The Siege Camp of the Franks, across the Golden Horn in Galata

[The Stig]

Following the end of the war council, Simon quickly met with his retainers to inform them of what he knew of the battle plan. After that, he made his way to the tent of Bohemund de Lusignan. Where once camp life had been dreary, demoralizing, and above all, wet, it now was seized by an renewed energy and fervor. Everyone men rushed about, their haste a result of the general anticipation that filled the air. Clerics led knights and freemen alike in prayers to the Heavenly Father, while elsewhere the sound of whetstones were all one could hear. The army had caught scent of battle once more, and it ignited the very same instincts that had grown so dull over the past few months. Simon could hear shouts, hymns, and warcries in twenty different languages as he passed by tent after tent. He finally halted outside the leader's striped tent, informing the guard out front that he wished to see the crusade's commander.

[Pinkerton]

Godfrey walked out of his tent as he noticed the preacher and his crowd. His English was poor, but he could understand the basics of his words. He walked towards a bucket of water next to his tent and splashed some in his face and on his chest and arms. He occasionally looked up at the crowd as they cheered. As he dried his face with a piece of cloth, he noticed some of his own men standing at the back of the crowd and cheering along, even though they didn't understand a single word of it. He snapped his fingers and pointed towards the sergeant standing behind them, who appeared rather indifferent towards the mass.
"Gunter! get those men ready for the assault, I'd rather have them armoured and ready by the time we start the attack!"

The sergeant knodded and started yelling at the other soldiers, who backed off from the crowd and scattered to the tents around Godfrey in a hasty pase.
Godfrey turned towards his squire carrying his equipment and beckoned him, the golden lion on the front of his surcoat looked fresher than yesterday, when it was still stained with splashes of mud. Godfrey stroked it as the squire fastened the laces on his back, while gazing at the walls of Constatinople. "Lions of Brabant and Flanders have always been with first to take the walls, God help me, I will make sure to continue that legacy."
He accepted the helm offered by his squire and put it on
"Gunter, spread the word: 15 minutes until inspection"

Father Lawrence noticed the soldiers leaving the crowd. He frowned, he didn't liked when his sermons were interrupted but continued nonetheless

My dear brothers, let us now pray to the Virgin Mary, so she may intercede between us and the Lord and ask him for guidance in this battle so we achieve a victory we so much deserve against these faithless greeks and the fake Emperor that rules them

He did the signal of the cross and started the prayer

In nomine pater, et filii, et spiriti sancti, Amen

Ave María,
gratia plena,
Dominus tecum,
benedicta tu in muliéribus,
et benedictus fructus ventris tui Iesus.
Sancta Maria, Mater Dei,
ora pro nobis peccatoribus,
nunc et in ora mortis nostrae.
Amen


His latin was rough and could barely be understood by the common folk. But it was the language of the first Christians and as such it had to be respected

[Honors Bastion]

Bohemond strokes his chin slightly, pondering upon his troop numbers. He taps the wall of Theodosius lightly.

I may have your troops positioned with mine when the wall breaks down and we advance through the hole in their defenses. I will have the majority, number wise, among our 11,000 troops that will be ready for the Lycus assault, so I may not dedicate all of mine and have some in reserve to aid either the advance through the gap or along the walls once the towers are in place.

Simon nodded and said “Do as you see fit Bohemund. My men will be ready to attack when our assault begins. They are eager to unleash their built up frustration and anger upon the Byzantines who cowered behind their walls while we suffered in the rain. When we break through the walls, the Greeks will face the wrath of our mighty Frankish Knights.”

[Ganbarenippon]

“I can understand your trepidation cousin. We are facing mighty walls that none have been able to storm in its entire history. It will be a formidable task and it will be the start of a long and bloody day when the battle begins. But I think we will succeed. The Romans are not as strong as they once were and their capital shall fall to our hands.” said Simon. He places a hand on his cousin’s shoulder and said with a smile “I am glad that you shall be at my side when the battle begins cousin. Whatever happens, we face our foes together in the name of House de Provence. God wills it!”

Roland places his hand on top of his cousins. "I won't let you down Simon. Let's make our fathers proud!" Shortly afterwards Roland took his leave of his cousin, feeling more confident. His cousin knew what he was about and if he said there was less cause for concern then Roland believed him. He spent the remainder of the time between the conversation with his cousin and the siege with the men. As he was not a senior commander and was young the men accepted him readily enough. He knew them and they him, particularly the de Provence men from his families estates around Marseille. They had largely come with Simon, as he was from the senior branch of the family, but they all knew Roland by sight.

