mentioned earlier, it is an absolute must that you write decently constructed posts. It doesn’t matter if your character isn’t doing much of anything, you must still be meticulously detailed about it. If all you do is sit on a cushion staring at a wall, then you should let us all know exactly how you stare at it, all the little fidgety movements you might make, what that wall looks like, how your cushion feels and what it looks like, what you are thinking, and how long you spend there. Get it? Details! ANY situation can be described in great detail with a little creativity. But keep in mind, there are limits to exactly HOW you post…
I am the metaphorical Allah of this fictional universe we’re creating. There is no argument and no compromising with what I say. The only thing you control is your own character, and NOBODY ELSE! If you are being chased by guards, you cannot control those guards, nor can you make any assumptions or imply that they do anything other than exactly what I say they are. If you look down at a city street from a rooftop above, you cannot describe all the people you see below unless I have specifically told you that there are people below. You cannot in any way describe the action of any player or NPC, nor can you describe the effect of any of your actions on said people. If you ask an NPC merchant a question, I will have him answer you. If you drop a rock on someone, I will tell you if it even hits and how that person reacts. The point is, you cannot control anything about other people.
But, here’s the twist…
I will tell you what the situation is, I will tell you about the conditions of that situation, and I will provide any necessary details. Keeping in mind that you cannot control any other person but yourself, what you CAN do is fill in any and all details that I do not specify! That’s right, you actually get to free-write about your surroundings! The Holy Land is a immensely vast kingdom, and I cannot possibly attempt to list every single thing about it for you. I’ll give you the main points, and you provide the rest. If you are being chased by guards over the rooftops of Jerusalem, you get to describe everything about those rooftops and exactly how you travel across them. If all I say is “the man tosses you a sword”, you are free to describe that sword. See why details are so important now? This game is all about the details, and all about the creative manipulation of them.
This is a tremendous freedom. The ability to free-write within the limits I give you is the key feature of this game.
This freedom comes with a heavy responsibility. First of all, I cannot stress enough how important it is that you keep things realistic. Even if you are trained and skilled in jumping, you can only fall about two stories safely (and not even that if you are not!). Three stories (average rooftop height), and you are taking a serious gamble. I am “Allah”, remember? If I say you get hurt, there is no argument, you are hurt. If you get hurt, you must get healed somehow. You must eat regularly to keep your strength up, sleep for energy, and all other facets of real life still apply to the game world. (There will be no back-flipping off a roof, deflecting arrows in mid-air, then landing perfectly balanced on a railing below while attacking a nearby enemy with your giant sword. That simply is not realistic, so that will not happen. Ever.) I expect all participants to take this game seriously and be as realistic as possible This means you must strive to be as historically acurate as possible, so whip out the history books. The core elements of this game are realism, details, and creativity, in that order. Also, just as you are free with any details I do not provide, so too can I interpret whatever detail YOU fail to specify. This is another reason why you must be so thoroughly detailed with your posts. If you do not describe just how strongly you pull back the drawstring of a bow, I may decide that the shot was not powerful enough to penetrate your target. So again, remember the importance of detail.
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POSTING
Okay, now you get the idea of how this game is going to be run. I will further break up the system into two different types of posts: Exploration and Interaction.
Whenever you speak to someone, get into a fight, or otherwise become involved in cause-and-effect situations, then you are making an Interaction post. While following all the rules above, keep your character’s actions limited to just a few moves. You should not cross an entire city in one post, nor should you attack more than one or two times in combat. Just as always, I will tell you what happens to you, and you react to it. If I say “The Templar swings his longsword at your neck,” you should probably respond by dodging, blocking, or counterattacking. I’ll give you the Templar’s reaction, then you post again. See how it works? The cycle keeps going until the conflict is resolved. Speaking works the same way as combat. You say something, I’ll provide the NPC’s reply, and so on and so forth until you finish the conversation. Interaction posts are used whenever you interact with someone or something.
An Exploration post is used whenever you are traveling, resting, thinking, or otherwise NOT interacting with anyone or anything. You provide most of the detail in such situations, so these posts should be reasonably lengthy.
There is no limit to how long an Interaction post or Exploration post can be, just as long as you remember not to cram too much activity into it.
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SUMMARY
So, just to recap for you: -- You can only control your own character and no other person. -- I will tell you everything you need to know about what happens to you, and there is absolutely no argument with what I say. Period. -- You have the ability to free-write any detail about the situation that I do not. And, in return, I can interpret anything in your post that you do not specify. -- You can post at your own personal pace, just keep in mind any other players you may be interacting with. -- Interaction posts are for when you’re interacting with someone or something. -- Exploration posts are for when you are not interacting with anything. -- The main things to remember when posting is realism, details, and creativity. Common sense wouldn’t hurt, either. -- And finally, the last thing that you must always do while involved in this RP is this: Have fun! After all, that’s what this is all about!
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PLAYER REFERENCES
Listed below are two good links for you to study; a helpful reference to give you insight and inspiration for your posts. www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXu3pdxeKpQ This highlights the various environments you will typically find in your journey through the Holy Land. Examine them well, you can draw inspiration for your free-write details. www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWfi9NTxyOU&feature=related This video features demo of Assassin’s Creed gameplay. If you study this, you can learn a thing or two. You very well might find yourself in a similar scenario. (hint, hint…)
Also, to make this as much of a cinematic experience as possible, I will occasionally insert links (most likely to youtube) that will provide background music for you to listen to while you read! Just turn the volume up to an appropriate level and switch your window back to the RP. Music is proven to stir the soul, so I think that background music will make any given situation more dramatic, creating a more epic and enjoyable story for you.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------Now then, those are all the rules. Thank you for reading all this, you are now ready to begin your adventure!
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Post by Blade Knight on Mar 4, 2009 21:10:41 GMT -5
June 9, 1190 A.D. Silence as chilling as the grave hung heavily in the air on this dark summer night. A huge pale moon shone from behind black clouds as if it too was afraid to be out here, in the wilderness of Anatolia. Somewhere beneath the moon, a man in loose garments shuffled over the rough rocks of a high plateau. His head was wrapped with black cloth, leaving only nervous eyes and the tanned skin between them to be seen. He struggled up the side of the rocky cliff until he came to a ledge the width of a narrow road, where he sat to rest his weary body. "Tired already, Kahil?" whispered a soft, dark voice. Kahil (KAH-HEEL) jumped, his head turning to face the unknown speaker. Crouched atop a large rock jutting out from the cliff face behind him was a mysterious hooded figure. The flaps of his long grey surcoat dangled below his perch and fluttered in the cool dusk breeze. His wide sleeves came all the way down to his fingertips, concealing his hands. Wrapped around his waist and stomach was a broad sash that hung from his side. Near the tattered end, a dark red shape could be made out: a hawk with outstretched wings. The sash, sleeves, and his baggy pants were black, as was the separate hood, the fabric of which draped over his broad shoulders and hung over his eyes. His identity was concealed by a piece of black cloth tied around his face. "You know my name?" said Kahil, expelling a nervous breath. "You must be Lael Shahin, then? I understood that I would be meeting one of the Brotherhood's assassins, but the Night Hawk himself?" "And you must be Saladin's spy," Shahin observed. His voice was like the whisper of a midnight wind. "That is I. Do you have the information I seek?" "Come with me." Kahil followed the assassin higher up the cliff to its summit, where the two of them could look out at the terrain beyond. They could see a long river snaking across the landscape, and at its far side, fires. The horizon was covered with tiny campfires and bristled with tall spears and the outlines of tents in the darkness. Kahil trembled at the sight. Never before had he seen an army so intimidating. He folded his hands and muttered a quick prayer. "The army of the Holy Roman Empire," Shahin announced. "So massive, it could not travel by sea. They spent the last year marching to the Holy Land on foot, and now here they are, at the doorstep of Antioch. It is rumored that over ten thousand men sit there across the river." "First Aksehir, then Konya," said Kahil. "Antioch is surely doomed." "Not yet. The informaton I have for you can turn the tide in your favor." Shahin said, pointing. "Do you see how the river twists just there? Tell Saladin to have his allys, the Seljuk Turks, set up an ambush there. Strike when they are crossing the river tomorrow, when they are most vulnerable." Kahil nodded thoughtfully. "Yes… Yes, that might work. But still, their numbers are so overwhelming…" "There is one more thing. This detail is crucial to your victory." The Night Hawk whispered a secret into Kahil's ear, and the spy's eyebrow lifted with suspision. "Is that so? Can this really be true?" "I merely tell you the message my master sent me to deliver. Now that I have, we are done here." He approached the edge of the cliff, and turned back to Kahil one more time. "Do what must be done." Those were his final words before he leapt from the ledge, legs tucked into his chest and arms spread out. His billowing sleeves were like the wings of a hawk as he dropped into the night.
