This Fanon is set in the British rule of India. This is NOT part of the Assassin's creed Canon storyline.
Chp#1: Old Grudges
The tall man was terrified.
His eyes were wide and sweat ran down his neck. His uniform, far from bein clean and crisp, was wet and dirty in the hot Indian sun. The tall collars of his red shirt, intended to give him a dashing look, were making it hard for him to breathe.
"I'll ask again. What does your Governor plan?" the woman infront of him had a roundish face, large eyes, and most notably, a sword in one hand. She wore a white Sarri with a white shawl wrapped across her neck, with an extension that, like a hood, covered her head.
"I don't know, M'lady..." The soldier stammered.
The sword rose in a blur, stopping an inch or so from the soldier's neck. The sword itself was a curved one, the kind favoured by by Indian soldiers. It was a beautiful weapon, but the guard had little time to admire it. He hopped in his chair, with a shrill squeak.
"Speak." The woman said. There was murder in those eyes, saw the guard.
"He... is using the Indians in his armies." The man felt a tear trickle down his cheek. He had betrayed the trust of his forefathers. He was a traitor.
The woman saw it too. Her eyes softened. "Go.", she said.
The man got up and walked to the door. He paused to look back and said, "They will kill my family for this."
The woman looked straight back. "We won't let them."
The man went out. In a blur of white, a man fell from the room ceiling, landing on his feet.
"Do you think he speaks the truth?" Asked the man.
"I thought so too, lady Lakshmibai." he said, nodding.
The woman, who was infact the celebrated Indian rebel warleader, Rani of Jhansi, and secretly a subcontinental assassin, nodded. "It makes sense. And this is the best oppurtunity we'll get to free India from the British East India Company."
The man smiled humorlessly. "In other words, the Templars."
They walked out of the door, making sure no-one was there, and jumped onto the walls of a nabouring house. To the west, the dying red light of the setting sun made the streets of india look like rivers of blood.
Chp# 2: The Beginning
The Indian sat on a sack full onions. It was uncomfortable but he had been trained to ignore discomfort. Indeed, he found that comfort numbed the brain. The uncomfortable seat helped keep him alert. If he allowed himself to relax, he would succumb to the heat, and would go to sleep. He could not afford that.
Of course there was little danger of being attacked in a British training base of all places. But then again, he didn't fear danger out here. No, he was out here to spread danger.
His name was Mangal pandey. He was tall and athletic. He had a strong honest face, with dark skin and a large moustache. Any one to see him would swear he was a soldier.
But in fact he was an Assassin. And a master assassin, in fact.
He had been sent there on purpose, undercover. He, like many subcontinental assassins, did not use the hidden blade that required the removal of a finger. In fact, he used a variation of the hidden blade. It was concealed in the elbow of his shirt. But he wasn't wearing his ordinary assassin's clothes. He wore a Khaki shirt, and white trousers. On his head was a turban. He was bare footed. He carried the standard musket in his arms.
He looked onto the horizon. And waited.
The oppurtunity came at midnight. He was sitting with the others. They were sitting togeher. Somebody was talking about his old home. Someone was telling the other that the British were ruling unjustly.
That caught his ear. He put the plan set to him into motion. Out of the blue, he jumped up, standing so that every body could see him. "Bhayo! We are waisting our time here! These Angrez people are going to be the death of us. We came to earn money for our children. Instead, they will probably make us kill the children of others! And do you know, they use Beef and Pig fat for the bullet cartridges! They do it on purpose! I for one have had enough! I will destroy these people! I shall rebel against these Angrez demons!"
Many muttered their approval. But before they could decide whether to join him or not, Hewson, the seargent major, came running out, spewing curses at Mangalpandey. Mangalpandey roared like a maniac, shooting at Hewson. Though injured, Hewson still managed to set off the alarm.
When Lt. Henry Baugh came to investigate, Mangal pandey shot the man's horse. The General ordered the men to restrain Mangal pandey. Mangal pandey knew it was time to see whether he had interpretted the men's character rightly, or not. If not, they would surely rush over and kill him.