Much of the time he spent training with the men, or boasting of who would be first over the walls. He also spent one afternoon seriously considering how to arm himself. At first he thought he was going to use a sword, but he noticed many of the veteran troops were staying away from that noble weapon. They said a sword was not best in the cramped confines of a city and the tight press of wall fighting. Many of them elected to use maces and hammers. In the end Roland decide to use a war axe. His particular one was one handed, for use with a shield, and had a broad, crescent shaped head balanced by a thick spike. It would serve admirably in close proximity fighting, particularly the spike. It would also be of use in clearing debris.

Most of Roland's time however was spent waiting. And watching. And waiting.

[Ganbarenippon]

Jacopo Orsini had spent much of his time after the council with his men. They were good men, largely from his family estates in Latium, though many were from the city of Rome itself and had served as his Uncle's guards when he was Pope. They had largely fallen in with Jacopo and did not find it in the least bit unusual that a cleric would lead them to battle. They had known the priest long enough to understand that he valued a obedience and would repay loyalty handsomely. He made his way to the tent of Philip D'Alencon and, finding it empty, waited inside for the return of it's owner.

[Jokern]

Arvid woke up late the next day, the night had been long for him, so much that needed to be prepared for the assault. He and his men was going to attack the Blachernae district under Roger Rochechoaurt and his Franks. Arvid had slept well and looked forward to meeting Roger, hoping the Frank hadn't finished a strategy yet. Under no circumstances would he lead his men into battle without having his say about the plan.

The sky was clear and blue, with a nice breeze blowing north. Many of the Germans were already up, practicing their swordfght abilities or eating some breakfeast. Father Johannes held a large mass in the middle of their camp with hundreds of men sitting down and listening to his words. Arvid smiled at this; the crazy priest from Münich had finally got his followers. What a strange world we're living in, glhe thought while making his way to the Frankish part of the camp.

Arvid, after searching for some time, finally reached de Rochechoaurt's tent. He asked if the noble was in and if he would allow Arvid an audience.

[Zectorman]

Alexandros walked through the great camps of warriors from all over Europe, a knot in his gut telling him that he did not belong. What was the son of a merchant doing in a war? What training had he in the art of warfare aside from a few duels in the streets of Venice. And you could compare the politics of the merchant class to the strategy used in great campaigns such as this crusade? What troubled him more was the challenges before them they faced...not to mention who they faced. These were no Muslims that had usurped the holy lands of Catholicism, no...these were Christians as well, though not Catholic. Did they have the right? More importantly did they have the power to attack the famous walls of Constantinople.

Everyone seemed to have a lord or a purpose as their hustled around the camp. Carrying messages or hauling arms to the grand army. But he was alone, no lord other than God himself. Franks, Flemish even German knights and banner-men strode the camp were he was. Things had picked up since he arrived via ship only hours ago. Then he picked up some words in various Italian dialects, he breathed a sigh of relief, at least their were some civilized human beings among him. He saw various noble looking men making their way to a tent wit ha large flag of a Red Lion on a stripped blue and white background. He made his way to the tent, praying within his mind that this was the place to receive some sort of information or orders for the following battle. He noticed a tan skinned Italian man in front of the tent, with the livery of a White Scorpion. Taking positions behind the man he nodded to the guard after the noble had spoken to him."My name is Alexandros Badaurio, noble from Cre...er Venice I wish to speak with whoever is in chrarge...I am in need of...leadership."

[Adamat]

Cristoforo, who was just walking past Di Napoli's tent on his way to one of the many armorers, stopped when he heard Italian. He inspected the man with a Venetian accent, but didn't recognise him. He walked closer.

"And who might you be?" Cristoforo asked the other Italian. "I'm pretty sure I haven't seen you around before, even though I know most Italians in the camp."

[Zectorman]

Alexandros turned to face the man who addressed him. He gave the man a nod of acknowledgement before he spoke, he recognized the Venetian accent of the man. "Oh, well my name is Alexandros Badaurio, from Venice. And who might you be? I assume you are also from the great city considering how well you speak Italian" said Alexandros with a chuckle at the end.

[Adamat]

Cristoforo smiled, and bowed. "Cristoforo Soranzo, Venetian crossbowman extraordinaire and merchant," he told Alexandros. "The name Baudarios sounds familiar to me. Doesn't the Baudarios family hold a number of trading companies in Venice? I remember doing business with one of you."

[Zectorman]

Alexandros smiled and relaxed some, finally a man from the civilized world. "A small number of trading companies, we are not as large as some of the other families. I arrived here on some of the boats provided by said companies. I myself was born in one of our holdings in Crete, it seems strange that I am outside of Constantinople. It is good to know that their are good Venetian men here to take part of the glory. Joining the crusade was by far my most ambitious choice of a future, I am on my own for the first time. You would not happen to know a lord or two that could use a good sword arm?"

[Adamat]

Cristoforo laughed. "Look around you and speak to the man with the shiniest armour," he joked. "But really, you should request an audience with De Lusignan. He's a descendant of the King of Crete, a grandson I believe. He was elected our leader, even though a large minority didn't think that was a great idea."

