>>1160713

The Saracens had been agitated lately, perhaps by the Lombards and Norwegians that had been causing them trouble in the North Levant. More and more were coming down, harassing the Templar forces, some even slipping through, attacking pilgrims near Jerusalem. The Templars, he explained, were being overwhelmed, and were requesting any help that Christendom could send.

Your father, once told of the situation, agreed to send six warbands of fifty men, each led by a Knight-Captain. You were one of the six chosen, and you accompanied Marcus on his journey back.

It took a little more than five months to arrive, although mustering the forces necessary was fairly quick, your fleet was harassed by pirates from various Barbary states, so you had to fight off the Moors several times. However, you still made good time, and arrived in Acre on the 4th of October, the Year of Our Lord 1119.

You had joined up with the main Templar force there, and through the Winter, helped stave off increasingly vicious and organized attacks by Saracen forces, protecting the Holy Land from invasion.

In March, however, your allies were informed of a massive Saracen force forming about 800 miles north-east of Acre, supposedly lead by a general of superior caliber. Quickly moving out, your 300 Teutonic brothers, accompanied by 1500 Templars, rode to a mountain pass, 500 miles out, ready to meet the countless Saracen hordes there, to protect the Holy Land.
And so, there you are, in a nameless mountain pass, waiting for the inevitable Saracen horde, hoping only to protect Christendom. Standing at the edge of your camp, watching northward, wondering if this is to be the day you meet them in battle.

A voice comes from behind you, in fluent German.

"So, what do you think of our chances?"

You turn, and see one of your comrades.


Who is it?

>Marcus Weidner, former Teuton, current Templar
>Edgar Gessler, your squire
>Dominik Sessler, fellow Teutonic Knight-Captain

>>1160812
>Marcus Weidner, former Teuton, current Templar

>>1160812
>>Edgar Gessler, your squire

>Marcus Weidner, former Teuton, current Templar

>>1160812
>Marcus Weidner, former Teuton, current Templar

>>1160812
>Dominik Sessler, fellow Teutonic Knight-Captain

I fucking remember this battle (or a similar one), we gon´die!

Giving it 10 more minutes before I write. Gonna have 20 minutes between all votes and calling it.

>>1160812
>Marcus Weidner, former Teuton, current Templar

>>1160812
>Dominik Sessler, fellow Teutonic Knight-Captain

>>1160842

>Marcus Weidner, former Teuton, current Templar

>Writing

>>1160812
It is Marcus Weidner, a former Brother of the Teutonic Order. You two were close friends, before he announced his intentions to leave for the Holy Lands and the Templars.

Younger than you, at 26 years of age, compared to your 29, Marcus' face has an easy smile on it at all times, with long blonde hair and striking blue eyes that emphasizes his German features.

Clapping his hand on your shoulder, he gazes out at the land alongside you, staring into the desert landscape.

"It will be a glorious battle for sure, but do you think we can win? I, myself, am sure of it; we are nearly two thousand knights strong, and blessed by God."

Looking into your eyes with an eagerness that belies his experience, Marcus continues to speak quickly, with a passion that rivals the most zealous of Priests.

"And we are surely to be victorious, especially with a saint in our camp! The venerable Herard Liefsson! Although I was skeptical at first, as well, to hear that a Nord, from the fringes of Christendom no less, would be joining us, he has proven himself to be a pious man, led by god. With him behind us and with God's blessing, we are going to drive the heathen back, I know it.

"What about you, ....."
>What is your name? (Remember, German.)

>"We are of a mind, you and I. There is no way heathens are going to get past us."
>"I believe that we could hold this pass, though many may die."
>"We go unto our deaths, Marcus, although, God willing, we will strike the heathen such a blow that they scurry back to the desert."

>>1160917
>>What is your name?

Adolf Hitler

>"We are of a mind, you and I. There is no way heathens are going to get past us."

>>1160917
Victor Reis

>"We are of a mind, you and I. There is no way heathens are going to get past us."

>>1160930
This

>>1160950
We are not gonna be Adolph Hitler.

>>1160917
>Siegfried Ernst
>"We are of a mind, you and I. There is no way heathens are going to get past us."
Deus Vult soon.

