Flesh and Bone

Prologue: Zubair

The sound of the rich district filled the air, laughing merchants echoed the chatter of people speaking in Arabic hitting the ears to anyone who would listen. Guards paced in their day to day routines, and paced in their spots while others stood in attention. Every couple hours or so, the soldiers would switch shifts and exchange positions to patrol. It went on like this for hours, and occasionally a few monks would pass by the guards.

A man was walking through the small square of the Rich District in Acre, and soon enough a breeze lightly brushed by his frame. Something shifted along his hip, and he momentarily paused to check himself before giving a frown. How odd- he felt as if he were half an ounce lighter. Continuing on, he missed the dark pools that an assassin used to stare at, turning their attention away from their victim and slithering through the district.

It was then your victim found out exactly was missing. Out of instinct, your muscles immediately sparked along your core and legs, weight easily shifting on even feet as you sprung onto a crate and darted forward. Boots lightly scraped the wall, body moving up across the wall and you leapt to the other side, hands clutching onto a wooden beam and propelling you upwards. Landing on the edge of the roof, your body twirled in graceful manner, the long tails of your white robes and the long red sash that furled out while you unhooked your duel blades. Just as quickly as you produced the weapons, they slipped back into their hold and an unsuspecting guard crumbled to the flat rooftop. You didn't stop your fluid movements, body shifting and suddenly dropping into the floor of bureau. Your heels scraped against the stone floor, passing over the rug and coming to a halt at the doorway that led into the cool shade. Making sure that there wasn't anyone but the Rafik, you stepped into the cool building and laid out the item that had been requested.

"Here's your monthly item Rafik," your feminine voice spoke out softly.

The older man's eyes twinkled with joy, gently taking the piece of paper and looking over the plans that apparently, were to expand buildings and destroy the bureau. You had already assassinated the man whom dreamt of said plans, and assassinated the man who ordered them, while on your way to collect the paper. "Wonderful work as usual my dear ___," his deep voice rumbled out. "I assure you, the other Rafiks have not suspected a thing. Achieving your Master Assassin whilst hiding your true gender has been one of an amazing feat." He hummed.

Indeed, it was. Being part of a brotherhood meant that there were usually only men serving and working under Al Mualim. Sexist, you had once told yourself. However it didn't stop you from disguising yourself from head to toe. The soft smile that adorned your plump lips remained there as you thought about the years that went by. You were aware of the others there, and who was who. But you kept your eyes on Altaïr Ïbn La Ahad- knowing the once Master Assassin was brilliant. If you hadn't kept extreme caution and guard around him, you were sure you would've been found out by now. The next few people you knew were Malik and Kadar Al-Sayf. Kadar had been a kind younger brother, and Malik obviously the protective older one. During your training as a novice, you often went to the brothers for some guidance. You led them to believe you were a simple, naive young man that was working just as hard as the other young novices.

It had pained you to lie to them, seeing as how the brothers treated you like family. You had planned on telling them their secret, but when you had returned home from your mission, you had found out that they were off with Altaïr in a quest in Jerusalem. It only pained you more to find out when they returned, Malik missing an arm, Kadar dead, and Altaïr's arrogance shoved 6 feet under as he was restored to novice rank. Had you been on your moonsickness that week, you probably would've killed Altaïr for his stupidity.

During the time you thought, your smile had faded and in its place a large scowl took its place. The old man seemed to have noticed, giving a small and yet, amused smile before gently patting the wooden countertop. "My child, the scowl you wear is not a very beautiful sight for your face- it is bad enough that you wear a tight lip line all the time," his voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Looking to him, your head dipped slightly. "Return to Masyaf; Al Mualim will be awaiting your arrival," he hummed out.

You bowed very slowly, ending at a 145 degree angle to the older man before making your way back through the door way and over to the smooth stones. Your fingers slid over the rough granite, finding purchase on the bump that protruded and clambered up and through the hole the gate had left for you. Standing up, the bright sun stretched her rays over your hood and you resumed your original figure. Shoulder rolled back, legs twitching, you pushed off like an arrow flying from a taut string, and bounded over the rooftops. You didnt bother paying attention to the shouts of the soldiers, telling you that you were tresspassing. You simply swung your body this way and that. Finally landing on a narrow wooden beam, your hips centered and feet placed carefully in front of the other. You traveled like a snake slithering across a tree branch, and you leapt over several merchants and guards alike before bounding across the beams that supported a brick archway. You landed on the other side, body curling and dipping backwards as your knees locked you into place. Much like a back bend, your hands twisted and grabbed the beam before your core tightened. The breeze billowed, the stables to your left and merchants before you with a line of guards just below you. Teeth peeked out over your lower lip, pushing yourself up into a handstand and let the tails of your white robes to entangled in your strong, pant legs. You whistled,  large black steed clopping forward and you let your weight falter. A swish, and your whole body swung in a clockwise motion and it propelled you to the saddle of yours. Your left hand outstretched, eyes catching notice of your missing ring finger before grabbing the reigns that fluttered up. Your right hand stabled your landing, pelvis propped up and legs swinging round as you finally straddled the saddle. With that, your feet slipped into the stirrups and your house shot off into a gallop, towards your freedom.