Crusades and I
Paul sat astride his grey war charger and looked over to the horizon. The dark line that sat there, bathed in the fiery glow of the setting sun, were the Seljuk Turks. Or if you wanted to simply things, they were ‘the Muslims’ the ‘heathens’ or simply, ‘the bad guys.’
Paul was wearing close to 50 pounds in woolen padding and steel armor, making him sweat like an incredibly sweaty man, who is inclined to sweat a lot. In extreme heat, one’s ability to create awesome metaphors breaks down entirely. Paul sighed a sigh of exasperation and cantered back to his cavalry to report the situation to his Liege. As he drew his horse astride his Lord, he shook his head.
“Milord, we are facing a greater number of faster, but lighter cavalry.”
“Thank you General. We will defeat the Heathens. It *is* the will of God, after all.” At this, Conrad III, King of Germany and leader of the German faction of the 2nd Crusade threw his gaze skyward, pointed heavenward and winked. He then turned back to Paul and explained: “Me and God are totally tight. He actually gave me a mandate to rule the masses! Das ist Gut.” Paul shook his head and cantered over to his trusted lieutenant to prepare for battle. He knew well of the ferocity of the German fighters, but he was worried for the king. He would do the typical macho thing, like wade into the enemy, or seek out the opposing commander, to face him in combat. As much as a dumbass as the Current king was, he had enemies waiting to usurp as soon as he would not return from his crusade, such as his distant cousin, Henry the Proud, who was still fuming over the loss of his lands and distinguished collection of heretic ashes (indeed, he had toasted some 400-some heretics in his lifetime. Impressive, in the least) Paul would have to make certain that his flank did not break, and would sweep the enemy from the field of Battle.
The two armies squared off, and Conrad moved to the fore of his troops. He held a leather pouch that was tied to the pommel of his saddle and prepared his speech.
“Now, as is tradition for our People, we need to kick ass, and take names. You are deadly, well armed, well armored knights. I am setting the clock for 3 hours. I want a rout, or 75% decimation of foes. If we make this one, I’m taking you all out for shaved ice and whores!” a Thunderous Roar shook the desolate plain, like thunder. Roaring thunder.
Hundreds of Yards away, in the Seljuk line, their Commander sat astride his mount in awe.
“What possible words can one man speak that would move them so? What words can set their blood to boil thusly?” His advisor turned to him and spoke:
“I have no clue, but we need to get the Allah speech done and attack the infidels, my harem won’t service itself, you know!” The Commander nodded his assent and started.
Meanwhile at the German Line, Conrad drew forth from his leather bag two small, red polished spheres and handed them to Paul. Paul was dumbfounded at this honor.
“Sire! These... these are umlauts! Surely I am not worthy!” Paul knew he was more than worthy, but Kings get off on these power trips, so he kept up with it. Conrad smiled and helped Paul affix them to each pauldron and clapped Paul on the back.
“You are close to me like a brother. When we enter battle, the Umlauts will know what to do. If you prove yourself in this battle, you will receive the order of umlauts medal, as well. Go with God.” With that, Conrad moved his mount Back to the middle of the line, and Bellowed his first command:
"Red 32, Tango Whisky slide, muave traytable REVERSE!" this meant 'charge'
As Paul’s Flank charged to meet their foe he felt his shoulders heating up. Intensely. He glanced through the slit in his helmet and beheld what appeared to be a small sun on each shoulder, hovering less than a hand span off of his armor, but Paul noticed the small lines of fire, running down his armor, warming the entire length of his arms and legs, he felt his armor become suddenly lighter, and his sword seemed easier to handle, and seemed to cut the air faster than it ever had before. Paul looked forward and plunged into the madness that is Battle.
Yet in the midst of the Battle, the German Line was floundering. Conrad, who had wisely stayed back to command from what little high ground there was, bellowed his second command:
"Gamma 35, Epsilon Foxtrot counter, green buttonhook floral ARRANGEMENT!" this meant 'Mages go'
Conrad ordered the German Mages to get to work. Soon, dark clouds formed over the Seljuk main, as the mages’ chanting grew in tempo and intensity. Suddenly, lightning began to rain down, smiting entire squads of cavalry at a time. But it was not enough. The enemy’s superior numbers were swarming and encircling the brave German Cataphracts. Conrad III called out his ultimate weapon and final command.
"Hubert 67, Kappa Gulf Chi, mayonaise sandwhich, down- roll to forward HIGH PUNCH!" This summoned The Christian Chix.
