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The Codex 


Altai'r Ibn-La'Ahad 

I have spent days with the artifact now. Or has it been weeks? Months? I can no 
longer be certain... 

The others come from time to time - offering food or distraction. They say I 
should separate myself from these studies... Malik has even suggested I abandon 
them entirely. But I am not yet ready to turn away. This Apple of Eden will be 
understood. It must be. . . 

Is it a weapon? Is it a catalogue? Is it somehow both? "He who increaseth 
knowledge, increaseth sorrow..." The philosophy of such a statement I can 
understand... But for it to be truth - literally true? A society that waged wars 
with ideas and information in place of steel and swords . . . 

Its function is simple. Elementary, even. Dominion. Control. But the process... 
the methods and means it employs... THESE are fascinating. Those subjected to 
its glow are promised all that they desire. It asks only one thing in return: 
complete and total obedience. And who can truly refuse? It is temptation 

I remember my own moment of weakness when confronted by A1 Mualim, my 
confidence shaken by his words. He, who had been like a father, was now 
revealed to be my greatest enemy. Just the briefest flicker of doubt was all he 
needed to creep into my mind. But I vanquished his phantoms - restored my 
self-confidence - and sent him from this world. I freed myself. But now I 
wonder... Did I really? For here I sit - desperate to understand that which I 
swore to destroy. 

This is why: The Apple has a tale to tell. I sense the flickers of something - 
great and dangerous... We are all at risk. It is my duty to do something about it. 

I must not - cannot - turn away until I've found the truth. 

What follows are the three great ironies of the Assassin Order: (1) Here we seek 
to promote peace, but murder is our means. (2) Here we seek to open the minds 
of men, but require obedience to a master and set of rules. (3) Here we seek to 
reveal the danger of blind faith, yet we are practitioners ourselves. 

I have no satisfactory answer to these charges, only possibilities... Do we bend 
the rules in service to a greater good? And if we do, what does it say of us? That 
we are liars? That we are frauds? That we are weak? Every moment is spent 
wrestling with these contradictions and in spite of all the years I've had to 
reflect, still I can find no suitable answer... And I fear that one may not exist. 

Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. Does our creed provide the answer, 
then? That one may be two things - opposite in every way - simultaneously? 
And why not? Am I not proof? We of noble intentions, possessed of barbaric 
means? We who celebrate the sanctity of life and then promptly take it from 
those we deem our enemies? 

Who were The Ones That Came Before? What brought them here? How long 
ago? Centuries? Millenia? Longer still? 

So little remains of them... 

What drove them out? What of these artifacts? 
Messages in a bottle? 

Tools left behind to aid and guide us? 

Or do we fight for control over their refuse, giving divine purpose and meaning 
to little more than discarded toys? 

Robert de Sable may be dead, but his brotherhood survives. Though less 
conspicuous in appearance, I fear they remain a threat. Where once they proudly 
walked the streets - making for easier targets - now they retreat into the 
shadows. It grows difficult to track them. What wicked things will they weave 
in the darkness? Our work will be all the more complicated for it. Already there 
are rumors of a movement on Cyprus. I will have to investigate. . . 

It's made me realize that our tactics, too, must change. It means an end to our 
fortresses. To our penchant for spectacular displays of public assassinations. We 
must weave our webs quietly. And we must do so differently than we have in 
the past. 

Though I ask my brothers now to abandon their rituals, I do not ask that they 
abandon the creed. THIS is what makes us Assassins. Not the removal of a 
finger. Not a false promise of paradise. Not the prohibition of poison. Our duty 
is to the people, not to custom. If we must sneak, we shall sneak. If we must use 
poison, we shall use poison. If our blades can be used without removing fingers, 
we shall not demand they be taken. And we shall not manipulate our initiates 
with lies and parlor tricks. We shall speak plainly and honestly. We shall be 
made anew... 

I had thought Adha would be the one to lead me to rest, that I might lay down 
my blade and live as a normal man. But now I know such dreams are best left to 

Her face. I try to banish it from my mind as I remember the days and nights 
during which I chased her Templar captors across the sea. I almost got to them 
in time. Almost. If I had only been faster. Instead, I held her lifeless body in my 
arms - saw the terror reflected in her fixed, unblinking eyes . . . 

I hunted each man - one by one - until all responsible were gone from the 
world. But there was no joy in this. No satisfaction or release. Their deaths did 
not bring her back. Did not heal my wounds. After that, I was certain I would 
never again feel for a woman as I had for her. 

I am fortunate to have been wrong. 