>>1160917
German?
>>1160930

>>1160932
This or anything not suggested by trick.

>>1160932
This

>>1160955
fuck you, man. This is centuries before the Adolf Hitler of the Nazi fame, and its a perfectly valid German name.

>>1160932
This

>>1160962
He wasn't German. He was Austrian. And no fuck you for agreeing with trick.

>>1160962
That's what I've been telling them on discord fampai.

>>1160971
Hey trick?

Kill yourself.

>>1160971
which discord?

>>1160976
That's not nice anon

>>1160969
There was no distinction between "German" and "Austrian" until a very long time after this quest takes place.

And trick's a fuckface, but I'm still going with Adolf Hitler as my vote.

>>1160978
The discord the QM of this quest frequents. It's not this quest's discord but it's pretty legit for all your Fantasy Crusader meme desires.

>>1160976
No need to get triggered.

>>1160932
Anything but the meme

>>1160978
No discord for this, yet, Trick and I are in another quest's discord.

>>1160976
Anon pls

am babbeh QM

pls no drama

>>1160986
Second this.

>>1160988
Deus vult soon bb?

>>1160988
Sorry but trick is a fucking idiot and asshole.

>>1160995
Come on anon. Give him another chance

>Victor Reis

>writing

>>1160994
yeah bb

>>1160995
I'm not the biggest fan of Trick myself, but please, don't fuck this up for me

>>1160995

>Suggest appropriate german name

>I'm an idiot and asshole suddenly

>>1160998
No. He's used all his chances up.

>>1160995
>muh /qst/ hugbox
>>1160988
Trick's alright, just don't take him too seriously
but if you're in the discord then you probably already know that

>>1161002
Have I done something to offend you, sir?

>>1160999
I'll stop now. And sorry.

>>1161001
It's ok Trick. I recognize the greatness of that nane.

>>1161006

All can be redeemed Trick. You will see the light one day. Do not shy away from it.

>>1160917
>>1160930
yes

>>1161036

Too late my man.

You weren't there when the Hitler vote needed you.

Feel ashamed.

>>1160917
"... Victor? What are your thoughts?"

You turn to your friend, smiling at his enthusiasm.

"We are of a mind, you and I. There is no way heathens are going to get past us."

Laughing merrily, Marcus puts his arm around your shoulder and says, "I'm glad I could find someone else who believes that good Christian men, blessed by God, can defeat any heathen rabble."

Letting go, his smile fades slightly, as he recalls some previous incident.

"I will admit, Victor, many of my brothers are worried. Some believe that, even with a Saint on our side, the horde may be too much for us."

Looking off into the distance, he says, almost at a whisper, "Sometimes, it is trying for me, as well, for I-"

He trails off as he notices something, squinting.

In the distance, a thin column of dust rises through the air.

The Saracen horde has arrived.

Looking towards each other, you and Marcus come to an unspoken agreement: to run back to camp, shouting at the top of your lungs, warning everyone.


-----------


The army is quick to mobilize, the camp a blur of activity as squires help knights frantically don their armor, and horsemasters and pages ready the horses.

You are in your tent, being aided by Edgar Gessler, your squire, a young, nervous lad of fifteen. He sports a very silly-looking bowl cut that makes his brown hair bounce whenever he moves, and is awkward and gangly, like others his age. However, he is strong, stronger than it would seem otherwise, and lifts your chain shirt over your head with ease.

Putting your gauntlets on yourself, and stepping into your boots, Edgar puts your white, black-crossed tabard of the Knights Teuton on over your head, and you put your arms through the sleeves, already feeling the Levanti weather, even in the shade of your tent.

The last few things before you are ready to go get your horse, your helm, sword, shield, and lance, are all handed to you by Edgar, who appears to hesitate, before nervously asking a question.

"Uhm, Herr Reis, my lord, I have heard talk among the other squires that...."

He visibly gulps, wringing his hands.

"That.... the Saracens are going to kill us all."

>"Nonsense, Edgar, we have the Lord on our side. Now come, grab my banner and let us head to the Master of Horses."
>"I will not lie to you, my squire, the fight will be bloody. However, I have faith that the day will ultimately be ours. Let us be off."
>"They're right. Now let's go."