On June 10, 1190, Frederick I the Holy Roman Emperor is thrown from his horse and drowns as his army is attacked crossing the Saleph River. The army is plunged into chaos, and what should have been a one-sided battle turns into an unimaginable slaughter. Only 5,000 men arrive to join the Third Cursade, joining the siege of Acre. The siege lasts until July 12, 1191, when the crusaders take control of the city.
Mid-August, 1191 A.D. It was a hot day in the Holy land, as most days are. Warm sunshine drained through holes in the partly overcast sky, spilling through the murky clouds onto the port city of Acre. The tightly packed buildings were embraced by a high stone wall and on one side dropped into a cliff overlooking the frothing sea. From that edge of the city, one could gaze out at the deep blue waters and see the harbor; with all its majestic ships with their broad canvas sails filling the sky and the flocks of seagulls soaring above them.
A man stood beside the turreted stone wall that separated the city from the grey stone cliff that dropped into the crashing waves below. He could feel the refreshing ocean breeze gust from across the nearby harbor, and he drunk it in with a deep, relaxing breath. He had light brown skin and dark eyes, and his head was shaved clean of all hair. Intricate black tattoos scrolled across his bald cranium, coming to a point in his forehead like the sharp beak of a predatory bird. His garb had quite a priestly look to it: loose black pants and wide sleeves, with a long grey surcoat over it, black shroud draped over his shoulders, and a flowing black sash. Lael Shahin (LAY-EEL SHAH-HEEN) was indistinguishable from any other monk or holy man or scholar in the Holy Land. With hands folded together in front of his bowed head, he stood amid the crowd of people going about their business as they passed along the path at the edge of the harbor. As he pretended to pray, Shahin scanned the crowd out from the corner of his eye. Using his peripheral vision, he took careful note of passing guards, whose swords dangled from their waists as their owners strutted around importantly. They were easy to distinguish, the chain mail and bright red and white tunics gave them away. The crusaders patrolled the city ever since it’s capture last month, keeping order and taking prisoner anyone who defied them. To their credit, their presence did not change daily life for the part. The inhabitants of Acre most affected by their presence were the nobility and city officials, who’s jobs had been stripped from them in favor of crusader rule. But for the common person, life was not that different from when the guards wore turbans instead of mail. At last, the person he had been waiting for showed up. Siding up next to Shahin was a man dressed in a plain, dirty robe. His face was not covered this time, but the assassin could tell it was none other than the spy he had informed the previous year. “So, here we meet again, Shahin,” said Kahil. “Thank you for agreeing to see me here.” “You’re late. You said you’d be here hours ago.” “For this, I apologize. But you must understand, my situation is dire, just as I said in my letter.” The spy’s voice became hushed. The two men did not look at each other as they talked, as if simply being seen together would give them away. “Explain then,” Shahin quietly demanded. “What do you want with me?” “I need help. I have continued to spy on the progress of the German army, and my work has gone well until recently. All my contacts… everyone who was involved in that operation last year… they are all being killed. It was no more than last week when I escaped a third attempt on my life.” “You are being hunted? By who?” “I have no idea. It baffles me how, after all this time, I am finally revealed. It makes no sense…. But that is beside the point. I am running out of options here. I need help, Shahin! I don’t know how much longer I can evade them…” FWWWWWWWWWW-WHUMPH!!! Without warning, a sharp whistle shrieked through the air, and the feathered end of a crossbow bolt buried itself into Kahil’s neck! A misty cloud of blood sprayed from his wound as the spy, face stricken with shock, collapsed to the stone ground. Shahin’s attention snapped to the nearest roof across from them. The shadow of the retreating hitman could be glimpsed just before it was pulled out of sight. As he looked around, there were men with heads wrapped in cloth drawing swords and closing in on him, and there was no guard in sight to stop them. On the ground beside him, Kahil sputtered his last, pained breath. Shahin glared at the bandits as they drew closer, completely surrounding him. The crowd now began to scream and disperse at the sight of the armed ruffians. As the people cleared, one of them shouted at Shahin, “What did that man tell you!” Shahin said nothing. He remained calmly still, only moving his hands as he slowly flipped his hood over his head. “Kill him!” [Play background music] Shahin burst into action. As the bandits lunged, he swayed sideways, grabbed the arm of one of the attackers, and pulled hard, flinging him over the battlements to plummet over the cliff and into the sea. “Whaaaaaaaa….” Before anyone else could lash out at him, Shahin turned around and mounted the battlements. Crouching low to balance, he raced across them, stepping swiftly over each gap as blades came crashing down behind him. As he dashed away, the bandits gave chase. They were right behind him as he ran as quickly as he could while trying not to fall off sideways. He closed the gap between them and a building right next to the battlements. Just as his pursuers slashed at his legs, he built momentum and hit the side of the wall with his feet. One step, two steps, his kinetic energy carried him right up the side of the wall, where his outreaching hands found the ledge of a window. The bandits below him shouted angrily as he lifted himself up. He stood up, grabbing a two-inch ledge above the window, pulled up again. He reached up as high as his arm could stretch, and found the edge of the rooftop. Hauling himself onto the two story roof, he glanced over to check on his pursuers. Already, a few of them were scrambling onto the roof from another side. Curse them, they must have found a nearby ladder. Shahin had no time to wait. He sprinted over the wooden roof, followed by the first of the bandits. He ran to the opposite edge. The gap between this and the next building was not too far, so he shoved off with a hard kick and went flying over the narrow street. The jump was too much for some of the attackers to handle. Some of them stopped and cursed, one tried to follow, but did not go far enough. His body crashed into the building across the street and fell with a crunch onto the ground. But a few of them were dexterous enough to continue pursuit. Shahin glanced over his shoulder. These guys were faster than he had expected - they were right on top of him! He’d wonder about how they got their skills later. Right now, he positioned himself right along the edge of the rooftop he was sprinting over. Below, people gasped and pointed, amazed at the sight of the chase. One of the bandits got beside and slightly behind him, then dove at his legs for a tackle, desperate to stop him. Shahin jumped and tucked his legs into his chest, letting his attacker slide beneath his feet and drop off the building. But now more guys were closing in. Shahin had to abandon his straightforward path and dive sideways off the roof. He dropped a few feet, landing on a wide archway that curved over a busy road. He landed crouched, sinking into a squat to better absorb the shock of landing, and proceeded to race up and over the arch. At the other side was a wooden pole sticking out from the building the arch connected to. Shahin jumped, grabbing the pole, then pulled his body up onto it. After a moment to secure his balance, he gazed straight ahead at the row of identical poles along the side of the long structure. He pushed off, jumping to the next pole. Tapping it with his foot, he kept his momentum going and bounced right on to the next one, then the next. On the other side of the street, the bandits were still keeping pace with him as he jumped quickly from pole to pole. Shahin jumped up, grabbing a higher pole, swung from it, used the momentum of the swing to propel himself into the air. He soared out across a curving alley below, his clothing flapping behind him as he flew like a hawk. Reaching up, his fingertips snagged the three-story ledge. Seeking handholds and footholds, he began to creep up the side of the building. Soon, he arrived at the top of the four-story structure, which, judging by the slanting roof and bell tower, must be some sort of small church or chapel. He sprinted for the other side, only to see one of the bandits pulling himself up directly in front of him! There was no time to stop, so Shahin charged. The bandit thrust his sword out at him. The Night Hawk swerved as he closed in, shoving the arm that held the sword aside with his left hand. He spun, pulling his right elbow into his opponents face, making his head snap backwards. Then, flexing the fingers of his left hand, he activated the trigger-pull mechanism attached to his pinky finger. A sharp ring sung through the air as his hidden blade snapped out, flashing in the glint of the sun… right as he drove it up under the bandit’s chin! The bandit’s body tumbled back down the ladder he came from, knocking into the others who had been behind him. Shahin took this opportunity to duck away. When the bandits finaly arrived at the roof of the church, the assassin was gone. [End background music] Below them, they did not notice the procession of monks who were exiting the building, nor did they recognize one of them was their target. Hood down, Shahin trailed behind the monks, blending in as if he were one of their number. As soon as he had escaped the mystery attackers’ attention, he decided he would pay a visit to the local assassin’s bureau. There was something going on, and he was going to find out what.
