Altaïr ibn La-Ahad

Life in Masyaf was simple on the surface, beneath the smell of spices, souks, and silk vendors, if you looked close enough you'd notice the hooded figures running around the city leaving bodies in their wake. 'Assassins' the whispers on the street called them.

Little did the whisperers know how right they were. Somewhere in Masyaf, known to few and hidden far too well, a small base of operations for the Brotherhood. Even regarding the areas dark history, it was a comfortable and cozy place to actually sit and rest between missions.

By the time you had information on your next mission you were halfway to the Damascus Bureau to speak with Malik for more information on where to find your target.

The Bureau was hidden well, the only entrance being a skylight, tailored to the talents of the assassins running around the city. As you dropped down the wall, landing gently on your feet, stealth never escaped you even away from the job.

Your eyes would scale across the room which was bathed in sunlight through the open roof, the smell of oud and frankincense greeted you with a familiar pleasantness. Your gaze trailed to the pile of pillows laid on top of the carpets.

Resting on top of those, your friend and fellow assassin slept. A plate of half eaten olives and dates laid next to him, and beside that, a cup of half drunk tea— courtesy of Malik.

Malik be damned, he can wait. It'd be a mercy for your target that you let him live for a little while longer. You silently think as you sink into the pillows close to Altaïr, peering at his sleeping face, he didn't look so stressed like this.

"Not so loud, habibi." Altaïr mumbled as he shifted, his voice thick with sleep as his golden eyes fluttered open to meet yours.

And here you thought you were being all sneaky and quiet. Altaïr knew better, even in his sleep.