>>1161050
>>"I will not lie to you, my squire, the fight will be bloody. However, I have faith that the day will ultimately be ours. Let us be off."

"Have faith in your sword arm and god. Follow my instructions and we'll get through this together."

>>1161050
>>"Nonsense, Edgar, we have the Lord on our side. Now come, grab my banner and let us head to the Master of Horses."

Edgar stop being a fucking pussy man.

>>1161050
>"I will not lie to you, my squire, the fight will be bloody. However, I have faith that the day will ultimately be ours. Let us be off."

>>1161050
>>"I will not lie to you, my squire, the fight will be bloody. However, I have faith that the day will ultimately be ours. Let us be off."

>>1161050
>>"I will not lie to you, my squire, the fight will be bloody. However, I have faith that the day will ultimately be ours. Let us be off."

He will have to succeed us if we fall. best to teach him while we can.

>"I will not lie to you, my squire, the fight will be bloody. However, I have faith that the day will ultimately be ours. Let us be off."

>"I will not lie to you, my squire, the fight will be bloody. However, I have faith that the day will ultimately be ours. Let us be off."

>Writing

>>1161050
You pause at his trepidation briefly before answering,

"I will not lie to you, my squire, the fight will be bloody. However, I have faith that the day will ultimately be ours. Let us be off."

He doesn't seem to be very encouraged by the thought of his comrades dying, but he does seem to take solace in the fact that you believe that the day will be won by good Christian men.

Moving quickly through the bustling camp, you and Edgar make your way to the Master of Horses' makeshift pen. All around you, your Teutonic brethren are quickly being armored. It appears that you have one of the quicker squires in the camp. You make a mental note to compliment Edgar once you come back from battle.

Reaching the Master of Horses, you spot your charger, Gunnar, a powerful black stallion, armored and saddled, waiting for you, held by the pages that assist the Master.

Grabbing the reins from a page, you stick one foot in the saddle, and let Edgar help you up, as is befitting for a page. Giving him one last look, you say, "I'll see you when I return, Edgar. Worry not."

Turning, and leading Gunnar at a walk, you make your way to the front of the camp, where the Templars and several of your Teutonic brothers have formed a battle line.

Approaching, you see about a quarter of your men stand ready, conversing among themselves, steeling their nerves. As they see you approach, they go silent, expecting you to say something.

As you think of something to say, at the forefront of your men, more of your brothers trickle in, forming a thick line of men and horse, lances like trees in the air.

Eventually, all fifty of your men arrive, and you clear your throat quietly, preparing to speak.

>"Men! I've heard talk that we might not survive. Well, let me put your doubts to rest."
>"The Saracen horde will come, and like any battle, many will die. However, with faith comes victory, and we shall prevail."
>"You will all find a place in heaven when you fall! Take as many heathen as you can out with you! Today is a glorious day, a good day to die!"

>1d20, first three count.

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>1161124
>>"Men! I've heard talk that we might not survive. Well, let me put your doubts to rest."

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>1161124
>"Men! I've heard talk that we might not survive. Well, let me put your doubts to rest."

Rolled 86 (1d100)

>"Men! I've heard talk that we might not survive. Well, let me put your doubts to rest."

>>1161136
Fuck, that's a really good roll.

Wrong die, tho.

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>1161136
Whoops

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>1161124
>>"Men! I've heard talk that we might not survive. Well, let me put your doubts to rest."

>"Men! I've heard talk that we might not survive. Well, let me put your doubts to rest."


>Writing

>>1161124

"Men! I've heard talk that we might not survive. Well, let me put your doubts to rest."

Riding back and forth in front of your men, you have their rapt attention.

"The Saracens have numbers, yes. But what are numbers, compared to," You pause for effect, "the power of the LORD?!?"

The men look at you, hope slowly filling their spirits.

"We have the Lord on our side! The heathen we face, have nothing but their false god, nothing more than a blasphemy!" Your words get more and more animated as you continue.

"And if that were not more than enough, a Saint's blessing! Now tell me, men, what chance do a heathen rabble have, compared to the Knights led by GOD?!" Your men begin cheering at this, and several of the other Teutonic warbands next to yours begin listening into your speech as well.

