Wrestling with these contradictions.

[eaglesonofnone]

Altaïr was still unsure about this place. He'd been keeping to himself so far with great intent, watching from the rooftops and, though he'd been assigned a building and a room, he'd yet to enter it, having slept on those rooftops as he had countless times before.

The story they told about rebuilding, about strange magic - though he couldn't deny the magic, as much as he wanted to, it struck him with doubt. If this was a place to rebuild, why him? He was a killer. It was what he'd been raised and trained to do. He had no purpose in a place trying to rebuild unless someone specific was hampering that process. He could eliminate them, certainly. But why?

It wasn't as if he wanted to return to Masyaf. Not consciously, at least. Now that he'd seen precisely how conditional Al Mualim's care was, how he would be treated for doing precisely what he'd been raised and taught to do. He'd already wanted to leave the Brotherhood. That, he'd certainly done. Not of his own accord, true enough, but he'd left. This was, in its way, a chance to change things. It was what he'd hoped to do with Adha. But at least she would have been there and taught him another way of life.

Here... what did he have here? Nothing. Nothing at all.

He dropped own onto the street level between a pair of buildings, careful to not be seen before stepping out into foot traffic. He was hungry. While he had no money beyond what had been granted to him on his arrival, it was surely enough, with what he'd saved so far, to purchase a bit of food. He could've stolen it, but why? It served no purpose. Not yet. And he wasn't yet that desperate.

Food. For now, that would serve as a goal.

Comments

[skyward_eyes]

"Well congratulations. You are, as we like to say, out of the frying pan, and into the fire. Worlds like this? They have new sorts of dangers."

Ones that Nida shuddered to even think about. To the point where he scrapes at the bottom of his bowl, trying to get the last bite out rather than think of them.

"How are you adjusting, Rooftop Hero?"

[eaglesonofnone]

"I am not."

But then, after a moment, he added a single word: "Yet."

He was still learning. Trying to see this place for what it was, compare it with the world he knew. It was far from as easy as it should have been. Too many old rules had to be disregarded.

[skyward_eyes]

Yet. That's a hopeful word, one that was enough to earn a smirk from Nida. That's the ticket, Altair. Learn to adjust, to adapt. He liked it.

"I'm sure you're learning a lot. Hopefully we don't all seem like barbarians."

[eaglesonofnone]

If there was any facetiousness in those words, Altaïr missed it, choosing instead to lift a shoulder. "Few do. If any. Though you seem more like Englishmen and Frenchmen than those of us from the Ash-Shām." But with that said, he glanced up, the yellow of his eyes dulled by what shadow his hood still cast. "Your appearance is that of one from further East than West."

[skyward_eyes]

The comparisons Altair make mean literally nothing to Nida, so he just keeps smiling.

"I'm from the West. My blood is Galbadian, my home is Timber. And none of those will probably make sense to you."