General Art Convictions

[Ganondork]

Hey guys. So I've been writing an Assassin's Creed story for the past week or so, and I decided to share it on Zelda Dungeon. It's not yet complete, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to put the first chapter - of five - on here. I hope you enjoy it. I tried to make it easy to understand, even if you aren't a fan of the series.

***

Chapter 1​

The desert wind blew in the figure’s face as he trekked across the deserts of his homeland. A piece of cloth covered his mouth and nose, protecting most of his face from the harsh sandstorm whirling in the air. He wore a hooded robe, the cowl ending in a peak. The light beige tint of his robe blended in well with the sand that he stepped over.

He wore leather boots that did a poor job of keeping the scorching sand away from his feet. They were old and worn, but had lasted many years. It was no doubt time to obtain a new pair, but he did not have time to find replacements just yet.

A sword was on his hip in a leather sheath. The sheath was of poor quality, but the metal of the sword seemed to be of good quality. The man held the hilt of the sword with one hand, as though it empowered him to press on in the harsh desert.

The landscape was nothing but sand. The silhouette of the man was but a speck of vast hills of sand, each hill taller and more daunting than the last. He squinted as he stared forward, the wind blowing loudly in his ear, the cowl flapping to and fro on his head.

The sun beat on his back. Yet he looked forward with optimism. Even without his mouth visible to show much emotion, his eyes glimmered with determination. He paid no attention to the sweat dripping down his forehead, nor the sand that threatened to get in his eyes.

He had no camel, nor any other animal to make his travels easier, yet he carried on with great strength. He had not had anything to drink and he was parched, but he carried on. He knew not of how far his travels had taken him – he only knew the direction.

Many hours passed before the man found civilization; a small village consisting of a few scattered huts. He took the piece of cloth off of his mouth and removed his hood. A young man with chiseled features was hidden beneath the cloth. He smiled, enjoying the breeze now that sand was not whipping into his face.

He was met by two young children running to him.

“Could you please spare us a coin?” the children pleaded in their native tongue, a language the man did not recognize nor understand. His smile grew broader as he ruffled the younger child – a boy’s – hair. He took out a coin and gave it to the two children. They seem pleased, but they lingered, to the man’s surprise. He strode through the village, looking to find someone to speak to.

He looked into each hut, but found no one. He peered at the children, who were close by, but paid him little mind. They must have been brother in sister, the figure concluded, as they were wrestling on the ground and laughing. He turned to them, and caught their attention by hitting the side of the nearest hut. They stopped playing and looked up. Their dark hair was a mess from playing in the dirt, and they seemed thinner than he recalled from his initial inspection of them.

He strode to them and knelt down when he was a few feet from them, looking at them from eye-level. He began to speak in his native tongue – Avestan. “Where are all of the villagers?”

They clearly understood him, and replied in broken Avestan, “Men came and escorted them away. Our mother told us to hide until they were gone. Surely they’ll be back soon, yes?”

He nodded and smiled. He wasn’t sure if it was right to lie to them, but he had more important matters to attend to – his business here was done. He stood up and turned to the opposite way of where he came.

For such a small village, he noted, it had many luxuries. A well was in the large town square, as well as many deserted merchant stalls. The huts were lined on either side of the square, the well being the centerpiece of the entire village.

He walked to the well so he could get a drink. He was parched from his journey and knew he wouldn’t last if he continued without any water. He quickly quenched his thirst; the icy liquid revived his burning throat.

He turned to leave, reluctant to continue his journey through the harsh desert. Ahead, it appeared that a sandstorm had been brewing and was now sending flurries of sand into the air. Resilience overpowered reluctance as he took his first step into the desert.

“Leaving so soon, Darius?” Darius recognized the voice, but turned to meet his pursuer. He stood a few inches taller than Darius, but had similar features as him; brown hair, brown eyes, olive skin. The only quality that broke this spitting image

“Anoush,” Darius replied in mock affection. He put his hand on the hilt of his blade and slowly walked Anoush. The two kept eye contact, mistrusting of the other.

“Come now, brother,” Anoush raised his hands in the air to show he was unarmed. “Surely you’ll be willing to talk to me.”

“There is nothing to be said. You betrayed our cause and joined Xerxes.”

“You misunderstand, brother. I did not betray you, for I cannot betray something that I never truly loved.”

“You spit on father’s grave with every word, and dig your own just a little bit deeper.” Darius unsheathed his sword.

“I did not want this to resort to violence, brother. I suppose you leave me with no other choice,” Anoush reached for his boot. Out of it, he pulled out a small dagger. “Let us see what your petty Assassins have taught you.”

The two met in a clash of steel, sparks flying. Darius took the defensive right away, as his brother held the faster weapon. Each strike was meant to maim, and Darius knew it. He ducked under blows, sidestepped, and deflected. Anoush, Darius noticed, was getting more and more exhausted as the battle dragged on.

