A/N: A young woman armed with martial arts training, wit, and the will to live struggles to survive a day in medieval Acre. One-shot. A hypothesis of what would happen if I were to spend twenty four hours caught up in the events of Assassin's Creed and make it out alive.

An asterisk means there is an end note associated with the passage.

A Day in Acre

I took for granted the near perfect temperatures of spring, oblivious to the brightly colored flowers that blossomed in baskets along the urban street. I automatically walked, mindlessly dodging the bodies of crowds, thoughts turned inward on chemistry, more specifically chemistry homework.

As I recited equations through my head, I also failed to register the mischief created by a particularly strong gust of wind… until a flash of movement caught the corner of my eye. My reaction, being pulled so abruptly from my musings, caused me to initially stare blankly at the paper, twirling almost gracefully in the air. Then it hit me: those were my notes from today.

Cursing out loud, I finally snapped into action, the paper tumbling down the sidewalk and out of my reach as I hastily worked to halt any further escape attempts from my remaining papers. By the time the last zipper was in place, the paper was nearly out of my sight. I sprinted, clumsily weaving through the crowds. Most were in the middle of their own matters, thoughts, phone calls, plugged into their I-pods, it was as if I was a ghost. Many of the few who did notice simply glanced in my direction, seemingly unable to react to the fact I was barreling towards them. This only reinforced the imagery. Alas, I was not a ghost, I was indeed very solid, and so was the pole I managed to slam my hip into.

Being in public, I forced channeled my curses into self mutterings, glancing up just to see that innocent paper disappear from my sight, into a semi-circle opening in the alleyway's wall. Rubbing my shoulder, I ventured into this alleyway, its walls offering me some privacy from prying eyes. Looking back, I still can't say for sure why I decided to stash my bag in an alleyway and crawl into an unknown hole. Common sense alone would have spelled out "This idea is about as bright as an unlit cave." What actually happened was even worse.

It was a short hole, forcing me to crawl on my belly in imitation of a snake. I expected to reach some kind of dead end, so one can imagine my surprise when the upper half of my body half toppled into openness, causing me to nearly face plant into a wall. The lighting was somewhat dim, I thought I must have accidentally crawled inside somewhere. Panic shot through me at the thought of being arrested for trespassing, but the salt-scented breeze alleviated that fear. On the contrary, my curiosity urged me forward.

A Day in Acre

The air was not merely salty, it was a kaleidoscope of scents: hay, livestock, and the overwhelming smell of wastes and garbage. When the wind blew just right, I caught the exotic scents from a nearby merchant's stall.

Am I seeing this? It wasn't that crowded, but the people I did see were covered head to toe, a direct contrast to sandals and short sleeves that people adorned in the street I just crawled from. They chattered in a language that contained a cockney accent, but beyond snippets of words, I was unable to grasp any meaning from the crowd's dialogue. "…he chæs all att hiss wille." "Ich wes in one sumere dale…"*

I wanted to press on, to investigate this strange conundrum, but one glance at myself told me otherwise: caprice, t-shirt, and hopeless with the local language. Whatever it was I stumbled upon, I certainly did not belong, and turned to crawl back through my hole.

I paused when I caught sight of a cluster of what appeared to be guards. They were carried swords, wore armor, and had a demeanor that radiated, Watch out! It seemed some hapless woman was tossed from man to man.

I flashed back to my days in junior high, when I watched a scrawny kid harassed by their larger and meaner peers. The first time I witnessed this, I did what this crowd was doing now, I moved on. After that, I would look for teachers. Sometimes I would find one in time, sometimes not.

This was no school. This was something far more sinister, and no teacher would be able to step in and break up this fight. The one time I did step in myself, I earned a split lip and a week of detention. As for the consequences in this foreign place, I had far more to lose. Then again, so did the victim I was watching now.

It seemed the choice was made for me, my indecision costing me my anonymity as one the guards stalked toward my spot in the shadows. For now, it seemed their attention was on me. He yelled at me in the English-like language, making angry jesters towards my garb, or lack thereof.