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Post by Aseigan Cetanu on Mar 5, 2009 17:28:46 GMT -5
Azra'il strode down the sun-parched, sandy, yellow dirt road of the Holy Land, the vast expanse of sand, rocks, and heat on either side giving him a feeling of openness no city could provide. He looked from beneath his hood, drawn over his head to protect him from the searing rays that the sun sent over the landscape. From the dark, brown eyes that lay underneath, he could see wide and far. His clothes swayed in a gentle breeze as he made his way from Masayaf, the headquarters of the Brotherhood, he found himself wondering of his new destination, thinking of what it could be like there. He watched the clouds of dust forming at his feet, glancing to the road occasionally to make sure that he was still upon the path, but otherwise paying no heed to his surroundings. He was a traveler to even the most watchful eye, like any other. There were no outward signs of what lay beneath the tunic, its sleeves extending over his hands to hide his masterfully crafted, mechanical bracers. The wool tunic matched well the slightly tighter linen pants beneath, still baggy and light so that he could easily feel the slight breeze through their weaving. Azra'il walked through the forests of the Holy Land with a slouched head, drawing no attention to himself as he made his way to a destination where he would find himself faced with some form of Bureau Leader for the Brotherhood. He wondered if he had chosen the right rode, but dismissed the idea with a smirk. It was not his judgement that chose the rode, but the word of another of the Brotherhood that had guided his feet. He would not doubt they would send him the right way. He looked down to his arms, where the thick, leather bracers, the copper piping within housing his weapons, held firm to his arms. They grew heavy from much travel, but he was used to the feeling by now. It was an itch beneath them, and he so yearned to scratch it. He stopped upon his trail, pulling up his right sleeve and untying the leather thongs upon the bottom until the bracer fell to the ground, then dug furiously with his nails at the spot, where a few grains of sand had come from under the weapon-casing to be the source of his irritation. As the feeling swept away, the sand wiped from the spot and the last feelings of itchiness swept from his flesh, he picked the bracer up from the sand, wiping it off on all sides and making sure no sandy, pestilent grains clung to the bottom, before strapping the leather thongs back together, one by one, upon the bottom of his arm, and letting his long sleeve hang back over the deadly piece of machinery. He turned back to the road ahead, and kept forward at a steady pace. The road curved maybe once or twice in the hours ahead, the soft pads of light leather upon the bottom of his boots growing darker with dirt as each of the minutes went by, but he did not stop or lose pace again, determined to reach his destination long before nightfall. Azra'il normally was without such dedication and single-mindedness, and indeed, his thoughts did wander often upon the long, winding path of sand, but he knew of the dangers if a dust storm started or he allowed the sun to cook at his exposed flesh too long. In the harsh deserts, he was forced to be reasonable in his enjoyment, not to tally too long in the flaming glare of sunlight. The young assassin's journey took a little over a half an hour from where he dropped the featureless gauntlet in the sand, the brown leather being lifted from the swirling desert earth as the print it left was blown away. He had trekked hard across the Holy Land, the western wilderness of the site of all the crusades. The density of people had increased as he had closed with the great city, starting in small numbers, one or two, but soon increasing to carriages rolling towards the town, families and their children walking, huddled together, to the stone gates. He did not grasp the sheer crowds he would encounter, however, until he found himself at the wall. The masses of people going to and fro the city were so great that he found himself troubled to have to make it through such a place. Certainly, a hooded man would draw some attention to himself? And yet, no one entering had so much as cast a strange glance as he passed them, loose, gray clothing billowing, held together at his waist by a single, red sash. It was not, however, the crowds that had caused the first impression upon Azra'il. Instead, it was the high, tan, stone wall that rose above him for feet he did not so much as try to estimate, the tall, turreted barricade that the occupants, the crusaders, used to hold invaders at bay. This wall, framed by the great expanses of deep blue water behind it, the frothing, murky sea that bordered the place, was so large that even Azra'il, who had traveled much in his day and even vaguely recalled having been to this marvelous city before, found himself wondering how the wall was built by the sea, how that cliff had formed when things like this took so long to create. He brushed this thought, too, from his mind, as he did not care to ponder then the mysteries of engineering, when an entire city lay before him for exploration! The city... of Acre!
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Post by Blade Knight on Mar 5, 2009 18:26:22 GMT -5
Azra’il became squished from all sides by people of all sorts as they meandered about outside the city walls. The air was filled with the murmur of their voices, the stomp of their feet, the shuffle of their passing. The area outside Acre’s towering walls was like that of a bazaar or marketplace. There were stalls set up--covered wooden structures with assorted merchandise displayed on counters. There was a fenced coral for horses at the far side of the site, and a wide open area in the center, right in front of the tall archway leading into the city. The cityscape of Acre could be glimpsed through that arch over the shoulders of the crowd between Azra’il and the massive entrance. He was bumped and shoved as people stumbled around him. Not to be rude, but just because the mob of travelers and townsfolk was just that dense. The crowd ebbed and flowed around him, like a river or the ocean tide. The swarm of men and women was like a fluid, and he found himself swept up to the humongous entry arch. Standing under the arch was no less then a whole squad of guardian crusaders. They were huge men, their forms bulky with armor, the gleaming white surcoats over it were emblazoned with a bright red cross. Intimidating with their expressionless, bucket-like helms and heavy swords at their hips, the knights policed people into and out of the city. “Hey! Where are you going!” One of the knights could be heard shouting at a shady-looking character as he tried to sneak past them. A quick command was yelled, and one of the crusaders grabbed the man as he tried to run. He was slammed into the ground, the knight on top of him grinding his face into the dirt. As Azra’il watched the spectacle of the capture, a faint voice managed to fight its way through the chorus of noise to reach his attention. “Azra’il? Azra’il, over here! Hey! Azra‘il!” Off to his left, next to a stall leaning against the city wall was a man wearing a long, dress-like white robe and a wrapped face. With such a common outfit, the person could be anyone. His arms shook above his head as he waved, trying to draw Azra’il’s attention.
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Post by Aseigan Cetanu on Mar 5, 2009 22:34:57 GMT -5
Azra'il, hearing the man's call, made his way stealthily through the crowds, walking as if he were just another passerby and jumping between the flows of people going one way or another until he had made his way to stand beside this mysterious figure. Not looking at him, he leaned back against the wall, doing his best not to draw suspicion to himself or his friend. In a quieted voice, he looked from beneath the drawn forward hood at the man, his dark eyes turned to the side and his face barely tilted, and said, "You called for me?", his voice in a cheerful, whispered tone. He looked out over the cityscape with a glance of his eyes as he waited for the man's response. The vast city, stretching as far as the eye could see, was covered in buildings three to four stories tall, ledges and arches built in to the walls covering every surface, every windowsill and ledge a potential place for an escape if these invaders, these Templars, decided that he was as suspicious as the poor man now eating the sandy earth. He noticed the numerous places where wooden beams stretched across the city, from rooftop to rooftop, the perfect places to swing and jump from, or to grab on to if he needed an extra boost. His eyes then found their way to the high towers, some in the distance, some rather near. The wide open area in the center also gave him something; a place to blend in between people, the multi-colored clothes and numerous fellow humans, fellow citizens of the Holy Land, if ever he needed an escape. The wooden tops of the stalls also held promise; it would be easy to grab that ledge, pull himself up, and get a running leap before any jump across the wide open space. Millions of ways to move and escape if the guards decided too take him down as well. Azra'il glanced back to the man if and when he replied, keeping his eyes intent on the stranger so that, if any visual hints were given, he would catch them.
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Post by Blade Knight on Mar 6, 2009 19:06:58 GMT -5
"Azra'il! It is you!" the anonymous man exclaimed. "What, do you not recognize me? It has been a long time, I suppose. It is I, Ajib!" Ajib (AH-JEEB) pulled the wrappings of his black and white keffiyeh head scarf from his face, so Azra'il may better identify him. Because he used his left hand, Azra'il was able to notice that the ring finger of his left hand was missing. With the keffiyeh now flapping loosely over his shoulders, Ajib smiled. His friendly, welcoming face had scruffy black hair spreading across his chin, and he bore a faint horizontal scar over the bridge of his nose. "It is so good to see you again, my friend! So, they have finaly let you out of Masyaf, huh? Haha, what brings you here to Acre? Have you… business to conduct?" As he talked, Ajib dropped a dirty golden coin onto the stall's counter and was handed a small cloth bag, which he carefully stuffed into a satchel bag at his waist. "You look quite weary from travel. Come, I shall show you to a fine place to rest. I insist, won't you follow me?"
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Post by Aseigan Cetanu on Mar 6, 2009 19:27:18 GMT -5
Azra'il looked upon his old friend's face with a smile, saying, "Thank you, my old friend. I have no business as of yet, but I do think I shall find some if I can. I think that a trip to a place where the two of us may rest would be a welcome relief from the hot desert sands. Lead the way!" He gestured in a random direction with his arm, making a joking bow, the usual jolly trickster that Azra'il had always been known for. His loose tunic billowed in the breeze as he did this, right hand gesturing as a servant would to an entering Lord. His left hand formed at his stomach in a similar gesture, the identifying feature of the Assassin's Brotherhood's ring finger being missing clear between the tanned digits. His eyes, alive and dancing, followed his old friend in whatever direction he was heading, his body following in kind behind the man. He noticed that Ajib had begun to grow a scraggly beard about his chin, a new feature of his old friend's face since their last meeting so very long ago. It is good to be around friends again, Azra'il thought as he followed the Brotherhood member towards their destination, blending back seamlessly with the crowd as they made their way towards some place, probably hidden deep within the city, where rest and relaxation could be achieved after a long journey across the desert. Perhaps the Bureau? At least, that was Azra'il's hope as they made their path through the crowds of people, the absolute mob, the ocean of men and women come to trade, gain homes, and pray within the walls of Acre.
