CLOSED.

[truncately]

WHO: Altaïr Ibn La-Ahad (avowed) & Malik Al-Sayf (truncately).
WHAT: Up to his own devices amongst preparing a project of his own making, Malik wanders the city looking for abandoned buildings, combing for resources. While he expects many things considered out of the ordinary within the realm of the city, he does not expect to fall upon a rather familiar site and

Comments

[avowed]

Days became weeks that would melt into a month already, and truly, Altaïr was counting each. Every day without answers was a day wasted, and having found nothing of true interest regarding an escape route save for the dirtied paper found with that other man - Ezio - there was nothing. Nothing left for any possible public to find, at least. To cage an eagle was to create a volatile, seething predator, and the longer his frustration was dragged out amongst strange rules and sorcerous taunting, the less his already-weak patience was tested. There were others within this prison, yes, but knowing this did not create any sense of relation. He did not feel as though he were "apart" of their struggle, as theirs seemed a much different conflict and they seemed people without a goal such as his.

It was tiring.

Height was always an advantage and Altaïr traversed rooftops far more than the ground. One of those advantages was being able to slip about without being forced to wear the mask that had been placed upon his person upon waking in this land. A land growing away from what was a supposed illusion, and more some real horror, but still the assassin's objective mind preferred not to think in indefinites. A guise of Al Mualim's was something experienced before and thus was more logical than being transported to an endless world, something that read more like a children's story than fact. Rather than entertain his decidedly less imagination-inclined mind Altaïr preferred focusing himself on the task of escaping, returning to Masyaf where he was needed. There was literally nothing binding him to "Promenade", no duty to be performed. Perhaps the land was under lock by a tyrannical monarchy, but as he was not ordered to assassinate nor did he have sufficient evidence of anything truly threatening to his personal morals as of yet - save for public torture, though brutal it was not unheard of - he would not act. He would not kill. Unless it was found that the land was under Templar rule, Altaïr would restrict himself only to finding a way out.

Strangely, though he'd come to view the people that wandered amongst the world as part of the illusion, it was becoming difficult to divide either. Malik, at least - Altaïr could judge that he hardly acted any different than his normal self. It made little sense. He assumed it would be explained once a way out was discovered, explained away by the master as always. Yet what the assassin stumbled upon next would need quite an explanation.

His boots met a familiar surface, woven tree matter, tight and taut under his step. Green leaves fluttered with the light wind beneath the intricate pattern, born from a vine snaking up the wall in a most familiar fashion. Rather shocked, Altaïr's eyes drifted toward an opening in the pseudo-roof - yes. The bureau.

A bureau, his mind corrected swiftly - this was not any bureau he'd been to before, such was impossible. Not one to simply step away Altaïr crouched down, hopping into what was to be the trapdoor, swinging himself from the opening to the floor fluidily. It was silent, calm, and... unnerving. Normally a place Altaïr enjoyed, a place that was small and comfortable and cozy in its own way, it now felt as though he were jumping into some sort of trap. The pillows scattered amongst rugs upon the floor, the small fountain spilling water as it always did. It remained the same bureau he'd remembered in Jerusalem, except-- Altaïr peered around the doorless entrance, the room in which he'd normally find a rafiq to dispense information for him. Instead he found possibly the last person he wanted to see. Malik, the "brother", a man who'd apparently become a dai though Altaïr hadn't the chance to meet him in Jerusalem yet. It was rather pathetic, seeing a once-great assassin fall to the rank of a mere scholar. At least he'd attained the highest of those ranks.

Altaïr said nothing, watching him in the silence of the bureau, one normally permeated by sounds of the city outside but was now quiet, some falsehood of a location they once knew, placed in a land it did not belong in.