A highly-trained, incredibly hott, well disciplined squad of Cheerleaders, trained for Warfare in the Holy Land.
At that moment, 12 chix entered the fray, by way of backwards handspring, culminating in an amazing flip to stop themselves. They quickly assembled into a picture-perfect pyramid, (that any Hebrew slave would have been proud of) and quickly began their first chant.
“Hey! Hey you! Hey you - Heathens!” the cheer leaders paused for effect.
“GO DIE!” the cheerleaders began tittering excitedly and giggling as the battle slowed as portions of the Seljuk cavalry slowed their attack and stared at the females who were showing obscene amounts of tantalizing flesh. They wasted no time in launching their next auditory onslaught.
“Sword - the heathen! - Sword, Sword - THE HEATHEN!” They then formed two groups, and hoisted one cheerleader each upon the hands of the rest for their final verbal offensive.
“HEY! Jesus didn’t die so you can LOSE! Rock em’ Sock em’ maim and Bruise!”
Conrad smiled as lightning bolts continued to rain down and the Cataphracts began to turn the tide of the battle against the Muslims and eventually, the field was won. Afterwards, the German Army went to Constantinople for shaved ice and whores. So it was that the year was December of 1146, I was a young strapping lad, and our force had arrived moths ahead of the French army (German efficiency for you). Sadly we consisted mostly of mounted soldiers due to loosing most of foot soldiers against the Turks. Apparently attacking a superior force with inferior numbers and before anyone has had breakfast does reduce your chances of winning. Significantly.
It was here that I was parted from my liege lord when he needed me most. Apparently during a very drunken game of truth or dare, the emperor of the Byzantine Empire dared Louis (VII) and Conrad (III) to attack Damascus, which was fortified beyond belief and had their own fierce contingent of cheerleaders as well. It was here that I was walking through the streets, oppressing peasants, as I was wont to do, at that time in my life (I was such a fool! I should have oppressed more, while I had the chance!) When an old man crossed my path. I recognized him at once.
“Hello old man!” I called. He shook his head and hobbled closer, wobbling like a station wagon at 65 miles per hour on the expressway. He looked at me with a mortified expression and said: “I have good news as well as bad.” Paul nodded and inquired: “The good news?” The old man smiled and stated that leprosy was down ever since the church instituted an ‘immolate first, ask questions later’ policy for the disease. Then he sighed and spoke yet again:
“The Knights Templar have failed, Milord.” A chill gripped Paul’s spine even in the heat of the day. Now, Paul realized this could mean several things. Before he began to hyperventilate, he pondered what he could mean. The Knights Templar may have failed to make enough pudding for all the guests. The Knights Templar have failed to get those romaine hearts that you liked on your salad. The Knights Templar have failed to defeat sexy, scantily clad coeds in jello wrestling. May have failed to- Paul was interrupted by the Old Man’s next comment. “Brooke Shield-breaker has broken her seal and escaped.” Paul swore, and then kicked a nearby peasant. Somewhere, the most ugly, thrice-cursed creature was spreading her foul miasma of corruption and bad acting upon unsuspecting, incredibly flammable peasants. The mixture was volatile, to say the least.
He strode off to the east. He needed to confer with his lord.
Paul found a very drunken Conrad III laughing and carousing with friends. They were playing spin the bottle with various whores and having a rousing good time of it. Paul knelt by his lord and immediately asked him not to lay siege to Damascus without him present. Conrad guffawed and looked up to the sky and spread his arms wide.
“Lord, as your humble servant, give me a sign. If you want me to lay siege to Damascus, cause one cataclysmic event to befall completely innocent, good people. If No, cause two.” He then Laughed and waited.
Since this was before the inception of CNN, Conrad could not know that an unseasonable mudslide and a horrific earthquake decimated two towns in Asia Minor. Conrad shook his head and told Paul to keep the Umlauts. He would need them, and told him should he ever need more, where to find them. Which I don’t feel like revealing to you now. So there.
Meanwhile, several miles to the east of Jerusalem, Brooke Shield-breaker wanders the barren lands with torn feet and eyes... crying tears of blood. Behind her, stumble the mindless servants that she holds in thrall, their twisted bodies a poor window to the sheer agony that their souls are enduring, held prisoner by Brooke. As her and her wraiths descend upon, and devour town after town, they lay the foundation for the rise of the one of the worlds most sinister forces in existence. The actress Brooke Shields.
