MARIA THORPE: Jerusalem, The Holy Land

"Bloody Hell!"

Maria wiped the sweat from her brow as she cursed the heat. "It's a wonder anything gets done in this bloody country!" She sighed as she adjusted the veils on her head. She was clad in an elaborate courtesan's dress, a very revealing skirt comprised of seven sheer, green veils overlapping each other intertwined with delicate, fine gold chains and coins. As she sashayed through the market, the motion of her swaying hips caused these coins to tinkle softly. Her midriff was bare, although patterns expertly drawn in gold paint adorned her, from under the hem of her skirt under her chest covering, and up to her neck. Her chest was constrained, uncomfortably, by an elaborate and revealing bandeau; a mixture of braided silks, sheer veils, and rich satin. Already having made several attempts at trying to loosen it, her more than ample chest was still trying to find any way out. Her curly, raven hair, normally kept in a strict braid, was free to flow down her toned back stopping at her waist. "I can't believe that I am actually going out in public in this… this whores clothing! On top of that," she exclaimed, "they made me put on this ridiculous makeup!"

Her pale blue eyes were rimmed with the powder of dark brown kohl, rich, earthy brown shades adorned her lids, and someone, with a very steady hand, had drawn accents in gold along her waterline, and in the corner of each eye. Her face was pale, even by European standards, however the sun's rays brought a rosy flush to her cheeks. Despite being an English woman, she did the costume more than justice, based on the leering smiles and lewd comments directed to her as she passed men in the market.

Altaïr was powerless to keep his eyes away from her. If her attire were not enough to make his mind reel, there was her walk to keep his mind occupied. She held her head high, despite her courtesan's garb; her shoulders held gracefully back, which only accentuated her tempting chest. Her hips swayed seductively in a rolling pattern that made Altaïr want to hold them, to feel them move under his own, and other things that only drifted lower and lower in acceptability. Shamed by his own thoughts, Altaïr dropped his gaze down to his own clasped hands, realizing they were clasped painfully tight. However, Altaïr also realized that his hands were not the only thing that had grown painfully tight as a result of this beautiful woman.

He decided it best to put some distance between him and this strange beauty; he stood from his bench, and started to walk away. Altaïr turned to see that, in the crowd, were two Templars, asking civilians if they had seen a man clad in white. Not wanting to get in any unnecessary trouble, Altaïr began to slink away, getting farther and farther from the guards, but closer and closer to the courtesan.

"She smells of, spices… perhaps cinnamon" Altaïr thought, as he was close enough to smell the sultry perfume of her hair. He could see the serpentine, flowing patterns adorning her back. Unable to resist, Altaïr let his thoughts wonder momentarily, "I wonder what those would feel like under my hands… or my tongue…" He felt his pulse quicken and a slow heat build inside his core. Shuddering at his lapse of integrity, he berated himself, "Ughhh!" he shook himself, "What am I? A hormone crazed boy!" He shook his head in disgust, "Bah! She is nothing but a woman- a courtesan no less, why should I let her have this control over me!" And with that, Altaïr pushed her out of his mind by quickening his pace and overtaking her.

Feeling better with himself, and having calmed down a bit, he slowed his pace again, and fell into the rhythms of the crowd. To his luck, he caught a glimpse of an informant's hood, "At last." He exhaled, "I was beginning to think Malik had bribed them to avoid the city!" He began brushing past the people in the crowd, slowly making his way over to the informant.

"Safety and peace, Brother. " Altaïr walked up to the informant, who was standing in the shade of a doorway.

"And with you, Altaïr." He said as he wiped his brow rapidly as he glanced at the Assassin furtively. "What can I be of help with? I must admit though, I have only been in this city for little over two weeks, Master."

Altaïr slowly exhaled; at least he had found an informant who still respected him- no easy task these days.

"I am sure you can help me, Brother; I am in need of information on a man by the name of Mamraj Abhilash, a man of great influence and wealth within Jerusalem."

The young informant's eyes lit up, "Oh! I can in fact be of help- just last week, I was sent by Al Mualim to investigate the festivities of just such a man!" He turned his gaze to the sky, recalling, no doubt, elaborate details of the affair.

