The Sands of Blood - Chapter Two: Acre

[The Mercenary]

It is 1191. King Richard I the Lionheart has mustered the armies of England to march to the Holy Land, and retake the city of Jerusalem. Emperor Freidrich Barbarossa has already started marching, mustering 100,000 soldiers to take through Anatolia. King Phillip II, despite all his quarrels with King Richard and his father, has also set off. Eight thousand soldiers have marched south and boarded ships to cross the Mediterranean Sea. A heavy storm has hit, churning the sea up into a boiling froth, separating the ships. One is dashed to pieces on the rocks and its survivors are washed ashore, a hundred leagues away from the city at which they were to land, and awake to a burning, crimson sun, and a land filled with bandits, both Christian and Moslim, the warring armies of the Crusaders and the Sultan, and, it is rumored, even the Hashashin.

The only survivors are a monk, two of the Templar knights, a third knight, an archer, and a sergeant.

 

[Corndawg]

"Ohhh...my head." Corey woke up slowly and brought his hand to his head. He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sun, he flinched slightly and then looked around. He got up and brushed some sand off of his coat of mail. He checked his tabard and sighed. He bent down and began searching the ground. He found his falchion and shield, but not his helmet. He put his weapon away and slung his shield over his back before fully looking at the area. He was at the shore and not that far off was the wrecked ship. Around him were a handful of troops, a monk, another Templar, a knight, an archer, and a sergeant. Corey thought back and remembered the crash. There was lightning and he was woken from bed. He grabbed his gear and ran to the deck, an then everything had went black. He took one more glance around and found his spear, he grabbed it and lay it down.

"Well," he sighed, "guess I better wait until the others wake up." He sat down.

隐藏

Fixed.

 

[Kalnia]

Leinad ap Luther, a man of Saxon lineage and known fighting reputation, swore his guts out. He spat the sea salt from his mouth and stood. His armour was wet, his mail sodden and the silk beneath damp. He leant on the great oaken staff of his broad-bladed war spear and checked the stiff leather scabbard at his side. The iron short sword was still in place. The sergeant cursed and returned to his horse, a fine gelding and at least he had been able to swim ashore after the chaos of the wreckage. The saddle was salt-ridden and damaged, and the man-at-arms was once again glad he had learnt to ride in one of the old saddles that refused the rider the comfort of stirrups. With a quick slash he cut the torn leather off and checked the girth was still tight. He would have to buy a new saddle eventually, or loot one.

With a heave, the man hoisted himself onto the saddle and soothed the gelding by fondling its ears affectionately. The speerbut rested on his mail and leather boot, whilst Leinad looked out along the coastline for any other survivors. There were bodies in the surf, but none that moved to his knowledge or sight. His face was a strong, clean shaven one with soft eyes and hard skin, short hair of dark blonde falling from his skull. But any possible handsomeness his features conveyed was marred by the huge portion of flesh missing from the right side of his face. Starting from his cheek, a magnificent scar rode up his face to his hair and a good portion of flesh was torn from where a long dead peasent's spear had hit home. He had lost his helmet in the storm, and the Englishman cursed again. What a begiiniing to a Holy War, he thought.

Turning to ride down the length of the shoreline, he decided he would do one turn and see if there were any others, before leaving with all due haste to aquire a new saddle by any means necessary. Any bandits and looters would be here to loot the wreckage, and he did not want to fight whilst still sodden to the bone atop a salt-bleached horse. At that, he noticed the man to his side and turned his horse around to look down at him. He looked down with a friendly enough face. but the deep scar on his face always made him appear to look at people with a mauled distain.

"And who, in God's green and ever-so-lost Paradise of Eden, might you be?"

 

[Corndawg]

Corey had been relaxing for about three minutes when the mounted sergeant addressed him. He didn't remember seeing him on the ship, but he didn't care. The man's voice startled him slightly, and he looked up to the side. On his horse was a strong looking man, cleanly shaven with blonde hair. The man had lost his helmet as well it seemed. Corey arose and addressed the man.