But no-one moved. Even the Quarter guard Jemadar ordered his men not to open fire on Mangalpandey.
Only one man attacked. It was Shaikh Paltu, a man only loyal to the Englishmen. Two British soldiers came forward as well. He could have easily beat them, but if he fought with his true skill, it would make the soldiers suspicious.
Instead he fought like a mad man, pushing and snarling in rage. Finally he shot himself.
It was a clever tactic. He shot himself carefully, so that he only lightly injured himself. Then he let his legs buckle.
The men hit him with the butts of their guns, but then carried him off to the room where only broken furniture and sawdust remained.
He had a trial less than a week later. He made no move to defend himself, and was schedualed to be hanged on 18 April. But then, on April 7, something happened.
Mangal panday was sleeping when he heard the lock turn in the cell door. He opened his eyes to see that an Assassin, clad in white stood, with his hand stretched. As Mangalpandey got up, the Assassin threw a man almost identical to Mangal pandey into the cell. The man was unconcious.
"Who..." Began Mangal pandey. The man raised his finger to his lips.
"There will be time enough for talk later. Come."
They crept past a gaurd and jumped over a wall. They ran through the silence of Barrackpore, as it was known. The Assassin lead Mangal pandey to a secluded spot. There, two horses were bound. The men mounted them and ran off into the night.
Chp# 3: Call for Order
The Templar was perplexed.
His name was Charles Canning. He was the governer general of India. He had more power that most men in India. And yet he seemed weighed down by some news for he sat with a bowed head behind his desk.
For the thousandth time that day, he cursed. The news was not good. Unrest was taking root, and he knew from pure experience that no amount of order could quell the chaos and fear running through the streets of India. And they knew it too. In fact, they counted on it.
It was those damned assassins. Could they not rest in peace, could they not die off like the men they killed? Why did they have to be everywhere?
Canning rubbed his head. This was getting out of hand. And to make matters worse, there were reports that some soldier Mungali pudey or Mongel pinday of the 34th Bengal Native Infantry had tried to rebel against the British. He had been schedualed to hang on the 18th. But now, all of a sudden, he seemed to be ill. He was poisoned, it seemed.
It must be those Assassins, thought Canning, They'r trying to delay the hanging.
He thought for a moment, then made up his mind. He wrote on a peice of Paper:
Hang him tommorow.
Satisfied, he smoothed his black coat, brushed a few strands of hair onto his mostly bald head and straightened the cross shaped badge on his coat. Someone knocked on the door.
"Come in." called Canning.
An Indian servant came inside with a plate full of sandwiches. Another Indian servant followed, with a wine bottle in one hand and a glass in the other.
As they set the plate and wine on the desk, Canning addressed them.
"Shankar, take this slip to the secretary." He gave the slip containg order to hang Mangal pandey to the sevant. The servant departed, saying "Yes Sahib". He told the other, "Abid, stay outside the door and keep watch." There was no need to assign a watch. But Canning was a careful man.
"Yes Sahib." The servant went out, closing the door behind him.
Canning cut the sandwich in two, imagining it to be the head of an Assassin. The thought made him smile.
Chp# 4: Agents of Death
Mangal pandey sat in the chair, alert of the woman before him. She was an Assassin; and one of the best arond here.
Her true name was Manikarnika, though she was usually known as Lakshmibai or Rani of Jhansi. Though few knew it, her fight was for her son, Damodar Rao. He was not her own child; he was adopted. Thus, the Templars had tried to take away her land, as adopted children had no right to inherit lands or fields, or even forts.
A little known fact was that Lakshmibai had been trained by Tatya Tope, a well known Assassin within the Order. She even had a personal guard of several female Assassins. She often left the castle in the hands of her adopted son, who was not an Assassin, and would herself join other Assassins in their battles.
Now, she sat relaxed on her chair. Mangalpandey looked at the man next to her. This was Adeel. A well trai
ned master Assassin, trained under the Rani, though they were of nearly the same age. Adeel wore a typical subcontinental assassin's clothes: Loose white shirt, with a hood, the wide sleeves bound in plae with a black cloth tied around it. A curved Sabre hung from his belt, which was little more than a red cloth tied around his waist. His feet were bare.
