You must be registered for see images
Snow covered the mountain range that stretched on to the edge of the horizon, the billowing winds kicking up small amounts of snow from the numerous peaks. Atop one of them, sat a in meditative posture, a white mask on his face and a dark cloak covering his similarly dark body. He sits silently, his body acclimatised to the harsh colds of the mountain peaks, having been raised there for most of his youth under the direction of one, no, many, known as Hassan-i-Sabbah. And now, he was one of them. His old name forsaken, he was now a ruthless killer of a religious sect that revolved around politically-driven murder. He would often place himself atop the mountains, to wait until one of the other Hassans informed him of a new contract. That was all his life was now. Waiting, preparing, killing. A repetitive cycle that would continue till the day he died.