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Post by E-Stalin [Orthrus] on Mar 6, 2009 19:53:47 GMT -5
The first sensation that could be felt again was that of motion, a gentle rocking underneath him that slowly shifted from side to side. For a few moments he almost believed that he was back in the mountains, sleeping on a swaying tree branch, but then he became aware of the sounds once more. He heard blurred, indistinct voices. A multitude of foreign speech that he couldn't understand. There were heavy footsteps on wood, and he could hear the sounds of waves.
Kochevnik opened his eyes, wincing slightly as pain flared through them. Bright rays of sunlight were splayed across the wooden deck. For the smallest instant the image of a tiger flashed in his head, and then he wrenched his mind out of his dreams and back into the living world. He sat up straight, running a hand across his face as he did so. Stretching out in front of him was the deck of the wooden Lateen. There were plenty of people for such a sized vessel. Only a few of them were part of the crew, not many people were needed to sail such a ship. Most of the people on deck were travelers, Kochevnik among them. The ship was nearing the end of a very long journey. After finishing the voyage from the Holy Land to the North, it had begun the return journey from up in the Black Sea, picking up travelers along the way. Kochevnik himself had boarded from the Caucuses mountains, and had spent the past several weeks on board as the Lateen sailed down along the Black Sea, through a canal, and into the Mediterranean.
And now, finally, his journey was coming to an end. Kochevnik stood up and stretched, twisting his head from side to side. He was only partially dressed, and picked up his wool greatcoat from the deck. Just minutes before, the coat had been serving him as a blanket. After giving it a quick dust-off, he pulled it over his torso and turned up the collar. He didn’t have a shirt to wear underneath, and the rough wool scratched across his skin. He was accustomed to it. Indeed, any of the softer linens felt far too smooth and just...wrong to him. He had grown unused to the little luxuries, crossing entire seas and mountains in nothing but that greatcoat. Out of sheer habit, he ran his hands across the many pockets of the coat, expecting to feel the many items he usually carried. His fingers were met with no resistance, just wool. Kochevnik gently bit down on his tongue, remembering once again that he was stripped bare. Empty. He no longer had his weapons, nor his tools, and he was unaccustomed to feeling so vulnerable. But, he reminded himself, not all was gone. His fingers ran down across his belt and grasped the handle of his shortsword, hidden beneath the folds of the cloak. It was his second oldest and most used weapon, surpassed only by his own body. It was the one thing he’d been able to smuggle up North, having hidden it in the greatcoats largest pocket, which was literally the entire coat itself. The wool was composed of two layers sewn together, forming a hollow space in between them, which ended up with one large pocket on each side of the coat. The internal pocket was absolutely unnoticeable when empty, and even if known, no one would guess that it’s purpose was that of a bag and not merely more insulation. The lower seam on either side of the coat could be loosened by pulling back a wool strip, allowing him to store almost anything he wished, as the entire coat was essentially one large bag. In the end though, the short sword had been the only thing he’d been able to keep with him, mostly because it was the one tool that he wasn’t willing to sacrifice. His other items could be remade or purchased. With a cluck of his tongue, Kochevnik walked away from his resting spot.
The only way to really explain the many peculiarities about Kochevnik was the fact that he was a nomad. Exactly what his very name meant. He hadn’t experienced the stationary life of most people, not really. Instead, every waking moment had been spent running and fighting, either for his survival or his profession. Of course, his current situation perfectly showed that his profession amounted to nothing. He had no money, no belongings, no home. Nothing but a blade and his clothes. But this was a new sea, a new sun, new land. He wasn’t starting over, he was continuing it. Kievan Rus had been his origin, but it wasn’t home. This was his home, wherever war propagated, he flourished. He had spent well over a decade honing his skills in Rus, but that was all over. The constant infighting between Knyases and states had largely settled. In a few decades it might fall apart again, but for now Rus was truly unified. But not this land. A new Crusade, the Third Crusade. Egyptians from the East, Europeans from the West, Anatolia caught in the middle of it all. There was opportunity here, a new place to run and hide, to fight for the sake of fighting, and live such a life for the sheer sake of purpose.
Kochevnik stepped around fellow travelers and leaned against the raised guard of the Lateen, looking out across the waters. Gray sails flapped high over his head, pushing the ship further South. It was a calm morning, the waters an opaque blue, the sky quite clear. Far off in the distance, Kochevnik could see the coastline. The ship was sailing down past Palestine, though he supposed it was really Egypt now. Saladin had done a clear-cut job of running the place down. The very land itself was war-torn. Acre belonged to the English and the Austrians, Jerusalem belonged to Saladin. Perfect.
Kochevnik craned his head back, looking up at the sky. He closed his eyes and tasted the salt air on his tongue, feeling the breeze flow over his face. He felt the different heat from the sun, a kind of sunlight he hadn’t experienced before. The end of a transition, the beginning of another crusade. His crusade. And it would begin in this old, beautiful city. This city that had changed hands several times in less than five years. The only major city in the Holy Land with access to the sea, the shores steeped in a history of blood and culture, and one that he would never forget. Acre.
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Post by Captain Gojira on Mar 6, 2009 20:22:48 GMT -5
His leather and metal boots thumping with each step, Vincent gradually walked across the hilly, scrub-covered land of the North with calm steps, swinging his arms and cape a little in each movement he made and looking ahead with the same apathetic expression he was ever known for. Six feet and more broad than seemed normal with his dark-hued upper body armor, his wide cape swaying a little and brushing the ground behind him, the treasure hunter made no strain in looking ahead south.
Acre, Damascus, and Jerusalem, the three cities of the Holy Land he was familiar of, were some distance ahead, his ultimate destinations in search of valuable articles in the Holy Land. A newcomer and traveler, Vincent stared out into the land, inhaled the air around him, and basked the sun as he continued to walk south, the purpose of his journey all returning to his mind as he closed his slitted eyes.
He worked for a organization of wealthy landlords back in Germany, rich and powerful men that craved their money over all else. So Vincent saw it, at least. As opportunistic as they were, he was their vanguard; a hunter for treasure, there where they wanted and seeking what they desired. Vincent had made several trips into the world outside Europe, many to the seas and far east; still none had come to this region.
With the event of the Third Crusade, Vincent was now sent to the Holy Land to search what treasures may be in waiting here, still unspoiled by war and ripe for collection. To travel, to capture, to return, to collect; that was his goal, a goal he now sought to accomplish.
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Post by Shagrath on Mar 7, 2009 11:38:43 GMT -5
It was hot. The dry heat was enough to drive her insane. It frizzed hair, dried out her skin, made it hard to breathe, to work. But most of all, it made her sweat. It was disgusting; Ivy was perspiring before even going on stage to dance for all of those pigs. She sat there, rubbing oils onto her skin to keep it from cracking and peeling. She had burned herself bright red the first day in the city of Acer, it had been a week and a half since then. She didn’t plan on doing it again. The cool scented oils soothed her hot skin as well as her mounting frustration, the calming scents floated around her room. And she lit a stick of incense, in a practice that had been passed down from her mother. Just creating even more of a mixture of smells and sensations in the room, between her oils, the outside air, and the incense… It was almost overpowering.
The tavern wasn’t the nicest place. But, Abdul gave her, her space and allowed her a separate room like all the other girls that worked for him in the past. The coin wasn’t impressive, nowhere near what she would have normally got from contract agreements but, again things where tough right now. And a girl’s gotta get by after all. The wall had a crack in it and the floor had some knot holes, the room had been dirty before she’d gotten here. Apparently the last dancer that he had employed was disgustingly filthy, and a whore on top of that. If anyone made an advance on her, that man would never again have children, and she’d be out of this place. Their filthy hands where not going to touch her soft clean skin. No, the men here were all the same, even Abdul. She saw the way he looked at her, the way his eyes moved and scurried across her body. The man might be nice, he might treat the girls here well, but that’s all for business. An unhappy dancer will not please an audience, and an unpleased audience will not pay, possibly get rowdy, that causes damages to the tavern. Bad for business.
Everything was ready; Ivy was just waiting for her time to go out. Abdul or someone was supposed to come get her when it was time. She pulled out her fans and laying one down on the table, she opened the other up with a sharp flick of the wrist and some finger movement. The two outside edges where of a sword silver color, ornately weaving and turning like fire almost, the sides had a keen razor edge to them, which she made sure to keep sharpened daily, they were sturdy and strong, but wouldn’t hold up to a sword in a parry. The insides, where a reddish copper and bronze, gleaming in the sun light, they almost matched her hair. The three inside sections too where shaped ornately, flowing and ebbing like fire or the tides, when dancing they where a spectacle to see indeed, the blades had been beautifully crafted.