Paul rode to the center of Constantinople and slowly took a deep breath. He turned to each of the cardinal directions, and deciding on which one felt the most uncomfortable, he set off in that direction... for that is surely where Brooke must lurk.
Paul was wearing close to 50 pounds in woolen padding and steel armor, making him sweat like an incredibly sweaty man, who is inclined to sweat a lot. In extreme heat, one’s ability to create awesome metaphors breaks down entirely. Paul sighed a sigh of exasperation and cantered back to his cavalry to report the situation to his Liege. As he drew his horse astride his Lord, he shook his head.
“Milord, we are facing a greater number of faster, but lighter cavalry.”
“Thank you General. We will defeat the Heathens. It *is* the will of God, after all.” At this, Conrad III, King of Germany and leader of the German faction of the 2nd Crusade threw his gaze skyward, pointed heavenward and winked. He then turned back to Paul and explained: “Me and God are totally tight. He actually gave me a mandate to rule the masses! Das ist Gut.” Paul shook his head and cantered over to his trusted lieutenant to prepare for battle. He knew well of the ferocity of the German fighters, but he was worried for the king. He would do the typical macho thing, like wade into the enemy, or seek out the opposing commander, to face him in combat. As much as a dumbass as the Current king was, he had enemies waiting to usurp as soon as he would not return from his crusade, such as his distant cousin, Henry the Proud, who was still fuming over the loss of his lands and distinguished collection of heretic ashes (indeed, he had toasted some 400-some heretics in his lifetime. Impressive, in the least) Paul would have to make certain that his flank did not break, and would sweep the enemy from the field of Battle.
The two armies squared off, and Conrad moved to the fore of his troops. He held a leather pouch that was tied to the pommel of his saddle and prepared his speech.
“Now, as is tradition for our People, we need to kick ass, and take names. You are deadly, well armed, well armored knights. I am setting the clock for 3 hours. I want a rout, or 75% decimation of foes. If we make this one, I’m taking you all out for shaved ice and whores!” a Thunderous Roar shook the desolate plain, like thunder. Roaring thunder.
Hundreds of Yards away, in the Seljuk line, their Commander sat astride his mount in awe.
“What possible words can one man speak that would move them so? What words can set their blood to boil thusly?” His advisor turned to him and spoke:
“I have no clue, but we need to get the Allah speech done and attack the infidels, my harem won’t service itself, you know!” The Commander nodded his assent and started.
Meanwhile at the German Line, Conrad drew forth from his leather bag two small, red polished spheres and handed them to Paul. Paul was dumbfounded at this honor.
“Sire! These... these are umlauts! Surely I am not worthy!” Paul knew he was more than worthy, but Kings get off on these power trips, so he kept up with it. Conrad smiled and helped Paul affix them to each pauldron and clapped Paul on the back.
“You are close to me like a brother. When we enter battle, the Umlauts will know what to do. If you prove yourself in this battle, you will receive the order of umlauts medal, as well. Go with God.” With that, Conrad moved his mount Back to the middle of the line, and Bellowed his first command:
"Red 32, Tango Whisky slide, muave traytable REVERSE!" this meant 'charge'
As Paul’s Flank charged to meet their foe he felt his shoulders heating up. Intensely. He glanced through the slit in his helmet and beheld what appeared to be a small sun on each shoulder, hovering less than a hand span off of his armor, but Paul noticed the small lines of fire, running down his armor, warming the entire length of his arms and legs, he felt his armor become suddenly lighter, and his sword seemed easier to handle, and seemed to cut the air faster than it ever had before. Paul looked forward and plunged into the madness that is Battle.
Yet in the midst of the Battle, the German Line was floundering. Conrad, who had wisely stayed back to command from what little high ground there was, bellowed his second command:
"Gamma 35, Epsilon Foxtrot counter, green buttonhook floral ARRANGEMENT!" this meant 'Mages go'
Conrad ordered the German Mages to get to work. Soon, dark clouds formed over the Seljuk main, as the mages’ chanting grew in tempo and intensity. Suddenly, lightning began to rain down, smiting entire squads of cavalry at a time. But it was not enough. The enemy’s superior numbers were swarming and encircling the brave German Cataphracts. Conrad III called out his ultimate weapon and final command.
"Hubert 67, Kappa Gulf Chi, mayonaise sandwhich, down- roll to forward HIGH PUNCH!" This summoned The Christian Chix.
A highly-trained, incredibly hott, well disciplined squad of Cheerleaders, trained for Warfare in the Holy Land.
