Crusader Quest: Deus Vult

time to work for the Waifu!

> Wilhelm, Lord of Ramla

> Wilhelm, Lord of Ramla

It;s really good to have you again HF, im sorry its not under great circumstances

Reminder that Chiri is pure maiden of virtue.

We're back!

Pity this arc be the finale.

We better shag the shit out of Chiri to make up for it.

Fuck that Iovetta.

after Ascalon

we need to maintain the narrative that we are doing this soley for Iovetta who is the sole Woman we love and most certainly have no other room in our heart for another!

>Implying Iovetta wont be the only woman Wilhelm will never get to sleep with.

She will die an old woman without ever getting the W

pastebin.com/rZQ8vVBd

You are Wilhelm, Lord of Ramla.

And you have just finished organizing the supplies brought by your Genoan allies, foodstuff and beddings that would help your encampment. Campaigning so close to winter was a risky proposition even in the Holy Land. It might not be as bitterly cold as your ancestral home upon the Rhine, but men could still freeze in the night or awake with numb toes and fingers, the danger of the chill threatening the extremities. The last thing you needed was soldiers rendered fingerless because they lacked sufficient bedding.

With you was your man Sir Etienne, the fussy Gascon with the sharp little mustache. He had an eye for supervision, commanding the common army of servants with a vigour that would have impressed a Roman general. His own squire acted as his right hand, and you caught sight of dusky skinned Jacques (was his name Jacques? You knew him only as Etienne's shadow and Hugo's friend) bawling out a ham handed servant that dropped a sack of flour.

"Ignorant Christ damned peasant," Jacques spat curses in French and Latin, "I ought to shove my foot up your arse and use you for a boot. Drop another thing, just one more thing, and I Christ-cursed will." The peasant nodded dumbly as he gathered up the dropped provisions, and Jacques sent him off with a slap to the back of his balding head, face red, a huff in his chest. The peasant, a Levantine, might have understood all but half of what he said, but he understood the threat in his voice and the rank of squire the boy carried, and did as he said.

Jacques might be uncouth but at least he was diligent, you thought. Your own squire was who knew where. Once you were done here, needs meant you must see to your own camp and your own soldiers. If you were to be first through the wall, your men would require special care.

A Genoan soldier came up, armed, helmed and wearing the tabard of his fair city state, with a robed man collared in gold chain, arm filled with a parcel. He was a scarred, grinning soldier, a seasoned campaigner, in company of a more fleshy faced and plump scion of Italy.

"Guten tag," the Genoan said in muddy German.

"Good day," you replied in Latin.

"You have some education," the Genoan said, "I hoped so. You never know which Germans speak the civilized tongues, and which only their own bastard speech."

"You'll find I'm fluent in both civilized and bastard tongues," you replied, "Though I couldn't tell you which is which." The nobleman behind the soldier smirked, while the soldier chuckled.

"We bring a gift for your queen," the soldier said, "Would you show us to her, or at least tell us the way?"

"And you are?" you asked.

"I'm Michello," he said, offering you his hand, "This is Giovanni, representative of of Genoa's council."

You took his offered hand. "Wilhelm of Ramla." The two Genoans share a smile, flashing words between them in their mother tongue.

"Honoured, Lord Ramla, we have heard of you," Giovanni said with a hand on his heart and half a bow in his form.

> take them to the Queen personally
> tell them where she is, you must see to your own camp

> take them to the Queen personally

> take them to the Queen personally

I'd rather not let the Genoans near the Queen without our oversight. Crafty buggers, although not as bad as Venice.

>> take them to the Queen personally
Could be spies

>take them to the Queen personally

Well well well. Look who came crawling back

>> take them to the Queen personally

>> take them to the Queen personally

>> take them to the Queen personally

>trusting Italians
>ever

Intrigues abound

"I'd be honoured to escort you," you said with a bow of your own. These seems to please your Genoan guests. You turn to Etienne, who is eyeing a list of parchment with a sour eye. "All is well?" you asked.

Etienne blew out a hot breath. "It will have to do," he said with a cluck of his tongue, rolling up the parchment, "But I'd be happier with twice the provisions and men."

"Wouldn't we all?" you said, clapping him on the shoulder, "See to our people, I must see to other duties."

"Sir," Etienne nodded. He walked aside, tapping the parchment against his knee, scrutiny turned onto the workers unloading provisions and carrying them, laden like human mules, into the camp.

