The Fifth Crusade (Game Thread)

[TheIronRuler]

Our Out Of Character Thread- http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/read/540.378257-The-Fifth-Crusade

Spoiler: The Rules

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1. I am the Game Master, and my word is law. Suggestions are always welcomed.
2. Be civil with each other. Disagreements are fine and will be resolved by the GM. Refusing to end a disagreement or bringing it up will net you a warning.
3. Post regularly on a weekly basis at the very least. If you are unable to post, notify me beforehand.
4. A post must constitute at least one paragraph, which are usually 3-5 sentences long.
5. Write in third person, past tense.
6. God modding will not be tolerated.

[HEADING=1]The Fifth Crusade [/HEADING]​

-Naval battles are a mess?. Especially when they pour to land battles

1218, August 25th ​

A salty sea breeze passed through the remains of merchant fleet as the ships loaned from Venice and Genoa stayed off the shores of Damietta, a city ruled over by the Ayyubid dynasty of Egypt. The tired sailors kept the ships at the mouth of the port, locking access to the city from the sea and keeping a tight grip on the siege. It had been several months since the siege had begun on the city, but the Muslims had not given up.

-If only it could have been as east as Antioch?​

They had not given up till this very morning, when allied Christian forces pushed through the city's outer defenses and mounted an attack on the large tower overlooking the land, taking it in the process. The city's large walls serving as its last line of defense proved to be a thorn in the side of the crusaders as disease claimed more pious men away from this earth. They had to push forward before their will to fight will be lost.

-Great men lost due to sickness? I blame the Jews.​

Allied forces from all of Christendom, Knights to simple armored men stand shoulder to shoulder against the defending Muslims. Time will run out and with it their will to push forward, but fear not ? They were certain that taking more land from the Ayyubids will force them to cede Jerusalem.

If they refuse to exchange Jerusalem for Damietta, their capital will burn.
Onwards to Cairo, with Christ in your hearts and a murder of crows following you up above.

1221, July​

-Scottish Knights and Men at Arms? They will be with us in spirit?​

The infidels refuse negotiations. They must agree to hand over Jerusalem and allow pilgrims to visit the holy sites. Our armies sitting on the edges of Damietta, now led by a messenger of Rome and the new lord of Damietta, Pelagio Galvani, move south to besiege Cairo and force the Sultan to free Jerusalem.

You leave the city and travel further inland to the city of the infidels, but the plague doesn't let go. It follows you around whenever you turn, causing great soldiers and knights alike to lose grip on their soul and return to God in heaven. Murders of crows follow the expedition as more and more German soldiers declare their own crusade over and turn back ? and away from the cross, to their homeland.

The terrain was hard to traverse, but you pulled through quite nicely. The marching army sends out scouts periodically to warn them of any threats in the distance, but it seems like none had returned for the past day. The officers prepare their men to battle, each with his own group, all different nationalities separated by birth and tongue standing united together by the cross. They are coming.

-The forces of the Ayyubid empire sent to destroy us. Fear not for Christ is among us ? We shall prevail!​

The Muslims are coming.


Mameluke cavalrymen ready their horses for a spectacular charge into the Christian lines. Many men-at-arms and a handful of knights ride out to meet them, though most remain steady at the line. A shield wall is formed in most of the front, a rather barbarian tactic to use against a barbarian people. They will soon meet the spears of the soldiers of the Holy Roman Empire and their Arabian horses will fall to the might of European steel.

They clash. The cavalrymen fight against each other, men-at-arms against fully armored mameluke horsemen. Cries of pain come from the front as strong Hungarian and Austrian horses give in to the blows of the infidels and leave their knights and armored soldiers in a sea of mounted Muslims. A rain of steel descended upon them.

Archers from the French and Hungarian forces, as well as the many warbands drawn to the cross unload their deadly arrows blessed by our priest and guided by the sight of Christ to impale even Muslim in the crowd in their hearts, but the horses continue with their charge at the Christian lines. Endless lines of armored infantry appear at the horizon behind the horsemen and scare those men in the front that could see them. The battle is not lost yet.

Lords and warband leaders speak up in their tongues to rally their men to the cross and prepare to face the enemy. Jerusalem awaits us, they say, if we only defeat the Egyptians they will concede our great land and we will go there as true righteous pilgrims. The tower of Babylon it were, as Hungarian lords spoke to their serfs standing shoulder to shoulder with Austrian, Bavarian and Dutch soldiers. All are united together for one goal.
Retrieve Jerusalem.

-Heavily armored Muslim horsemen. Beware of maces​

Steel clashes as Arabian horses fall forward and attempt to break the line of shaken soldiers at the center of the Christian forces. Some knights unmounts to join the fray while others break away from the line of infantry and move aside to harass the incoming flanks of the Muslim footmen. The remaining Mameluke horsemen retreat, yet are stopped by a small group of French knights. Swords penetrate mail armor and flesh, followed by a series of screams of pain in foreign tongues. The French knights move aside and cheer as they are covered in the blood of their enemy, quickly rejoining their men-at-arms as they move forward to meet the flanks of the Muslim infantry.

-A proper Mameluke heavily armored infantryman. Not to be toyed with.​

The Muslim infantrymen ran forward to meet to Christian lines, yet little bowmen appear to be among them. A rain of death falls upon the Muslim footmen, but suddenly Venetian mercenaries fall to the ground dead, arrows pierced through their armor. Archers on horseback move from the side and pick off an unfortunate Christian soul unlucky enough to meet an arrow before they meet the enemy.

-Egyptian horse-archers. ​

A group of Frisian knights break the lines and run forward to meet the mounted armored archers, yet fail to realize they cannot catch up to their speedy horses. They are soon killed off by their precision shots and superior marksmanship, leaving Dutch corpses to rot in the grounds of Egypt.

A curved sword hits a kite shield, and the Tuscan mercenary ducks down, pushes the shield forward and lunges his sword into the side of the Egyptian footman in front of him. He pierces through an opening in his chain armor underneath his left arm and pulls the sword back, then raises his left foot up and kicks the bleeding man back.

A knight loses his horse as an arrow lodges itself in its eye and pierces its head, causing him to fall down. Fortunately for the Austrian, he pulls himself out safely but encounters a group of Muslim footmen ready to kill him. They throw a few rocks at him as he tries to attack them, his heavy plate armor and chain shirt stopping any of his enemies from drawing his blood. The footmen holding spears slowly walk around the nobleman as he tries to frantically stop them, jumping forward and plunging his sword into the unarmored chest of one of them. Two men from behind hold the knight and pull him back to the sand, grabbing his sword away from his arm. The man holding the heavy European sword attempts to stab the knight through his chest but he remains unharmed. Almost completely berserk, the Georgian slave jumps at the knight and holds the pommel up, beating his helmet in and slowly distorting it, breaking through the Austrians' skull.

