I stand silently watching on the rooftop of the building, stalking my prey as only I could - as only I would. I raised my sickle sword and prepared for the kill, exhilaration rising in my chest as I readied myself. I leapt from the roof and silently grabbed a railing on the balcony of the floor below, then continued to climb down the wall, licking my lips. Some looked down on my eagerness to kill; I didn't see how it was really that relevant. I dropped to the street in the midst of the crowd behind my target, concealing my sword and knife as I got nearer. Finally, I crept up behind him and walked nonchalantly, biding my time for a moment when I could strike without witnesses. When at last the target headed down an alley, I closed in and wrapped my arms around his neck, the tip of my curved knife nestled against his trachea and my sickle sword curving around in front of his entire throat.
The target began to shout for his soldiers. I sent my knife through his throat and my sword down into his heart in an instant. It was far from clean - blood poured onto the street - but I didn't care. I soaked my hand in the blood and leapt up to the roof to make my escape.
I enjoyed killing. Always had, since I'd finished off my own father. Every person I'd killed - excuse me, everyone I'd targeted since had absolutely deserved what they got. Those that stood in my way were mere casualties of war. Before you start asking stupid questions about the code, let me explain something: the code I agreed to when I joined the Assassin's Guild can be interpreted in a variety of different ways.
My most recent prey had been a Templar commander. Very high priority. Plus, I was feeling invincible that night, so I thought, why not? I wasn't proud of my work, but it was necessary. And I've got to admit, it can really make me feel better about myself when I watch someone gasp for breath and collapse to the ground.
I tucked my weapons back into my belt and dropped back to the street, pulling on a pair of gloves to conceal my hands.