Hey all it's me again! My arm didn't quite heal properly so the doctors broke it again and it's now very painful. So this chapter will be one big battle because I'm not in the best of moods.
÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷
Karl Franz, a German sergeant at arms was sitting in siege tower one wishing he was somewhere else, anywhere else but here. His tower would be attacking the most heavily defended part of the walls: the outer gate house. About five minutes ago he had been wishing he was in siege tower three but that had just collapsed in a storm of splinters.
"Ten minutes till go time!" he yelled out to his floor, the very top one. He thought about his wife and kids back home in Germany. He took out the ship measures they had been given, kind of like sextants and looked up at the sun again. Bloody hell he thought, "Five minutes everyone!" He waited, watching the solid oak ramp. Soon it began to creep ominously open. He blew on the whistle "go time!" His men poured onto the ramp, screaming and yelling prayers and hymns. Franz could hear himself yelling but he did not know what he was yelling anymore. He heard someone behind him yell in French: "come on lads, let god hear you, shields up don't let them see your faces!" The templars slaughtered the defenders to a man, tossing the corpses down onto the cobbled streets below.
It was only in doing this did they see what was down there. Nearly three hundred peasants armed with longbows…led by a girl in armour. He felt like chuckling but could not. Instead it came out as some sort of gurgle. He looked down at himself and realised that three arrows where sticking from his body. He swore and then fell from the tall, tall gatehouse. As he fell he let of one final cry: "FOR THE TEMPLARS!"
His body hit the floor with a sickening crunch, landing right in front of Keladry of Mindelan's feet.
Three hundred metres along the wall sir john Gray led his men out of siege tower five. Sir Gray was from Cambridge a small province in England. He was also a knight superior in the military order of st John. He was one of the few non-templar knights to go on this crusade and contrary to what his fellow knights had said so far he had not regretted a second of it. As soon as he was out, onto the walls he scanned his surroundings. The very first thing he noticed was a detachment of men-at-arms from fief Hollyrose armed with crossbows. "Men!" he called out, "to me, shields up, rank by rank formation!" His men formed up around him just as the volley of bolts screamed out from the crossbows. Of the thirty five bolts that sped out, only two hit their targets: one a templar sergeant who had been to slow in getting behind his shield, the other a volunteer from acre only fifteen years old. Sir grey yelled out again: "front racks kneel, spears out, slow advance!" The crossbowmen could not reload because they had to keep backing away and they could not attack because of the spears. One brave man tried and was subsequently skewered on a templar spear. Once the crossbowmen had fled Sir grey swung the standard of st George (st George being the name for this area of the wall) out to de Orleans headquarters, where he knew the grand master would be watching.
King Jonathon the III was not in the best of moods. Although so far the enemy had gained no real footholds the casualties on both sides where horrendous, with seven hundred tortallan soldiers and four militiamen dead or wounded. The enemy's casualties wound up to nearly twice that. Walking to his desk he suddenly wondered where lianne was. Then he remembered. She was gone. He looked at his desk sighing, when he saw the amount of work he had to do. Then he noticed an oddly shaped, lumpy parcel. It seemed to be wrapped in some sort of flag. He took of the flag and looked at it. He stared at it for a moment not knowing which flag it was. Then he gasped in horror suddenly realising what it was. It was a flag he saw every day. A flag he saw outside his walls. It was the flag of the hated invader. A plain red cross on a blank white background. He looked down. There was a black cloth on the lump; this cloth unlike the last was not wrapped around it only covering it. Fearing some sort of trap King Jonathon nudged it apprehensively with one, bejewelled finger. The cloth fell off and for the second time that day the king gasped in horror. Laying on his desk was a severed human head. The head had a look of both intense agony and quiet satisfaction on its bloodied face. Then the King realised who it was. The head had belonged to sir faleron of Kingsreach. This time the king did not gasp. He yelled and yelled. "Guards!...GUARDS!"