In the midst of battle you are pushed to the edges of the field as some of the smaller bands of men retreat on their own accord. A man dressed in fine clothes riding a steed unarmored and unarmed calls you on to meet the enemy on a different field. You are pushed back and agree to follow the man away from the main battle, claiming that the King of Hungary himself is fighting the Egyptians on a different front and he needs your aid.

-A rather posh looking advisor​

You follow the man for the rest of the day and away from the crusaders. A feeling of doubt slowly forms in your heart as you lose sight of the battleground and the man continues to draw you away. He says he is the Hungarian King's advisor and that he requires your aid, an escort to the grand city of Cairo to negotiate peace with the Egyptians. You are baffled as to the change in the man's goals, as it appears like he had lied to you earlier.

You find yourself among a few other men, some knights and others mere soldiers or even pilgrims that followed the Hungarian advisor on a different pretense. Dissent and unrest grows as you continue to follow the man the second day, now joined by a foreigner. They both speaking Arabic with each other, and you suspect they are hiding something from you. You have the chance to speak with your new brothers in arms as the journey to Cairo continues.

-A beautiful guide to the desert​

You stop for your second night away from the main force in a small village. Most of you sleep in the stables with the horses while some are lucky enough to sleep in the house. It seems like the Hungarian had paid for the lodging, but troubles arise as disturbing news reach the ears of one of the more educated men in the group. The Hungarian spoke with the guide about the main army being overtaken by the Muslims, and how most of the army is now awaiting to be ransomed back to Europe. The news incites the group against the Hungarian advisor, but before you could demand answers from the man you see the tavern some of you were sleeping in catching on fire. Chaos unfolds as angry villagers leave their homes at night and attack several of you. You quickly attempt to flee the village by following the Hungarian advisor.

You run away from the village at the middle of the night, the Hungarian advisor leading you away from the area. He tells you that the news of the main army being defeated change matters entirely and that now he will lead you back to the northern coast where you will be able to hire a boat to return to the Italian mainland.

On your way back to the coast you stop before a strange sight. A sole Mameluke fully armored soldier walking in your direction. Some of your prepare yourselves for battle as the Muslim approaches you.

 

[TheIronRuler]

Character Sheets...

Spoiler: Mr.Ivebeenframed

@Mr.Ivebeenframed
Name: Guillermo De Savini

Nationality: Venetian

Class: Scribe/translator

Equipment: Light brown robes, traveling pack with a few books on the Middle East, quill, ink, suture kit, bedroll, and a bloodied banner of his lord. On his body he has a satchel at his side which contains paper scrolls both used and unused. A pouch with a handful of coins. Also constantly at his side is a large walking stick made of a tough oak. Leather canteen.

Languages: Venetian, Arabic, Latin, basic German, broken English, and French swears.

Appearance: Guillermo has a bald head and blue eyes. He has a tan complexion and very skinny features. He is still fairly young-looking despite his bald head but his hands are thin and wiry from all the writing he's done.

Personality: Guillermo is a very eager fellow and is quite curious about the world around him. If he had the power to, he would travel around the world and write it down on his scrolls without thinking of it. He is quite friendly and he uses his friendliness to weasel his way out of certain situations if possible. Guillermo is quite sharp with his eyes and pays attention to his surrounding much more than he'd like to. He has an uncontrollable sense of curiosity and always prods or pokes his way to knowing what exactly he is touching. He is also very sociable and has a deep love of learning.

Bio: Guillermo was born to a large, wealthy, and very Catholic Venetian family and was exposed to the wonders of the world at such an early age. He would have been a knight or a sailor if it wasn't for a perpetual limp in his walking. So instead on embarking on adventures he dived into literature and breathing in the world from the comfort of his home. He learned how to read and write, and eventually learn other languages so he may speak to the foreign merchants that would frequent his father's workplace. Over the years, the limp has been getting better for Guillermo to hobble rather than rely on a walking stick until a thug mugged him of gold coins. Angry, Guillermo bought a solid oak walking stick and beat the thug with it after some help from the local guards. Guillermo made a plethora of friends over his life and one of which would hire his services. Lord Salazar Allierno, a lord from the Kingdom of Cyprus, hired Guillermo to write his biography in exchange that he would see the world. Guillermo took the job in a heartbeat and already an accomplished scribe, it would be an easy job while living his dream of seeing the world. Guillermo stayed in Cyprus for sometime enjoying the lovely island and recording everything the lord did. Then everything changed when the Pope called for another crusade to the Holy Lands. Lord Allierno was called into service by the Pope and Guillermo gingerly left Cyprus for the Crusade because of his service to the Lord.

Spoiler: Ryans Solution

@Ryans Solution
Name: Ryan Kynwrath
Nationality: Tuscan
Character Class: poacher/hunter
Equipment:Kynsbow(Family Pyramid Bow), Arrows, Leather Reinforced Cloth Armour, Basic Rations, Snares, Two Water Skins, Bedroll, Flint and Steel, Haversack, holly and mistletoe, quiver, serrated dagger.
Language/s: Latin and Venetian.
Appearance: Brown Hair, Green Eyes, Lightly Tanned Skin, Tall, Average Weight.
Clothing: Light Tan Desert Robes, Light Brown Tunic, Brown Breeches, Dark Brown Hardened Leather Cuirass, and Dark Brown Hardened Leather Jackboots.
Personality: Cold and calculating to wild and irrational, anywhere in between depending on circumstance, usually concise in conversation. When faced with threat of inquisition he buries his memories to a point he may even forget them. Becomes protective of his comrades when they are faced with inquisition however, after seeing what happened to his family. Deals with offensive measures in a cold and concise manner, while dealing with defensive measures in a wild and irrational manner. This applies to both combat and conversation. Dark thoughts constantly and consistently cloud his thoughts when dealing with the church.
Faith: Practicing Catholic, Secret Pagan.
Bio: At an early age showed extreme adeptness with a bow and hunting, was secretely raised by his parents in the paganist/druidic tradition, his parents died in inquisition by the papacy (him being deemed uncorrupted however and thus survived). He took is famlies bow after he had eventually learned of sorceries in the holy land and desired to learn of them to emulate his ancestors, Joined a well-regarded mercenary company (well-regarded for mercenaries) and was moved to the holy land after aquiring light combat experience, before leaving he discovered a tome inside his house detailing several different rituals, he has begun commiting them to memory with the intent to master them and expand his knowledge by dabbling in these old magics slowly attempting a resurrection of the old religion. (He is descended from "redeemed" barbarians.)