At that moment, 12 chix entered the fray, by way of backwards handspring, culminating in an amazing flip to stop themselves. They quickly assembled into a picture-perfect pyramid, (that any Hebrew slave would have been proud of) and quickly began their first chant.
“Hey! Hey you! Hey you - Heathens!” the cheer leaders paused for effect.
“GO DIE!” the cheerleaders began tittering excitedly and giggling as the battle slowed as portions of the Seljuk cavalry slowed their attack and stared at the females who were showing obscene amounts of tantalizing flesh. They wasted no time in launching their next auditory onslaught.
“Sword - the heathen! - Sword, Sword - THE HEATHEN!” They then formed two groups, and hoisted one cheerleader each upon the hands of the rest for their final verbal offensive.
“HEY! Jesus didn’t die so you can LOSE! Rock em’ Sock em’ maim and Bruise!”
Conrad smiled as lightning bolts continued to rain down and the Cataphracts began to turn the tide of the battle against the Muslims and eventually, the field was won. Afterwards, the German Army went to Constantinople for shaved ice and whores. So it was that the year was December of 1146, I was a young strapping lad, and our force had arrived moths ahead of the French army (German efficiency for you). Sadly we consisted mostly of mounted soldiers due to loosing most of foot soldiers against the Turks. Apparently attacking a superior force with inferior numbers and before anyone has had breakfast does reduce your chances of winning. Significantly.
It was here that I was parted from my liege lord when he needed me most. Apparently during a very drunken game of truth or dare, the emperor of the Byzantine Empire dared Louis (VII) and Conrad (III) to attack Damascus, which was fortified beyond belief and had their own fierce contingent of cheerleaders as well. It was here that I was walking through the streets, oppressing peasants, as I was wont to do, at that time in my life (I was such a fool! I should have oppressed more, while I had the chance!) When an old man crossed my path. I recognized him at once.
“Hello old man!” I called. He shook his head and hobbled closer, wobbling like a station wagon at 65 miles per hour on the expressway. He looked at me with a mortified expression and said: “I have good news as well as bad.” Paul nodded and inquired: “The good news?” The old man smiled and stated that leprosy was down ever since the church instituted an ‘immolate first, ask questions later’ policy for the disease. Then he sighed and spoke yet again:
“The Knights Templar have failed, Milord.” A chill gripped Paul’s spine even in the heat of the day. Now, Paul realized this could mean several things. Before he began to hyperventilate, he pondered what he could mean. The Knights Templar may have failed to make enough pudding for all the guests. The Knights Templar have failed to get those romaine hearts that you liked on your salad. The Knights Templar have failed to defeat sexy, scantily clad coeds in jello wrestling. May have failed to- Paul was interrupted by the Old Man’s next comment. “Brooke Shield-breaker has broken her seal and escaped.” Paul swore, and then kicked a nearby peasant. Somewhere, the most ugly, thrice-cursed creature was spreading her foul miasma of corruption and bad acting upon unsuspecting, incredibly flammable peasants. The mixture was volatile, to say the least.
He strode off to the east. He needed to confer with his lord.
Paul found a very drunken Conrad III laughing and carousing with friends. They were playing spin the bottle with various whores and having a rousing good time of it. Paul knelt by his lord and immediately asked him not to lay siege to Damascus without him present. Conrad guffawed and looked up to the sky and spread his arms wide.
“Lord, as your humble servant, give me a sign. If you want me to lay siege to Damascus, cause one cataclysmic event to befall completely innocent, good people. If No, cause two.” He then Laughed and waited.
Since this was before the inception of CNN, Conrad could not know that an unseasonable mudslide and a horrific earthquake decimated two towns in Asia Minor. Conrad shook his head and told Paul to keep the Umlauts. He would need them, and told him should he ever need more, where to find them. Which I don’t feel like revealing to you now. So there.
Meanwhile, several miles to the east of Jerusalem, Brooke Shield-breaker wanders the barren lands with torn feet and eyes... crying tears of blood. Behind her, stumble the mindless servants that she holds in thrall, their twisted bodies a poor window to the sheer agony that their souls are enduring, held prisoner by Brooke. As her and her wraiths descend upon, and devour town after town, they lay the foundation for the rise of the one of the worlds most sinister forces in existence. The actress Brooke Shields.
Paul rode to the center of Constantinople and slowly took a deep breath. He turned to each of the cardinal directions, and deciding on which one felt the most uncomfortable, he set off in that direction... for that is surely where Brooke must lurk.