They where her leaves, of a sort and her a kind of poison ivy. She laughed, at the thought and then looked to her fans, those deadly elegant weapons used in her dancing. They had never failed her once, on a contract, on the dance floor, or for her own protection. She thought of the night that it all happened, what started her on this path. Ivy regretted nothing. While she kept to her thoughts, the incense burned down to the nub, leaving nothing but a few orange cinders and ash. The air wasn’t as thick with sent as it had been before, open windows had kept the ventilation good. A cool breeze wafted by, if it hadn’t been so dry it likely would have been refreshing. But all the air did here was make Ivy want to choke. And so she drank from a pitcher of water, not spilling a single drop, in this arid wasteland water was precious. The cool refreshing water tasted sweet against her dry mouth. It left her a smidge more pleasant, but the heat was still almost unbearable. Looking to the door and wondering when it would be time to go, she snapped close her fan and mounted them both back on her belts, they criss-crossed across her hips, hanging down loosely.
Surely, it was almost time to begin.
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Post by Blade Knight on Mar 11, 2009 15:51:40 GMT -5
Ajib led Azra'il to the towering arch, and like droplets of water in a river of people, they began to flow through the dam of crusader guards. Very slowly, they pushed their way past the knights along with the stream of citizens making their way into the city. "Do as I do," whispered Ajib. As they worked their way under the arching tunnel in the wall, he clapped his hands together and bowed his head respectfully to the metal-clad guardians, and received several polite nods of acknowledgement from them in response. They were not bothered as they passed into the city. Acre was far less dusty or arid as other cities in the Holy Land, due to its position at the rocky shoreline. The sky above was overcast with grey clouds that floated swiftly across the heavens, blown by the fresh, salty sea breeze that gusted between the buildings. Assorted smells could be detected, from local baked goods to the spice from cargo ships in the harbor. The air was filled with the droning murmur of voices and the caw of gulls as they circled high above. "Ahhh…" breathed Ajib as he led Azra'il through the busy streets."It is a fine day today, don't you think? Very pleasant. Anyway my friend, I know of a fine tavern to rest at nearby. Come this way."
Pushing past the curtain to Ivy's room, a girl folded her hands together in her lap and nodded respectfully. "Everyone is ready, we are waiting for you," she announced. The girl, Fatina, was another of Abdul's dancers and had been kind and helpful to Ivy ever since she had arrived. Her form was slender and petite, with a tanned body and fluttering black hair. She had sparkling brown eyes and a soft voice that suited her gentle personality. “Oh, and Ivy,” she said, “Abdul says to remind you of his important guests that were stopping in this morning. He says that if we put on a good show, we can get the rest of the day off.” It was no question that Ivy had become one of Abdul’s favorites. With her lovely moon-pale skin and fiery hair (with matching attitude), she was in stark contrast to the typical tan, dark-haired dancer. This exotic beauty was a selling point for the tavern, so it was logical that he would want to show her off to his guests. Usually, she had one morning show and two evening shows, which was already privilege compared to the other dancers, who were usually stuck doing four to six shows a day. Fatina grinned slyly. “You know, you’re becoming an important asset to him. You could take advantage of that…” She swept some stray bangs from her face, her fingers brushing delicately over her brass headpiece. It wrapped over her forehead and curved to a point between her eyebrows, and was etched with intricate little designs. It was a gift given to her by her big brother. Her family were slaves working for Abdul, and currently only herself and her brother were all that was left. Her older brother was the chef that cooked and prepared all the food for the tavern’s patrons, and he took tender care of his precious little sister. That headpiece had been worth months of his meager pay. “Anyway,” Fatina continued. “We should get going, we’re about to start…”
[Play background music] Ajib and Azra’il entered the tavern. The interior room was slightly dim, with lances of light streaking in through multiple windows in the walls of the large room. There were low tables surrounded by piles of cushions. The place smelled of food and wine, and there was a raised platform at the back of the room like a stage. The first thing to hit them as they entered was the unique music played by a band of musicians in the corner. It was fairly crowded inside, with a large group of overweight men sitting right next to the platform. They spoke loudly and laughed a lot. Overall, the place wasn't half bad. "Well now Azra'il," Ajib said, sinking into a cushion in by a corner table. "How have things been for you?" A servant came by with a bowl of simple khubz bread-wrapped falafels for them. Ajib picked up one of the fried wraps and chomped into it, revealing a steamy mix of chickpeas and meat slices inside. While he listened to Azra'il, he took note of some movement at the stage. Perhaps a show was about to start? [End background music]
Northern wilderness, Kingdom of Jeruselem Vincent heard the low, exhaling grunt of his camel behind him. A small band of three locals had agreed to take him with them as they journeyed across the wilderness of the Holy Land, and delivered him as far as their tiny village. They had sold him a camel for the last of his money, leaving him with nothing but his crossbow and directions to Damascus, the city of knowledge seekers: An appropriate destination for a treasure hunter, but one that still needed a day's travel to reach. The trek should take the rest of the night and, with luck, should see Vincent at the city gates by morning. The modest collections of wooden dwellings stood at his back, and the vast landscape stretched out before him.
Mediterranean Sea, coastline Waves crashed against the transport vessel as it coasted through the vibrant blue sea. Other than that, the rhythmic noises and slow rocking of the ship was all that was happening. The assorted passengers lazed around the deck with nothing to do. Long voyages were terribly boring affairs, especially if you were not part of the tiny crew. Even the sailors were not busy all the time, so the end result was a lot of people sitting around on a boat with nothing to do but wait. The monotony was excruciating, especially now that they were due to arrive shortly. But then again, "shortly" was a debatable term on a naval vessel. Kochevnik could even overhear two Arab sailors complaining. "It's times like these when I'd give anything for some excitement." "Do not say such things! It is bad luck!" What are you worried about? We're almost there, what's the worst that can happen?" The voyage continued for hours as they slipped alongside the distant shore as the ship continued its southward heading. Surely there was something Kochevnik could do to pass the time.
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Post by Aseigan Cetanu on Mar 11, 2009 16:10:59 GMT -5
Azra'il looked about the small tavern, the music comforting and... alive, coursing through his ears and into his very blood. His eyes, now dancing to the beat of the band's instruments, said to his friend, "I have been well, Ajib. My wanderings have taken me far and wide, but it is good to be in Acre and around friends."
Azra'il readjusted himself in the chair, looking about the tavern with smiling eyes and a happy heart that his old friend should pick a place so to his tastes after these many moons. He found it, frankly, to be amazing that a place such as this could exist and he could not have found it. Shows, a band that played with such skill and speed while not destroying the effects of classical music from this land, food and a crowd of people that were not suspicious or intrusive. It was as if he had been dropped into the perfect tavern.
He saw the servant walking back towards the large circle of cushions, and as she passed, he too reached into the basket, pulling forth one of the wraps. He said, just before taking a bite into the delicious roll, "How have things been with you, then? It will be good to hear of your tales and exploits from around the Holy Land."
With that, he bit in to the mouth-watering wrap of chickpeas and meat, the warm, flavorful blend spreading forth like a sea of comfort in his mouth. He snuggled closer in to the cushion, enjoying the sensation of the food as he chewed and listening to whatever stories his friend may have to tell, staring at the veils hanging from the walls in a myriad of colors, from purples and oranges, to yellows, blues, and reds. All the colors of the rainbow swirled before his dark eyes, filling him with joy that nicely complimented the fast-paced exhilaration the band's flowing, rhythmic music provided. Heart pounding within his chest, eyes dancing to the beat and darting from one colored veil to the next, and in the foreground of it all his friend's voice, Azra'il found a comforting happiness.
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Post by Captain Gojira on Mar 12, 2009 17:06:13 GMT -5
After slowly trailing across the immense, scrubby hills for a few hours, Vincent, beginning to feel the toil of the equatorial heat and towing his steed for so long, started to slow his pace and periodically check back on the camel. He stopped again, strained his eyes into the distance, and decided to find a resting point for only an hour or so. Camping out in the wilderness would not have seemed a clever idea to him, but acknowledging his need for rest and food, the man started to look around him for any sort of temporary refuge.
Under trees, alcoves, or at least anywhere with shade and some kind of fruit or edible vegetation would interest him, where he would lead his camel for a break stop and see what was there for his offer. Vincent's eyes and gaze roved the landscape for such a spot, keeping his path fixed towards Acre until he found a nearer refuge.
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Post by E-Stalin [Orthrus] on Mar 12, 2009 22:02:49 GMT -5
Kochevnik leaned against the wooden railing, looking down at the opaque water. The small waves lightly splashed against the dark wood of the hull, and he glanced up at the distant coastline again.
The Lateen was sailing this far off the coast for the simple reason that it was beyond bow range. Even the European longbows could only hail arrows no further than a few hundred meters, and the Lateen was half a kilometer off the coast. Sailing along war torn country split right down the middle wasn't exactly safe. They were already past the Egyptian territory, sailing further South toward Acre. Kochevnik had already noticed the slight shift in bearing; the Lateen was gently starting to curve to the East, beginning the final coast to shore.