Mangal pandey was dressed differently. He'd taken his time to change into his personal robes. He wore a grey shirt which seemed rather long, as it continued below the Red belt. There were cuts on both left and right side of the shirt, so as not to hamper speed. The right elbow was covered in leather. If Mangal pandey stuck out his elbow and flexed the muscles in his arm, a small, sharp dagger would whip out of the leather contraption on his elblow. He wore a white cloak that rose to form a hood.
"Clever." said Mangal pandey.
Adeel cocked his head to one side, like a hawk. "What do you mean?" he asked.
Mangal pandey gesture towards a banner hung on the wall. It said: 'Indian Rebel Mangal pandey to be executed today'. "A well played act. The man you left behind to replace me... he was ill, no? A poison, a slow poison, wasn't it?"
The Rani spoke up. "And how do you formulate this?"
Mangal pandey raised an eyebrow. "It was obvious. He was unconsious, was drooling, and seemed to sweat even when the prison was icy cold."
Adeel nodded."We shot him in the chest, like you shot yourself. But we injected him with poison before. The Templars don't want you to die of illness. They want to humiliate you by a public execution. But they won't see that this would only make them unpopular; the people would see that the British suddenly change their word and had a potential threat killed before his time because the British feared him."
"And we want to spread uncertainity." added the Rani.
Mangal pandey frowned. "The plan was a stroke of genius, I'll admit that. And it would achieve the desired effect too. But my matter of concern is the Creed. I'm grateful I'm still alive, of course. But I think that his plan wasn't worth killing an innocent."
The Rani nodded."I am satisfied to see that you respect the creed. But let me assure you, your dummy was by no means an innocent. He was a Templar agent. All we did was dye his skin a bit darker, and shoot and poison him."
Adeel looked at Mangalpandey. "I plan to cause a small riot in the market. Would you care to help me?"
Mangalpandey shrugged. "Why not? I am good enough at faking riots, as you may know."
The two men walked off. The Rani stood up and closed the door behind them.
Chp# 5: Ploy and Counter-ploy
Canning was furious.
His secretary, James, had just told him that there were large scale protests in Meerut already because of the pig and beef fat gun ammo. And the whole country was angry on the death of the guy called Magul panay, or whatever his name was.
How did they do it?
The question was thumping his brain. It poisoned his nerves and...
Poison! That was it!
The man had been sick. Not sick, poisoned! The Assassins were at work! So they had been plotting and planning on the backstage... and they had tricked him! Him! Charles Canning, Governor General of India and Senior Templar! They had tricked him to kill the man before his time so that it would be seen as cowerdice and a dishonourable act by the Indians.
He felt black anger rise in him. But with it came an idea.
A servant came inside. He carried in his hands two glasses of wine.
Canning nodded at him, taking out his pen. "Set down the glasses."
As the servant put the glasses, Canning aske him, "Do you want to become rich?"
The man nodded, wide eyed.
Canning smile. He flicked his pen, and a miniture golden cross burst from the point, embeding itself in the Sectratry's throat.
Then, puting the pen inside, he told the Indian, "Spread news that a Indian broke into my office and show them the body. Remove the cross from his neck please. And then write a note in your language filled with patriotic trash. Do everything so that it looks like an Indian killed an Englishman. And for this I give you a new life."
The servant nodded. His eyes glowed with greed.
"I'll leave you to it, then." Canning got up and walked out of the door.
All the while he was thinking: After all, one death can cause a riot.
Chp# 6: Drama of Death
Mangal Pandey was in disguise. He wore a torn blue shirt, and loose grey trousers. His face had been even more darkened, and there was a fake scar on his forehead. He wore simple sandals, which carried concealed knifes. There was a Saber and two brutal, curved daggers in his belt called Chakus.
This was so that no-one recognized him as Mangal Pandey. Adeel had simply changed into the attire of a Sepoy and carried a sabre similiar to Mangal Pangay's.