"I apologize, sir, I don't speak your language. I am leaving-" I ceased speaking when the man grabbed me roughly by the shoulders, roughly demanding something. I had been in martial arts for years. For better or for worse, instincts took over, as I used a nonaggressive move to break out of his hold, and push some distance between us.

He retaliated, his dark eyes ablaze with fury. If a person is ever going to do martial arts, or learn to respond to any kind of crisis, one of the first things necessary to learn is how to free the mind from the clutches of panic. My mind's previous occupations: ethics, the perplexities of this place, trying to get home, and (of course) my chemistry homework, disappeared like smoke the minute he drew his sword. My world shrank until there was just me, and him. As he swung, I stepped in, blocking his attacking arm while simultaneously striking his bicep. A well aimed blow could cause the arm to spasm. Unfortunately, my counter was hindered by some kind of material underneath. It wasn't hard, like metal, but it would suitably diffuse my blow.

The guard was quick to react, swinging a punch towards my head with his other arm. With one arm still preoccupied with my attacker's sword bearing arm, I used my last free arm to block the incoming blow. Armor was a game changer. No one, except maybe law enforcement, wore armor in modern times. I reverted back to a very basic move, stomping on the top of his foot. It takes a relatively small amount of pressure to break the foot, meaning the effect was instantaneous. I retrieved the sword from his slackened grip, and kick his legs from underneath him, slamming my attacker into the ground.

I spun around just in time to see the other guards behind me, swords drawn. The sword in my hand was heavy, straight, and had a blade on both sides. It would take two arms for me just to lift it. In other words, it was virtually useless to me. I was large, easily matching the height of the guards, surpassing some of them. With 3 standing, one on the ground, possibly more on the way, and all adorning armor, I should have been afraid. My mindset did not allow room for fear yet, instead it whirled, calculating. Grasping the sword with both hands, I heaved it towards them. It would do absolutely no damage because it was sloppily thrown, but they stepped back for a moment, and that was all I needed to barrel past them at full speed.

At home, people ignored me as if I was a ghost. Now, instead, it was as if I was a monster impossible to ignore. The soldiers were fit, and knew the city well. On my side was size and desperation, allowing me to sprint further and longer than I would have ever thought myself capable of. I wildly dodged the staring spectators, bouncing off of those I failed to do so with in order to change direction abruptly, like a crazed human ping-pong ball. My body's plea for oxygen did not seem to faze me, I just kept going full speed ahead.

None the less, I couldn't keep running forever. I turned a corner, momentarily breaking my pursuers' line of sight. As luck would have it, there was a narrow opening between two houses that I was able to shimmy into. Right as I got into place, the guards ran past like a herd of stampeding bulls. I could hardly expect my little trick to work for long. I needed to hide. I towered over the crowd, and my physical appearance would not announce itself better if I had a neon arrow pointing over my head. Already some curious glances were being cast in my direction. I poked my head out, a ladder just a foot in front of me. Perhaps if I got off the streets? Never before would I have considered something so reckless, but this was also my first time at being a victim of murder attempt by a group of enraged guards that don't speak English. I dashed up the rickety ladder like my life depended on it… which it did.

A Day in Acre

It seemed thus far my little gamble was paying off. I had not been spotted by any guards, yet, and to top it off I was out of the crowded streets. The down side was I was beginning to see why long sleeves might have been a good idea, the sun seemingly attempting to fry my skin to edible levels. Worse still was that I didn't have a clue how to find the alleyway in order to find my way home. I needed to return to the streets, but how?

I spied clothes laid out in the sun. Glancing in both directions, I suppressed my guilt long enough to pluck one of the garments from the window below me. It was long, heavy, and smelled, but if it would help me blend in… immediately I ran into the trouble of trying to figure out how to put the dress on. It isn't quite as simple as putting a t-shirt over a head. The dress half way on, I discovered another problem- it was far too small. Not just pinching me in a few places, I would tear the fabric before the dress could be pulled on all the way. Considering how tall and broad I was compared to the majority of the people on the streets, it would seem I would run into a similar problem if I simply looked for another garment to steal.

