paradisalogs | It seems my students do not fully understand...

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altaïr ibn la-ahad

It seems my students do not fully understand...

Who: Altaïr and YOU
What: Defense class, which is secretly a spy class, which is secretly a way for Altaïr to find some allies. Or so he hopes.
When: May 1-3, any hour; please specify date + time
Where: City's craftsmen district
Rating: PG? for sparring and mention of killing.

Altaïr conducted much of his work—spying, subterfuge, assassination, saving old ladies—during broad daylight. Today was no different. He was up with the earliest of shopkeepers in the craftsmen district, the crisp morning light throwing blue shadows on his white robes. He came here often to familiarize himself with the city. He felt this area would provide the right variety of people in a crowd. Good training ground for most activities, and there were clear bits of land not too far off where sparring could be practiced.

He was expecting some students who'd responded to his post in the journal, and perhaps even some who hadn't. Collecting people through the journal's messages was still a bit strange to him, but teaching was something familiar, having done much of it back home. A master assassin could not amount to much if he could not pass on what he knew. And, the Assassins in general would not be able to do their work without scouting for new recruits and allies.

What the Castle expected of them seemed too much in line with the servility the Templars back home also demanded. The Assassins were their longtime enemies, favoring freedom rather than control. Altaïr hoped to meet people of like mind. Those who wished to defend themselves already possessed a certain initiative, which could be the beginning of free thought. Surely there were people here unhappy with being taken from their lands...

Altaïr ruminated on this between his "classes", standing next to a blacksmith shop. Though he looked like a (well-armed) hooded scholar lost in the stillness of thought, his eyes still scanned the crowd with the ingrained vigilance of his training. He waited in plain sight, to be found more easily. He could not expect everyone to have already mastered seeing the unseen. He would be teaching how to see, how to remain hidden, the art of movement, and sparring with blades—most likely in that order, unless someone proved exceptionally ready for more than just the basics.

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Ashura had heard the call about the classes, and it was not that he necessarily needed training so much as he needed someone to spar with. It was surprisingly hard to find someone willing, and he hoped that Altaïr would not mind the change. He dressed lightly in loose white robes slit up the side to give his legs room, said legs wrapped in black warmers, his arms the same, and a small black wrap around his waist.

Altaïr was not so difficult to spot. He walked up, a sword at his hip, openly carried - a long, thing blade.

"The "man in the white hood", I presume?"

Edited 2014-05-05 12:21 (UTC)

Altaïr could easily find someone to spar with among the other Assassins. His lessons were more like another way to get to know strangers. If he couldn't save victims from corrupt guards and befriend their families of burly vigilantes, training with someone was the next best thing.

"I see my reputation precedes me," was his ~~lame~~ way of joking. "You have brought your sword, but I must ask if you have any interest in blending in or using the rooftops to move about..."

Ashura laughed at the first suggestion. Six foot tall, black hair to the floor even in a pony tail, lithe and thin as a willow and golden eyes with long, pointed ears. Even should he don clothing like Altaïr wore, Ashura would stick out like a sore thumb.

"I am afraid that "blending in" is simply not something that I am made for," he shook his head. "So the rooftops it is. I have never had much cause to try it, but it could come in handy during something that happens here I am sure."

He gave his usual direct look, even more so because he was exactly Ashura's height.

"Blending in can be learned by anyone willing to try it. Sometimes standing out can be its own disguise. But no matter. I learned to climb before I learned to hide in plain sight. It is the thing that comes most naturally that we will start with."

Natural for him, anyway. He'd fooled around on rooftops since he was a child.

"You may warm up if you haven't done so already. Meanwhile, observe the side of this building here. There are at least three ways to reach its roof. Using your surroundings to your advantage takes as much skill in observation as it does agility. To do this properly, you must look for the most direct path before you take it, without hesitation. Open your eyes to ways you can use every object. See barrels and overhangs not as obstacles, but as steps to your goal. I will demonstrate."

There were a couple barrels against the wall. He lightly ran over them to leap and grab the side of a balcony. His momentum carried him up onto the balcony's railing, and he jumped from there to pull himself to the roof.