Why do our instincts insist on violence? 

I have studied the interactions between different species. The innate desire to 
survive seems to demand the death of the other. Why can they not stand hand in 
hand? So many believe the world was created by the hand of a divine power - 
but I see only the designs of a madman, bent on celebrating destruction and 

Our origins seem chaotic. Unintended. Purpose and being instilled solely by the 
passage of time. Imposed first by nature - and later men... 

Over time, any sentence uttered long and loud enough becomes fixed. Becomes 
a truth. Provided, of course, you can outlast the dissent and silence your 
opponents. But should you succeed - and remove all challengers - then what 
remains is, by default, now true. 

Is it truth in some objective sense? No. But how does one ever achieve an 
objective point of view? The answer is you don't. It is literally, physically 
impossible. There are too many variables. Too many fields and formulae to 
consider. We can try, of course. We can inch closer and closer to a revelation. 
But we'll never reach it. Not ever... 

And so I have realized, that so long as The Templars exist, they will attempt to 
bend reality to their will. They recognize there is no such thing as an absolute 
truth - or if there is - we are hopelessly under-equipped to recognize it. And so 
in its place, they seek to create their own explanation. It is the guiding principle 
of their so-named "New World Order"; To reshape existence in their own 
image. It is not about artifacts. Not about men. These are merely tools. It's about 
concepts. Clever of them. For how does one wage war against a concept? 

It is the perfect weapon. It lacks a physical form yet can alter the world around 
us in numerous, often violent ways. You cannot kill a creed. Even if you kill all 
of its adherents, destroy all of its writings - these are a reprieve at best. Some 
one, some day, will rediscover it. Reinvent it. I believe that even we, the 
Assassins, have simply re-discovered an Order that predates the Old Man 

Attis. Dionysus. Homs. Krishna. Mithra. Jesus. Similar stories color their lives. 
Too similar, I thi nk . Divine birthright. Persecution. Disciples. Miraculous acts. 

How is it possible? 

Perhaps it isn't... Merely a single story told over the ages? Borrowed then 
changed to fit the times? Evolving as our tools and language do? Is this tale 
bom of fact or fiction? A bit of both? Could these figures be the same person - 
their life extended and transformed by a Piece of Eden? 

A1 Mualim spoke of Jesus as a real person - a mortal who had mastered the arts 
of manipulation. But what if he was wrong? If these men are real - and if they 
have walked amongst us many times before - does it mean they'll come again? 
Perhaps they are here now? So many questions, and every day, even more... 

The Hidden Blade has been a constant companion of ours over the years. Some would say it defines 
us - and they would not be entirely wrong. Many of our successes would not have been possible 
without it. Still, the device has begun to show it's age - and so I have been researching improvements 
beyond ending the need to remove one's finger to wield it. The first is the addition of a metal plate that 
can be used to deflect incoming blows. The other Assassins believe it is forged of a new metal - and 
credit me with the discovery of the formula (included on this page). It is better that they not know the 

I have also worked with Malik to describe new methods of assassination: from on high, from ledges, 
and from hiding places. Basic movements, but critical nonetheless. 

The third and final improvement is the most simple - the provision of a second blade - identical in 
every way to the first. Should an Assassin ever find himself tasked with dispatching two targets, he 
need only time his strike in such a way that he might reach both at the same time. These blades will be 
limited in number since the metals with which we forge them remain difficult to obtain. I will need to 
think carefully about who shall be allowed to carry two... 

Man seeks dominion over all that he encounters. I suppose it is a natural 
tendency for us to aspire towards mastery of our surroundings. But this should 
not include other human beings. Every day more and more are pressed into 
service - by deception or by force. Others, though not so firmly imprisoned, are 
made to feel as if their lives are worthless. I have seen the ways in which men 
persecute women. Heard the cruel words hurled at those who come here from 
other lands. Watched as those who believe or act differently are made to suffer... 

We discuss such things often - watching as we do from the spires of Masyaf. 
What can be done to stop this? To encourage tolerance and equality? Some days 
we speak of education, believing that knowledge will free us from immorality. 
But as I walk the streets and see slaves sent off to auction - my heart grows 
cold. When I see the husband hurl abuses and stones at his wife, insisting she 
exists only to serve him - my fists clench. And when I see children tom from 
their parents so that another man might profit - sent off to suffer beneath the 
desert sun and die... 

...On these days, I do not think that dialogue will make a difference. 

On these days, I can think only of how the perpetrators need to die. 