Keeping an ear out for anything interesting, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small citrus fruit. People had long since noticed that eating such fruits prevented sickness during sail. Teeth rotting out of peoples mouths, off colored skin, not exactly pretty. Kochevnik had little idea as to why, and didn't much care. He just knew that eating fruit kept him healthy, and so citrus was always carried aboard any seafaring journey. Tearing off the rind with his teeth, Kochevnik munched on the fruit, looking around at the people on deck. In his experience, it always paid off to keep ones attention focused around him. You never knew what you might pick up, and it was often the small details that ended up saving his life.
He leaned back against the railing, eating his daily fruit as the excited passengers milled about.
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Post by Blade Knight on Mar 15, 2009 21:15:02 GMT -5
[Play background music] Ajib smiled and chuckled cheerfully. “My exploits? Hahaha… Well, I must admit that I have never been the most athletic or skilled of our Brotherhood, but I cannot deny that I have had adventures of my own. I have my own gifts, that much is certain.” He paused for another bite, taking the moment to be sure nobody was eavesdropping before he continued, “I am an unseen sentinel. I watch and I listen, the ears and eyes of the Brotherhood. “I have been to Jerusalem, where they had me survey Solomon‘s Temple in preparation for another operation. After that, I was on my way here to Acre when I had to evade King Richard’s army as it marches to Jaffa. I had to hide under a cloth buried in the sand all day long so the passing crusaders would not find me. Recently, I have found myself monitoring activity here in Acre. “Overall, things are going quite well now. Since it’s conquest in July, the crusaders have occupied the city, as you saw today. But now, the main army continues on towards Jerusalem, leaving us in relative peace once again.” He scratched his scruffy chin thoughtfully. “You know Azra’il, depending on whatever assignments you receive from the bureau, I would be more than happy to offer you information and advice. It is my duty to be informed, after all. I might even have some jobs for you of my own if you’re interested.” As he spoke, a round of applause sounded throughout the tavern as dancers began to file onto the stage. As Fatina and another dancer walked out, Fatina glanced over her shoulder and whispered to Ivy backstage, “We’ll start, then you join in just like we practiced. Good luck!” [End background music]
Meanwhile, a weary Vincent would discover his surroundings funnel into a wide, rocky canyon. Today being a grey, overcast day, the shadows of the scattered trees within the canyon cast long shadows over the soft, scrubby ground. Much to his relief, there were a few fig trees to be seen which would provide a decent meal. The canyon was wide enough to fit a tiny village inside, and its jagged cliff sides sprouted a multitude of rocky ledges and platforms that would make for easy climbing. It was also more than likely that caves could be found hidden within the stone sides as well. A variety of hills rose and fell within the canyon’s spacious center, and was littered with assorted rocks and boulders. Even as he led his camel into the valley, Vincent could spot a gazelle prancing around in the distance. It seams he had discovered a fine resting spot indeed. In fact, (and much to his surprise), there was evidence that he was not alone out here in the middle of nowhere. A rather unusual gathering of horses could be seen at the midpoint of the valley, grouped together right next to the canyon wall. A suspicious figure in flowing garments could just be seen dismounting his steed and disappearing into the rocks. Something was going on, that much was obvious. What that was exactly was less easy to distinguish. Regardless, the only thing Vincent could do about it was to decide how to react.
Hidden inside a small cave, basked in the flickering yellow firelight of torches, a gang of roughly eleven men or so were gathered quietly amid the dry rock and cavern darkness. They were dressed in the typical loose clothing as anyone else, and even the way they kept their faces concealed with headscarves and hoods was not that out of the ordinary, but there was something about them that betrayed a darker nature. Their eyes glinted maliciously in the dim light as they stood around quietly. Their attention focused on the corner ahead, from around which a new figure arrived. “Abd al-Azîz, you are expected.” muttered one of the men in a low, gruff voice. “This way.” He beckoned the newcomer to follow him. All eyes watched the stranger go as he passed, and they followed closely behind him as he was led deeper into the dark recesses of the cave.
Mediterranean Sea, coastline People were crowded all over the deck, surrounding Kochevnik in a mass of bodies. Some lay sleeping, others gazed over the side at the splashing waves. There was even a Muslim man sitting against the mast reading his Qur’an. Burly sailors huddled together in groups with nothing to do as the moderate wind pushed the ship across the sea. Overall, everyone seamed happy and cheerful to finaly be so close to the finale of their voyage. The trip remained uneventful until one passenger spotted something off the port side. “Hey!” he declared. “Is… is that a ship?” “Hmm?” One of the sailors pushed past him to inspect the horizon. Kochevnik cold see it too: the outline of another ship had appeared off the coast, and that in that instant, the entire atmosphere onboard changed. [Play background music] “Damn it!” exclaimed the sailor, or at least that was Kochevnik’s assumed translation. “We need to go faster!” A commotion had begun as he shoved people out of his way as he headed to the rear of the ship. Another sailor shouted back, “The wind is to our back, we are at maximum speed!” “It won’t be fast enough...” “Why? What in the name of Allah is going on?” The sailor grimaced and murmured his next words like a curse. “Barbary Corsairs…” In the distance, the pirate ship swooped out from its shoreline hiding spot and descended upon the helpless transport. The vessel was a long, sleek galley, with towering masts rigged with the triangular fore-and-aft lateen sails that bore the mark of the Islamic Crescent. It’s elongated bow was tipped with an iron ram, and rows of oars swept at the water like a multitude of wings. It’s sails puffed out with the force of captured wind, and the oars caused angry splashes at its side. It came swiftly, a dreadful predator of the sees. As it got closer and closer, the passengers around Kochevnik began to scream and run about, frightened and unsure of what to do. Men could now be seen on the deck of the Corsair galley. There must have been tens if not a hundred or so of them. They were wild barbarians, skin darkened by sun and toil. Many of them were shirtless, and their dirty bodies were covered in filth. They waved scimitars and knives, yelling at the top of their lungs; it was a bloodthirsty chorus that inspired terror and panic. It all happened so fast. The pirates had maneuvered to a position off to their port side with a tremendous burst of speed from their rowers. Averaging about four knots, the poor transport could not hope to match the roughly seven knots the galley raced at. The passengers of the ship were thrown left as they made a desperate starboard turn to avoid being rammed, but the pirates’ ship outmaneuvered them with an even sharper curve. There was a terrific crash of splitting wood and a gigantic spray that soaked the people on deck. In the time it took to wipe the water from one’s face, the ruffians had begun to flood on board! “YEEAAAAAHHH!!!” The only thing that could be heard was the angry cry of the pirates. One sailor attempted to raise a knife at the attackers, and was swiftly ran through with greedy, blood-stained blades. People were brutally captured if they did not resist, and mercilessly killed if they did. The scene had quickly become one of horror and chaos, and Kochevnik had suddenly become trapped in the middle of it all! “Get off my ship!” screamed the captain. Brandishing a sword of his own, the tough-looking man was all that stood between a group of frightened passengers at the very stern of the ship and a swarm of advancing pirates. One lunged at him, only to have his thrust parried and returned in kind. The captain drove the point of his blade through the pirate’s face and ripped it out again, splashing blood onto the deck. He fought savagely to protect the passengers, but it was one man against many. Surrounded on all sides by flashing steel, the captain was reduced to bloody ribbons of flesh. “DO NOT RESIST!!!” thundered one particularly large pirate. “All who oppose us will die!” The crew were being cut down all around, and the helpless passengers were roughly seized to be taken prisoner on the pirate’s own ship. In the midst of all the chaos, Kochevnik found himself suddenly singled out by one of the vigilantes. “There’s another one! Nab ‘em!” Kochevnik was now confronted by a group of Corsairs, who approached him with bloody scimitars raised and snarls on their ugly, yellowed teeth-filled faces… [End background music]
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Post by Aseigan Cetanu on Mar 15, 2009 21:41:34 GMT -5
Azra'il smiled at his old friend, commenting, "It is glad to hear you have kept yourself occupied. Your advice, obviously, will be cherished, and I look forward to taking whatever jobs you see fit to grant me. In a while, if you could kindly show me to where the bureau is, I'm afraid it has been far too long since I have ventured in Acre, and my memory has grown dim. That is, after the show. I've seen nothing but the parched, desert sands and high cacti for days, and I am reluctant to give up such a pleasant commodity as this tavern's pleasant assault on all senses for work, no matter how much there is to be done. I hope that you will not be bothered by my short stay in the inn?" As Azra'il said that, his eyes flickered over, a lively sparkle glinting around the whites, to the stage, the drapes on either side hanging still before the breeze of the moving body's of dancers could cause them to flutter and flow. Anyone, man or woman, child or adult, with his personality could not resist the whimsical and graceful movements of dancers at work. Azra'il's eyes flickered back to his friend, a questioning, dark eyebrow rising to ask if his decision was acceptable. After all, Azra'il was not one to trounce upon the needs of a friend for personal gain, and if Ajib truly wished to leave, Azra'il would not raise a single word of defiance to his companion's wishes. He was a kind man, and he intended to keep it that way. Azra'il's gaze flicked back to the stage, alive with wonderment as to what show he would watch, what performance the dancers would dare to do in the tavern, and even as his gaze became more and more focused, his mind more and more ready to absorb whatever marvel of dancing they might present to him and the other patrons of the bar, his body relaxed, sank deeper into the vibrantly colored cushions of the Arabian pub. He was at ease as he prepared for the performance, a rare thing for an assassin, and certainly rare for one of such travels and ventures as himself. He would take as much relaxation as he could, for to do otherwise would be foolhardy. Taking a deep breath, he sank within himself the second his friend answered his question, letting his mind be swept from his body by the waving form of the dancers on the stage.