"The speed of your last move should help you continue your next."

Given his response to the journal, it might have been easy to presume that Gren wasn't interested in what Altaïr had to offer. Rather, the musician simply preferred to get a handle on the other man's motivations in offering such a thing. What were his viewpoints and how did he expect skills like this to be used? He appreciated the sentiment, certainly. It was true that they were all in this together and the least they could do was help each other out. But he didn't want to be obligated to anyone for the service. His allegiance went to only one man.

The more he thought about it, the more this felt a little like cheating. Vicious had been teaching him how to use blades, but the other skills Altaïr had spoken of could go a long way in giving him the upper hand. Or so he hopes.

Curious, Gren finally decides to make his way into the other part of town to find out. Altaïr hadn't been terribly specific about where he was going to be, so it takes a good quarter of an hour of wandering before he spots the hooded man and approaches calmly. Any reservations he might have don't seem to show on his face, though he wonders what the man might want to hide by hiding his face, and he tilts his head slightly to try to get a better look.

"I suppose you'd be the one I'm looking for."

Altaïr asked allegiance of no one outside the Brotherhood. Help, maybe, like assisting in the convenient escape from some guards. But he wouldn't place his life in the hands of a vigilante he'd only just met. For one, it was risky. People could be bribed, intimidated, and broken into betraying him. Only fellow Assassins could be trusted. Even then, treachery was not unheard of. Altaïr had just finished putting down a traitor in the Assassin's fortress itself before he'd woken up here.

His hood hid him from all but those close enough to see into its shadows. Of course, there was no point in hiding his face from his students when they were right there in front of him. That was one of the risks he'd taken, when he invited people to come learn things. Now they would all know this man claiming certain skills was tawny-skinned, with an aquiline nose, and a vertical scar down his lips interrupting closely-cropped facial hair.

"Yes. I know your voice. You had asked me about wisdom."

His dark eyes blinked patiently, permitting Gren his staring—for the moment, anyway.

"What have you come to learn?"

It was enough to get the glimpse of a face - to look into the eyes of a man offering quite a lot more than wisdom. Would it be enough to determine if the face he was seeing was that of a solider or a killer. There was an important distinction there. Knowing that wouldn't necessarily change his course of action, but it could change what he decided to share about himself.

"Everything you offered to teach. The skills to fight back when we have to. How to be able to be help the people that can't fight for themselves and an asset to the people who can. How I can stand up when this places knocks me down."

Altaïr had the piercing gaze of a bird of prey. He was a man who carved his will with his blade, but he also knew when to sheathe it. He was neither a soldier blindly following orders, nor a killer who took life for his own pleasure. Though he might stand to gain from the deaths of his targets, he ultimately fought for peace. The deaths of a few corrupt officials were a necessary sacrifice for the freedom of many. Once, he had hoped that the day would come when he might lay down his blade. But even in times of peace, the Templars moved against the people using fear and corruption.

"I shall start at the beginning, then: How to move about, both in and out of sight. Not all threats are seen by the people. As they go about their business, you must see what they cannot, or make them see only what you want them to see. If you can blend in with the crowd, you have many more places you can hide. You can avoid a fight and get to where you need to go more quickly. Follow me."

Without further ado, he approached the wide path where knots of people brushed past each other. Workers carried crates of supplies, messengers dashed between them, and carts lumbered to one side of the lane.

"Do as I do. Choose a close group of people to hide yourself in, and copy their movements. People who look like you can serve this purpose, but also those who are loud in dress or voice. Your eyes will be your best tool. You must keep watch on those around you, as well as your surroundings. Keep up with me, but do not disturb anyone carrying things, do not be blocked by animals or carts, and do not walk too fast and lose your cover. Are you ready?"

It was enough to reassure Gren that Altaïr was a man of conviction but not a man with intentions of malice. He'd been in enough battles to know that violence was tool that sometimes had to be wielded in order to survive, and to ensure the survival of others. While he sometimes admired his comrades' cold efficiency, he'd never been able to divorce himself entirely. He wasn't sure which was more valuable.