"My name is Sir Corey Allard, Knight of the Templar, and who might you be?" Corey examined the man once again, he seemed like he was friendly, but Corey was on his guard nonetheless. The man had a gruesome scar on his face, but Corey had seen worse on different men, some of them his close friends. Corey looked at the sergeant's saddle and saw it was damaged, but he looked back at the man's face, awaiting an answer.

 

[The Mercenary]

Alys stood up with a slight sigh, hitting her shoulders and rubbing them. She stood, looking around, and picked up the wooden and iron kiteshield nearby, which was covered with the white and red of the Templar order. She continued hunting until she found her longsword, and slid it into the sheath at her hip, placing her shield on her back and crossing her arms, moving gracefully back to the others. Her helmet was missing, and her surcoat was slightly torn. Her armor was gritty with sand and she spat some of her dirty blonde hair out of her mouth, coughing, then stood straight and looked around. She was surrounded by corpses, and a few survivors, she guessed. She started trudging through the sand, dusting her torn surcoat off, and looking around at the others. There was a sergeant, she guessed, sitting astride a gelding, and a monk and a few soldiers.

 

[Corndawg]

隐藏: off

Do you mind if I say that he told me his name in a later post, because I can't wait that long.

 

[The Mercenary]

((what?))

 

[The Mercenary]

((oh, yeah, it doesn't matter - do what you like, as long as it's not retarded and results in us killing you ))

 

[Corndawg]

"My name is Leinad ap Luther."

"Very well then, nice to meet you sir." Corey turned and looked toward the ocean. He sighed and decided he might as well relax for a few minutes. He took off his shield and scabard and lay down in the sand, hands behind his head. He gazed into the sky, taking everything in, then he began to remember.....

It had been a nice day and Corey had fallen asleep in his bunk. He was awoken quickly and told to get up onto the deck. He grabbed his gear and put it on. He took his helmet and ran up to the deck. There, most of the crew watched the sky in horror as rain began pouring down and lightning streaked across the sky. Then, the ship was hit. Corey went flying through the air, his helmet flew out of his hands. He hit the water with a splash and began to sink a little. He quickly grabbed onto a plank of wood and began floating. A few moments later, the ship was hit again, and a plank of wood came flying at him and knocked him square in the head. He fell unconscious....

Corey shook the thoughts away from his head and sat up, looking at his feet.

 

[Kalnia]

Resting his spear on his shoulder and turning his gelding with the reins single handedly, Leinad curtly ignored the knight resting at his horse's feet. He was a templar, one who was supposed to be fastidious in worship and combat, and lying in the sand after this mess! The slippiness astounded the sergeant, but who was he to question those of higher station.

Sliding from the saddle, the sergeant pulled a knife from his bracer and cut at the tabard of one of the corpses. The tabard bore the white background and red cross of saint George and England, and Leinad tied it to the end of his war spear like a flag so that the sodden material hung limp like a flag. Hoisting himself heavily back into the saddle, the scarred man crossed himself and looked around for any more survivors.

Spotting one slight figure approaching, he turned the horse to face them and raised his hand in greeting. Leinad did his best to keep the surprise from showing on his face. The newcomer was a women, nigh a maid, and clad in mail and the tabard or the Templar. Wondering if she was a local who had taken the garb from one of the recently dead, Leinad made to lower his spear but then he saw the mail she wore without obvious hinderance and the long-bladed sword at her side and shield on her back. So the first Templar he had met in the holy land was lying to his back in the sand, and the second was a girl of probably less then twenty summers. Still, it payed to be civil to anyone wearing the arms of an Order.

Raising his mailed hand in salute, the young man kept his voice polite.
"Greetings lass! Be ye a lady-in-waiting, maid-at-arms or some other station which has placed ye beauty in this most unorganised situation?"