You lead Sir Michello and Lord Giovanni through the camp. Some men called to you as you passed, and those you recognized you replied to with a friendly word and gesture. The Genoans kept close, you saw they were judging the camp that they saw. You doubt they could find fault, it had been set up by your instructions, following closely Roman instruction. No waste filled the avenues between tents, and shitting was kept to the far side of the encampment. No doubt they had heard stories of poorly run Frankish camps, overflowing with sewage through the set thoroughfares.

Nothing like that could be seen here.

You went past a grinding wheel, a well-muscled smith working a blade against the grindstone, soldiers waiting for their weapons to be seen.

"A good camp," Sir Michello said.

"Not all our numbers," you said, "Some still tarry, and will be joining us soon."

"Of course," Michello replied.

You came upon the Queen's camp, guarded by her personal soldiery. Tough old men, veterans of her father's army, and younger men plucked from the streets of Jerusalem, armed and outfitted in the holy colours of the kingdom. Old Theodore acknowledged you with a salute, spear raised. The Armenian was smiling, being on campaign had given him a more youthful vigor despite the lines of his face.

"Guests for the queen," you said, "Gentlemen of Genoa."

Of course you did not have to wait long for the queen. She strode forth from her tent, armoured in form fitting maille, armed at the hip with a sword, golden hair gathered up in a woven braid, her brow adorned with the crown of her office. Her face was proud and imperial, taking in the camp at a sweep. A cluster of noble girls followed her, her coterie of noble hand maidens who acted as servants to the queen.

"My queen," you said, gesturing to her.

"Your majesty," Lord Giovanni bowed, "We bring you a gift." He held out the bound package.

"Gentlemen, be welcome," her imperious expression changed to a flashing smile. She clicked her fingers and chairs were drawn up, simple field chairs, and a table with wine, her servants moving quickly to provide this all, "Sit, drink, be at ease."

"The comforts of a royal court, even at war, you honour us," Giovanni lay the package upon the table, taking a seat. Michello remained standing bhind his lord, arms draping casually over his sword hilt.

"Will you drink, Lord Wilhelm?" Melisende offered as she plucked the twine from the package. It unfolded, revealing a robe of black bear fur, collared in white mink. A rare and expensive gift. She held it up. "A beautiful gift," she said.

"To protect you against the cold, and enrich your beauty," Giovanni said, pleased with himself as he drank some offered wine.

She held it to her breast. "Does it 'enrich my beauty' Lord Wilhelm?" she asked, giving you a knowing smile.

> indeed it does
> your beauty needs no enrichment

>> your beauty needs no enrichment

> your beauty needs no enrichment

But it is still a fine gift

> your beauty needs no enrichment

But a fine gift all the same

>> your beauty needs no enrichment

>your beauty needs no enrichment

>> your beauty needs no enrichment

yah

Hope Matty isnt getting herself into trouble or worse, hanging out with Elias.

"Your beauty needs no enrichment, your highness," you said, "Though it is a beautiful gift."

"Your tongue is ever gilded my lord," she hands it to you and holds out her arms, "Hold it for me, so that I might more easily slip it on."

You take it dutifully in both hands, holding it behind her. She slips in an arm at a time, then taking it by the collar, drew it closed around her throat. The sheen of the black fur made the pure white colour stand out all the stronger, and complemented her fair skin and honey-gold hair as well. You saw Michello lean in eagerly, lust glittering in his eyes, while Giovanni sat back with a pleased grin that you thought bereft of lust. His was the pleasure of a diplomat achieving some aim, and you think as you note his eyes flit onto a passing soldier, his tastes run in a different direction than the womanly beauty in front of him.

"My thanks to you," she said from over the collar of her fine new coat, "But I did not ask for fine gifts. We need swords, and men to use them, as well as grain and drinking water."

"All else we have brought," Giovanni said, "With the assurance, of course, that we will be given a corner of the Ascalon port for our private use once it has been taken." As Genoa had in many ports throughout Christian Palestine. You detected there was another request lingering in the back of the Genoans eyes, and the queen saw it to.

"What else is there you want?" she asked, taking her own seat.

"Nothing major," the Genoan said, "The right to first purchase of any captured slaves, to which you will be well compensated, and a share of the treasury."

"How big a share?" she asked, the business of war often married with the business of gold and markets.

Giovanni looked to Michello. "Ten percent," he said.

It was quite a sum, Genoa would come out very wealthy from this campaign, perhaps wealthiest of all the conquerors.

"What do you think, Ramla?" she asked you.

> accept the terms
> they ask too much
> negotiate later

Considering how smitten he is, I think he'll be good for her.

I'm personally ok with the union if we can work something out.

