Random things that pop into my head! :D

Assassin's Creed: The Legend who epically failed xD (part 2)

*** Shalalalala, shalalali, Terrific! Guess who decided to write more about Altaïr's story? Me! Haha I got bored -.- I have no idea how long this will take to write cause I ALWAYS get carried away but, whatever, enjoy! ***

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      "Come forward," said Al Mualim, "tell me of your mission."

      Altaïr could hear the blood rushing through his ears, his heart pounding. His was afraid of what was to become of is rank. He was a Master Assassin. He wouldn't let that be taken away. He reluctantly walked closer to Al Mualim's desk as he continued to speak.

      "I trust you have recovered the Templar's treasure?" Al Mualim asked. Altaïr swallowed hard, but spoke, his voice nearly trembling.

      "There was some . . . trouble, Master. Robert de Sable was not alone." It was all Altaïr could think of to say.

      "When does our work ever go as expected?" Al Mualim stated calmly. "It's our ability to adapt, that makes us who we are."

      "This time it was not enough . . ." Altaïr said quietly. Al Mualim's expression quickly changed from calm and mellow, to curiosity, and seriousness.

      "What do you mean?" he asked in a firmer tone. Altaïr could feel his hands slightly shake from the adrenaline rush he was beginning to have, he hoped his voice wasn't shaking, though it was no doubt filled with hopelessness.

      "I have failed you . . ." Al Mualim's visage had gone to anger, so did the tone in his voice.

      "The treasure?" he asked, as he walked around his desk to face Altaïr properly.

      "Lost to us . . ."

      "And Robert?"

      "Escaped . . ."

      Al Mualim was now standing in front of Altaïr, the rage in his voice making Altaïr's insides cringe, though he tried to keep his face neutral.

      "I send you, my best man, to complete a mission more important than any that has come before, and you return to me with nothing but apologies and excuses?!"

      "I did-"

      "Do not speak! Not another word!" ordered Al Mualim. Altaïr obeyed, breathing in so slowly that he was practically holding his breath. Al Mualim turned around and walked towards one of his book shelfs next to his desk, the light coming from the massive gate in the wall behind them cast a menacing shadow across his face. Altaïr could hear him inhale and exhale slowly, collecting his thoughts.

      "This is not what I expected," he said, now turning around to face Altaïr, "we'll need to mount another force." Altaïr's fear caught up to him, this was what he never wanted to happen.

      "I swear to you I will find him." he pleaded. "I'll go and-" Al Mualim cut him off abruptly.

      "No, you do nothing. You've done enough!" he said harshly. Altaïr could feel his heart sink. There was a heavy silence for a moment.

      "Where are Malik and Kadar?" Al Mualim questioned. Altaïr had completely forgotten that they existed. His memory quickly flooded back into his mind, and he saw the picture of them being left behind at the Temple, fighting, out numbered five-to-two.

      "Dead . . ."

      "No, not dead!" came a voice that was all too familiar to Altaïr, still full of anger. He turned to see a heavily injured Malik limping up the stairs, clutching his left arm, where the whole sleeve was covered in a crimson substance known as blood.