Spoiler: Tsurugi

@Tsurugi
Name: Heinrich Hauqwitz

Nationality: Austrian

Class: Knight

Equipment: 'Ruhm' (Family Longsword), Medium Armour (Mail), Metal Shield.

Language/s: German (Upper-Austrian Nobility Dialect), High German, Latin.

Appearance: 5'8", and roughly 170lbs Heinrich is a well built average looking man. He has light brown hair and blue eyes. On his face, right above his left eye is a hooked scar (looks like a U just above the eyebrow). When in battle, he wears his well shined Mail armour, and when outside of battle he wears his noble garb.

Personality: Heinrich is a mild tempered nobleman. He loves to drink and joke, and isn't very serious unless it is required of him. Get's along well with soldiers and commoners but still holds himself above them as a nobleman. Seeing himself as the definition of a Knight of Austria, he carries himself, whenever possible, with honor and sees it as one of the most important traits a person can posess.

Bio: Heinrich Haugwitz is the eldest son of a high class Lord from Northern Austria. At 25 years of age, Heinrich has been training with his family sword Ruhm (Glory), since he had the strength to lift it. The sword used to belong to his father, and his father's father before that, until it was given to Heinrich when he came of age.

Heinrich is only slightly religious, not as die hard as many of his fellow noblemen, and enters battles mostly for the glory it brings to his name and family. Heinrich entered the Fifth Crusade to win Glory and retake the Holy Land.

Spoiler: Redryhno

@Redryhno
Name: Khaled Massri

Nationality: Egyptian(originally Luxor, but now Cairo)

Class: Knight(Mamluk to be specific)

Equipment: horsebow(horn) and arrows, saddle axe,sabre, chainmail, horse, prayer rug embroidered with an arrow pointing on one side, a hoof and chisel, oil and sabre, and comb and water pitcher. all of them are both decorations of who he is as well as reminders

Language/s:Latin, Arabic, French(speak, but is not as adept at reading.)

Appearance:very tall for the day in age, 6 feet, and strong, 160 lbs. He has dark eyes, and darker hair, and has a single scar on his cheek, running from just beside his nose to ear from a training lesson.

Personality: Devout Muslim, and intends to follow all the doctrines to the best of his ability in conjunction with Furusiyya, the mamluke knightly code, and his own moral compass.

Bio: Born in Luxor to poverty and disease, he was sold to a trader who then took him to Cairo, where he was again bought and trained to become a Mamluk and guard the body of his master. He traveled with him from Cairo, intending to arrive at Jerusalem to wait out the destruction that was going to be caused at the hands of the Christian lords. They were ambushed by desert peoples and his lord and retinue were killed while Khaled was half a day behind making sure they weren't being followed. Now he's simply making his way back to Cairo, where he intends to board a ship heading far from here. Perhaps become a Sultan in his own right.

Spoiler: Kasten

@Kasten
Name: Samuel Kateem
Nationality:Flemish
Class:Soldier
Equipment: A sword on his belt, studded leather armor, and a mail glove on his right hand for when he's in a battle with his sword. He has a medium crossbow as well. His belt has pouches for his money (very little), and he carries a few very sharp knives with him for skinning or carving on the road, water, most of his other needs are met by the army of his lord-Knight.
Languages: Flemish, Latin
Appearance: Sam is of Flemish decent, with dirty blond hair, tanned white skin, and very green eyes common to his people. His hair is unruly and curly, but he keeps it fairly short. He wears a cross on his neck prominently, each segment seems to have slightly different craft-marks, and on the back, names are etched into it. The main body, centerline of the cross has his wife's name, and each 'arm' has the name of his sister, and best friend back home respectively. He stands to a full 5'7, and he's built with muscle indicative of long service through many disputes of nobles.
Personality: He's social, but strong willed. He speaks properly, from doing guard duty for his various lords throughout his years. The man is very devoted to his loved ones, speaking only good of them. He seems to miss them dearly, and freely admits it. He brings this loyalty to everybody, especially those he serves. He hopes that after the Crusades, he will be given some sort of reward or position to retire happily on. He has a strong drive, and encourages others around him to share it with him.
Bio: Samuel is a skilled soldier, highly capable with a variety of blades from daggers to swords, and a good aim with a crossbow. He's also competent at unarmed boxing. He has served the family of his lord from early life, and was brought in as a soldier at a very young age. When the Knight that was his Lord went on the crusades, he selected Samuel to be one of his captains, a duty Sam took very seriously. As a child, Sam was born to a hunter and a farmgirl, and his father was training him as a hunter too when he was taken into the service of the local lord for a war. He showed valor, and was a successful soldier. This standard of service continued, him having gone on a few relatively minor crusades in that time, he eventually became very fluent in both his own language and Latin, having learnt to read and write both in order to better perform his officer duties. This is to be his last crusade, last campaign. One last great service to his Lord before he can rest, as of late in secret, he's beginning to tire of killing and bloodshed. Samuel is a christian, and he prays, although he is not as devout as a holy knight.

Spoiler: RaNDM G

@RaNDM G
Name: Adrien Lefevre
Nationality: Hyeres, Southern France
Class: Soldier

Equipment:
- Mail shirt, steel helmet and gauntlets, and leather boots with steel-plating for protection. They are too warm to wear in the desert climate, yet valuable enough to hold onto for trade. His steel armor is bundled on his back.
- A longsword. The blade is battered from repeated use, but still serviceable.
- A dagger, given to him by his sister and properly cared for. It is the only item he truly treasures and hesitates to use it in battle.
- A buckler. Sturdy and light enough for Adrien to wield more effectively than a heavy shield.

Languages: French, Venetian, Arabic (some phrases)

Appearance: Young at twenty-three years and usually energetic, but marching miles in the desert has worn him down. Short blond hair. Soft features. Piercing heterochromic eyes (one blue, one green). At 5'8", he would not stand out in a crowd.

His lips are chapped and cracked, a sign of dehydration. His face and torso are sunburnt. Bandages are wrapped around his feet to support his ankles. In the fight before his capture, a swordsman slashed at Adrien's face. A diagonal scar crosses up from his right cheek over his eye and forehead. His body is covered in sweat and dirt, making him filthy even by English standards.