The Apple is more than a catalog of that which precedes us. Within its twisting, 
sparking innards I've caught glimpses of what will be. Such a thing should not 
be possible. Perhaps it isn't. Maybe it is simply a suggestion. How to know? 
How to be sure? 

I contemplate the consequences of these visions: are they images of things to 
come - or simply the potential for what might be? Can we influence the 
outcome? Dare we try? And in so doing, do we merely ensure that which we've 


I am torn - as always - between action and inaction - unclear as to which - if 
either - will make a difference. Am I even meant to make a difference? Still, I 
keep this journal. Is that not an attempt to change - or perhaps guarantee - what 
I have seen? 

Of all the things I've seen, none troubles me more than the image of the 
flames... Pillars so tall they seemed to pierce the heavens. The ground rumbled 
and shuddered. Mountains split and crack. Great metal towers splintered, their 
innards strewn about the ground... And everywhere there was screaming. A 
chorus so terrible that even now I feel its echoes still. 

What is this madness I have seen? Is it them, I wonder? Those who came 
before... Is this where they went? Into the fire? Into the dust? Perhaps this 
destructive power is what the Templars seek. That they might hold it over us a 
command devotion. What hope would we have, then, if they held such darkness 
in their hands - that they could murder the world... 

We are obligated to hide. To be silent. To shape the course of history in secret. 
But some of my brothers and sisters disagree. They grow angry, insisting it is a 
mistake to shroud ourselves. They say it slows our work. 

But they do not understand the risks. To expose ourselves now would be too 
dangerous. I fear we would be branded madmen and attacked. So it goes. So it 
always has. If there is one thing I know for certain, it is that men do not learn by 
being told. Instead they must be shown. 

They must make the connections themselves. If I say unto a man, be kind, be 
tolerant, be of an open mind - these words will wither and die long before 
they've affected change. 

It would be a waste. And so we must maintain our course... 

— - 4 -: — — 

V — — alWRa / 

Legends speaks of a Golden Fleece. Could the two be related? 

...I have further refined the metallurgic process, allowing for the production of a 
suit of armor the likes of which the world has never seen... 

...It is possessed of great strength, yet so light as to allow complete freedom... 

...I alternate between wonder and fear. Here we have crafted something that will 
surely change the face of warfare, making those who wear it nigh invincible... 

Perhaps it was a mistake to create these pieces. I thi nk it best to erase the 
formulae. What if it were to fall in the hands of our enemies? 

The risk is too great... 

I have studied the ancient pagan faiths that came before this more recent 
obsession with a single, divine creator. They seem to have focused more on the 
fundamental forces at play in the world around us and less on arbitrary moral 

The sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening. The tides ebb and flow. 
Grass grows, withers, dies, and then in time, emerges from the ground once 
more. The air turns warm then cools and back again. Some hidden energy keeps 
us fitted to the ground and pulls us back when we attempt to leave it. 

Each of these movements was represented before by a god or goddess. Each 
force given face, but recognized as something distinct and powerful. Which is 
not to say there were not connections between these forces - a pantheon of 
individual spirits - of rules. Invisible hands guiding the progress of the world 
around us. 

And so here there was an attempt to categorize, study, explain, and understand 
the way things work - even if it was flawed. But no more. Now we are asked to 
succumb to a far more simplified explanation. How naive to believe there might 
be a single answer to every question. Every mystery. That there exists a lone 
divine light which rules over all. They say it is a light that brings truth and love. 
I say it is a light that blinds us - and forces us to stumble about in ignorance. 

I long for the day when men turn away from invisible monsters and once more 
embrace a more rational view of the world. But these new religions are so 
convenient - and promise such terrible punishment should one reject them - 1 
worry that fear shall keep us stuck to what is surely the greatest lie ever told. 

One may cultivate extracts from various plants found throughout the region. 
More exotic species can sometimes be obtained from traders and travelers, but 
their properties are less documented and require further examination. 

Traditional alchemical implements can be used to distill the poison. Care should 
be used as certain poisons can be absorbed through exposed skin. Many are 
those who have lost their lives to carelessness. 

One's blade should be hollowed according to the specifications listed herein. 
Deviation may create fractures within the metal, causing the blade to weaken 

and possibly break. 

What to make of this map? It appears to contain the entire world. Not flat as 
they claim, either, but round - like a ball. Like the Apple. But how is such a 
thing even possible? Stranger still are the lands it shows - great patches of the 
unknown. The unexplored. SO many places yet to be discovered... Are there 
men there? Are they like us? And if not - different how? 

I should like to know the answers. Perhaps - in time - I'll have the chance to 
travel. To chart a course and make my way to these distant lands... 