[truncately]

Smoothing his hand over the parchment, he rolled it between his fingers in silence as eyes remained downcast upon the curves of dark lines and arches by the quill and reed upon the papers surface. Old illustrations, drawings and understandings of a city he had still been coming to understand as arrival had only been momentary before he awoke within the realm of Promenade and all of its curses and unnatural sins against god. Yes, it was like a fable of sorts, something that was often passed down by the tongue from parents to children and there children's children. The circle of understanding but the bizarre nature and outcome of such tales was myth, legend and now here, everything seemed so palatable despite the circumstances and the dai's unwillingness to believe the things he came across as real and factual despite the maxim of the orders and his own beloved creed. This was a removed circumstances when even the man who was so sickeningly dedicated to it seemed to question the legitimacy of everything be permitted but indeed, nothing was true as this had to be a trick, a falsity. Still, it was hard to believe that he had been awake within this twist for weeks now, days he was logging away within the back of his mind for safe keeping and rainy days when all there was to do was count over and over again and analyze time spend amongst the estranged world that could only exist through sorcery, and focus on what had been learned within that time.

Little to nothing, was always what he came up with and while he thumbed through old texts he had found lying around--they were of little use.

Still, this room, this obvious illusion was what would be his life for the rest of his occupation, till the last of his breaths. After working so hard for so much it was all brushed away within a moments glance and not only did he lose someone he held dear to, he lost a part of himself that found him demoted, removed from the sphere he felt success and comfort in, to a role that while he seemed suited for, was not what he desired ultimately which was to be in the field, preforming, not assisting. Now here though, this was the future he was standing within, the future of his own homelands that stood before him like a image captured in time and left for him to find, to explore, to hold to--as if some method of comfort something akin to the mirror. Still, it was not real, it was not truth and while everything was permitted, he wanted the sensation of the warm desert sands and the hot sun, the chilled breeze of winter. He wanted that all again even though factors were missing from his life and even though the grains of tan still littered the stone surface he stood upon, he knew they could not be factual.

Thoughts interrupted though, the small shifting within the background caught the attention of his senses and the turn of a shadow, an alteration amongst the light and with a breath he spun around, he dropped down to the blade upon his hip. Foolish of him, he had been caught up in consideration and moment and now the entirety of the situation could be compromised by--and a pause, a breath and the look of defensive severity melded into general ire as he noticed who indeed had been standing in the doorway from one room to another.

"Brother." Malik replied with the sharpness still amongst his tone, the rustle of the papers his hand had swiftly dismissed left to fill the silence, a hand that dropped from hilt to side. "Normally one would announce themselves upon arrival but forgive me, that is beyond your comprehension, is it not?"

[avowed]

Malik didn't notice him at first. Or at least he seemed not to, instead fingering the parchment upon the desk. A desk which was to be his, confined to a bureau in the holy city rather than able to roam further, to bring about justice by one's own hand. Instead Malik was to collect information and give it to men more capable. Such as Altaïr himself. An unfortunate circumstance, though he and the other man had always held a mutual dislike of each other in their own reasoning, they'd also been friends at one point. Perhaps at a younger point, when judgments weren't shaped by more practical things but childish things. Neither of them could have claimed a "normal" childhood, being inducted into the order so swiftly, but of course there had been times when they'd reverted to a less serious disposition. As was inevitable. Yet it was years ago and irrelevant now, events shaping them into colder hearts. Assassins dominated by one goal, willing to end their lives for its success. Yes, perhaps Altaïr had regarded Malik as an equal at one point, or perhaps at least he'd held his respect, truly and without the farce presented to their "master". But that didn't matter. He wasn't here to make peace, not initiate it. If it happened then so be it, though Altaïr was hardly one to go out of his way for some pointless relations.

Once the other man took notice of him Altaïr only watched him, unmoving as the dai went into a defensive posture, singular hand hovering where his weapon would be. Surely he wouldn't be stupid enough to pull a blade on his own brother, and the eagle was still, his eyes stony and fixed upon Malik's own. Unreadable, apart from the lack of fear or even surprise. He had nothing to fear from this man, if the dai wished to kill him he'd have to attempt such a thing first, and Altaïr was quite confident that venture would fail.