Years of travelling with his father introduced Adrien to alchemy, which he has dabbled in on occasion. It is not something he is particularly skilled at, but he knows enough to know when something may have hidden value. His hands and forearms are stained light black from his craft.

Torn brown brigandine. Loose fitting grey trousers swept in desert sand and frayed at the cuffs. Caligae sandals on his feet to help make walking easier.

He is not strong or fast by any means, but years of training and fighting has made him tough, wiry, and despite his current appearance, healthy.

Personality: Businesslike. In conversation, warm and confident in himself and others. In battle, cold and distances himself from others. Under stress, prone to complaining and bouts of sarcasm.

Bio: Adrien was an accomplished sailor, having navigated the Mediterranean several times with his father, a wealthy merchant. His father's business was responsible for a shipment of black pepper, treasures, and tapestries from Egypt to Al-Andalus. The shipment was lost at sea, and his family found themselves indebted to the Ayyubid's. Adrien joined a professional army as a means to repay this debt.

Travelling deeper into the Horn of Africa presents Adrien with a rare opportunity. Aside from acquiring plunder and trading with the indigenous people, the chance to return home with new sources of black pepper, precious metals, medicine, and spices will be more than enough to secure his family's fortune.

Spoiler: Corporal Yakob

@Corporal Yakob
Character Name: Sir Jacob of Leciestershire

Nationality: English, Midlands

Class: Knight

Equipment:

- A deep fullered arming sword, 29 inches long and blessed by the Bishop of Lincoln. The blade is well-crafted and well-maintained and is Jacob's most treasured posession. Worn in a plain leather scabbard on the left hip.
- A steel misericorde, 9 inches long and worn in a short sheath fastened to the side of the right boot.
- A thick wooden kite shield with steel boss, painted with Jacob's coat of arms: a rearing Dragon in purple on a black background, beneath a fiery sun (situated where the boss is).
- A sturdy if untested ring-mail hauberk, steel great helm and plated gauntlets with knee length leather boots. A sleeveless surcoat adorns the chest, white with a Crusaders cross.
- Simple cloth shirt and leggings.

Language: English and a few basic phrases in German and French, picked up during the travels to the Crusade's target (native speakers can easily tell he isn't fluent).

Appearance: Considered almost freakishly tall at 6ft 2, Sir Jacob stands head and shoulders over the average Medieval soldier, swamp green eyes sunk into the pale and pointed aristocratic features of his face. A gaunt and skinny individual, his head is crowned with short cut black hair and a thick moustache and trimmed beard of the same colour dominates his face. His height and features belies his youth, a mere 21 years of age and his physical appearance is relatively unscathed considering his profession, if worn and tanned from the desert heat as well as bruised from constant riding. A few scars from bladed weapons across his chest and right arm prove he has been blooded in battle but Jacob has been remarkably fortunate in avoiding lasting injury.

Personality: "Were it not for his love of the blade, the young master would be a fine diplomat"-so said an advisor at his father's court when asked what he thought of the then young Jacob whom has always had a knack for getting along with others whilst concealing his true intentions. Educated and well-spoken but posessed of a mistrusting nature and ambition for greater prestige, Jacob is the sort of man to cheerfully greet and converse with a fellow while keeping a dagger behind his back. This should not be interpretated as spineless two-facing as Jacob is pragmatic enough to fight alongside allies for as long as need be. As of late however, the young knight has been somewhat struck by the idealistic notion of brothers in arms against the heathen.....

Bio: Born into a wealthy noble family, Jacob's early life unfolded as one would expect for a member of such a high station: hunting in the morning with his father, practising swordplay and riding at lunch and recieving an education in the evening to best prepare him for the ardous duties of Feudalism. He recieved attention from his parents (at least when his father wasn't away fighting for the new King in France) and all really was right in the world for the child. However, in 1209 his father returned from the disastarous Normandy campaigns a crippled and bitter man and soon began to lash out against his family. Over the next few years the family's wealth was squandered on drink and superflous investments as unscrupolous merchants and advisors sought to take advantage of weakness. Unable to stand a decaying court any longer, Sir Jacob pawned what posessions he could and made for France, intent on fighting for the King or a lord in need of soldiers or something, anything to escape the desparing apathy of his home and bring purpose to his life. After several seasons of half-hearted campaigning under an English lord who lacked the will to decisively fight for Normandy, news from passing German mercenaries of a new Crusade sparked Sir Jacob's interest and he set out for the holy land, his heart fired by the idea of reclaiming Christendom.....

Spoiler: VonKlaw

@VonKlaw
Name: Falk Anselm
Nationality: Austrian
Class: Soldier

Equipment:
- A voulge, slightly too large for Falk, that serves as his main weapon. It is fairly opulently decorated, having belonged to Falk's Lord before he replaced it. Despite some wear, it is in surprisingly good condition for its age - out of respect for its previous owner, Falk has gone to great expense to ensure it remains in optimum condition. It has become a point of arguement between Falk and his Lord's son, who believes it should have been given to him.
- A short sword, slightly too small. It was given to Falk when he was younger, and now appears more like an overly long dagger than a sword when he weilds it. Despite numerous requests by various blacksmiths, he refuses to have it replaced or altered.
- A large, well made kite shield bearing the heraldry of Lord Hest. It is fairly well damaged from blocking numerous blows. Fairly standard construction, though Falk is convinced it is blessed and refuses to part with it - an act liable to get him killed if it fails him. Along with the sword, this serves as Falk's "backup plan" if his main weapon is disarmed or lost.
- A battered and poorly maintained crossbow. Falk is more likely to use this as a club than a ranged weapon. He has only trained with it when forced to, and this shows in his poor skill in its usage.
- A chainmail vest and steel cap (covering the top of his head but leaving his face fully exposed), with leather armour covering nearly everything else. Falk is lucky enough to work for a Lord smart enough to realise that a dead or crippled man is no use guarding him or his family, and has outfitted him accordingly.