Same. I am just thinking from a Wilhelms perspective.

Tell them to lower the precentage. They have already been promised a district in the city.

>> negotiate later

TEN PERCENT?! they ask far too much, best to weaken their position somehow

>> they ask too much

They are merchants, are they not? Bargain.

> negotiate later

Forgot to green text.

> They ask too much
Press for consolation on rebuilding fortifications. Durkas are going to be right at the gate next season. They commission reconstruction of the section wall that the bitches are to fell.

>> negotiate later

> they ask too much

Lets use that bard tongue of ours

Nope.

10% is ridiculous. Ask for 18% as well as a guarantee that Genoa will send defensive aid to Jerusalem should anything foul befall the Kingdom.

wait, you argued them UP?

Reminder that they're offering us a 10% cut of their venture profits.

10% would be better for a guarantee of aid not 18%

it's like you want to make paupers out of us

> they ask too much

either they up their aid or lower their percentage this is incrediably one sided on their part

Short term profits mean nothing unless you have the merchants by their coinpurse.

Once you blend their profits with the state of the realm, Genoa will be less likely to cheese it and run.

[Citation needed]

Either I'm going insane or the flowery language has ruined my reading comprehension.

They are demanding 10% of the loot.

"There is generosity, then there is being taken for a fool," you said, "Ten percent of the treasury, first right of purchase for slaves, and their own corner of Ascalon? Do not enrich Genoa to beggar Jerusalem."

"You have a counter-offer?" Giovanni turned a ring on his finger. This was the game of his people, he had expected as much.

"You can have your ten percent, if Genoa rebuilds any damage rendered to Ascalon's walls before the next season unfolds." you said, "That would make the sum fair. If not, five percent at a maximum. You are not the only ones at risk in this fight, other parties are to be paid and expected a share of the treasury."

"He speaks with your voice on this?" Giovanni asked, talking to Melisende but pointing to you.

"He gives his opinion, one I take seriously," she replied, leaning upon an elbow, "But my mind is my own."

"Another compromise," you said, "You get all that you own, if you cut the royal house of Jerusalem into your further business in Asia, of an equal ten percent in future dealings."

"A tariff," he said the word like it was a slick of ice. The merchant states loathed a tariff. They had become rich off avoiding such taxes upon their goods through their private ports in African and Asian harbours.

"A partnership, exclusive to your homeland, one that will make Genoa and Jerusalem closer friends," you said, trying to sweeten the sound of it. You could tell it still left the merchant lord sour, though it introduced a glimmer of possibility to his eyes.

"Which would you favour?" the queen asked.

Giovanni moved in his chair, tapping his thigh with ringed fingers. "All are fair save the last, which is beyond my ability to negotiate. Which do you favour?" his last was to you.

> five percent
> ten percent + fixing the walls

> ten percent + fixing the walls

> ten percent + fixing the walls

>> ten percent + fixing the walls+ assistance beyond Ascalon

This

>> ten percent + fixing the walls

The tariff would have been nice.

>assistance beyond Ascalon

They are already doing that.

> ten percent + fixing the walls

> ten percent + fixing the walls
We use sure they can fix walls?
Or are they going to jew on the building materials?
Here a counter offer, good strong walls if they do it well they get the full 10 %

good point

Doubt it. Since it will endanger their tarrif free port in Palestine.

Just a question, as long as they fix the walls well, then it's all good

"Ten percent if they fix the walls," you said, "Though I trust them not to cut corners on the repairs."

Giovanni gave a snort. "And I trust you, Lord Ramla, not to smash them apart like the walls of Jericho!" he waved a finger up at you, but you could tell he was pleased.

"I'll do what must be done to capture the city," you replied.

"As shall we all," the queen said. She smiled to the Genoan. "All to the good, we are in agreement, you get your ten percent on future assurities that repairs will be at Genoa's expense and completed in a timely matter. Mathilde!" She called to your sister, who stepped forth from the small clutch of hand maidens. Your sister was all in blue, dark hair ribboned in silver. She curtseyed. "Fetch my seal."

"Yes m'lady," she said, and went back into the tent. She returned with a heavy silver box, and placed it before the queen. From it Melisende produced a scroll, quill and ink, and a small silver stamp. Across the parchment she scrawled the outcome of the conversation, her promises and Genoa's, and at last signed her name. She had Giovanni do the same, and yourself as witness. Last she took her seal, dipped it in the ink, and marked it beside her name. She blew on the ink lightly to dry it, waved it gently in the air, then handed it to Giovanni.

