"To my displeasure I have to note that not all of you speak Deutsch, so I've taken the liberty of translating my entries into a modern English format, but due to the age and style of the writing it was a bit tricky getting the right sense of format. But I digress." -Edward Richtofen
May 21st, 1187
After a whole month of travel around the Meditteranean Sea our Crusade has finally made it to the Middle East. We lost a few due to sickness caught along the way, but no matter. Our numbers are still strong, but I know that this whole war is pointless, these Middle Easterners live in these lands and therefore have the advantage. We Europeans on the other hand have to waste our time having to get to the damned wasteland were Jerusalem and Acre lie. But there is really no time to complain, this place is dangerous nonetheless, even though I for one never wanted to get sent here in the first place.
I am part of the Third Crusade on behalf of the Prince of Bavaria who, if you ask me is a complete idiot. A man of my skills and rank does not belong here, but when you're the last retainer of your family's bloodline I guess it's all for honor and glory. Complete bullshit. Half the men I'm with are commoner's taken from their parents in the name of God to serve his divine purposes. Though I may not be as old as some of those around me, I still manage to strike an air of maturity. When you realize how futile religion is you start to gain a bit more insight than the rest of the crop.
May 28th, 1187
A week here and this place already feels like Hell, the weather is nothing like my homeland or Europe for that matter. It's extremely hot during the day and thanks to the damn chainmail and plate armor it makes it all the more miserable. The nights are freezing cold, sometimes even worse than the winters in the Alps and again the armor is no protection for the elements, it doesn't retain heat. Many of the men I came here with are already beginning to doubt their reasons and effectiveness here. They have realized too late, however, I already knew that it was a futile effort here.
June 3rd, 1187
There was an attack on Acre today by Saladin's men and it couldn't have been more of a wake up call to the others of just how unfair this war was to us Europeans. Though we eventually triumphed we lost so many lives that my group is now down to fifteen of the original fourty including myself. They came swiftly and struck deft blows that cut down the most hardy of crusaders. Tales of the Muslims using "fiendish servants of the darkness" spread like wildfire through the remaining men.
And just think of how many more poor saps were coming along to join the fight, a hundred, a thousand. Let them come, and let them die, at least I know what it takes to stay alive in this hellhole.
June 14th, 1187
A close encounter with the Reaper today as I graced the crowded streets of Acre. An "assassin" as they call them tried to strike me down when I was bartering with a vendor for some food. I won the fight, but not without some cuts through the weak points of my armor. Surprisingly the people on the streets did not mind that the man had been killed, it must have been a common occurence in this land. I managed to finish my business and return to the barracks to rest and tend to my wounds.
June 29th, 1187
Saladin becomes more bold with every passing day, another attack was launched on Acre, luckily we had reinforcements with us. Unfortunately, I lost another chunk of the men who came along with me, leaving only myself and four others. The four that still survived are solemn and depressed now, they would rather take their own lives than fight another battle with the Muslims. They fear for their lives and I cannot blame them, even I am fearful that I may not make it out of this place alive.
November, 1187
I've lost track of time here in the deserts of the Middle East and there hasn't been much to write about or materials to write with. We had a visit from the church, a bishop (a very convinced fool in my opinion) had come to absolve us of our sins and any that we may commit further in this land of heretics. Though the men around me reviled in this "purity" of the Lord I did not, it was best not to. I had reason, while these others were slaves to circumstance and false hope. Many of them would die here anyway, might as well let them die without guilt right.
Feburary, 1188
Prisoners as far as the eye can see line the dungeon cells of Acre. Heretics, prostitutes, theives, you name it and they're here, writhing, some with grief, some with anger, and others sit contemplatively waiting for their release. I have walked through the rowdy corridors lined by bars and the groping hands of those who are trapped behind the souless iron beams. Many beg for their freedom with promises of money and for the females promises of passion. I have seen some of the men give into the exotic looks of the women here, but I do not sanction such acts, rather I restrain from such actions.
There are those behind the bars that grab at me and try to drag me in to inflict harm. I've had to kill more than few to establish some form of authority among the vagabonds.
"It is after this entry that I neglected to write much at all, and the times I did it was less than eventful. Needless to say it was only the last year that I got back into the habit of writing again and by that time...well it was a pretty desperate time." -Edward Richtofen