The moment to strike came in a matter of seconds. A single window of opportunity for him – either seize it, or prolong the battle. Anoush raised the blade high above his head, prepared to end the battle. Darius acted as soon as he could, the blade embedded deep into his brother’s gut. He pulled the blade out in mid-motion, spun, and hit Anoush in the back with the butt of his sword.

Anoush fell to the ground, a pool of blood forming around him. He looked up at Darius, but his brother had already left, headed for his next destination.

***​

Hours passed before Darius found himself in civilization once again – another small village surrounded by a large wall made of wood. He looked behind him before tapping on a piece of wood three times. Part of the wall gave way, giving Darius access to the innards of the mysterious oasis.

Within the village was a single hut. He stepped inside, the door creaking. The hut was large enough to hold a crowd of people, but the only form of decoration was a single table in the center of the room. Five men sat around it, discussing matters in a hushed tone.

Darius cleared his throat, catching their attention. “The village containing Assassin intelligence is now vacant.”

“Do we know what happened?” the man to the far right of the table asked.

“No, Farzin. The only people left were two children and-“

“And?” the man in the center demanded.

“Anoush was there as well. I can only assume he followed me.”

“And did he follow you back here?”

“No,” Darius shook his head. “I left him to die.”

“’Left him to die?’ Did you see him breathe his final breath?” Farzin stood up, knocking his chair over.

“No, I did not. I needed to hurry back here to relay the information.”

“Your insolence may come back to bite you, Darius. We do not know if he survived or not.” He paused. “If he lives, you will repay this great besetment in your own blood.”

Darius, without any sign of acknowledgement, turned to the exit, placing his hands on the knob. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over, seeing Farzin. Sympathy was in the Assassin’s eyes.

“We will learn from this. Understood?”

Darius nodded. “I’ll go into the villages and ask the inhabitants if they have seen him.”

“I’m afraid I have other plans for you.” Farzin said. “It’s time that we take down King Xerxes.”

“How do we plan to do that?”

“I enlisted you in the Persian navy. It consists of a small fleet of ships. Gain his trust, and kill him.” Farzin gave him an encouraging smile.

“When does the ship leave port?”

“Tomorrow; I suggest you reach the city of Siraf as soon as possible.” Farzin’s smile faded. “Do not falter in your mission. Kill as few people as you possibly can.”

Farzin reached into his robe and pulled out a peculiar mechanism. It appeared to be a leather bracer. Within a hole in the bracer was a blade. He tenderly gave it to Darius. “Treat the hidden blade well.”

Darius bowed. “Yes, Mentor.” He turned for the door. Once again, he was stopped by the callused hand of Farzin.

“There is one condition of the blade.”

Darius looked at the Mentor, unsure of what to expect. “What would that be?”

“For the blade to work as intended, the wielder must cut off their ring finger.” Farzin said, showing Darius his own hand. Darius did not remember him missing a finger the last time he visited, so he could only assume that this weapon was made recently.

“If it is what must be done.” Darius walked back to the table and put his left hand on it. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. He listened to Farzin search for a knife, fumbling around the room until he finally found it.

“Take a deep breath, Darius.”

Darius said nothing as he heard the knife rise into the air. His heart leapt into his throat and waited in anticipation. The knife in its descent made a whistling noise as it cut through air. He held a scream that arose within his throat as he felt his finger sever from his hand.

 

[Kybyrian]

wow this story sucks

 

[Ronin]

Your story has expanded down some interesting routes since I've last critiqued it. Darius has promise for a lot of character development, especially with his brother, Anoush, possibly surviving their duel. Hopefully this turns out to be true, because that would certainly make things intense if Anoush tried to pull King Xerxes' strings while Darius was attempting to assassinate him.

 

[blue-eyes]

Well, I liked it a lot. It was really interesting, and I can't wait for more. However, one mistake I could find. To use the older Hidden Blade, you had to cut off your left ring finger, not the index.

 

[Sydney]

Lame.

50 Shades of Grey is way better.

 

[Ganondork]

Chapter 2​

Darius found himself aboard a navy vessel – The Adventurer – the following morning. The smell of salt filled his nostrils until its scent became as familiar as the air he’d always breathed. Gulls flew overhead, releasing a cry that was echoed by the other fowls.

The ship was far from state-of-the-art, but Darius found himself far more intrigued by the water than the vessel he was aboard. The Adventurer was but a chapter in his journey, but he’d never forget the beautiful sea.

The seamen on the upper deck were a stocky platoon. Large muscles covered their arms, their blades complementing their physique. They flashed them around, speaking in loud tones. They spoke to one another as though they were old friends, making jokes and heckling them when they blundered.

Darius remained on the bow, watching the water, his arms on the railing. He wore the same robes as he had the previous day, distinguishing himself from the casually dressed seamen. They rarely paid him any mind, and he did the same to them.

***​

Darius watched the ocean, and the island ahead. It had been a few months since they set off, and this island would prove beneficial to the vessel’s diminishing supplies. The crew had grown anxious due to the dwindling rations. Heated arguments were common, but words were never turned to blows.

