The Eastern sun shown brightly over the otherwise greying port city of Acre, the very faint breeze carrying with it the chatter of citizens, calls of merchants, crying of beggars and the lapping of the ocean waters against the laying boats and posts of the piers they were tied to. The rooftops were quiet, bored archers pacing back and forth over their posts with their arms crossed over their chests and hoods shielding their eyes from the glaring light from above. Soldiers of the three alliance'd powers stood guard at every corner, marching in lines on patrol and even bullying a citizen or two for the sheer fun of it. Business as usual, though a new threat, aside from the Saladin and his Seracen army, had risen his white-hooded head, only to be seen in glimpses when he wasn't assassinating someone. The good doctor Garnier had been felled, and the Hospitalier knights were forced to bring a temporary into leadership before someone more qualified could be brought onto the stage. William of Monferrat had been fussing about in the fort resting at the southern edge of town at the news of Richard's departure for Arsuf in the following week. Sibrand had been fussing too, most of it falling on the ears of his captain, who mostly kept to surveying the streets of the Middle District.

She had nothing to report from day to day, the assassin hadn't really been showing up in her area or causing any noticeable trouble that would force the guards and knights in the Poor District to call for her and her archers stationed with her to assist them. The damage had already been done and the assassin had disappeared as soon as he had struck down his target. She was sure to keep her eyes open in search of him, however, with mixed feelings about this supposed 'angel of death'. Curiosity, fear, added with the obligation her status provided to the people and her men, made her wish to catch even the slightest glimpse of him. She wasn't concerned about following him; her athleticism was really one of the only few reasons why she was made captain of the Teutonic archers under Sibrand's guidance. Her agility and dexterity made it difficult for criminals to escape her, though her physical prowess left a lot to be desired. She would allow her archers to take care of hand-to-hand combat.

The morning in Acre wasn't anything unusual. Sibrand, however, was out and about, looking for his captain. Looking for Mary. It was to encourage an increase in her vigilence, the assassin had taken out one of his brothers-though unbeknownst to Mary-and it was necessary that this man be stopped should he be seen again. Make rounds in the other districts, arrest any who look even slightly suspicious. Mary figured Sibrand was only being a little outlandish, but she did as he asked. Or told, rather. Once the man was gone, Mary was back on her feet, bow strapped to her back with quiver of arrows, and a small sword hilted to the belt around her waist. Her outfit was like any other archer's of the area, though she was identified by the size of her bow and the darkened hood--apart from the rest of her doublet--that she chose not to drape over her head. Her hair was shoulder length, cut by her own blade when it got too long, and graced her light skin with a dark auburn hue. She lifted her gaze up to the sky, raising a gauntlet-clad hand to shield her eyes from the harsh rays of the sun. It was time to move out, at least for her, under Sibrand's order. Her boots scooted slightly over the shingles of the rooftop, pivoting before setting off at a light jog, jumping over gaps between buildings and climbing up to higher roofs. The citizens payed her no mind. She was one of the guards after all.

Leaving her post first had her a tad concerned. There were quite a few scoundrels wandering the streets in Acre, but she was sure that the soldiers on the ground level would be able to handle them. They usually did, with their advanced combativeness. Mary always had it for the guards down below, mainly those that spoke in that silver language of their French homeland. It sent shivers down her spine, but she was careful to keep herself together when around them. It was already taboo for her to be part of the crusader army, and a few of her fellow Englishmen were against it, and found it difficult to show her respect. Sibrand guarded her with a fierceness that was feared, with the addition of sharp lashings of his German tongue. She admired him for it, though felt awkward at times when his defense wasn't necessary. She wasn't a helpless little girl, at least not anymore.

"Captain!" one of her archers called to her as she skipped over the roofing, "We have trouble!"

Mary skidded to a stop, surprised at the sudden cry for help. Looking to the hooded archer, "What is it?"

"Two barbarians are taunting some soldiers. What should we do?" He jumped towards her. It was Conrad, an archer most beloved to Mary, "Keep watch. Those men know how to stay a blade but with the way those heathens act it may escalate. Take me to it, but do so quietly."

"Ma'am!" he saluted, "This way!"

Mary followed Conrad over the rooftops. He stopped and rose his arm to signal her to a stoop behind him. "Down there."

Below was a group of soldiers standing side by side, arms crossed tightly and loosely, with a few burly thugs shouting at them and taunting them to fight. Surrounding them was a group of curious citizens and monks, whispering amongst each other, both amused and worried. Mary stood, drawing her bow and an arrow and readying them in case anything should happened. Derogatives flew, but the soldiers stayed their blades, the struggling will to keep violence to a minimum showing on their faces. The French soldiers had their faces mostly covered. The Englishmen were starting to lose their cool, having less patience than their French and German counterparts. As hateful words escalated to shoves, a German elite stepped up from around a corner, shouting at both sides and forcing them to back off. Mary let out a soft, relieved sigh. The helmetted man stood between the two groups, throwing his arms as he berated and reprimanded both of them.

