I had fun with this one...its short though...kudos to anyone who gets the Robot Chicken reference with the whole 'If you give a mouse a cookie' setup. I tried, but I've never read the actual book (no really, If You Give A Mouse A Cookie is a real book) Enjoy!
If you give a man a blade, he will want training.
If the man trains, he will become an assassin.
If he becomes an assassin, he will train others.
Now, if he trains others, they will want to use their training.
If the assassins use their training, they will start a bloodbath.
If they start a bloodbath, the guardsmen will be called in.
If the guards are called to fight, they to will fall to the assassins blade.
If the guardsmen fail, the Templars will set a price on the assassins heads.
If the assassin's deaths are called for, they will start a private war.
If they start a war, both sides will murder each other with cold brutality.
If they murder each other, the cities in which they fight will become boiling pots for the scum of humanity.
If the cities fall to ruins, rebellious civilians will resist the lord's rule.
If they resist the law, the land will crumble into dust and replace bustling cities with haunting skeletons.
If the land becomes barren, man will turn on his fellow man, again.
If the people of the world turn on each other, the assassins and Templars will not be the only ones with blades at each other's throats.
If the fighting continues, the future of the world would balance on the tip of a knife.
If the world fails, as it most undoubtedly will, all living things will burn in the acrid flames pouring from every orifice of the earth's surface.
If the world erupts in a raging ball of liquid fury, all hope would be lost and the human race wiped from existence.
Robert de Sable had finished young Krystoff's bedtime story for the night and as he straightened, toying with the dripping blade held in his large, bloodstained hands, he gave his son a loving glance.
"And that's why, my dear son," He said, with a great deal of finality, pride, and a fathers love, "I had to kill mommy. She had delved in the affairs of the assassins for too long and had… converted you might say."
His son looked up at him with startling blue eyes that were so like his mothers, and were overflowing with unshed tears. Young Krystoff gripped his blanket tighter and huddled down into the sheets.
"But no worries, daddy's here to protect you." And Robert planted a rough kiss on his sons head and fled the room, departing with a quick goodnight and the wet sound a boot makes when it is soaked in blood. Krystoff's pale eyes were fixed on the remaining pools of crimson that sat on the floor with grim despondency, if that were possible for a pool of liquid.
All the young Krystoff knew was that his loving father had never seemed that scary before and that blood was bad in large amounts, and that the pools of it on his floor and specks littered across his bed counted as large amounts.
And to Krystoff's infant mind, mommy's bedtime stories were always better than daddy's.