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Post by Shagrath on Mar 16, 2009 8:06:34 GMT -5
Fatina had entered the room; she was a petite girl pretty by most people’s standards, although a striking contrast from Ivy, with her dark tanned skin and black hair, the muddy brown eyes that everyone here seemed to have they were pretty, but here where everyone had brown eyes, were nothing special from the rest of them, that’s what made Ivy so different, what made her such a privileged performer. And she was grateful to it. Ivy had a soft spot for the quiet girl though along with her brother, she was a slave to Abdul. The girl was happy enough though at least it looked like it, Ivy often wondered if she ever dreamed to be free to be able to see the world. But never inquired, it would be rude, and Fatina had done so much for her as it is. She was the whole reason she had a job here after all. One day, perhaps with enough money saved up she’d buy and set Fatina free, her brother too even given the right incentive, someone would need to keep Fatina safe. ,she thought to herself, A good deed in the many evil ones.
The room had emptied a bit of all the scents and smoke of the incense and oils, making it easier to breath and Fatina seemed to have no issues with doing so, the wind was stronger that it appeared from inside, a sucking vacuum eating away all those precious smells like a greedy dog would eat a bone. “You know, you’re becoming an important asset to him. You could take advantage of that…” Fatina made a curious gesture rubbing the head piece she wore. It was a bronze little beauty, ornate enough to look more expensive than she could afford, but not tacky enough to be uncomplimentary her, its sharp contrast to her dark skin and hair exhilarating. “Don’t you think I already do?” She gave a wide gesture about the room. “But one must be careful not to squeeze every drop of rain from the collection bin too soon; you never know when it will rain again.” Ivy sighed “After all, I only dance three times a day, while the rest of you do twice that. It makes me feel guilty some times. That I’m able to walk free, while you’re bound here by invisible chains.” “Anyway, we should get going, we’re about to start…” Somberly, Ivy said “I’ll be down in a moment Fatina, thank you for the warning. You are too kind to me.”
Ivy stood up, another gust of wind breezed through the room, it ruffled her hair slightly, but not enough to hamper her golden looks. There isn’t anything that could do that. Her mother had aged gracefully, as had her grandmother according to her mother, although Ivy never had the pleasure of meeting the woman, she died two years before Ivy had been born, around the age of fifty, possibly a little younger. From who knows what reason now-a-days, it was never really certain. The world is such an ugly place, and although we can’t escape a fate of death, that doesn’t mean I cannot make sure to take a few people with me, making the world just that much prettier. Hopefully. But thinking such things right now was no good, she had business to do, leaving the room the air was different in the hall, stuffy and thick. It had the aroma of smoke in it, but that was likely from the wisps of tendrils of smoke that occasionally wafted up from the floorboard cracks, sometimes through a knothole. Ivy sighed and stood, business was nothing that she should be complaining about. She had trained all her life for this sort of thing nothing to complain about at all. It was fun, no denying that. Ivy found pleasure in all of it, the dancing, the killing, the seduction, the danger, and still never being hurt. She was proud of it.
Moving down the stairs one could hear the many people running about down stairs trying to find good seats for the show, finding the perfect view point to be able to get off on all of the beautiful dancers provided for their pleasure. None of them would dare touch a singer girl though it would mean expulsion from the tavern. Permanently. The stairs were old and wooden, she couldn’t identify the wood but they were a sturdy set of stairs if ever there was. The wood was dark brown and had knotholes every few steps, they didn’t creak or groan, and were kept in good condition. Much better than some others she’d traversed over the years. One tavern she had been employed in was so terrible that when she left and the owner, a particularly disgustingly fat bulbous pig, tried to chase her down and stop her he fell through the stairs after his gargantuan body had crashed down the first four steps. Had she not been furious at his continual advances it would have been humorous. But now, three years later it was. The pig had gotten what he deserved. He had touched her, torn her skirt even, the bastard deserved to fall down through those stairs and deserved to be stuck with a spit and slow roasted alive over the remnants of his pitiful tavern. But she had had no means to build a fire to burn down that house of debauchery. But she was flying down memory lane again, and it was no time for that. Fatina looked to her and spoke of the plan, it was the same that they had been practicing recently they’d begin dancing and she’d come in from there.
And so it began. The lights had dimmed in the tavern and some lanterns had even been snuffed out completely, the windows curtains were drawn, leaving the room dark, lush, and warm almost like satin. Then the musicians began to play their song, it was slow and rhythmic. Soothing, easy to slow dance to, Fatina and the four other dancers of whom she was not too familiar with began to dance, two of them held long streamers used to twirl in the air, swinging about their bodies wrapping around the air like water to a stone in a rushing river. It was a gorgeous site. Ivy began to ascend the walk way to where her entrance would be made. The other two girls, Fatina included held no props but did belly dancing, shaking their bodies in promiscuous ways arms swaying in a metronome, hypnotizing all the men in the room. And the singer began, her light voice hitting her mark and crooning a beautiful falsetto. She sings no words, just beautiful sounds, soft moaning sounds and a mixture of fierce operatic scores. Ivy began to wrap herself up now; soon she would be coming down. Looking down she saw Fatina and the other belly dancer begin to move in a sequence shaking their torsos and hips mirroring each other while the two girls with streamers began to twirl their streamers upwards, to the skies it seemed.
And it was time, Ivy jumped from the platform she was on, wrapped up in that curtain, she descended at an alarming rate but it always happen that way she was in view of the crowd now, a blue green curtain flowing down and then they saw her. Just a milky white arm, with a metal fan, and then her fiery hair flying everywhere, more of her emerged from the curtain. And she was spinning on it, as the falsetto continued. Faster and faster, counter clockwise, spinning like none of these men in the crowd had ever seen before. And then with a flick of her wrist the fan’s blade was unsheathed. The copper and bronze inner blades gleaming brilliantly from the remaining fire light from the lanterns. The music became fast, and Ivy snapped out her other fan. In what seemed to be a mixture of fighting and dancing she began to swing them about while still tied to the curtain. It kept her momentum up, as two brass hoops where lowered down to her arm level. She swung her body and became inverted, stuck her legs through the brass hoops and hung there by them, dancing upside down for the tavern. In perfectly choreographed movements she captivated the audience, stealing the show once again. Streamers flew past her head, licked her body, the singer had finished. Fatina and the other belly dancer had moved to the very front of the stage, gesturing the crowd’s eyesight back towards Ivy and her spectacular inverted dance.
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Post by Captain Gojira on Mar 16, 2009 16:55:02 GMT -5
In the grey-dark realm of the Valley, Vincent stopped in surprise as he came upon the gathering of horses, then slunk back into the shadows as he watched the mysterious man dismount his steed and disappear into the rocks. He watched for a few moments, listened as intently as he could to the mens' conversation, then curiously approached the cave traveling along the valley wall. He stopped near the closest fig tree, tied the camel's reigns to its low branches, then plucked off any of the fruit he could find, enjoying its taste for a minute or so.
Still holding and eating his find, Vincent then cautiously came closer to the cave and stared inward, wondering whether to break course and follow. He took another bite of the fig, looked in the direction of Acre, and shrugged. Might as well investigate.
He started in, quietly taking steps heel first into the cave, and looked for the torches that gave their glowing light in the shadows, taking up any as a carrying torch and bringing it with him. Vincent then stalked off into the cave after the mysterious figures, and on the way finished the fig and tossed aside its remains. The scenario reminded him of some past ventures; trailing thieves and bandits and recovering their stolen items for profit. A business that always gave excitement and money; the business of treasure hunters. And Vincent always loved it.
With the fire of a torch to light his way, Vincent then quietly walked in after the men, keeping in the shadows of the cavern and occasionally throwing a glance back to make sure he wasn't being followed. That would have been a deadly mistake, as he knew. He continued on, trying to stay as stealthy as possible however alien the effort was.