 

[RalliX]

The sound of hoarse coughing, and struggling came down the beach. A knight just come into consciousness was furiously trying to pull back his mail coif, whilst He was coughing out sea water from his lungs. "Bloody weather!" He shouted, as any true Scot would in such a situation.
"Never has the rain been so tyrannical..." He said as he struggled to his knees, finally managing the sandy mail behind his wet hair. Just as He got the stuff off He puked out whatever remained of the sea inside his body. "At least I wasn't wearing mail mitts..." He said looking at his leather gloves.
He began looking around for his weaponry. His arming sword was in it's scabbard, and his shield on his back, but where was his spear?

Staggering to his feet, the knight dazedly walked down to the water's edge, some 14 feet behind him. He slouched as he walked, and regarded how the tide had gone out. He had sand all throughout his mail & helm, thus creating an evil itch, he began rinsing out his armour. Removing his mail and surcoat, which bore a black eagle, with a dark red background, then removing his iron greaves and boots, luckily He had some light cloth under them for warmth, as He noticed the woman over to his left.

As he was washing out his armour, he noticed a long stick protruding out of the sand, he walked over and grabbed it, now revealing itself to be his spear, but what was this? Covered in sand, and rust! "Confounded German poleturner!" shouted the obviously annoyed knight, as He brushed the dirt off the blade.

 

[corey43]

John's eyes slowly opened and looked around lazily until he realised what had happed. Shipwreck!. John jumped to his feet and scanned the beach, he saw Templars, Knights and even a Monk but his Father was not there. John looked towards the wreckage drifting in the sea.
'Father! please. D-Don't be dead!'
Tears filled Johns eyes as he gave the beatch and sea a last hopefull look. He turned round and luckily his prized Longbow was still there, but without arrows. He picked them up and turned to face the other survivors. Adressing the Templars and Knights.
'At you command sir' John said wiping away tears.

(( im assuming since John is a archer he's a much lower rank))

 

[The Mercenary]

Alys looked at the sergeant curtly.

"Alys, of the Temple. We need to get moving. The food supplies are either gone or spoiled, and the water has been tainted with the sea."

She looked over at the other Templar...she wasn't familiar with him, but she pulled him up.

"Come, Brother. This may not be the most resounding entrance to the Holy Land, but we will do what God sent us to do."

She noted a knight and a yeoman staggering up, as well as a monk who was lying unmoving on his back. She quickly crossed to the monk and knelt beside him, checking for breath - finding him alive, she stood and looked around seriously. She finally crossed back to where the other Templar was and murmured a Latin prayer for those who hadn't survived the shipwreck. She then drew her sword with practiced ease.

"We must go, find other crusaders in the area and find our way back to Acre."

 

[Kalnia]

Surveying the scene from the added height of his horse Lyamrai, the sergeant grinned at the Templar's bluntness. Probably descended from a Scot or some other race not worthy enough to inhabit England. The tide had gone a fair way out, Leinad thought, as he turned to the Templar's once more, resting the oaken staff of his spear on his shoulder.

"Seems a poor omen from the Almighty for us to start such a hallowed expedition on such a disadvantaged position, but does not God move in ways unfathomable?" Leinad chuckled and looked around at the landscape again, visibly trying to make sense of the surrounding countryside.

"Well being as my knowledge of the local area is limited to the ground Lyamrai stands upon, I will follow you good sirs and lady. If He is going to inspire anyone in the true direction, I imagine it shall be you Templars."

 

[Corndawg]

Corey allowed himself to be pulled to his feet by his fellow Templar, Alys she had said. He said a quick prayer while she checked a monk who was still unconscious. 'Well,' he thought, 'time to be serious again.' Corey slung his shield over his back once more and looked around at the soldiers.

"Seems a poor omen from the Almighty for us to start such a hallowed expedition on such a disadvantaged position, but does not God move in ways unfathomable?"

"Whatever God wills, I shall follow to the death. He may put people in rather grim situations, but he has his reasons."

"At you command sir."

"Yes, wonderful! An archer, you will be very important in helping us fight off any problems on the way to Acre." Corey looked at his gear, "Well...God commands that you don't have any arrows, this could be a tough spot."

"We must go, find other crusaders in the area and find our way back to Acre."