Language/s:
German
Hungarian (basic words like Hello and Thank You only - it would be apparent fairly quickly that it is not his native language from the way he pronounces words)

Appearance: Falk is a bald, causasian mad with a full and unshaven facial hair of a jet black colour, flecked with shades of grey and white from age, and tired, navy blue eyes. Despite being what would be considered middle-age for the period, the years of vigilance and sleepless nights caused by his proffesion have made him appear somewhat older in appearance, which shows noticably on his face (particularly under his eyes) and on his hands, though he remains fairly well built through a mixture of disiplined regime of training and exercise, and the physical requirements of his work. He if of average height, blending fairly well into crowds with no exceptionally conspicuous features - though he has numerous work related scars on his chest, arms and face, none of them are large enough to be noticed without a closer inspection. When not geared up for combat, Falk wears plain and modest clothing.

Personality: A friendly but cynical man, Falk's personality has been shaped greatly by his proffesion. Despite being fairly calm whenever he isn't fighting, he is constantly vigilant of threats and carries himself with a duty focused demeanor that can sometimes be misinterpreted as coldness. Possessing a good sense of humour and wit where he lacks outright intelligence, Falk has taught himself to train and learn where natural cleverness cannot carry him. He guides himself with three simple principles: honour, discipline and willpower.
Recently, however, Falk has become more irritable - his mind is torn between two vastly differing viewpoints, and dark thoughts have begun to cloud his judgement...

Bio: A career soldier and bodyguard. Falk has no recollection of his mother, who he has been informed died of an unknown disease when he was a baby, and was orphaned at a young age when his father died protecting his master, Lord Hest. Feeling a depth of gratitude to his slain bodyguard, Lord Hest ensured that Falk was looked after and trained in the way of combat like his father, an education that he took to with relish. Coming of age, Falk swore an oath of loyalty to the man who has become his father-figre, and became his new bodyguard.
After years of service, Lord Hest is now aging and decripid, barely able to leave his bed (let alone his fiefdom). Falk has been assigned to protect his Lord's only son, Gerfried Hest - an arrogant and infantile man more interested in wealth and opulence than those he is sworn to watch over. They have clashed on numerous occasions, with Falk disliking Gerfrieds attitude to life and his duty to his father.
Despite numerous suggestions that it is an incredibly bad idea , Lord Hest Jr. has insisted that it is his duty to join the newly declared crusade. While Falk is more than happy to do so, being a devout Catholic and enjoying the idea of testing his ability in combat, he does not accept Gerfied's reasoning for joining the crusade as being the true reason. Out of duty to Lord Hest, he will follow his master's son to hell and back...even if he hates the man.

Spoiler: Holy_Handgrenade

@Holy_Handgrenade
Name: Maximilian Carpegna Da firenze
Nationality: Italian
Class: Merchant/Nobleman
Age: 21
Equipment: A lot of gold when compared to a Knight or Soldier but nothing ridiculous, A small Silver handled dagger. Also an odd assortment of trinkets he may use for trading if the gold ran out. While also having a pouch containing Alchemical ingredients and the odd tome or two on Alchemy, while also having one black book which appears plain on the outside. Finally a quill, ink and some parchment.
Language/s: Fluent in Venetian and Latin while being proficient but not fluent in Arabic.
Appearance: A short man of slender build, with handsome features, Maximilian has gray-green eyes. Maximilian has a well groomed look to him having short cropped brown hair and a clean shaven face. He looks naively young with only one imperfection being a scar above his eyebrow which most would think is from a battle wound but it's a memoir from his privileged lifestyle being the only danger to cause it was hitting his head on the table while a babe. His clothes are fine and on the chest of his surcoat,his personal emblem the hawk sits there. Though he does have a more plain change of clothes if I more discrete approach is needed.
Personality: He is intellectual and well informed on world. skilled in the art of diplomacy and intrigue. He is a schemer, dreamer and a double crosser using anyone to his advantage to further himself, he has a steadfast resolution never to be bettered. He thrives in times of chaos or disquiet that's when he is at his sharpest and at his best and having fun, the only reason he entered the crusades.
Bio: Maximilian was born to a minor Lord in Florence Italy living a rather sheltered life though being regarded as the runt of the court due to his parents low position and his lack of martial skill. Over the years he vowed to become better than his lineage working to forge friendships to his advantage and purchase various investments his plans were succeeding and his plans on this lay in him investing all his money on him capitalizing in the Holy Land. Though that was destroyed when his force made up of some country men but mostly mercenaries were mostly killed on there failed assault on Egypt. Maximilian will do anything to gain power. He is an expert in diplomacy,trade,intrigue and Alchemy. He has dabbled slightly in the Dark Arts and owns one tome on it though he is resistant to admit that the dark arts exist or work.

Spoiler: ThreeWords

@ThreeWords
Character Name: William Harth
Nationality: Englishman
Class: Soldier
Equipment: Longbow and French poignard, leather armour, and an iron helmet.
Carries with him a bedroll, flask and knife (distinct from a dagger in that is a tool for cutting, not a weapon for stabbing)
Languages: English and French, broken German.
Appearance: Will is thickset, a little taller than average, and was ugly even before he was scarred. His nose is blunt and broken, and his slash of a mouth manages to make any expression look unpleasant, but above them his eyes are sharp and glittering, watchful and observant. His hair is a dirty blond, and he has several scars and notches carved from him, most notable a mark on his jaw.
His movement is strangely graceful; it speaks of consideration and conservation of energy.
Personality: William is not a man for whom war has come as difficulty; he is pragmatic enough to deal with the savagery required for survival, wise enough to know when to be loyal and when to melt away, and astute enough to judge when a dagger in the back might be profitable, and when that back might be his.
He is not, however, a cruel man, nor does he enjoy causing other men woe, but his life has been mostly one of necessity, and he is not ashamed to do as he must. Some might call him an utter bastard, but he simply thinks of himself of a realist.
Of course, he does have some principles; he does his best not to incur the wrath of the Lord, and if he gives his word in earnest it is not easily broken. He is not a thief, and he prefers not to kill; while often stoic he has a dry humour that allows him to make good company, if people can get past his cynicism.
Bio: William was the son of Andrew Harth, a manual labourer in London, in 1180. His childhood provided little in the way of education but much in the way of lessons, but in an effort to escape he signed on into one of the Lionhearts armies to fight Philip II in 1196. He fought for Richard at the Battle of Gisors, and after the truce wandered as a mercenary, mostly for the French. He continued fighting in Europe for more than decade and a half, and in 1213 helped organise the Toulousian militia under Simon de Montfort at Murret, after which he joined the Crusading forces as Pope Innocent III instigated the Fifth Crusade.

 

[TheIronRuler]

Major NPCs and plot synopsis so far.