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Post by Blade Knight on Mar 16, 2009 17:55:07 GMT -5
Ajib made no indication of leaving, so he and Azra’il stayed to enjoy the dancers’ spectacular display. All eyes were fixated on their waving, shaking, and twirling forms, completely enthralled as the dance continued on and on. They captivated the audience, especially so when that visual treasure that was Ivy appeared. The performance was nothing less than amazing, climaxing with Ivy’s remarkable inverted dance. As the singer’s voice faded away and the dancers froze, a delighted chorus resounded throughout the audience. Grand applause erupted forth, and men cheered enthusiastically for the alluring girls, who grinned wry, seductive smiles at them in return. One of the large, heavyset men sitting front and center rose and clapped his hands together, a thoroughly delighted expression spread across his bearded face. He wore a red fez on his head, and was dressed in a fine white shirt with a black and gold trimmed vest. “Beautifully done girls!” Abdul congratulated. He stepped up onto the stage and addressed the audience, “Let this pay tribute to all our generous sponsors and beneficiaries, who have kindly made the time to visit us this fine morning!” He waved at the wealthy-looking men he had been sitting with before continuing, “I would also like to thank all of you people for your support and business, making us the finest tavern in the Holy Land! So just remember, if you’re ever in need of a good time, come to Abdul’s! Thank you! Thank you all!” A final round of applause followed Abdul and the dancers offstage, with some men still even moaning for more. Fatina helped Ivy down from her upside down position, and went with her behind the curtain. “My girls!” Abdul said, beaming. His arms were spread wide, as if greeting royalty. “Fabulous! Fantastic! My guests were thoroughly pleased, I knew you’d come through for me! As promised, you may have the rest of the day to yourselves!” Before he wandered back to his oh-so-important guests, he glanced over his shoulder and called, “Oh, and Ivy…” a tiny little pouch sailed through the air at her with the sound of jingling coins. “Excellent work, my dear. You deserve it!” Fatina grinned excitedly at Ivy, girlishly exclaiming, “Oh Ivy! Let’s go exploring outside! Want to? Come on, it’ll be fun! You still have that chador cloak and niqâb veil I lent you, right? Let’s go!”
Ajib lifted his arms behind his head and stretched. “Ahh, that was a most excellent performance!” he said with a smile. Finally getting up, he dropped a pair of coins on the table and gestured to the door. “Now that you have rested, you’d best be getting off to the bureau. I am afraid that I’m not allowed to tell you outright where it is, but I can say that the entrance is where only someone like us can access. I wish you luck Azra’il. If you ever need to find me, I should be somewhere near the harbor. Until we meet again, old friend!” With a final friendly smile, he rewrapped his keffiyeh head scarf and made his way out the tavern door, leaving Azra’il to himself.
Wilderness cave Vincent’s torch sent dark shapes dancing through the black depths of the cave, the mysterious men mere outlines in the distance in front of him. The cold rock enclosure became narrow and wound through the stone like a twisting cobra, the jagged walls pressing in ever closer. Luckily, there were no branching passageways. Though he could no longer see the light of day, Vincent could be certain of the way out. Stalking the men deep into the cavern, they came to a point where it opened up again into a single, round chamber the size of a small room. Hanging from the opposite wall was a long, banner-like strip of cloth. Emblazoned upon that dirty white canvas was an ink design: an abstract rendering of a ghostly skull with a sword stabbed diagonally through it and a demonic serpent coiled around the blade. The skull’s eyes burned with fire, and Arabic inscriptions ringed the entire picture. A pair of torches were mounted on the wall on either side of the sinister banner, and standing with arms crossed in front of it was a figure, his broad, intimidating form obscured in the dark. As Vincent watched, remaining hidden from them, the men surrounded this figure and pushed the new arrival in front of him. “Bow stranger!” grunted a voice. “Bow before Zafir the shadow-master!”
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Post by Aseigan Cetanu on Mar 16, 2009 18:42:20 GMT -5
Azra'il, still elated from the excellent performance of the dancers, turned to leave the bar, his footsteps cascading against the mostly clean floors of the tavern. As he walked through the wooden frame of the entrance, the sounds, sights, and smells of the coastal city bombarded his senses once more, and it dawned on him that it was amazing such a place could exist in such an unassuming town as this. The bustling streets and yelling of merchants, the clacking of horse's hooves and the ringing of Templar's chainmail, were all the same as in hundreds of cities around the world, and yet, this small inn had risen to such great heights, gathering dancers from far, as evidenced by that pale, fiery-haired woman who had so elegantly moved about the stage and earning enough renown that wealthy men would dine next to common folk. It was a remarkable thing for the castes to be so horribly broken and shambled because of exotic music, beautiful dancers, and exquisite food, things that generally separated them so that they were no longer recognizable as members of the same species! Azra'il was in awe as to the level of proficiency such a humble abode had in breaking the barriers of class and caste and throwing all to the wind with the vibrations of sound and body. Unfortunately for the prankster-assassin's wandering mind, there was work to be done. He slowly walked in to the crowd, blending in with the various people of the Holy Land with ease. As he walked among them, following behind a small group of women heading towards a fountain with buckets in their arms, he noticed an alleyway leading from the open area that the fountain was centered in. He weaved out of their mists with skill, passing groups of men, women, children, and livestock like a wraith in the dead of blackest night, until he was at the entrance to the small back road around a larger, 4 story, sandstone building, the wooden shutters crudely fashioned, large gaps causing light to stream between the boards into dusty rooms within. He glanced with one eye behind him, assuring himself he was not being followed, and then walked 5 feet in to the alley way, slipping around the corner and disappearing from the sight of the crowds. As he turned the corner, he looked down the long route, seeing it to be devoid of any life, not a peddler or beggar amongst the piles of wooden crates and hay-bales. Hey turned to a window-sill, boarded up, apparently from an abandoned building, and leapt upward, his fingers grasping on to the ledge and his eyes focused skyward. He pulled himself up, then quick as a striking cobra brought his next hand upward, grasping the upper ledge of the rectangular sill. Now, with a foot-hold present, he slipped his foot on to the ledge his hand had just occupied pushing upward and slipping his fingers around the ledge of another window but 5 feet above the one he currently balanced upon. In this manner, he made his way through four window sills, repeating the same process over and over again until he finally climbed up to the roof. The rooftop of this structure was of ground sandstone, like the rest of the now-abandoned building, and had no rails or risen areas at its edges to prevent someone from falling from the tops... or jumping. Looking from side to side, checking to make sure no people looked up from their wanderings in the city below to see the cloaked assassin and his mighty bounds, Azra'il ran to the edge of the building, pushing off with all of his might and leaping higher, higher, gripping on to the edge of the next building, scarcely 3 feet from that he leapt from but a good story higher. He pulled himself up, and noticed a long, wooden pole extending from the edge of the building, hanging 8 feet below it a square platform with wood and other materials, attached on all corners by rope that intertwined and was then run through a pulley, the other portion of the rope tyed to a hook upon the ground. Azra'il's keen eye saw the advantage in this railing, a good 10 inches in thickness and width and 10 feet in length. He ran forward, feet on in front of the other, and with perfect accuracy ran along the board, eyes focused forward. With the momentum of his running leap, he hurled himself far, and landed with his fingers gripping the edge of a four-story building, a wooden beam spanning from it to the other side of the road, towards his final destination. He pulled himself to this rooftop, and then, with speed and litheness unseen by common folk oblivious to his presence, he ran along the perfectly horizontal beam, to its sister building on the other side of the narrow alley. Looking to his side, he leapt forward, grabbing on to the protruding, wooden window-sill embedded in the timber building's side and nailed with powerful stakes of steel. He pulled himself up upon this, balancing with some difficulty upon the 5-inch wide beam, before his fingers wrapped around the beam above it, his arms pulling him ever higher along the side of the impossibly high tower. Hand-over-hand, he made his way to the very top of the tower, his fingers grabbing in to knots and holes in the wood as well as simply clinging to the un-sanded lumber protrusions. In the course of five minutes, he scaled the high, grand tower, coming to the top where a stone obelisk sat, and 6 feet above the last bit of flat roof before the obelisk completed the great tower's height, a wooden beam protruded, the place where normally the bells would be kept upon a tower to warn of danger. However, the bell had long since been taken down, the tower forgotten, and now, the beam would serve a new purpose. Azra'il crouched, then leapt up, his hands wrapping easily around the beam. He pulled himself up, balancing upon the firmly rooted, tough beam, and then looked out over the immense city of Acre, crouching at the very end, his eyes glittering with the immense beauty of the city. Later, when work was not at hand, he would have to remember to venture back to this place, to see what he could see. For now, however, he needed to find the bureau. He scanned the horizons, doing his best to watch with all of his focus, every bit of concentration going to the task, looking for any sign of the Brotherhood's retreat and layer in the city. His eyes scanned for cloaked figures upon rooftops, for the doors marked with the insignia, for anything at all that could guide him to the place where his fellows made their stay. He looked far, intense focus burning through his retinas, and the thought occurred to him, causing him to stifle a laugh, 'I wonder if the Bureau will have any treats?' He brushed it aside, a smile gracing his dark lips as he looked out over the city, once again returning to the search for the bureau.
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