"Hmmm..." Conrad watched, glancing between the elite an Mary, "Looks like he has this covered."

"Don't count on it," Mary said softly, "Just keep watch. Something could still happen until the bandits disperse." It was unlikely that an altercation could still erupt when the Elite made his appearance. He glanced up at Mary, who looked right back at him. He nodded his head towards one of the unruly men in the opposing group as he continued speaking to the two groups, his English wrought with a strong German accent. His subtle movement allowed her attention to drift to the intended people. She watched them closely, her grip on her longbow and arrow tightening. The German and the French warriors tended to hold a little more respect for her than the Englishmen did. She was glad for that at least. Most of them were above her.

The thug under her surveillance had a rock in his hand and looked more than willing to use it. Mary readied her bow, taking aim at his wrist, waiting for him to throw it as the sound of her bowstring groaning under the strain from being pulled back rung in her ears. He started to ready himself to toss it, hidden by the cover of the other men. She released the bow, the arrow striking the stone from his hand and grazing his palm. He cried out in surprise, blood seeping from a gash in his palm. The other men dispersed from him, also surprised by the sudden assault. The elite glanced up at her before going to arrest the wounded thug. Mary lowered her bow as others looked up at her and Conrad.

"Go back to your business, leave these trivialities. We are at war with a new threat rearing his ugly head. There is no place for your petty confrontations here!" she said, putting the final word on the matter. Soldiers went back to her posts, and the bandits left to the streets once again, while the German elite arrested the remaining man with the bleeding hand.

Conrad stood up and looked over at Mary, "These people are getting crazier by the day."

"They cannot stand the war anymore than we. They want it to end, but neither side has the courage to call a truce, nor the strength," Mary shook her head, "They think it weakness to call for peace, it seems..."

"No, I don't think that's it. At least not all of it. Everyone wants the war to be over. But I'm fairly sure that both Saladin and Good King Richard are just waiting for each other to call it first," he said.

"Perhaps... Well, until then, get back to your post. I'm going to the Poor District to check on the Hospitalier Knights," Mary said as she turned towards the intended district.

"Be careful," Conrad said, "...You never know when that Assassin will show up again."

"Don't worry," Mary smiled back at him over her shoulder, "I'll be fine."

"Lauren? You alright? Do you need a break?"

"U-um..."

"Let's get you out. I can search over the memories farther than this."

"Okay."

When the world of the Third Crusade disappeared in a field of blinding white, Lauren blinked her eyes as they went out of focus, and came back to see the ceiling of the cabin. "Whoa..." she rubbed her eyes with her wrist, "What was that?"

"That was Acre in Israel, during the time of the Third Crusade," Desmond piped in, sitting next to her. He smiled at her eagerly, nervousness tweaking at the corners of his mouth. It was strange. Her ancestor was a crusader. An enemy of his own.

"Mary is her name," Shaun announced quietly as he stopped clacking on his computer, "A Teutonic archer under the Templar Sibrand."

"Was she a Templar?" Lucy asked.

"Hard to say. There are no files for her in the Templar database, so she either wasn't or was and had all of her information destroyed and was erased from history," Shaun said.

"That would be one reason the Templars looked for Lauren... to rebuild those datafiles. Or create them for the first time," Rebecca chimed in.

"But if she wasn't, then why would they look for her?" Lucy mused.

"She was part of the crusaders and was a subordinate to Sibrand. All we can do is assume. But right now, we have to let Lauren rest before we can continue on with this story of hers," Shaun shook his head, "It's strange, confusing and very concerning. Perhaps she knew something or had a child with one of the Templars. Again, all we can do at this point is assume."

"I'm sorry..." Lauren said quietly, shame in her voice.

"Whoa, whoa," Desmond looked at her, "You have nothing to be sorry for. An enemy of the Templars is a friend of ours." He nudged her shoulder, "Don't worry, okay?"

"I just wish I knew why..." Lauren said quietly.

"We'll find out why," Lucy said, looking at Lauren, "Take a nap. We'll get you back into the Animus once you're ready and I have a more recent memory to activate."

"Alright," Lauren nodded. She was quiet for a second, drawing her legs up on the Animus, "Um.."

"Thanks... for not ..you know. Because Mary's a Crusader," Lauren looked down at her feet.

"Hey, you're not trying to kill us in a Templar rage, that's good enough for us," Desmond grinned at her.

Lauren laughed softly, glancing at him briefly before looking back at her toes.