Down the line, you can hear the other captains and knights talking amongst themselves, but none as animated as yours, save the group Marcus is in. You recognize his banner, and hear some faint shouting from where he is over the cheering of your men and the sound of an army.

"So, my brothers, let us go forth with the knowledge that the Lord will guide our swords, and that he will be our shields! Let us ride forth, and send these heathen to Hell!"

A hearty cheer comes from your men, and those few others that were listening, and the mood among your part of the line seems more animated, more hearty. You hear an answering cheer somewhere down the line, supposedly from Marcus' warband, and you smile faintly.

The men will need all the faith they can get, with the size of the approaching Saracen army.

----------------------------------------

You can't see the end of it.

The valley below the mountain pass your army is filled with a sea of brown and white, ragged lines of infantry backed by shrouded Mamelukes. And they keep coming. Even you are shaken by the sheer amount of Saracens in this army. Where did they even get so many men?

However, before you can start to question yourself, you hear an Italian war-horn, high and brassy, not like the German ones, deep and thundering, and you raise your lance, screaming.

"FOR THE HOLY LAND AND THE LORD!"

As one, your men, and all of the men in the army cry with a singular voice:

"DEUS VULT!"

>>1161199
(Shit, forgot the 'cont.')

>>1161199
DEUS LO VULT

I really want our character to die, but then not really die, and have this quest develop into a Highlander Quest starring a former crusader.

>>1161199
Kicking Gunnar forward, you lead your men's charge down the hill towards the Saracen horde. As you get closer, you begin to be able to pick out individual units from the horde.

By the time you lower lances, you can see individual men.

By the time you crash into the unarmored enemy, you can see their faces.

As your couched lance rips into an enemy, and Gunnar tramples heathen beneath his heavy, iron-shod hooves, you begin to notice something. As if dissipating like mist in sunshine, Gunnar, your lance, and you begin fading away, making the dying Saracens around you visible through the horse.

Frantically looking about, you see the same thing happening to your men, and every single Crusader as well. Back up the hill, the camp is barely visible. Before you even have time to truly panic, darkness covers your vision, and you lose consciousness.

------------------------------------

When you awake, you feel Gunnar between your legs. You're still ahorse. Check. Looking around, you notice two very different, very frightening things. One: You are no longer in the dusty steppes of the Levant, fighting heathen filth.

Two: You are in what seems to be a windswept plain, surrounded by your men, covered in the blood of Saracens. And in front of you is standing a very short man, wearing a very silly-looking hooded outfit that includes the bones of small animals as a fashion accessory.

The man chuckles with excitement as he mutters to himself in Latin. "Ahh, it worked. An army of two thousand, delivered to me... With this, I can finally eliminate the knife-ears."

However, he doesn't have much time to talk to himself before the fifty Templar Knight-Captains, the six Teutonic Captains, and Saint Herard Liefsson ride at him at full gallop, looks of confusion, anger, and suspicion on their faces. Whomever this man is, he obviously has something to do with why you are not in the Holy Land, fighting heathen.

St. Herard dismounts, and strides towards the short, Saracen-looking man, lightning in his eye. For a Saint, he is a large man, with a barrel-like chest, thick, muscled arms, and long, unkempt red hair. A heavy double-bitted axe at his waist, he wears the white-and-red of the Templars.

With a thick accent, he angrily shouts at the man in Latin, "Who are you? Are you Saracen? Where are we? Why are we here?"

The sorcerer turns to him with an arrogant smirk, and says, "Ahh, Common, good, good. My peon, I am the Master Sorcerer Al-Hashid Quasha, and I have summoned you to-"

At the word 'sorcerer', St. Herard whipped out his double-bitted axe, and swings it at the shorter man's neck.

He couldn't possibly have dodged.

Blood spraying around his body, the sorcerer's head falls to his feet, and the corpse teeters a moment, as if unsure whether to fall. With a shove from St. Herard, it crashes to the ground, blood quickly pooling around the body.

Turning to the captains gathered around him, he looks each of you in the eye.

"What next?"