He blinked at the greeting. Brother. Was it as significant now? The creed and its rules had always bothered him, restrictive and vague and subjective, even, if one wished. Al Mualim had already proved such. And so, rather than return the word, a word which would imply some sense of camaraderie but instead seemed to be used in sarcasm or derision toward his person, Altaïr merely gave him a brief nod in return. And of course came the insult, petty and pointless as always, some sort of bitter weapon the dai seemed to enjoy. Altaïr had never returned the favor, finding actions to speak far louder than his words ever would - he could throw a barb right back at the other man and yet he doubted he'd feel equalized. Merely being capable, being at the skill level he was - knowing that he was better than Malik and more useful was more than enough. And surely the dai knew this as well.

"I did not wish to interrupt you." A glance at the map. It had been a bit strange, seeing Malik and being unnoticed, if only for a split second. He was never one to be personal. And neither was the assassin. Yet Altaïr was not one to ponder upon the thoughts of another, as it was useless and unimportant to him - he spoke once more, clear and almost aloof as was his usual tone.

"This illusion mocks us," he stated, eyes drifting up to the ceiling of the bureau. "It means to trick us into becoming comfortable." It was enraging, almost, now that he was within the place. A perfect sham only made to taunt, it seemed, or perhaps to stir complacency. Contentedness to be trapped in this prison.

Altaïr had no such plans.

[truncately]

The assassins second utterance was unnecessary in his eyes as such a thing was obvious and in all honesty, the dai had not yet found the comfort within the bureau to even consider it anything but awkward, and against what he had been working for, for the majority of his lifetime. It was more a disappointment and while he would never hesitate to give his all to the order despite the circumstances, the wounds were still fresh and his brothers passing still significant within his mind, and likely always would be as there was a bond there that could not be broken easily. The whole entire scenario was something he never wished to relive within his life, never wished to remember yet at nights, when sleep met his eyes, it was all he could see, it plagued his dreams and called to him time after time and all he could see was the knife pushed into his brothers flesh, watching him fall to die amongst the sands and later, remember the blade meeting his own flesh over and over again, only beyond that another would complete its task and remove the limb permanently from his body.

The phantom reminder twitched as if desperately wishing to grab out to the parchment it's brother touched, as if it did and while fingers brushed no sensation came to fruition and inside the dai, something twisted that caused him to swallow heavily his breath and force his eyes to divert from one he looked upon, gaze scanning over the maps and details left below. Yes indeed, it was all an illusion as even though something within him wished to believe that this could be considered a safe haven from the world outside, he did not want to admit that aloud because he knew it would not be, never be and would fail to live up to any expectations. Despite even the scent holding a reminiscing quality to home, he knew it would never be, just as his relationship with the man he stood before would never be the same after the turn of events that happened only moments prior to arrival to this cursed realm.

Still, Malik's words would remain sharp and despite the camaraderie that was almost natural to feel towards another member of the order, here there was heat behind his tone, a sharpness and loathing that he was certain would never fade as long as the man standing before him remained in the same manner he was; an egotistical regard to his own perfection that failed to exist to the outside world. It was a mental consideration and the pedestal he held himself high upon was his own and no others. So let Altaïr consider his regard as he would, it was held with indifference as far as the dai was concerned and there would be not change to that, no bend or shove of will, no alteration as they were two stones, two unmovable objects.

"This entire realm mocks us, if you have not figured it out already." Came his reply as he shifted his stance, diverting his gaze away from the other completely as he smoothed his hand over the parchment, grabbed one corner then rolled up the object as if to test it's existence within this faux reality. This though, this was almost a step over the boarder, something that caused his heart to race with ire and for once it was not due to the man who stood present before him.

"The existence of the others claiming member to the order, how it removes our natural will to speak once the sun hits the horizon, everything about it holds the manner to control us." Malik turned his attentions firmly to the assassin with a steadied gaze.

"Or at least attempt to do so."