They had jostled around in the market, smelling the overwhelming smell of sweat combined with the smell of men roasting meat over embers all around. Somewhere a man was selling fish, and somewhere a beggar was trying to convince a rich merchant to part with some cash.
They had made their way to a load of crates and Adeel had climbed them so that every one could see him.
"Bhayo! You have heard of the British, no? Have you heard how they killed a man not yet in his thirties, only for their own purposes? The were afraid of him! Yes! He threatened to rebel against the English people and he paid with his life. He was brave! Could we not follow him?"
"But he died? what if-" began a man in the crowd.
"What if they kill us? Is that what you are about to say? You have doubts? The Angrez want us to doubt! They believe that the death of one man will plan fear and dar in our hearts. Are they true? Are we all so weak?"
Silence. Mangal Panday shouted, "No!"
Mangal Panday knew that the shout would be infectious. And so it was.
Within a few seconds Every man and woman was shouting "No! No! No!". Some one began shouting "Humein Aazadi Do!" "Give us freedom!"
They began to shout and thrashing around. But then they heard gunfire. The British were here.
Adeel knew that this would be a vital moment. Would the people stand and fight, or will they flee?
He could not afford the later. "Stand your ground! The angrez are no match for us! Show them your strength!", he yelled to the wavering mass. Mangal Panday echoed the plee.
A few men and most woman ran. But many stood their ground yelling curses and brandishing sticks and even a few swords at the British.
Adeel nodded at Mangal Pandey. Mangal Pandey understood.
He ran to the approaching British. His Chakkus were in his hands. He wove into their line even as the shot at him and the others. He knew first hand that these were not masters at fighting with ordinary weapons. Only a few carried Cutlasses and they barlely had any chance to draw them as Mangal Panday crashed into them.
He slash thrice with each Chaku, bringing down twon men. Then he stabbed one in the stomach, and with out waiting to pull out the blade, drew one knife from his sandal. He threw it in a fluid motion, immediately drawing the other knife, and throwing it as well. The first buried itself in a man's shoulder, and second thwacked into a man's chest.
Holding his remaining Chakku in one hand, he drew his sabre in a wide arc, killing a man, and injuring another. He finshed both with his Chakku, and threw the Chakku as well onto a mounted man who had centered his rifle onto him.
The Chakku caught the man in the forehead, causing him to topple from his horse. As the horse ran past, Mangal Panday sheathed his sabre and jumped, kicking the horse into a British soldier next to it.
The force of kick elevated him upwards and he grabbed the ledge of a building. He hears an ugly thwack as a bullet embeded itself inches from his hand.
He climbed upwards, grasping at the carvings and cracks on the bulding. Plumes of dust rose around him occasionaly as the British shot at him.
Reaching the roof, he climbed up and surveyed the battle. A few men were holding off a bunch of Soldiers right below him. The soldiers had given up shooting at him and were trying to break through the resistance presented by several men to the west. It was a vital place, saw Mangal Panday. If the British fought through here, they would have surrounded the Indians. As he watched, one of the Indian defenders fell, clutching a bullet-wound in the stomach. Another fell as a Soldier clubbed him in the head with the back of his rifle. Mangal Panday realized this was where he was needed.
He spied a trough of water, which was full of floating apples. Probably, it was used for cleaning fruits like the Apples. It was large and that was all he could ask for at the momment. The Leap of Faith was his only option. He stepped a metre or so back, and taking a deep breath, ran for the roof edge. He launched himself like a spring, with the trough in his eyes. He let his arms stretch out like he had been taught to.
He landed in a splash of cold water and apples. Then, kicking himself out of the trough, he drew his sabre.
The soldiers and the Indian men were stunned by his sudden entry. But two of the indians were fast to react, each one taking down a mounted man.
Mangal Pandey did a quick count. There wer eleven foot soldiers and two remaining mounted men.
The momentary peace broke apart as one of the soldier shot at him.
Mangal Panday had anticipated it. He leapt behind a crate, and the bullet raised dust where he had been only seconds ago.
