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OOC: Medieval Europe 1099 A.D

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1099 A.D - Somewhere in the Champagne Region of France.


Carsten looked out over the fortress that was Armand. The Knight Templar training facility was bare, the grass being cut or ripped out of the ground. Packed dirt was the only thing on the ground. "It is ready, my lord," the maid behind him said, bowing and backing out of Carsten's chambers, shutting the door behind her. He pulled off his clothes, having a hard time because they were stuck to him from sweat. He slid in the washbasin with an "Aahh" and let the warm water soak into his bones. He washed himself with soap, and when he was done, Carsten got out and used a plain white towel to dry off. He pulled on fresh clothes and knocked on the door, signaling the maids to come and take the basin away. He walked back to the window, watching the distant lightning strikes grow closer, listening to the quiet splat splat of the rain hitting the roof and ground. He felt sorry for the guards who had to work this night, in the cold rain. But that was the way God wanted it, and so it would be.

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1099 A.D - a random village in France just outside the Champagne Region

Christian sighed as he rode his horse into town he had a rough time traveling since it seemed that his leather armor didn't fit anymore and it became very uncomfortable. He sent his horse into the stables as he went to a nearby inn to get a room. He heard some conversations that made him stop and listen. "I heard that the bandits leader has a high price on his head by the church since he stole a holy relic" a man said talking to others. "Really I just heard he's been spotted just out north of town on the trade route." 'Intresting I could use some more money..' Christian thought as he continued to the nearest inn. As soon as he got there he bought his room and then left to the local blacksmith to see if he had any armor that would fit him. After getting armor he went to a nearby bar to see if anyone knew something about the bandit.

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The Year of Our Lord 1099 - the road (Devil's Way) to Armand

The fortress of Armand stood before Father Bernard as he paused for a short breath. The rain beat down upon him, staining his robes with small patches of darkness. It made him grimace, clenching his cross and saying a prayer to the Lord Almighty as he picked up the pace once again.

He'd been traveling on foot for what had seemed like several months, and he wasn't even close to his destination. Not yet, anyway. He'd have to go several hundred more miles before he found what he was looking for. But at least he'd be able to find rest and shelter in the Order's facilities, take a break from the test God was putting him under. The Knights Templar were more militaristic than he and his Dominican brethren were, but they were men of God all the same.

He nodded to the guards, who immediately recognized him as a friar, and allowed him to pass with a simple "Bonjour, mon père". Within the fortress, most of the ground was barren. Several training dummies were out, as were archery targets. A stable with one or two horses stood humbly against the dirt of the fortress. Whatever grass had naturally been there no longer existed, and not many men could be seen. Most of the young men training here must be at rest, the elderly monk thought.

He pulled his hood over his head and took a number of steps until he was under the stable's roof, where he laid down to rest for the night.

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~ "Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree."

~ "The best way to fight the devil, if not with holy scripture, is to jeer at him - for he can not stand to be scorned."

~ "An atheist is just a person God hasn't met yet."

Carsten yawned sleepily, laying down in his bed. He laid there thoughtfully, listening to the rythmic thump, thump of the rain on the roof. He heard commotion outside and stood up to look. He walked to the door and opened it, his eyes half closed. They shot open when he saw eight men dead, all decapitated, their heads sitting by their side. He looked up and saw five Moors. Moors? Why are they here? They hadn't seen him yet. He ran back into his room and threw on his armor. He drew his sword and ran back out, stabbing the nearest one in the spinal cord and out of his chest. He pulled it out, lunging for another before they could turn and strike back.

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His rest was unfortunately disturbed by an attack by Moors, which he just so happened to miss on his way in. He'd been tired that night, so it wasn't har dfor him to imagine. It was very odd to see a Moorish attack on Frankish soil - especially considering how far away al-Andalus was. But that didn't matter, because the Knights Templar were being slaughtered in this attack.

Taking a huntsman's bow from where he was sleeping, he picked it up and fired a shot at one of the Moors that was attacking a knight who had quite a bit of combat prowess. The monk fought with the proficiency of an expert archer, of Robin Hood himself. He had to find a way to entertain himself at the monastery some way, didn't he?

It hit the Moor square in the back, as he collapsed to the ground.

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~ "Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree."

~ "The best way to fight the devil, if not with holy scripture, is to jeer at him - for he can not stand to be scorned."

~ "An atheist is just a person God hasn't met yet."

Carsten didn't need to turn around to see who shot. There was still three more Moors. Why are they here, in France, and not Spain or Africa? He cut one's arm off as one chopped his right middle finger off. His men were not ready to fight, or these Moors would've been dead a long time ago. He stabbed into the one who had cut his finger off's stomach, pulling up and opening the man's stomach for his guts to spill out. He pulled his sword out and turned to the remaining one wo was still holding the stump of his arm.

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The air was hot and dry as a woman walked along the streets of Jerusalem. Her pace quickened and her heart began beating rapidly as she heard a door open somewhere behind her. An uproar broke out, curse words flying back and forth like daggers as she glanced back quickly. Only a few more blocks until I reach Fatimah’s house she repeated yet again, a mantra she recited everyday when returning from her friend’s house. She went there every day for the past week to help take care of the sick children while her friend’s husband was away at work. Then she would walk the several miles back to her sister’s house along the winding, exposed streets of her once-beloved Palistine.