Some days I miss my family... or at least the thought of them. I never knew my 
parents well, despite them both having lived within these walls. It was our way. 
Perhaps they were sad, though they showed no sign - it was not allowed. 

For my part, so much of my youth was spent in training, there was little time 
left to reflect upon the separation. And so when they were finally lost to me, it 
seemed no different than the passing of two strangers. A1 Mualim had been as 
my father, and his was a weak and dishonest love, though at the time it seem 
enough - better, even. Or so I thought. 

Someday I will have a child - such is the way of our Order. And I will not make 
the same mistake. Nor any who call themselves an Assassin. We shall be 
allowed to love our children - and, in turn, to be loved. A1 Mualim believed 
such attachments would weaken us - cause us to falter when our lives were on 
the line. But if we truly fight for what is just, does love not make such sacrifice 
simpler - knowing that we do so for their gain? 

I have the answer now. I know the truth. I shall not touch that wretched thing 
again. Best that no one do, now or ever. I have tried - at last - to destroy it, but 
it will neither bend nor break nor melt. Oh the irony - 1 am certain if I asked, 
the Apple would tell me what need be done. But even this promise is 
insufficient. Always it holds one more gift to give. I must refrain. So it shall be 
sealed. We will take it to the island - once theirs, now ours. There is a treasury 
there - hidden well - and it shall have to suffice. Risky to separate myself from 
the artifact that others may discover it. Riskier still to keep it close. In time I 
will be tempted. I am weak. We all are. Who wouldn't be? 

Oh, the things I have seen... The tale is here - inside the text. Not between the 
lines but beneath them. Where only our eyes might peer. Go and see it for 
yourself. That you might succeed where I and the others have failed. Time 
marches on - bringing with it new discoveries and developments. And so at 
least one day the doorway might be opened and the message delivered. 

They will have their prophet. 

We are growing larger. 

More make their way to our fortresses every day. Men and women. Young and 
old. From different lands. Of different faiths. Each tells a similar story - of 
having discovered the first part of our creed: that nothing is true. 

Too often, though, the revelation undoes them. They lose their morality, 
certainty, security. Many are driven mad. We must guide them. Help them to 
heal. Their minds must not be filled with more fairy tales, but with knowledge 
instead. Let them have answers - and let those answers be difficult and 

complex. Such is life. 


We have found a way to alter the structure of the Hidden Blade so that it can be used to launch small 
projectiles. It is capable of grievous damage - even from great distance. I confess, the means by which 
I came about the discovery was... risky to say the least. But I have found that in small doses, and with 
a focused mind, the Apple can be used without ill effect. Or so I hope. 

The knowledge of projectile combat is not new to us, having been observed amongst our Eastern 
neighbors. But their weapons were much larger - and insufficient for our needs. I have now found a 
way to miniaturize their designs, embedding their fiery weapon into a form that can be worn on the 

We have also refined the formula for combustible powder, such that co mm on ingredients might be 
used. This is a dangerous bit of knowledge and it is best shared with only our closest allies... 

A dark tide rises to the east - an army of such size and power that all the land is 
made quick to worry. Their leader is a man named Temujin, who has adopted 
the title Genghis Khan. He sweeps across the lands, conquering and subsuming 
all who stand in his way. 

Whatever his motives, he must be stopped. Were I younger, I might attempt to 
undertake this work in secret - as I suspect the presence of a Piece of Eden. 

But those days are years gone, now. The mantle must be passed. It is time she 
and I spoke with our sons. We will travel there together, that they may be tested 
and that this threat might be stopped. 

Soon I shall pass from this world. It is my time. All the hours of the day are now 
colored by the thoughts and fears borne of this realization. I know that the 
elements of my body will return to the Earth. But what of my consciousness? 
My identity? That is to say - what of ME? 

I suspect it will end. That there is no next world. Nor a return to this one. It will 

simply be done. Forever. 

Our lives are so brief and unimportant. The cosmos cares nothing for us. For 
what we've done; Had we wrought evil instead of good. Had I chosen to abuse 
the Apple instead of seal it away. None of it would have mattered. 

There is no counting. No reckoning. No final judgement. There is simply 
silence. And darkness. Utter and absolute... And so I have begun to wonder - 
might there not be a way to stop - or at least delay - death's embrace? 

Surely the ones who came before were not so frail and feeble as we. But I have 
sworn to be done with the artifact. To not gaze into its core. Still: faced as I am 
with the prospect of my end, what harm is there in one last look...