(cont)

>>1161235
Making your way back to camp, you leap off your horse as Edgar runs up to you, incredibly worried and scared.

"My lord what is happening where are we what are we going to do-" You cut him off with a raised hand, and pass him the reins to Gunnar.

"Edgar. Just... don't. I'll figure this out with the other captains. Just take Gunnar to the Master of Horses, and then go back to the tent to take care of my armor."

Edgar, still frightened, obeys your orders, scurrying off with your massive warhorse. Making your way quickly to your tent, you somehow manage to remove your armor, until only your sweat-stained, black-and-white gambeson remains. Leaving the armor in a pile for Edgar to handle, you stride through questioning men, towards where St. Herard's command tent is.

Pushing the tentflap aside, you walk into the stuffy, crowded tent where fifty-five captains and a Saint stand, all arguing in Latin. Moving to where the Teutonic captains stand, you catch bits and pieces of various arguments among the din.

"... work of the devil, I tell you!"

"... no, we should seek out the nearest Christian nation, hopefully..."

"... punishment from god...."

As you take your place among the Teuton captains, St. Herard stands up, and everyone immediately falls silent.

"So. We are not in Holy Land, fighting heathen." His growling, accented voice makes a shiver run up your spine, but just a little one. "I have heard argument. Some want to find how happen. Some want to find nearest Christian nation."

Looking around the tent, his gaze seems to be magnetic, like a bolt of lightning is trapped in his storm-grey eyes.

"So. Discuss. One at a time. Quietly."

What do you want to say?
>I think we should find out how we got here, and how we can return.
>I think we should explore the area, find the nearest Christian nation.
>Other.

>>1161261
>I think we should explore the area, find the nearest Christian nation.

>>1161261
>I think we should explore the area, find the nearest Christian nation.
Might as well find some allies

>>1161261
>>I think we should explore the area, find the nearest Christian nation.

>I think we should find out how we got here, and how we can return.

>>1161261
>>I think we should explore the area, find the nearest Christian nation.

>I think we should explore the area, find the nearest Christian nation.

>writing

>it is time to spread the word of the lord to these heathens.

>>1161261
You manage to speak first, your voice cutting through the silence that's almost palpable, now.

"I believe we should explore the area, try and find the nearest Christian nation." Several heads turn, and some Templar captains look at you incredulously, before you shake your head and continue.

"Without knowledge of where we are, we cannot act on anything. We are cut off from everyone. Without allies, we're alone." You pause to let that sink in.

"Which is why I say we set up permanent camp here, and we send warbands in every direction." Looking at St. Herard, you say, "If we take some of your monks with us, your Worship, we can make a map of the surrounding area."

Your piece said, you step back among your brothers, who nod appreciatively. You feel some glares coming at you from across the table, but you ignore them, because you see far more contemplative looks than angry stares among the Templars.

St. Herard, for the most part, seems impassive, story face making it unable to determine whether he likes your plan or not. Next to him, an angry-looking white-bearded Templar blurts out, barely keeping from shouting;

"But sir, if we send out every warband, will the camp not be unprotected? Surely, we cannot leave everything undefended."

Herard nods, having heard two arguments, and scratches his bearded chin, thinking. Looking around, he stands up and stares into your eyes.

"Have heard both arguments. Will compromise. Twenty-one Templar bands. Four Teuton bands. All go out with one monk. You go at dawn."

Both camps, while not exactly enthused by this news, realize that it is strategically sound, and a fair compromise, and nod.

"Now," Herard cracks his neck, dropping his axe on the war table, "Out of my tent."

--------------------------------

Aaaaaaand that's all, folks!

Hope you enjoyed, next thread should be up around Friday!

(Also, could someone archive or teach me how to archive?)

>>1161303
Nevermind, found out through trial and error.

>>1161303
Thanks for running!

Deus Vult again soon? I hope so.

DEUS VULT

>>1161483
Yes, Deus Vult on Friday, should be a longer session.

No Jews? Where are the Hebrews?

>>1161726
Awesome dude

>>1161849
they too shall burn for not believing in our savior Jesus Christ.

Because Deus Vult.

>>1161303
Liking the theme QM. Thanks for running!