An assassin's new life.

[Altair]

Altair walked up to the village with a great amount of hope. Hope that his new life would be better here, than it was at his old life. A life of misery, and beatings. Altair had flashbacks of his father, and mother. Laying on the ground with stab marks. Altair tried to forget it, but he couldn't. Altair entered the village on a cold night. The perfect time for him to make an appearance. Altair wasn't very fond of the sun. He walked into the village as if the moon was giving him little tiny kisses. He cast a vague shadow in the entrance. As he walked down the dirt road a heavy looking man approached him. "What kind of creature are you?" chuckled the man. "Creature? I'm a human that could shove both of my daggers down your throat, now go bother someone else" replied Altair. The man kept blocking Altair from moving forward. Altair wasn't happy with this. "I don't know who you are," whispered Altair, "But I guarantee you don't want to push me and further than you are now" The man was chuckled, and backed off. Altair continued to walk through the village. "This should be good...." said Altair.

[Mirabelle]

Mirabelle wandered through the village, her face barely visible under her cloak hood. Her simple cloak was a dull purple fabric, with a small blue gem right under the hood. She wore a leather belt with a long silver sabre tightly strapped to it. Upon closer inspection, the sabre was encrusted with many sparkling jewels of all colors, with a carving of a dragon on the end of the hilt. Right next to this peculiar weapon was a large leather pouch, tinkling with hundreds of small metal objects, possibly coins for that matter. She weaved her way between the villagers, who gave her cold, heartless looks. Her bright, ice blue eyes almost glowed under the wrinkled hood of her cloak as she ignored the looks she received from people. Her skin was as pale as a ghost's would be. She had very different qualities from everyone else in the village. She was obviously either a newcomer or a traveler.

Mirabelle's voluptuous hourglass body allowed the cloak to flow with it as she walked. She didn't mind the looks she got from these despicable people, as she obtained them every day in every single town she went to. It was pointless to tell them to stop, as she would be ridiculed even more. One particularly plump old man grabbed an apple from his pocket and spat on it. He then tossed it at the back of her head, hitting her square in the skull. She stopped in her tracks and let people laugh a her, then she continued walking, taking the taunts. She was used to this, as she had all of these peculiar features; pale skin, luminescent reptilian eyes of such color, and a thin but defined frame.