 

[Anti-American Eagle]

Throughout Damietta Ryan had been playing his role as an archer until the arrow storms began.
He had watched as his comrades in arms were murdered around him, being forced to retreat, as the last surving man of his battle company he panicked at the sight of the dead men. He saw the unarmoured man call for help and rushed to his aid, having no other choice than to follow this man or die with the army, he took the safer choice and followed him.

Ryan spent most of the travelling time in silence, answering most questions that came at him straightforwardly, otherwise lying when required to protect himself. When they had reached the tavern he had paid for a small room and had rested in it until the town attacked. He snuck out of the tavern when this happened and had tailed the group until he had cleared the town, joining them again afterwards.

When the mameluke approached he slipped his dagger into a spot with easy access and little to no visibility on his person in case the muslim attacked.

 

[VonKlaw]

Falk had been following his master as usual, an act made harder to achieve by the fact that he insisted on rushing headlong into swayths of enemies at every opportunity. He remembered disembowling an unarmoured militiaman, a typical swift and single blow, that had been attempting to sneak up on Hest Jr.

And then nothing. He remembered being hit by something, presumably a rock since it hadn't caused any permanent damage beyond a rather large dent in his cap. When he came to, stumbling around half-conscious, he had somehow ended up following the Hungarian advisor. He wasn't entirely sure why.

***

As the mameluke approached the group, Falk gripped his voulge tightly. Why was this man by himself? And what did he want? And what the hell had happened to Gerfried?

 

[Corporal Yakob]

Sir Jacob's dreams of becoming a hero of Christendom had been frustrated by the low-paced action of the seige of Damietta: forced into unwilling idleness by the nature of the investment, the English Knight had been left with little more to do then swing his sword in the drill yards and attempt to pick up some of the various languages around him. Then more misfortune had struck as allied Christian forces stormed the largest tower defending Damietta, robbing Jacob of the glory he was entitled to! When Lord Galvini had mustered his troops to march south and attack Cario, Jacob lept at the chance to fight, determined to avoid spending his Crusade sitting in the blazing heat around a series of impregnable castles.

Then battle had been joined when Galvini's men had met fresh Moslem forces and everything went wrong.

Unhorsed by a heathen arrow, his mail rent and torn by furious sword blows and barely avoiding a crushed helm from a mace, Jacob had been driven away from the main body of Crusaders by Mamelukes. Used to Norman farmers, he had been rudely awakened by the ferocity of the infidel soldiers and had barely managed to survive, fighting his way towards a small group of Crusaders whose leader, a finely dressed man, offered some sort of cohesion amidst the chaos.

The Knight had kept to himself whilst following the group, partly mulling over the realities of fighting in the Holy Lands and partly defeated by language, before suffering the indignity of sleeping in the barn once the group had a village.

---

When the Mameluke approached, Sir Jacob's grip of his sword remained tight though his mind rushed to different conclusions over the Moslem's purpose: a scout for a larger body? A deserter?

 

[RaNDM G]

Daybreak. Two men stand upon a small fortress, watching as an Egyptian force assembles on the horizon. One man, a knight, a corporal of the mercenary force defending the post. The other a soldier, a lancepesade, the knight's subordinate and friend.

The soldier is nervous. He speaks to the knight in Venetian.

"You are sure he is true to his word?"

"Lord Allierno has paid the Captain for our service. Our company will join his men and attack the Moor."

The soldier shakes his head in disapproval.

"I am not sure we can hold this position, Sir. We have never faced an army of this size before."

"Relax my friend," the knight responds. "We have defended this ground for two months. The Moor have attacked us five times, and each time our arrows, our spears and swords have driven them away. They will not route us from this spot. This will be an easy fight. I assure you, this will be an easy fight."

"I trust your judgement Marcel, as always."

Marcel places a reassuring hand on the soldier's shoulder.

"Adrien. Do you truly believe we will lose this battle?"

"No Sir."

"Then what is it that ails you?"

"I do not know. Perhaps it is only my nerves."

"Have faith in our Father, Adrien. Our faith is what will carry us through this day."

The knight takes his hand off Adrien's shoulder.

"Look at me. I will not lie to you, the wretches are as numerous as rats. It will be a long fight, but our victory will be celebrated at home. Fight well and your family's name will be restored."

Marcel pats Adrien on the back.

"Rile the men. We will strike now while the day is young."

"Yes Sir."

Only an hour later, the band of mercenaries stands with the Lord's men and faces the enemy. They are not as numerous as Adrien had thought. Indeed, it seems as though the Venetians outnumber the Egyptian force.

Lord Allierno shouts to his men.

"Forward! Push them out!"

The company rushes forward and meets the Moors at spear point. The Egyptians' shouts of anger turn to cries of pain and fear as the men in front are run through. Adrien smiles. This will be an easy fight.

The sound of hooves gallop on the Venetians' left flank. A soldier shouts.

"Ambush!"

Arrows fly from the side, surprising the band of mercenaries. Many cry in shock as they are hit. Others die and crumple to the ground. The living trip over bodies of the fallen as they rush forward.

Adrien stops in his tracks, and in the nick of time. An arrow whizzes past his face, hitting the man next to him. Marcel yelps as the arrow punctures his lung.

Encouraged by their cavalry, the Moors break through the front line and cut into the Venetian ranks. Adrien breaks away from the front and flees, but is overtaken by two horsemen. The archer rides close with his bow drawn and fires. Adrien holds up his buckler and deflects the arrow, the force of the impact spraining his wrist. He slashes at the horse's side, severing the man's leg.

The other horseman gallops to his comrade's aid. He swings his club at Adrien as he rides, hitting him in the back of the head. The blow knocks him unconscious. He crumples to the ground.

Adrien breathes in the cool night air and opens his eyes. For a moment he wonders if he is alive or dead. He touches the back of his head. It feels warm. He looks at the blood on his fingers and makes up his mind. He is indeed still alive.

Adrien pushes himself off the ground and sits up on his knees. He looks over the battlefield.

The company has been routed. None were spared.

A few of the Moorish infantry remain, walking among the dead, driving their pikes down into any unlucky sod still breathing.

He ducks low and picks up his helmet, looking into the metal surface as he holds it in his hands. The blow was more than adequate enough to dash his skull. It is a miracle the helmet stood up to such force. He stashes it behind him and quietly slips away.

Adrien breaks into a run as soon as he is a safe distance away. He moves as fast as his legs can carry him, putting as much distance between him and the battlefield as he can. It is at least an hour before he comes across a band of friendly Crusaders retreating to another front.

***

Adrien grasps the hilt of his sword. He shouts at the stranger in Arabic.