"All done," she said with a smile. Giovanni tucked it away, grinning.

"A pleasure," he said, "Now if you will excuse us, we must be at sea. The blockade cannot command itself." He rose from his chair, Sir Michello falling in behind him. The tough Italian soldier gave you a friendly nod as they left, one you returned.

Melisende watched them leave, smiling but cool eyed.

"Italians," she murmured, fingering the fur of her new robe, "They haggle as often as Jews, yet a Jew has never left me feeling robbed."

"It was a fair deal," you said.

The Queen sighed. "Yes, it could have been worse," she took a sip of her wine, "Now I shall have the headche of all the other banners looking to renegotiate their rewards. 'Why favour Genoa over your own countrymen?' Feh. Because Genoa has ships that you lack." Her mouth twisted as if the wine were bitter or as if she might spit, but she swallowed and gave you a grin. "My thanks for the support. Some men chafe to be rebuked by a woman directly, having a man around to give vocal disagreement helps smooth things."

"Oh I am always happy to serve you my lady," you replied.

She waved a hand. "Go and see to your men, Lord Ramla, I have reports the fighting shall begin soon, best you be ready."

"As you will," you said. You give a glance at your sister, but the girl's attention was on her mistress. I suppose you had best see to your men.

> see to your camp generally
> see to one of your men in particular (nominate)

>> see to your camp generally

>> see to one of your men in particular (nominate)

Chiri to find out if she has heard anything in the camp.

Our engineer to make sure our siege engines are ready and if he can see any weak points in the city.

And our commanders to make sure the men are ready

>> see to one of your men in particular (nominate)

Solomon! let us issue a challenge to Ascalon

their best against ours!

I think I killed the thread.

I'm just going to take this: as a vote to view the camp generally, since its talking about visiting multiple people.

Thats fine

That's fine

we should go find the prince soonish. We have an outstanding request from him to meet us.

who Manuel? we already talked to him as Wilhelm and Matty, promised him aid in the future in return for aid in the future.

No, not him. Elias.

Just arrived, surprised to land in this again. Can anyone remember the order of things?

The Ramlan camp was marked by your banner, standing tall among the tents. It was a motley collection of Levantine and Frankish adventurers, local boys drilled into soldiers under the instruction of your men, Solomon and Tancred, outfitted by your own armoury and wearing your device, alongside the fair skinned Franks come to find glory under your banner, outfitted in their own arms and armour. Over six hundred men fell under your command, them split between the oversight of two knightly men, Arnold of Nassau and Valeran of Gascony, a pair of Frankish warriors who had taken up the cross and, for this campaign, your patronage.

You walked past soldiers readying themselves for war. Some were in prayer, others were in their cups, trading jests over games of dice and rough conversation. There was a nervous edge to many of the men, few of them were properly seasoned warriors. Not just men were present but the camp followers, the women and children of the soldiery, as well as collected hanger-ons, made preparations. You spied a woman make a charm from old worn cloth, to hang for safety of her husband, while another considered twine and needle that would turn from mending blankets, to mending torn flesh.

At the heart of the Ramlan camp was the core, your own men, your personal retinue. Seated by a warming fire, Solomon sharpened his inward curving blade, a strip of beef jerky dangling from his lips as he worked a stone across its edge. The man was the shape and size of a starved bear, big but at the same time with an athlete's leanness to him. You had yet to meet a warrior that was his match. By his side was Tancred, with a younger man in Jaffa colours. They were shades of each other, the young man the image of Tancred in his youth. The man-at-arm's eldest son, Odo. They talked with matching smiles, long toothed, ginger men. Odo had been born in these lands, and the hot sun had freckled his Frankish skin.

Elias is a count but I guess we should

You saw Chihirizahd at a wash basin, working one of your shirts with a thick bar of soap. She leaned over the water, wet to her elbows, eyes hawkish upon the shirt as she scoured it of dust. She was oggled by your 'uncle' Sir Hermann, fat and grey, drinking alone, but also, from the corner of his eye, 'Sir' Hector watched her backside as it rose and fell with the scrape of the soap. Alexius, your mule-brained common squire, attended her in her washing, arms laden with your soiled clothing, and he did not bother to hide his delight at watching her work. She clicked her fingers and he passed her your hose, attacking this next garment as if it were stained with blasphemy.

You did not see Achilles, nor Hugo or Sabeen. The others you knew were on business in further reaches of the camp.

"Solomon," the big man looked up, chewing the jerky like a cow chewed cud, "Have you seen my brother? The boy's been shirking his duties."