[avowed]

Upon the carrier was talk of "places of solace", areas designated as calm, safe spots to dwell in - most certainly this abomination was meant to serve as Altaïr's, as he could think of no other spot which brought such comfort to him. Surely no assassin could ever feel safe in the truest sense of the word. Only moments of cautious security, wary of death to come from any angle. When the assassin laid upon the disheveled pillows and rugs upon the floor of the outer bureau he did so with the knowledge that whichever rafiq happened to occupy the bureau would also keep an eye out. And this was the closest to trust Altaïr had ever given. Heading out into cities known of, yet mostly unfamiliar in the sense that he did not live in them and did not know them as well as the mountain village he'd traveled from - it was only natural that a heightened alertness was necessary. And so the outer bureau was a place that instantly made him less tense, at least a bit and he could only assume the accursed land meant to throw this in his face like some taunt, placing one right where he was to stumble upon it. And yet had it been a true place of "solace", the other man would not be occupying it. Though Altaïr held his tongue and refused to trade insults with Malik, the mere sight put him on edge, made him more irritable especially in these tenser times, being held responsible for things out of his control. The one to blame for death and amputation. He could never relax around the dai, far too accustomed to scrutiny and insults that tore at his ego, tried as he might to ignore them. Then maybe this area was to be Malik's and Malik's own, and somehow the assassin had just wandered in to wreck it. It might have been humorous were the eagle not in such a foul mood.

Altaïr glared instantly at his next words, of course punctuated by an insult to his intelligence. He made no move to touch anything within the room as it was not his, the inner bureau something that seemed to belong far more to the information-giver than himself. He stood awkwardly, hands at his sides and letting his gaze drift about the small room, uninterested in looking at the other man's no doubt derisive glances. Apparently they agreed on something, the fact that this place was damned and neither would stand for its illusions, yet Altaïr almost felt as though he didn't want to agree in the first place. Immaturity at its simplest, feeling slighted by another and not wanting to relate to them at all after the fact.

"There is more." He'd made a similar statement before, but there was a good amount of hesitance here - Altaïr had seen things previously thought to be only myth to both him and everyone else he knew, save perhaps gullible children. And yet he'd come across creatures that defied logic. After some pause, wondering if he should simply tell Malik of something else or continue on - it was the latter decided. Though he'd likely face ridicule he found it important to share, at least put out on the table.

"I've come across beasts of legend." Well, it was a start.

[truncately]

There was the question if such a place could even be considered his own place of solace. While he had traveled upon missions before the incident that cost him his title and therefore resided within similar bureaus such as this, he never had been behind the desk and now, now that would have changed if it would not have been for the loss of his limb and his demotion to scholar, to dai. It was more bittersweet than anything else because he knew this would be his future if they ever found leave of the cursed place. It was not something he was use to but more curious about and now, while there was a strange comfort within the false walls of this familiar prison, the contemplation more surrounded how it came to by, why it was there and was it even his own place of solace as the carrier had spoke of many times by many other voices. Solace though, it would not give for that moment and while it would give more than any other place within the world they inhabited, for now it only seemed to cause more ire to build within, more annoyance that something such as this would be brought into the world as something to mock, to tease, something like the mirrors that resided within the rooms he never wanted to return too. Seeing it once, was enough and only a glance was offered till he covered it soundly. Perhaps the entirety of it though belong to the other, perhaps it was not even his own, only time would tell such a thing and while stumbling upon such a place had been a proverbial shot in the dark, here they were standing, despite the tension that lingered between and littered at the air fraught with a strange sort of comradery that didn't seem to exist to those looking in. It was silent and while the dai hated and loathed the mans existence, a brotherhood was a brotherhood despite the circumstances.

Not expecting an comeback or any sorts, a response, a barb between two men once similar professions, words were rare from the other and he paused to listen, staring intently at the man who stood across from him, hand dropping from his side after sliding along the wooden surface of counter space, his eyes looking over the surroundings for a brief moment more before completing his focus upon Altaïr, the fool, the novice.

"Beasts of legend?" Started the reply, his tone replying smoothly within their native tongue as he arched a brow, visibly perturbed by the brief and traditional response lacking in any description that the man offered. Vague, broad and with a sigh of annoyance, Malik narrowed his eyes still, perhaps even with a small furrowing of his brow implicating that amongst the severity there was a strange confusion growing.

"There are many things that are mentioned in legend, Altaïr. What have I told you before about details? Without them, you're comments are nothing but breaths of air that pique interest then abandon their purpose all together with no follow-up."