Then he grabbed the crate, feeling another bullet smash against ti, and threw it.
Two men fell down as the crate hit them face first. Pandemonium erupted.
The Indian men charged at the Soldiers about to shoot Mangal Panday. Mangal Panday himself ran into the chaos, killing one of the mounted soldiers, and beheading another Soldier. Some one tacked the other mounted soldier's horse, and it kicked, throwing down it's rider, with it's thrashing legs catching a man in the abdomen.
The fight was short and savage. In a few minutes, the Indians were once again shouting and insulting the British. Adeel caught up with Mangal Panday.
Raising an eyes brow, he said, "I doubt this will make the Templars very happy."
Mangal Panday shrugged, "I'm not too concerned with them at the moment. If I was a Templar, I'd be running back to Britain by now, before that lot caught up with me."
Chp# 7: Dangerous Nights
A shadow whipped through a narrow street, dissapearing in the night.
The shadow had no name. It was an Assassin; a very unique Assassin.
Even at day, anyone to look at him would have seen a begger, clad in loose black trousers bound with a thin red belt. His chest was bare, for his white sleeveless vest was torn in the middle, and from behind, rose up in a hood that partially covered the Assassin's face. Even his face was not unusual, with a large unkempt beard, bushy eyebrows always scrunched in a frown.
His arms, poking through his vest, were formidable looking, though not extremely bulky. On his left hand he wore a thick leather band folded from the wrist all the way to his elbow. He was one of the few Subcontinental Assassins who wore the traditional hidden blade, though in recent times in India, the removal of a finger had been no longer necessary.
From his belt, hung two flutes. One was a longer, more ornate version while the other seemed to have had some accident a while ago, as it was scarred and was irregular on one side, suggesting it having snapped off.
This was how the Assassin fitted into ordinary life; by playing the larger flute sweetly in markets, or other places. Sometimes he got money; but that was not his concern; he played his flute around here and there so often that the people got used to him. The other flute was a blow-dart. If he blew into it, a sharp, poisoned projectile would burst out, soundlessly, and would kill any person in a matter of minutes.
Right now the Assassin carried with him two chakus. He even had two curved Short-blades tucked into his special back-sheaths.
Right now he was following the orders of the Rani of Jhansi, who herself was back on her way to Jhansi at the moment, in order to rally her forces against the British.
She had decided to reduce the numbers of the Templar threat before an open conflict. She had chosen this particular Assassin to do it.
The Assassin in speaking crept along a narrow space between two buildings. He seemed least bothered about the spiderwebs flicking across his face and the rats squeaking all around him.
In front of him, in a street on the other side of the builings, a British guard was sweating in the heat. Even the nights in India were hot and stuffy.
Taking ou his Blow-dart, he blew into it once, releasing the tiny arrow-like projectile that flew to the man's unprotected neck.
The man slapped at his neck irritadedly. Probably he thought it was a mosquito. He must have felt alot of them in the stuffy atmosphere.
In a few minutes, the man seemed to be drowsy. Another guard came up.
"Hey, sleepin' beauty! Ya' wakin' up or not, eh?" He said gruffly to the poisoned man.
"uh...",the man groaned, finally leaning back, dead.
"Wake up, you!" The other man shook him frantically, now afraid himself.
The Assassin burst out of he shadows. The man's eyes widened, but he could say nothing as the Assassin buried his hidden blade into the guard's heart.
As the man collapsed, the Assassin ran, jumping up to grab hold of a nearby post office, hauling himself up. He saw a light flash to the immediate north, beyond a low lying building.
Jumping onto the building, he surveyed a guard patrol, slowly and methodically making it's way to the south, right where his victims lay dead.
If they saw it, they would raise alarm, and the Assassin would have all of the guards in the area on his back. He shrugged mentally. Better to kill them now, while they were still isolated.
There were only three, but they would make quite a noise if they saw the slightest hint of danger.
The Assassin threw one Chakku, catching the man on the back. Almost simultaneously, he jumped onto a man nearly next to the newly made corpse.
