Assassin Among Heroes Ch 31 Preview

To bear the name Hassan-i Sabbah is to don the mantle of death. Not just as the head of the Order, but a living incarnation of death, a messenger of Azrael upon the Earth, carried by his black wings, which enshroud all men in due time.

Death flies on many wings, as all men can attest to. From the cold sting of the blade to the gentle kiss of old age, from the most innocuous sting of the gnat to Allah’s shaking of the earth and winds, the severance of life is as many-faced as it is absolute. A man knows not when or how, but it comes for him, as sure as the sun rises. 

And what special mark does it leave upon creation when man becomes an instrument of death? 

Nothing. Men perish by the whims of nature as much as they do by other men. Death is death; life’s finale is equal to all mortals, rotting in the earth. Whatever judgment that may come, Jannah or Jahannam, is in the hands of Allah and his servants.

But if a man studies death, then he may learn to shape those final strokes however he pleases. A butchery on the battlefield may become an insect’s bite on the neck, unfortunate enough to land on a vital artery. A crushing blow from a club can be cloaked as a stone, unfortunate enough to land on an unguarded head. 

No example of fashioning death is finer than poison.

A plant or venomous animal, such as a nightshade or a scorpion, is taken. Its essence is then extracted and prepared accordingly: plants are ground, boiled, and often mixed, while venom is usually milked in its natural state. Neither of these tasks is laymen’s work; one misbegotten step can end a man with the same swiftness he wishes upon his foes. Handling such dangerous substances requires intimate knowledge in many fields, be it animal husbandry, chemistry, or botany. Scholars and papers from all the known world, many hailing from the Bayt al-Hikmah of Baghdad, have devoted years of their lives to researching these subjects.

But once done correctly, all it takes is one slip into a drink, one nick of a coated blade…and within a day, the target shall perish.

Maybe not death then? Many poisons dull the senses and make one feel as though they are floating on clouds, others wrest control of the body, sending the victim into terrible pain. 

With poison, death can become art.

And within my order, none were as proficient as her. 

My faithful found her clinging to life in the wreckage of a hajj caravan. On a whim, they brought her back to the fortress. The nameless blasphemers who violated the sanctity of the pilgrimage were wiped from the earth, yet she asked to stay. 

They - I - heard the whispers of Allah, and thus decided; she would have a new name and with that name, be inducted into our ranks.

Throughout her training, her true talent bloomed: a hand at poison and alchemy like none of us have seen, a remnant of her homeland in the East. Concoctions that could do wonders and horrors alike, all with a quick and deft hand. To her, every plant, every part of a beast, was a potential toxicant. We allowed her much freedom, using our resources to purchase all manner of exotic specimens for her to transmute, and her devotion to us was equally matching.

When the mask of the Hashashin was bestowed upon her, she was let loose upon our enemies, and soon few that mattered were left. Each accusing the other of treachery or scrambling for whatever meagre crumbs of power were left. It is the priority of things to them; why should they investigate an infected bite or a sudden illness?

If the wings of Azrael must be summoned, a knife in the dark may not be the best tool. All it takes…is but a drop.