"Such lavish decorations! And the food and wine- I have never seen such heaping tables! And the dancers the way they-"

"Enough Brother," Altaïr interjected, not wanting to get back on the subject of undulating females, "I wish not to know of anything, save that of where and when it best to strike."

The informant lowered his eyes in embarrassment, "Forgive me, I did not mean to get off topic. Mamraj likes to keep to the sanctuary of his palace; he will not leave his rooms, unless he is celebrating. I am sure your prowess with a blade and infiltration will allow you to overcome this limitation, Altaïr."

"I have been instructed to take his life, not with the Hidden Blade, but with poison."

"Oh… that does make things somewhat easier."

"If I were able to slip into the kitchen, or perhaps, bribe one of his stewards to put it into his food, I may be able to- "

"That will not work," Altaïr frowned, "Uh… with all due respect Master- I meant that would be very hard, considering the fact that he is a philanderer; the only servants he keeps are also courtesans. Also, he is only served by the closest of his harem- all of which would lay down their young lives for that unscrupulous man."

Altaïr grunted something noncommittal, and then thanked the man for sharing this information with him. He shook his head as he walked away. "I suppose I could ask Malik- uhh, or not. I only just earned a second chance…" Altaïr made his way into the crowd, following them down to the river and the nearby shops. His thoughts were interrupted by the lilting tones of female laughter coming from the crowd in front of him.

Maria had been wandering in the souk for the past 3 hours, when she ran into Rida, the only female friend Maria had managed to make while she had been in Acre. Rida had been wrongly accused of stealing fruit from a local shopkeeper, and was being harassed by the guards. Luckily for her, Maria had been in that very area shopping, and managed to fend off the guards. Ridahad profusely thanked Maria for her bravery, and had promised to repay her. In the end, Ridahad repaid Maria with her friendship, teaching her some of their customs and language. Maria had found herself growing close to her, glad for any form of sorority she could find. Eventually, Maria had disclosed her true purpose for being in the Holy Land, saddened by the disappointment on her friend's face. Over time, Ridahad come to accept her Templar friend for who she was– although she still implored Maria to leave the fighting to men, and join her in her quest of finding a suitable spouse, settle down, and live a domestic life.

The two smiling women strolled together, eager to reconnect with each other for the first time in weeks. Maria had been on assignment in other districts recently, so their meeting in the market had been one of much joy.

Ridaexamined Maria's attire with slight condescension, "Maria, only a week back in Jerusalem, and you are dressed like a dancing girl! Have you forgotten what I taught you is appropriate here?"

Maria had always known Rida to be brusque, so she ignored her comment. After finally being able to reconnect, Maria decided it best to let Rida know what she was up to.

"For your information, Rida, I am under orders from Robert De Sable himself. I have been instructed to protect some local dignitary- Mamraj Abhilash from any harm that should befall him. He has been great financial aid to the Templars, but an even greater target for his enemies- mainly those bloody Assassins. Now, it is understandable that the very nature of his affluence made his actions anything but discreet." She grinned at Rida and snickered, "Thinks himself out to be some bloody "Autokrator" from the Byzantine empire!" she snorted.

Altaïr's ears perked up at the mention of Assassin in someone's conversation. He searched the faces of the crowd, hoping to find the source; and get as far away as possible from it. He turned around, and stood against the surging crowd of people. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at those who passed him, oblivious to the man in white. Two young maidens were conversing in hushed tones. Altaïr groaned, his eyes widening in surprise and chagrin. The woman on the right was his courtesan tease that seemed impossible to elude. He sighed, she was tempting enough from behind, but there was something in her eyes, in her smile, which was astonishing. He felt his jaw slacken, and as his gaze drifted downward from her eyes to her chest, he felt the burning heat return once again to his core. He stood, motionless, entranced by her walk.

"Allah! Tell me something I didn't know! What a chauvinist is that one! I have heard rumours of young girls being swept off the streets, forced to join his harem." Maria grimaced, and became concentrated on the ground in front of her, " Yes, it was Robert's brilliant idea that my cover should be to pose as one of his harem- Lord what lewd desires this man has!" The two women laughed again; it had been so long since Maria had felt the true bond of sorority. They began to indulge in gossip, scandalous details consuming all of their attention. Maria didn't even notice the hooded man standing in front of her until she was close enough to taste the linen robes he wore.