"Hark! Have you come in war or friendship?!"

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

Guillermo stayed in the rear of the battle lines like most of his stay here in the Holy lands. There he watched the chaos unfold from one ambush to another and even more bloodshed. He had tried to watch his lord's banner, and wrote down how the battle went but even from here it looked the battle was no easy victory as much as they have hoped. The fight was harsh and bloody but most importantly the heat was sweltering. Guillermo wrote feverishly on his paper scrolls, filling them from side to side with writings and no time for proofing.

Then, much to the horror of the men in the rear, small bands of their soldiers were retreating from the battle and one of them was a standard bearer for the Knights of Cyprus. He fell off his horse with an arrow sticking through his side and Guillermo rushed to his side, seeing if he can do anything to aid him.

"Lord Allierno... he is slain.... flee Guillermo... this battle is lost...." The knight said before he breathed his last breath. Guillermo looked up at the banner of the Lord Allierno and snatched it off pole. He stuffs it into his pack as more crusaders pass him in an effort to run away from the battle. An arrow whizzes past his head and now he decided that it was time to leave. He sighted some lightly armored Egyptian Cavalry cut through the swath of retreating men not too far from him so using his walking stick, he hobbles to his tent to fetch as much as he can before leaving.

While trying to get away he spotted an advisor with a small group of crusaders along with him. He asked if he could join, offering his service in being a translator in such a hostile land. Luckily, he accepted.

____________________________________________________________

Guillermo looked up from his walking to see a lone Mameluke walking towards them. Initially he stood behind the more well-armed men in his group but he saw something different about this Egyptian. He leaned on his walking stick, eyes on the Mameluke wondering what his plan was.

 

[Redryhno]

The past few weeks had been one avoidance after another for Khaled. He had stayed behind to ensure his master's enemies did not follow, only to be killed by one of the Great Saladin's son's armies. He'd come upon the scene of slaughter and turned back to enter Cairo as a failure, but living long enough to face his shame had been taxing. The European Crusaders had again rampaged across the land, killing anyone unlike themselves and burning what they did not understand, Khaled had strayed far from armies on both sides, as he was Mameluke, and being without a master labeled him worse than a deserter.

Although he followed Furusiyya and Mohammed's teachings as best he could, his faith had begun to wane as of late and his horse was feeling the effects of their loss just as much, if not more keenly, than himself. He had stopped riding his stallion many days before, to save him as much as he could for when they really needed to get away. And it had come to this.

A group of Christians he had wandered into because of his own mistake. He saw more than a few glares in them, and more hands on weapons than he could count. These invaders were ignorant of the greater teachings of the world, but they came in numbers and with leaders that understood what they were doing. They didn't have the finesse of true warriors, but they did have men in full armored suits that protected them from more punishment than any one man should be allowed to take.

"Hark! Have you come in war or friendship?!"

He looked to see a man in bandages come forth, sword sheathed, but tightly held. He most assuredly didn't know that he had just asked if Khaled came in brutality or love, but the message got across. Judging from his appearance and his own dealings, Khaled answered in French,"I come in neither, Christian. I simply wish to travel past you and towards the setting sun."

 

[RaNDM G]

Adrien relaxes his grip, but keeps his left hand on his scabbard.

"Apologies. You did not greet yourself in custom."

He raises his right hand and points West.

"There is only desert that way."

 

[ThreeWords]

The battle was going badly; anyone could see that. Had they a strong position, the the Christians could have relied on their weighty but resilient gear to weather the heathen storm, but now the knights were in disarray and the enemy's light cavalry were closing in like the scavenging birds of the dessert.

It was no place for a man with a bow to tarry, and William began to consider what he would do if things got any worse. Almost in reply, a single horseman emerged from the melee, looking confused and with a dent in his helm looking like it came from a Venetian mace. A shaft had him off his horse, and quick as you like William recovered his arrow and vaulted into the saddle.

From higher up, the battle only looked worse for the Army of God, and William resolved to advance on his good fortune. Kicking the horse into a gallop, he quit the battlefield with all speed.

Soon, a group came into view, looking to be a band of Europeans. All looked tense, and perhaps violence was in the air, but in the aftermath of a battle, any company was better than waiting to be caught on your own. And so he had come into the company of the strange advisor, and without any Arabic he was forced to follow the man for his very survival in this hostile land.

---

The mamaluk looked wary, but did not seem cowed by the Europeans. Keeping an arrow notched, he listened tot he conversation.

As he heard French spoken, he kept his mouth shut. However, it was worth bearing in mind that if the mamaluk lived, they would not rely on their strange leader to guide them through this land.

 

[RaNDM G]

Adrien hears the archer nock his arrow.

Fantastic. Seems we start a fight wherever we go.

He turns his attention back to the Moor.

"You still wish to travel West?"

 

[Tsurugi]

Battle had been joined. The armies clashed. From his vantage atop his horse, Heinrich could see the battle begin to go poorly. Hope was not lost, the most glory was won from battles where things weren't going your way.

Ruhm quickly dispatched an unarmoured peasant at his horse's flank. The man had bravery, but too much to attempt battle with a fully armoured and mounted knight. Another swipe of Ruhm, and another common soldier dispatched. He admired these men for trying to best him, but their was little glory in killing peasants, he needed a tougher opponent. Not too far in front of Henrich an enemy on horseback was engaging three men on foot. One attempted to flank the horse and received a slash to the face for his trouble. The two remaining tried to pressure the horseman, and drag him off his horse but the mounted fighter was too skilled for that. He kept his distance, slashing if either of his opponents came too close. As the two soldiers attempted another rush at the horse, the Mameluke suddenly reared his horse catching one of the soldiers in the head with a hoof. The last soldier was dispatched with a quick slash of the sword.

The entire encounter had only lasted roughly a minute, but it had seemed longer to Heinrich. He was a fool for sitting still for so long but at least he had found a worthy opponent. Spurring his horse forward he gave a shout, challenging his opponent. The man turned toward Heinrich, but just as Heinrich readied himself for the rider to rider conflict he felt himself tumbling through the air. Landing chest first in the dirt, the wind was knocked out of him. He heard the horse whinny in pain, and the sound of it crashing to the ground accompanied by breaking bone. A man set upon Heinrich before he had time to recover, slashing for his neck. Heinrich rolled to safety the man's sword whistling through the air. By the time the man pressed his next attack Heinrich was on his feet, shield at the ready. He caught the blow shifting his weight to shove Ruhm through the man's chest.