Startled for a moment by the man's abrupt departure, Gren nevertheless started after him, listening intently, the corner of his eye taking in the busy street with a mild feeling of apprehension. Walking seemed like a strange introduction to fighting, but he wasn't about to openly question Altaïr's methods so soon.

"I'll do my best," he answered, his eyes already picking out places he might get in trouble.

Altaïr had been raised to think that emotional attachments made him weak. Now of course, he saw that these were what kept him human. And anyway, loving people meant he would fight all the harder for them.

He was all business, weaving through the people. He could hear Gren behind him, and he fell in close enough to converse without anyone hearing.

"We are going to pass a few guards." There were none in sight just yet, but he had memorized their posts. "Let us say, for the purpose of this lesson, that the Castle has bewitched them, and they will kill you on sight. Stay close to the crowd. Do not even let them look at you. Or rather, let them see you without seeing you. I will go ahead."

Gren felt there was maybe some holes in that scenario, at least in part because residents seem to stick out like sore thumbs next to the townfolk. Even more now that the castle had solidly dialed them all back by a century or two. And where the man in front of him blended just a bit more easily, Gren himself didn't feel like this was an easy feat to ask of him.

He wouldn't want to seem ungrateful or uncooperative, and he certainly knew how to take orders, but there was some questions to be answered here.

"How am I supposed to do that?," he asked, side-stepping to avoid a woman with a large basket on her head.

Altaïr gently touched arms and shoulders of those in his path, unobtrusively enough that they moved out of the way right when he wanted them to. It was a delicate balance, maintaining personal boundaries but passing close enough to have people on all sides blocking him from direct sight. As when looking at a painting, one was quicker to notice a figure alone rather than a figure among others. He turned his head enough to carry his low voice back to Gren.

"Everyone here knows foreigners have been brought into the land. They were told we were to live here, and they believed it. Your appearance only stands out when you separate yourself from the townsfolk. Do as I said. Find a knot of people to hide yourself in. Nudge them if necessary, but do so gently. They will part like a river and close around you again.

If you are worried about standing out, try masking yourself behind that family over there. They are louder and more boisterous than the rest. The guards will see them, then unsee them; they are quick to ignore an everyday nuisance."

As he watched the other man move, he began to understand the logic behind the exercise. The move without disturbing the environment was a way to gain a mastery of it. To force your way through anything only created more resistance, much like trying to run in water.

Nodding at Altaïr, Gren moved as directed, his strides easy and his head down. He diverted quickly to the side, casually avoiding the path of merchant with a hand cart and towards the family. As Altaïr had done, he brushed the shoulder of a man, who moved to let the presence behind him pass with little thought. Conversing loudly, their attentions on the smaller children that ran in circles at their feet, they did not notice as Gren fell into stride behind the group. He didn't look at the guards as their paths crossed. He was just a face in the crowd, he thought to himself, letting go of his worries with a relaxed droop of his shoulders. There was one sure-fire way to make a person stand out, and that was to actually look like you were trying to hide.

Aaron honestly didn't know what to expect. He had spoken with this man over the journal. He didn't knew how he looked or his name, only that he was going to wear a white hood. But he still went here and looked forward to sparring. He got some unresolved tension from recent events that he needed to get rid of. Training seemed like a good output even though he wasn't sure how to do it. He had never trained his fighting. He had picked up stuff from when he hanged out with his mates but he had never trained it. Except against punch bags. It just came natural. So it would be interesting to see how this would go.

He arrived at the scene and looked around. He soon spotted the white hooded figure and walked over him with confidence in his steps. As he got closer he scanned the other person. He seemed to be heavily armoured. Aaron wasn't familiar with his type of armour.

"Alright? I'm Aaron, I think we spoke about sparring a few days ago?" he spoke.

Luckily for Aaron, Altaïr was the only one of his Brothers in the immediate vicinity. Otherwise, he'd have several white-hooded men to distinguish from one another. Anonymity was their game, after all, and only someone looking closely would remember that the Assassins had their individual tastes in weapons. Altaïr would seem heavily equipped, especially to the modern man. but his armor was mostly just stiffened leather light enough for rooftop hopping. He carried a sword, long knife, and throwing knives. He would have had his hidden blade strapped to his left bracer as well, but the Castle had taken it from him.