"Agreed Alys, if I may suggest, we should scour the shoreline in the direction of Acre and see if we can find survivors and more equipment. I don't believe we should have too much of a problem with any bandits or brigands, they tend to not attack people who are well equipped. Unless they come in numbers, we're fine. Now, I don't know if we'll find any food on the way, so that could be a problem, so we may have to go away from the shore after a few hours of searching. We should lay that monk on your horse so that he doesn't burden us. I just hope he awakes soon enough. Anyone else have a suggestion?"

 

[corey43]

Some use i will be without any arrows John thought while the others were discussing their plan of action. I am not much worth here with Knights and Templars, but I will listen to my fathers advice.

''Listen to you Leaders John, in the army they will decide whether you live or die. And I want you to go back home and look after your mother when this is all over.''

But Father is in heaven now. John picked up his axe that had somehow survived the shipwreck and began to sharpen it. Until get some arrows I may need it, he was not skilled with a axe, or any other weapon apart from the bow. But it was better than nothing, it could still kill a muslim as well any arrow, just with more effort and less skill. John listened to the others discussing, he was eager to get of this beach.

 

[RalliX]

After thoroughly soaking his armour and weaponry, Joseph remembered his master, whom was most likely dead along with Joseph's horse.
'No helping it now...' But He held them in, as tears did no good to anyone. He stood up and put his armour back on, strapping his spear to his shield, He stood up and walked toward the gathering crusaders. "We will need to find a local village, and barter for some horses and storage." He said looking around. 'Knowing where We are would also be good.'

 

[Úlfheðinn]

Slowly, Vilgot opened his eyes. A blue azure sky, free of clouds greeted him. A slight smile played upon his features. Was he dead? No, that seemed rather unlikely, after all he had a task to complete. Gingerly, he sat up, the sudden rush of blood to his head resulting in a slightly dazed feeling. He looked up at the burning sun that sat high in the sky. Wherever he was it appeared to be far warmer than the North. Looking around him he was happy to find that his Bible had managed to accompany him. Thankfully, though it appeared to be slightly waterlogged it was still sufficiently whole. It was worn and ancient already, some damage from water would scarcely be noticed. The habit he wore appeared to be in passable condition, if slightly damp.

Making the sign of the cross, he looked up at the sky, smiling as he rose. It was hard not to feel some sense of joy, after all he was alive. Many of the other wayfarers had been less fortunate. He saw five others, no doubt from the same ill-fated ship nearby. One sat astride his gelding, the two others appeared to be knights and the last some manner of soldier. In contrast, his appearance was  far more scholarly. He bore his hair short, though this had been a source of some complaint from the other monks. His face lacking the scars and such of a seasoned warrior. Yet, despite his humble appearance, his eyes retained a focused edge.

Gesturing towards them he spoke in a jovial tone, “I take it we have not quite reached the Holy Land?”

 

[Kalnia]

Looking over his shoulder at the newly risen priest, Leinad felt some sense of relief. The death of a man of the cloth, even one as ragged as the one before him, would have been an unmistakeably poor omen. That, and he would not have to surrender his beloved mount to a corpse. Raising his gloved hand in greeting, the sergeant grinned, although the friendlines of the gesture was lost in the horrid contortion of the scar on his face.

"And like Lazarus from the fallen he doth rise. And this is the Holy Land to my knowledge, Father, but just the precision of our landing was somewhat offput by the Almighty's questionably blessed storm. Tis' good to see a man of the cloth survived though. Who might ye be, Father?"

 

[Úlfheðinn]

Vilgot, looked at the sergeant that greeted him, a rather grim man if his appearance was any indication. Still, it was not the place of one man to judge another merely based on his appearance; an oft made mistake.

"Father? Ah...a common mistake, however I am but a humble wayfarer, having not yet taken my vows. Thought that would seem to matter little, I am as poor as I ever was. Unless, the times have changed, I am Vilgot Duln of Uppsala, soon to be brother if all goes well. In turn stranger, I cannot help but ask what names is yours.