As Heinrich wrenched his sword free, and the body slumped to the ground, the sound of hoofs came from behind. Not very honourable of his opponent to set upon him like this, but what could he expect from these heathens. Twisting quickly, Heinrich brought his kite shield in front of his head. The blow surprised him with its strength, wrenching the shield from his grasp, sending it flying over his head. The horseman pulled his mount around, kicking the horse in to another attack. Pivoting at the last second, Heinrich ducked and slashed at the horses legs. It whinnied in pain, as Heinrich's horse had done only minutes before. This rider was not so lucky as his horse's full weight crushed him as they both met the ground.

Picking up his shield, Heinrich wiped his brow. His helmet had been lost in the tumble from his horse and he had no idea where it had landed. A fellow knight bumped in to him as he ran, in the opposite direction away from battle. Heinrich called to the man in their native tongue, "Where are you going, sir? The battle is this way."

The Knight did not stop as he yelled back, "We have lost, there is only slaughter in that direction."

Sure enough Heinrich watched as his comrades were being routed. Men fled and were chopped down by the pursuing enemies. How had this happened? He felt the urge to stay, to battle until he could no more. There was no honour in defeat, but to rush to ones own death was foolish. He followed the direction of his fellow Knight, they would regroup and regain their honour yet this day.

Heinrich spotted a group of what appeared to be Crusaders. The leader was a fine dressed man, a noble of some sort. This man would be of import, so Heinrich decided to join him. Perhaps he would be able to bring the army together.

--

They had been travelling together for two days now. After last night, with the attack from the town, the group had set out again. Heinrich was disappointed that the finely dressed man had no intentions of gathering the armies back together and instead they were fleeing back to their homes. The armies were scattered and fragmented anyway, not enough men left to fight on.

They noticed the Mameluke approaching, though it seemed he hadn't noticed the group until he was quite close. Perhaps he was lost in thought, still disoriented from the battle two days past. Heinrich kept his hand on Ruhm's pommel as one from the group addressed the Mameluke. There was no fear, what could one horseless Mameluke do to a group of this size?

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

Guillermo heard French words escape the Egyptian's mouth and almost immediately he thought of the heathen in a new light. Normally Arabic was the only language on their tongues but this one was different. He was intrigued by this Mameluke and slowly stepped from behind the armored men. Guillermo spoke up to the group and raised his free arm, then lowered them down.

"Lower your weapons, brothers. Do you not see this man seeks no quarrel? Otherwise he would have charged at us blindly like his other kin. This one is different, it is easy to see if you aren't blinded by hate or contempt." Guillermo looked to the Mameluke and spoke up in Arabic.

"If you seek passage then I can only warn you that there are more of us, Christians, behind this very group that may not take kindly to a lonely Mameluke in the desert with a French tongue." Guillermo said, although even he wasn't sure if there was any Christians left after the battle but he saw some bands of their bretheren flee in a number of directions. He just hoped that the Mameluke would not see through his bluff. Then Guillermo drew his leather canteen, still with some water he gathered while at the village. "Here, you seem tired and parched."

He walked forward with his walking stick in one hand and his canteen with the other. It was obvious Guillermo wasn't armed but all he cared for was that the Mameluke would not think lesser of them although he probably already has considering his group's actions towards him.

 

[Redryhno]

"If you seek passage then I can only warn you that there are more of us, Christians, behind this very group that may not take kindly to a lonely Mameluke in the desert with a French tongue."

"It is nice to have at least one of you Christians know a tongue other than your own, though perhaps you would prefer," He switched to Latin,"Latin? It has appeared to be the one language that you Christians share with us, your command of the French tongue is broken at best. As for how many of there that you are, it would appear that many of your company are wounded, you are not a vanguard for an army." He looked them over again,"You are deserters, am I right? I travel to Cairo, where I may be held accountable for my crimes, you are fleeing Great Saladin's bastard son's greed, are you not?"

 

[RaNDM G]

Adrien mutters to Ryan.

"I have been speaking in Arabic this whole time, and he speaks with the scribe instead. Fantastic."

He hears the stranger speak in the tongue of his church. Shame he never bothered to learn Latin.

"What is he saying now?"

 

[Anti-American Eagle]

Ryan mutters to Adrien.

"He is travelling to Cairo, he believes we are deserters of the siege."

Ryan begins to translate when needed for the other party members.

 

[Tsurugi]

Heinrich kept his firmly gripped on Ruhm's hilt. Marmalukes were not reputable soldiers because they charged blindly in to enemy masses with no intelligence. He had enough honour to admit that his enemy had the capacity to be cunning.

The beginning of the conversation between the scribe and the Marmaluke passed through Heinrich's ears unrecognized, but then they switched to Latin.

"Latin? It has appeared to be the one language that you Christians share with us, your command of the French tongue is broken at best. As for how many of there that you are, it would appear that many of your company are wounded, you are not a vanguard for an army." He looked them over again,"You are deserters, am I right? I travel to Cairo, where I may be held accountable for my crimes, you are fleeing Great Saladin's bastard son's greed, are you not?" At least the Marmaluke sounded sincere. He would have to be in some serious trouble in order to befriend a group of Christians.

Adrien spoke up next seeming a bit put off that the Marmaluke ignored him in order to converse with the Scribe. The soldier clearly thought himself a bit above his position.

The Scribe was translating for Adrien so Heinrich stepped forward and spoke up in Latin, "What is your name, sir? If I may ask." He included the title as he had respect for nobility even if it was from the enemy side.

 

[Kasten]

Samuel looked around his command, he was down to one platoon of troops, most of them officers and the flanks were either starting to disintegrate or retreat, Sam gave the order to his remaining troops to abandon the fight. Their lord had died, their flanks were gone, and the front line was held only by some of the greenest, most fanatically unaware Knights he'd ever met.

And they too were buckling. In the retreat, Sam noticed some Knights gathering near some king's court-man. Sam ordered the dozen or so officers and a few common footsoldiers who had particular enough talent to live through the slaughter. Sam would promote them, but being promoted to command the sand was meaningless. As soon as Sam and his troops caught up, he yelled in Latin "Hail, Knights! The line is broken. My troops and I fought as long as we could, but... Well, I used to command a force, these are all my survivors. I imagine you all have similar stories?"

 

[Anti-American Eagle]

Ryan walks over to Samuel, he speaks in latin "The siege was lost... Most survivors have been taken captive by the muslims."

He begins to fiddle with his blade again...