"Altaïr." He paused, not used to giving his name this freely. But refusing to give his name after Aaron had already done so would mark him more. "Follow me. There is more space in one of these empty lots, even if people may still stop to gawk. And, you will forgive me for keeping my weapons on me; I am used to wearing them more often than not, and I do not wish to forget how to move with them on."

He glanced down to see if Aaron had gloves or handwraps. If not, he'd remove his own to be fair.

There was clearly more to Altaïr than Aaron knew. Coming from a small village in the 21st century, Aaron was not used to people wearing weapons that openly. Sure he had been involved in criminal activities so guns wasn't something he found strange. But the sheer lack of guns would still make him react and perhaps be more cautious about it. But he assumed Altaïr was from somewhere else. A memory from his time in Florence tugged on his mind. Perhaps he had seen someone similarly equipped. But that had been the castle's doing.

He nodded back at the older man and followed him. He was slightly on guard as always. Because it was someone he didn't knew who also was armored. The only thing Aaron carried was a backpack with some boxing gloves and other equipment. He hadn't known what to expect to he had just throw something together. He wasn't used to teaching or training with fist fighting. He had also wrapped some bandages around his hands for comfort and slight protection.

"Your home world must be dangerous if you need all those weapons," Aaron commented.

He had a seriousness that belied his age. Then again, being twenty-five during the Crusades usually meant more responsibility than it did in modern times. When war and plague took thousands, people lined up their priorities early on. They took jobs as youths, married young, and had children. In Altaïr's case, he ascended to the rank of Master Assassin more quickly than any before him.

"Every land has its own dangers. In mine, I often travel alone by horse, and being armed on the road is a necessity."

Being armed was also a necessity when one was a hunter of men. He led him to the empty lot. He scuffed his boots on the ground to get a feel for it, and flexed all nine of his fingers.

"Warm up if you need to. I have already done so, before you arrived."

Aaron was only 20 but he had been through some bad stuff which had made him angry but had also made him mature. Maybe not as much as Altair but he was more mature now than he was only 2 years ago.

"Seems like my land is more peaceful than yours. If you travel around the wort thing you may face is getting robbed or raped. People don't carry so much armor and weapons," Aaron commented and started to stretch his muscles. He didn't know what to expect but he readied himself.

Jennifer realized that she probably should have asked more questions in preparation for her first lessons in moving unseen. Namely, how to dress for the occasion- since she was sure her usual work uniform was ill-suited. However, she hadn't asked, so she decided it would be most sensible to dress in dark colors, choosing fabrics that she hoped wouldn't make a lot of noise when she moved.

She awaited the arrival of her teacher, knowing full well that he may have been in the shadows already, watching for her.

One aspect of Altaïr's work was that he did it in broad daylight. He used the crowd and his climbing abilities to mask himself. People saw him without actually seeing him. When they realized what happened, it was already too late. Conspicuous public assassination sent a stronger message than a knife in the dark. So, he was not in the shadows, but out in the open, looking like any other hooded scholar who had stopped to loiter.

He would have spotted her immediately... if he knew what she looked like. However, he did notice a woman looking like she had somewhere to be, but unsure of where that was exactly. The man in white approached the woman in dark colors.

"You are not lost?"

Jennifer smiled politely at the man. He looked like any other town resident- which she knew might not mean anything. Blending into a crowd was a good first step in being stealthy, after all.

"Well- I sort of am. I'm looking for somebody. Waiting for some lessons, in fact."

"I am waiting for students, to teach them how to defend themselves. Perhaps we seek the same thing. Do you know my voice?"

He had used voice on the journal so that people might know him. Of course, he also had no idea how he might sound coming out of a book. Perhaps she might recognize him now that he spoke at length.

Jennifer nodded at the question.

"I do- so I might as well introduce myself. I'm Dr. Keller. I'm the one who admitted to not being much of a warrior."

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It seems my students do not fully understand...

May 2, Morning, probably around 9

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May 3rd - early afternoon

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sorry this took forever

whoops same

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Backdated to May 2nd

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May 3rd, morning

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