Heya everyone,

A few months ago, Wes and I decided to change our fursonas. Wes is now a Knight Templar named Matthias von Brandenburg and I'm a Knight Hospitaller named Benjamin Martin.

Same species and everything, just different back stories.

Speaking of back stories, Wes asked me to write one for our new 'sonas. So I'm slowly doing just that. Here's a taste of what I've written so far.

Enjoy.

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The sky has turned a hazy brown under the dust of thousands of tramping feet. The tramping feet of men marching to fight a holy war.

"Odd place for a Holy war," mused Benjamin Martin to no one in particular.

Seated at the entrance to the "Two Hammers" mountain pass was a simple farm growing nothing at this time of year but dust and withered leaves on the courtyard vineyard. It was at this place that the Saracens chose to meet the crusader's regiment.

The collie turned his gaze to the marshalling Christians, sergeants bawling orders as officers rode up and down the line seeing that everything was in place and, where needed, give the occasional inspiring word to their troops. Nearly seven thousand men, young and old, from far off Europe assembled in this place to fight for God, glory, and the cleansing of sins.

In the center assembled, the majority of the Christian force, the infantry. Spears glinted in the hazy sun and armor rattled against shields as they jostled into ranks.

"Do I look that young?" he wondered.

Benjamin knew he had treated the training wounds of many of the young soldiers now assembled, but try though he might, he couldn't recall any of their faces. The thought saddened him.

In their place of honor on the left came a squadron and half of Templar Knights. All one hundred and fifty armed and armored according to their order for battle and bearing their entourage of sergeants; nearly half again their number.

Benjamin knew Matthias was over there somewhere. Just thinking of the Templar brought forth unbidden images of his steely arms, icy blue eyes, and thick redish mane. The collie felt his throat tighten and shifted atop his painted destrier uncomfortably. He was distracted from his sinful thoughts by the approach of the senior Hospitaller in his squad, Percival.

"Gather round brother scruffs," he coughed, scratching through his scraggly beard.

Benjamin and the brothers de Leon spurred their mounts over to him to listen.

"As you can see we're anchoring the right of this formation, so we'd best not balls it up."

Benjamin smiled to himself. His fellow Englishman made for a very coarse Knight, but one couldn't deny the scars earned over his 20 years of service to the Order.

"Our squadron," he continued "will charge with the infantry and smash through the enemy's flank at the farmhouse." The wolf gestured dismissively at the squat hovel to make his point.

"See to your arms and hearts brothers. I'll see you on the other end of the field or at the gates of paradise." With that, Percival Ardwolff went to each knight in turn and grasped their forearms in the warrior clasp, whispering a kind word in their ears. First came the brothers de Leon, Stephane and Jean. Then the old knight reached Benjamin and, grasping his arm leaned in and said, "Deus Vult, boy. Deus Vult."

And then he turned away leaving the collie to his thoughts.

Benjamin turned his gaze to their Muslim opponents across the field.

The Jiin had assembled a motley force of nearly five thousand Saracen, Berber, and Afghan light infantry and archers at the base of the "Two Hammers" to see off the crusader force. Judging by their lack of cavalry or heavy armor, Benjamin had no doubt many would run into the hammers rather than face the massed Christians for very long. He suspected that had less to do with cowardice than it did strategy. The Jiin had constructed a series of ten forts up the "Two Hammers" that his forces could retreat to. Each would have to be taken and secured in turn by the Christians before the surrounding area, and it's supply lines to Jerusalem, could be considered safe. It was going to be a long day.


Nearly fifteen hundred yards apart the two forces stared each other down. On the field between the armies one could spy materializing, as with most battles, boys afoot and riding ponies, and even a few local girls come to lark and goggle at the coming fight. Some, caught up in the moment, would take to the field and lose their lives; others would become unsung heroes pulling the wounded to safety; while yet more would stay to loot the slain of anything valuable.

Benjamin could hear the cries of wild dogs on the wind. The wild packs could smell a battle, and even tame hounds, whipped to a fever pitch by that keening heard only by their race, may end up driven from the field only by their own extinction.

The Saracen's skirmishers led, and eighth mile from the crusader front. Benjamin reined his horse in next to Percival. The first sling bullets began to chew divots at their feet, spooking the horses; soon they began to clatter like hail.