[╬Ritterbruder╬]

Godfry dismissed his men after inspection and sat down at a nearby table, his squire put a plate of bread and a cup of wine in front of him, as Godfrey always insisted in performing his obligations before addressing 'menial' tasks like having breakfast. Yet for several seconds, Godfrey appeared to ignore the food in front of him, he simply stared ahead of him, towards that shining globe, sticking out in the skyline of the city.
"not hungry, m'lord?"his squire asked
Godfry shook his head quickly as if he just woke u
"of course I am"
he sneered as he took a bite and and emptied his cup in one go. He held it out to his side for a refill without giving the squire one look, but kept staring in the distance.
After 5 seconds of silence he looked to his side to find his squire staring at the cup in his hand, which was shaking: not violently, but hard enough to be noticed. After staring at his hand for a few seconds as well, he lifted his eyes up towards his squire, whose eyes in return were peering at him. After a moment of silence, while holding a threatening gaze, he slammed the cup on the table
"Dammit boy, just fill the **g cup, will you?"
The squire, shortly startled, complied and filled the cup, which was again emptied in a single move. He sent of the squire, still with a dark frown on his forehead, giving a mean look to the squire as he departed and inspecting his hand

[Zectorman]

Alexandros put on a confused look, de Lusignan....Kings of Jerusalem?. "...well now that is interesting....and a large minority you say?....sounds like a problem for the future. Well he ma be king of Byzantium before long if this goes well. I assume that the rather large flag and retinue out here that this is the tent of our leader? Might be a good time to let him know of my existence, could only help me in the future to be known by a king"

[Adamat]

"That's the spirit," Cristoforo replied. "And that is indeed his pavilion. Be sure to tell him of all your good points, it may earn you a place in the first wave. You survive the first wave, you get rich. You don't survive it - well, you can't worry about anything anymore then."

[Zectorman]

Alexandros smiled, "Oh do not worry about me, I have a way of convincing people! I think we Venetians should stick together though, who are you fighting with?" He wanted people to watch his back. Being in the first wave would mean big rewards but it also meant the biggest risk. Death or glory seemed to be the only two outcomes.

[Hengest]

"As I trust The Lord, so I may trust your tongue, friend."
Removing his skyward gaze, he rose to more comfortably address the approaching man.


"Forgive me if I do not first introduce myself; these niceties of exchange I more immediately observe in times of peace. But my mind begs to know of our instructions to move, as the spread of orders had caught me off guard when I first entered camp. I can see that you too prefer this air - it is the most pleasurable spot of solitude I've found since I've come here. So, amiable stranger, what brings you on this crusade?"

Willyame stood for a moment considering the foreigner's words. He was deft and dauntless, and in Willyame's experience of lordly warriors that spelt the same for their swordsmanship. The Scotsman nodded, opening his black shemagh to speak with a European face. "A thousand men from Britannia and Hibernia bedeck this hill on the north side, hiding from the morning sun when it rises. We do not seek this crusade, brother Christian, but flee the last."

[Adamat]

Alexandros smiled, "Oh do not worry about me, I have a way of convincing people! I think we Venetians should stick together though, who are you fighting with?" He wanted people to watch his back. Being in the first wave would mean big rewards but it also meant the biggest risk. Death or glory seemed to be the only two outcomes.

Cristoforo looked around him, suddenly a bit nervous. "It's a bit of a secret what I am going to do, Alexandros. Tell me, how good are you in a battle, actually?"

[Zectorman]

Alexandros's eyebrow cocked up a bit. The sound of the man's voice as he talked screamed intrigue, "I am quite good with a sword I can assure you. I have killed men before in the streets of Venice. Though I have not taken part in an actual battle of such scale...."

Though this was the truth, it was not the whole truth. He had killed a man but it was a mistake, a duel gone wrong. Of course regardless of his past he was quite confident in his swordsmanship.

[Amaz]

Willyame stood for a moment considering the foreigner's words. He was deft and dauntless, and in Willyame's experience of lordly warriors that spelt the same for their swordsmanship. The Scotsman nodded, opening his black shemagh to speak with a European face. "A thousand men from Britannia and Hibernia bedeck this hill on the north side, hiding from the morning sun when it rises. We do not seek this crusade, brother Christian, but flee the last."

The spark of interest glinted in Folquet's eyes.

"I have heard men of the Isles disposed to good report, your soldiery unmatched in spirit and ability. I lament that you and your men might stay the fight, that as hardened a band as yours might see battle once more. But you all alike are of sound judgment, and I pray your safe homecoming when all is over - wherever your wanderings lead you. Leave me knowing, however, what you and your men had seen in your previous expedition. Whether your tale causes a man to melt with a pained heart is no matter to me, so please do not hide the truth of what I ask you."