Behind him, the sound of approaching footsteps was audible. A man stood next to him, looking out at the island. “You spend every day looking at the water. Why does it capture your attention so greatly?” the newcomer inquired.

“I had never seen an ocean before.” Darius said.

“What part of Persia do you inhabit?”

“I travel. My journeys have never taken me to such magnificent places. Only sand.”

“Perhaps you chose the wrong line of work,” the seaman said.

“I don’t recall being given the choice.”

“Ah. Life’s what you make of it, stranger. Make it a good one.” With that, the seaman turned and left. Darius never bothered to look the man in the eyes; his words had enough of an impact on him. His mind drifted from the natural beauty of the sea and began to meditate upon the man’s words.

***​

It had been a week since they departed the island, and spirits had been raised. The seas had grown calm, and everyone was below deck. A large table was in a corner of the room. With his back to the wall was a particularly begrimed swashbuckler. An unkempt beard covered a majority of his face, masking his visage. In one hand was a bottle of wine, in the other was a knife.

“Let me tell you,” he began, “I saw a man many years ago. He was nimble and blended in with the shadows. He could kill a man before his target even knew what was happening.

“I tell you – few men ever saw the man’s visage, let alone much more than a silhouette. ‘The Assassin,’ they called him. The man was wrapped in such mystery that few even knew his name. Those who found it without permission never lived long enough to share it.”

The crowd of seamen around the table was mystified by the tale as the buccaneer spoke. He told stories of powerful men falling at the hands of this anonymous vigilante without so much of a clue as to what was happening.

Some men questioned the validity of such tales, while others were simply bewildered by the idea of such a skilled executioner. None openly expressed their skepticism, but simply listened to each story. No detail was spared by the master storyteller.

“Where have you heard such stories?” Darius emerged from the shadows, having listened to the swashbuckler’s chronicle.

“I witnessed some of them with my own eyes. Others I heard from acquaintances. It’s not hard to make connections with such fantastic tales.”

Darius was silent.

“You have heard such tales before, I assume?” the seaman continued.

Darius shook his head. “No. A man with those abilities could not exist.”

“Believe what you wish, boy,” the seaman growled, “I know what I saw.”

“Such is your right.” Darius turned to leave.

“Seeing is believing. Learn that lesson now.”

Darius turned again. “There are things in life we may believe in without witnessing it.”

“You follow blindly then, and without direction. I won’t be surprised when I see your body mangled and bloodied on the battlefield.”

“I could say the same to you, yet your body will lie at my feet.” Darius balled his hands into fists, the hairs on the back of his neck raising.

The man stood up, walking to Darius. “I’d like to see you try.” Darius could smell his breath, which reeked of liquor.

Darius shoved the seaman into the table, knocking it over. He got up quickly, his fists raised. A crowd began to gather, goading the two to fight. The two circled around the other, sizing the other up.

The seaman threw the first punch – a left hook. Time slowed for Darius, who was well-versed in such situations. He ducked under the blow and backhanded the drunken sailor. He recoiled, his cheek a bright red.

He charged at Darius, his movements slowed by the liquor sloshing within his stomach. He lowered his shoulder as he came close to the Assassin. Darius stood there, anticipating the blow. The moment the seaman was to make contact with him, Darius sidestepped, leaving the man to run into the beam.

He hit his head hard, leaving a sizable lump on the top of it. Darius looked down upon him, contempt in his eyes. “Never speak of my father again. He preserved a legacy that a drunkard like you does not deserve to recount.”

“I thought you said these stories were false,” the dazed sailor said.

“Seeing is not believing. Without proper conviction, you are but a lost man scrambling for a shred of validation in your beliefs. There are things in this world that we have never seen, yet we still hold to our hearts as true.”

“Who are you?” The seaman stood, touched by the Assassin’s words.

“A man who wishes to see mankind enlightened.”

“Allow me to join you in your endeavors,” he said. “I can prove to be useful to your cause.”

Darius shook his head. “You do not wish to live a life as I do. It is a lonely one.”

“Then why carry on such duties?”

“If I did not do it, then who would? If you brave men did not fight in wars, then who would keep your families safe? We are all given roles in life – some may shirk their duties and pass it to another, but others will take the opportunity with optimism. Protect Persia for your children, and I will do my work in creating a world for your children to exist in peacefully.”

The entire room had grown silent as Darius spoke. They felt profound effects from Darius’ words, leaving them speechless. The seaman bowed to Darius. “I was a fool to disregard your beliefs and consider them folly. I am but a simple man, but you fight for a cause that betters all of us. For that, I thank you.”

“I do not do this for the thanks of others, but because it is what’s right. Next time you tell tales of a man who murders do so with wonder of why they did it, but not of how they did so as efficiently as they had.”

“I am humbled by your words. May we meet again,” he smiled. “Hopefully not on the battlefield, however.”

Darius bowed one final time and took his leave, returning to his sleeping quarters. Never before had he been surprised by the mind of man. “This is what I strive to preserve,” he whispered as he felt sleep overtake him.