It is in this building moment that each man turtles behind his shield and utters prayers to God, and whatever saints he favors, for protection and mercy in the coming fight. Benjamin could hear Percival Ardwolff beside him murmuring Psalms 144 beneath his helm.

"Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight. My goodness, my fortress; my high tower, and my deliverer; my shield and He in whom I trust..."

For his own part, Benjamin's prayer was much simpler as he seated the steel tomb of his helm over his head.

"I am Yours. Save me."

"Let it be now!" came the cry of officers up and down the line. "Let it be now!"

Somewhere in the center, Guy de Chevaliers, Knight Commander of seven thousand lives of the fifth crusader regiment gave his nod and a soft word.

"Advance."

Slowly, like the inexorable tide, the crusaders began to march. Like an avalanche they started slowly and began to pick up speed unto the very field quaked with their tread. Being faster on horse than the infantry, both the Knightly orders reined in their rearing mounts to allow the foot sloggers a slight lead. Then like the ends of a bow pulled taught and released the knights spurred their mounts and crashed into the enemy lines.

At the right of the field twined a dry irrigation ditch and the remains of a withered vineyard spreading out from the farm house. Over this razed debris the Hospitallers flowed like a torrent, their lances and blades putting to flight any of the foe's skirmishers foolish enough to try and stand between the two forces.

Benjamin could feel each hoof beat of his charger as he galloped with his squadron. Each hoof beat like a drum echoing, crashing, and shaking through his very core. Each hoof beat drowned out only by the beating of his heart.


With a thundering crash likened to shake the heavens, the two armies met. The knight's lances broke the enemy line like flesh, their heavy horses crushing and trampling any body standing against the holy tide of black and white crosses.

For Benjamin Martin, time slowed to a crawl. It seemed as if he could count the rivets of mail in the the hauberk of the goat in whom he plunged his lance. The falling weight of the body snapped the ash shaft and the collie discarded it; drawing his hammer. Leaning across his mount, Benjamin's back hand swing cracked the skull of a fleeing caracal in a flurry of blood.

Then he was through. Time came crashing back like a thunderbolt from heaven and things suddenly seemed to by moving too quickly for the Hospitaller to handle.

All around the foe bellied rearward. Slingers and javelineers of both sides, flooded into the gaps behind the armies and began assaulting each other through the compacted infantry. They were so close to the fight, these skirmishers, that they flung their shafts over the shoulders of their comrades and into the faces of the foe, while across, the same medicine was being served hot back at them. Clouds of missiles arced and ascended, plunging and vanishing within castle-like battlements of dust.

Like an unstoppable force the crusader heavy infantry began to break through the Muslim center. They drove back the main Saracen force into the foothills while the remainder scattered, leaderless, over the battlefield.

"We have to keep pushing" cried Percival, meaning there were still foes left to fight.

Benjamin heard a cry nearby as a knight toppled from his horse, an arrow through his breast.

Mounting a low wall, the collie's destrier found not solid ground on the other side, but a ditch and tumbled. The Hospitaller hit teeth first within his helm as the mare crashed down on top of him. Kicking free it left him crumpled in the dust.

Regaining his wits, he scrambled to his feet and found himself confronted in the ditch by three enemy slingers, mere boys, two close to fire their weapons they charged with daggers and sickles. Roaring beneath his helm, Benjamin blocked the first gazelle's sickle slash with the haft of his hammer. His return blow shattered the skirmisher's jaw and left him screaming and writhing in the ditch. Vaulting his fallen comrade the next slinger, another gazelle, bowled Benjamin over.

The collie screamed as he heard the scrap of steel on steel of a dagger seeking his helm's eye slits. Lashing out again and again with mailed fists, Benjamin toppled his opponent and crushed his skull with repeated blows.

The last boy came on screaming like a banshee and dashed the knight's helm with a rock, knocking it from his head. Dazed, Benjamin swung low and buried the spike of his hammer where the boy's fruit hung.

Before withdrawing Benjamin killed the two wounded boys as quickly as he could and scrambled from the ditch.

With a wild grin, Percival came riding up, blood splattering his tunic as one hand led the collie's errant horse by the reins.

"Damn fine scrap, aye boy? Ha!"

Benjamin said nothing and remounted.

The fight was all but over. The enemy had fled and the crusader infantry was "giving mercy" to the wounded foe of the field. For now it was over, but with the "Two Hammers" looming ominously the hardest battle was yet to begin.