Midweek Mashup: Champion of the Week!

28 06 2009

I really hate problems like apartments. Keeps me from posting like I want. Glitch of the Week comes late Sunday, guys.

Well, the votes were few, but still, I will post the results with pride.

Along the market-filled streets of Gl’Chi Gobla, the Prince wandered through the booths, taking in the sites and sounds of the town he would have otherwise ran screaming through, left with no time for frivolity. Thanks to the rivers, the Dahaka was kept at bay.

It was very… peaceful. A peace that had been too long in its arrival.

A peace that had made the Prince slack in his wariness, missing the white-robed figure following him from building to building, perched on the ledges like a hawk whenever the Prince he followed stopped to browse merchandise.

The Prince stopped, smiling seductively to a pretty young fruit vendor, asking her idly about the price of her pomegranites, having been told once by a princess how much women loved them.

Altair edged out onto a wooden perch and checked his hidden blade. It slid in its mechanism as if it was brand new and had never seen blood.

He lept.

In a sudden crash, Altair pinned the Prince to the ground, inserting the hidden blade into the Prince’s heart like a knife in warm bread. It was over.

It was then that the sand flowed from his dagger, pulling Altair back into the air. The Prince felt the air flow back into him, then out again, watched his conversation undo itself.

This time, he simply walked past the booth and smiled at the girl, taking note of the assassin above as he pretended to wink at the girl playfully.

However, Altair was quick to notice that his mark’s mood had changed, and decided to back off, concealing himself in the crowd below. Sure enough, soon it was the Prince who was looking for his tail and Altair who had his eyes on his target again.

Altair slipped through the crowd, closing in on the man.

The Prince headed for an edge of the town, figuring that if he was by the water’s edge, the assassin would have less space to hide from him.

He was wrong.

The Prince heard a scream and turned around, seeing a dead body on the ground. He looked to the rooftops, and then suddenly, he felt a hand on his back, the sharp pains of a blade entering his back.

Cursing under his breath, the Prince let the sands dull his pain, pulling Altair away. Now he saw him, hiding in the crowd. He wouldn’t let him escape this time. He would have to play it cool and retaliate, his sands not being able to go back far enough to undo the other man’s death.

The woman screamed again. For a second time, the Prince turned to see the body, but the second he felt the assassin grown near, he grabbed his hand and flung him over the railing and into the river.

For a frozen second, Altair inhaled sharply, taken aback as he realized he was heading for the river… heading for the end of his life. However, if he was to die… he would claim his mark as well.

So, less still less than a foot from the Prince, Altair drew a throwing knife and let fly, hitting the Prince right between the eyes.

The Prince was sweating now. He knew he would soon run out of sand, and that no matter how he threw the assassin, the throwing blade would still end his life.

For the third time, the sands removed a blade from the Prince, pulling Altair back into the Prince’s hand, back into Altair’s striking position. The Prince knew he would have to be fast.

Altair had him. He knew the Prince would look to the screaming crowd, these nobles always did stupid things. He moved in, preparing his hidden blade, keeping it hidden from the crowd, closing in on the Prince.

It was here that the Prince finished his time reversing, suddenly whipping around, drawing his blades and slashing at the assassin. Damage woud have ravaged his body, but the Animus machine forgave Desmond’s error, simply lowering his synchronization. Both Desmond and his ancestor were shocked at the Prince’s speed.

Altair drew his parrying blade, and the crowd fled from their duel, watching as the swords flashed and clanged, the two men locked in spark-inducing combat, their faces strained with effort.

The Prince saw as Altair left an opening, trying to defend himself. He drew his blade back, prepared to rid himself of this assassin by exploiting this weakness.

It was just as Altair had wanted him to do, exploiting the weakness Altair and Desmond had let the Prince see. In a flash, Altair parried the strike and dove in, slashing the Prince open in one swift moment.

The Prince was furious, watching as Altair withrew his attack, watching his stomach sew itself back together, and saw the opening, again, but this time, held back, turning and fleeing the assault.

The Prince knew that a throwing blade was coming. Altair hadn’t used it on him in the current ‘now,’ his previous use having been undone, so he knew the assassin would rely on it now, thinking it still an ace in the hole. Altair did indeed sling his arm, letting fly with a blade, and watched in amazement as the Prince slide to the right, the blade instead sticking in a wooden booth frame.

Altair was not done. Neither was Desmond. Neither was the Prince, relying on the last of his sand to get him away from this nightmarish attacker. Altair pursued, not letting the Prince slip into the crowd, as he so desired. Up onto the booths Altair flew, then to a perch, and then, the rooftops. He spotted the Prince with his Eagle Vision and let fly with another throwing blade.

The Prince hadn’t expected an attack from above, not so soon. He used the last of his sand, pulling the blade from his brain, retracing his steps to a weapon’s booth.

Now, as Altair let fly, he saw a glint of metal as the Prince had grabbed up a falchion and hurled it in Altair’s direction, knocking the blade to the ground and seriously wounding Altair. Desmond watched at the screen turned white and red, loosing focus more and more, and fought to maintain this crucial state.

The Prince kept running, looking for his pursuer again on the rooftops, expecting him to be flustered. He so expected this, in fact, that he didn’t notice as Altair lept from the nearby hay bale, drawing his longsword. The Prince watched, gasping in horror, as the hooded, hawk-like figure drove the blade through him.

The Dagger of Time dropped from the Prince’s hands. The hawk closed his talons around his prey, and as people screamed, he fled to the rooftops and in minutes… he was gone.

Pictured: One HUEG picture. Open it full size if you dont believe me.

Pictured: One HUEG picture. Open it full size if you don't believe me.

Congratulations to Altair: Champion of the Week!

Got a great fight you’d like to suggest? I NEED SOME. Send your fights to me, I’ll give you the credit!!! -GG