Crusaders had come from far lands, proclaiming they were the rightful owners of their “Holy Land,” killing in the name of God. That was not the Allah she knew. His message was proclaimed by Muhammad, one of love and salvation and sanctity for all life. These men were savages, using any excuse to slaughter another olive-skinned Pakistani, the soldiers dragging their half-sober, obnoxious bodies through the streets when they should be home taking care of wives and children.

Alcohol changes people – what a deadly combinations with ones already so gluttonous, she thought, a sour taste forming on her tongue. A cry echoed down the street, sound waves intruding ears to the annoyance of passersby.

Suddenly, the two men came barreling down the street in her direction. “And stay out!” yelled the owner, shaking his fist in their general direction. She bit her lip, hoping no one glancing out their windows would think she was somehow involved in this mess.

One of the men sauntered up next to her, placing his arm around her waist and drawing her in. She could smell his acrid breath – one that suggested more decay than his currently induced mental state. What was she to do? She was no match for these men, both double her size. They certainly were not in the right frame of mind to make rational judgments. She feared any sudden movements would just make things worse for her, and she hoped some kind soul would turn onto the now vacant expanse of roadway before her, allowing her to escape from his lusty clutches.

“Time to come hoooome with usss misss,” he slurred in her ear, blowing hot breath onto her shoulder. A wonderful addition to an already sweltering day. As he said this, his companion reached a hand up from behind, clamping it over her mouth as she attempted to scream, muffling her cries for help. Realizing no other alternative, she mustered up her courage and stomped on the first man’s foot, while biting the hand of the man behind her. She felt her teeth pierce his flesh. This was the first time she had spilled the blood of another...but this was self defense. She would deal with issues of conscience later. The dirty taste of the oaf lingered in her mouth as she wriggled free of the first man’s grasp.

Suddenly liberated, she fled forward, nearly half the distance to Fatima’s. She needed only to reach the enclosure and she would be safe. In those times of unrest her sister kept her own supply of personal guards, as all the houses in that neighborhood did. Sadly, the poor area she happened to find herself in at the moment could not afford such necessary luxuries. Nearing a corner ahead that would pull her from their line of sight, her heart lifted and she let out a small smile, thanking Allah for yet another wonderful gift. She knew the man that owned the restaurant; she could rest there for a little while until the men had gone. Her sister would surely send out guards to look for her if enough time elapsed.

A guttural laugh erupted behind her as a sudden burst of pain shot through her body. The bastards have weapons! She let out a gasp in surprise. Then her lips kissed the dirt and all went black.

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Took the "What Element are You?" quiz and got 75% Earth and 58% Holiness.
It's pretty accurate - take it to find out what you are!

Carsten kicked the Moor to the ground. "Anyone here speak Moorish? Anyone?" He put his swordpoint on the man's neck. "Please come here now, before I slaughter this Moorish dog." He put his foot on the man's throat and shoved his sword in the Moor's arm, causing the Moor to open his eyes as wide as they would go and let out a bloodchilling scream. That would bring the men. Two minutes of this and a dozen soldiers in full armor were coming out, surrounding the two. Six of them pulled the Templar bodies away, the others dragging the Moorish bodies to a fire to incinerate them. He pulled his helmet off. "You, Brother Joe, come here and translate." Joe ran up and looked at him then the Moor expectantly. "Ask him why hes all the way up here, in France."
Joe said some jibberish, and in return the Moor said more jibberish. "He says that they came from ship, landed in Normandy and came down to here. They were trying to raid Normandy and somehow ended up here." Carsten nodded, pulled the sword off and stabbed it in the man's head, pulling it out. "Burn them, bury the soldiers. This is a sad day indeed."

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Ankoroth stood at the head of his bandit army. It has been a while since they have last raided. "We will get what we need then get out of there," he told his men. "We don't want the Knights Templar coming now do we?" He raised his blood-red sword and charged down the hillside. His bandits charged ahead, crashing into the unsuspecting village.

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Her eyes fluttered open…yet it felt as if they were still closed. Darkness wrapped around her, saving her from the sight of her own ghastly wound. Her breath rattled and she sat up, pain stabbing her in the shoulder. Where am I? she wondered. As she became accustomed to her new surroundings and measure of light, she noticed two men collapsed next to her, apparently sleeping. One man made a whistling noise at every inhale, the progression of annoyance much like that of Chinese water torture.

Her hands and feet were tied with thick, abrasive rope which rubbed at her wrists and ankles, nearly making them bleed. She saw a tin cup of water sitting next to one soldier. She was so thirsty – though flecks of food floated threateningly, to her it was divine. She held the cup in place with her feet, slowly lifting it to her lips for a sweet drink of…scaling liquid, like fire! It was clear like water, but tasted nothing like it. She spat it out directly, throwing the tin to the side as she did so. Surely this must be the foul alcohol these men consider their lifeblood. Revulsion rippled through her body. With a clang, the cup hit the nearby grate on the now-smoldering remains of a fire. One of the men began to stir.

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Took the "What Element are You?" quiz and got 75% Earth and 58% Holiness.
It's pretty accurate - take it to find out what you are!