Even as the man opened his mouth, the Assassin landed on him, twisting his neck. He fell, eyes bulging.
The first man must have heard two dull thumps of the falling guards, as he turned to look back, exactly as the Assassin rammed his hidden blade into his throat.
The guard fell with a throaty gurgle.
The Assassin looked around. He had killed five men in no more than sixteen minutes, and what's more, the other guards did not even know it. He ran onto the north. The Templars had, very kindly, set up the guards in small, isolated pockets. This had been a safety precuation; so that the wide spread guards could alert others at ease, but now it proved to be their undoing.
The next guard pocket was of three men. But one of these was vigilant, while the other two, judging from the amount of empty wine bottles at their feet, were probably not sober.
The Assassin was standing virtually invisible in a large black shadow. He drew his short-swords, making no noise.
And all of a sudden, he seemed to the guards to appear in front of them. The first guard raised his rifle, but fell as the Assassin cracked his elbow into his rib-cage, and then slit his throat.
One of the other guards let out a shriek, but the Assassin rammed his short-sword's hilt into his head, doing the same for the other guard as well.
He knew the other guards would have heard the shriek. He grabbed one of the bottles, poring some of he remainin liquid into the mouths of the drunks, then dragged one to the corpse, drawing the man's dagger and placing it in the unconsious guard's hands.
Footsteps. The others were here.
He ran, jumping into a nearby barrel. From a small slit in the wood, he saw the scene.
Four guards were here; they took in the scene the Assassin had molded.
The saw a guard with his throat slit, and two others, drunk unconcious, one with a dagger in his hand.
They formulated that the two guards, when drunk, had killed the third, who had screamed. The dagger in the drunk's hand was proof.
They carried off the men, leaving the corpse behind.
Climbing out of the barrel, the Assassin saluted the corpse, then ran off into the night.
Chp# 8: Brutal Blows
The Rani raised her sword, awash in the burning light of the sun.
The time had come to test her luck. The Rani had switched her usual white clothes with her signature red clothes, which she wore in war.
Her men were little more than a ragtail bunch of civillians and lowly workers. But as she looked at them, she saw a huge wave of soldiers, blackened faces, turbans, beards, swords, guns, and noise.
It was a wave that wouldn't be denied; a wave that would devour all in its way.
Even the Templars.
She knew she must spur them, she must motivate them to know they can win. If they thought they are nobody, they would be nobody.
"Come, Chalo, mere bhayo! It is Time!" She shouted.
There was an awesome roar in reply, and without wasting anymore words, the Rani charged.
"What happened next?"
The man was tall, but that was all I could see. His voice sent lances of pain through my head.
"Tell me Shiv. What happened next?"
Shiv. Yes I was... Shiv. Not Magal Pandey. Shiv.
"I- I don't know..."
The man cursed in... was that french? He looked at his right, at someone I couldn't see.
"What is happening, White? We are only so close to achieving the location of the Indian base, so we can finally find and kill every one of them here, and establish a solid foothold in the Subcontinent... after the Rani, and Mangalpandey died, that's where they were buried, no? But we never found the location... And now, we would have found out, if he hadn't awoken!"
"Yessir, I'm trying... the machine is alright... But it seems that the memories in his head are... sealed?"
Ofcourse. I forgot. I'm an Assassin, like Mangal Pandey. They are templars and they want to kill us all, like they killed my parents.
"Sir... I think we will have to go back to his earlier geno-memories. This one is, for the moment, inaccessablle."
"Inaccessable...? HOW?! ... But you are right. Check again, mon cher. Another ancestor?"
I was in a daze, and drifting in and out of conciousness, when I was whisked out of this cold world once more.
I could feel wind on my cheeks, but how could there be wind I was in a machine... A what?
What machine? The words, the Memories were slipping out of my mind, replaced by strange, alien images. Strange? No, how could they be strange. That was my life.
But who am I- Shiv?
What? Shiv? I must be out of my mind! I am no Shiv, no priest, no Brahmin am I! I am Raj, the lord of the plains!