Solomon's face split in a grin, a knowing chuckle growing in his chest. "Hugo's been busy," Solomon said. Both Tancred and Odo exchanged their own winks. Solomon gestured to a tent with his chin.

You frowned at them. You strode over to the tent, pushing through the flap. You'd not have him waste time with some whore will you had need of his service.

"Hugo, Christ damn it, enough lazing around and wake u-" you started and stopped. The tent was heavy with the musk of sex.

He blinked hair shaded eyes up at you, sitting up out of the cover of the blanket. Sabeen and Hugo, intertwined, slowly separated beneath the blanket. The boy was bare chested, a bare leg stuck forth, nude beneath the blanket that pooled in his lap. A dark hand slid down the scar that crossed his chest, drifting down into his lap. She rolled away from him with a tired groan, shielding her eyes from the break of sunlight. The blanket fell away from her chest and you caught a sight of dark nipples as she curled away from him.

"Brother," Hugo's shock didn't last as he quickly threw the blanket over Sabeen, Sabeen's eyes slowly widening in embarrassment. "This is, uh, this is not what it looks like." He put himself between you and Sabeen. "We were just resting." Naked, for whatever reason.

"That wasn't very restful," Sabeen said, an arm around Hugo's shoulder, a smile opening her face.

Christ cursed fools, did they not know the danger they were in? "You know the punishment for bedding a Saracen?" you said. You grabbed your balls. "It's castration, boy, castration!"

"It's worth it," he replied hotly.

"A bit of sex isn't worth your balls, no matter how enticing the woman," you snapped.

"It's not about sex," he snapped back. He looked back at her and his face, the tender look, it was all you wished it wasn't, "It's not about lust," he said, and by god you wished it had been just a casual romp.

You stared at him. Christ damn him for a fool, but he was in love. You looked to Sabeen, hoping she still had some sense. Christ damn her too, but she had a tender look for your brother, worry in her brow, and the way her hand strayed into the curling blonde locks about his neck, the little signs a woman gave, Christ's blood, she was in love as well.

"Oh you sweet idiots," you rubbed your face.Now was not the time for such romantic foolishness.

> tell them to never do this again
> give up, it's love
> write-in

>> give up, it's love
but tell them we wont save his balls if they are caught

>> write-in
They can wait until the war is done, Wil is married and settled, and then Hugo can have enough liberty to see for himself.

> give up, it's love

>> write-in
"Alright, you are both obviously smitten. Sabeen, to avoid your paramore being gelded, will you take baptism? If so, I will see both of you wed once this campaign is finished."

>write in
you may do what you will but i beg you, there are too many eyes here. Sabeen if you care to prevent my brothers mutilation this can /not/ happen again in a place as open as the camp

>> write-in
"I can't stop you, just as no one could I if I were in your position. But promise me, you both, that you will not do this again until you know none can find out of this."
"You are my brother, and Sabeen my friend. For the sake of your love, my brother's balls and Sabeen's integrity, please, do as I ask."

> write-in
This shit isn't love, he just horny, happens to every kid, love the first person then bloom later it's over. This kid is going to get his balls crop if he don't stop. Don't don't want to break the kid's dreams, so tell him to stop or off with his balls, kid should know when to stop and drop this shit later.
Also black and white don't mix well

>> write-in

''you will stop NOW, we will talk about this later''

Nah. Brah, they are at the age to imprint upon one another. She is past the age and he is at the age. Marry them if she will take baptism.

>marriage

yeah a noble bastard marrying a Saracen convert of murky birth makes a great marriage!

fuck that!

Nah. Brah. I'm kind of racist can't kid myself at that. Don't want the kid's blond hair and blue eyes go to waste.
I'm just against it but I know anons went that ebony beauty.

Also I want our little hugo buddy to marry some of status you like a noble. That noble we had sex with.

>That noble we had sex with.

que?

Hey, against miscegination as much as the next self respecting European, but with how much trouble his prick has been getting him in, and with how lovey dovey those two are, I would want to get a damper put on that right quick.

That is a good point. If he hadn't shown such a disdain for mores with respect to the Princess of Antioch, I would agree with you. I think he is hardheaded enough to fuck around on the side.

>no one remembers Hugo is supposed to marry into huge tracts of Templar land and dat crazy french booty

you know the one Hugo was at the king's palace and he had a thing with that little lady. It's been so long I forget.
Also just a warning in the middle ages people are known not to race mix you'll be look down upon. So it's bad for us since he's our brother

I do. Templar route best route i feel.