A low voice bellowed. I clawed my way out of a garment and snapped my head in the direction of the voice just in time to see another guard string an arrow. This was just not my day. Abandoning the clothes in a heap, I was sprinting once again. I felt something- I assumed the arrow- whistle past me.

Too out of breath to curse, I scrambled to take cover, and found it in a rectangular structure with fabric surrounding it. Whipping the fabric away, I spied the plants of someone's garden, and hopped in, heart pounding. I waited… and waited… and sweated… and waited. Long after my breathing and heartbeat calmed, my muscles aching from sitting still for so long, I hesitantly peaked out of the structure. There was no one to be found. I poked my whole head out, but the landscaped seemed devoid. Clumsily, I toppled out of the structure. Shakily standing up, I was still expecting an arrow to embed itself in me any minute, but still nothing happened.

I trotted across the roof tops, whipping my head around, searching for more archers. The next thing I knew, one of my feet hit nothing but the air. My attempts to recover were in vain, and I found myself toppling through emptiness.

Martial arts training kicked in once again, saving my bones and joints from injury as I rolled on my side, slapping the ground as hard as I could manage. My entire arm went numb, and my side was sore beyond reason. I just sat there for a moment, breathing, struggling to recover from the shock. A man's voice called out from another room, separate from the cockney accented language I heard on the streets, a more throaty language that was new to my ears. For once, it was not yelling, laced with some other emotion I could not pin point.

I did not trust things to stay that way, and I sprang to my feet. It appeared to be some kind of indoor room, with a fountain by the skylight I fell through, and pillows and rugs tucked in the shade. The only door I saw was where the source of the voice was coming from. How in seven hells do I get out of here!

I looked at the opening again, and saw a symbol that looked familiar- very familiar. A highly stylized "A" that I had seen in Assassin's Creed. This meant, in order to get out of here- as I glanced up and down the wall I thought, You've got to be kidding me. I had never done anything remotely close to parkour, unless I counted the rock climbing field trips from the sixth grade. Then I heard the footsteps, and registered the surprised look of the Arab looking man clad in white robes and dark blue article that resembled a jacket.* It was enough to send me up the wall as if a rocket had been duct-taped to my back.

Shink, something had pinned my pants legs to the wall, bringing my progress upward to an abrupt stop. Had I been an outside observer, surely I would have admired the quality of the aim. As an escapee, my only reaction was "Fffuuuuck…" as I tried and failed to yank the ornately decorated handle out of my clothing. An aged hand firmly clasped over my own, and effortlessly dislodged the blade, while his other hand grasped my shoulder and tore me off my wall. Next thing I knew, with my hand trapped in his, that very same blade delicately rested on the skin of my throat. It was martial arts user against martial arts user; he was a master with experience, I was only a student.

For someone holding a knife to my throat, he spoke remarkably calmly, as if he were merely my supervisor or teacher patiently asking me to explain my behavior. I could give him credit for his handling method, which was marginally preferable to being violently shaken. I tried to explain, "Sir, I apologize. I don't speak that language." If he could see my facial expression, I purposefully wore a sheepish look to emphasize the point.

He seemed to scroll through a handful of what I assume to be different languages, the closest being the cockney accented language. I could make out some words with concentration, but I was still unable to understand the gist of that language. Despite his calm voice, I felt my anxiety rising past the skyline. "Sir, I deeply regret falling into your home. It was purely an accident. I promise to never bother you again if you let me leave," at this point, my voice was pleading.

We stood in silence for a moment. I found myself involuntarily squirming, which the aged man responded to by tightening his grip. Finally, he spoke again, his voice tone… apologetic? And that was the last thing I remember.

A Day in Acre

I woke up with a pounding headache, rendered immobile my a rough material in a small, dark place while rendered silent by fabric shoved in my teeth. The Assassins… the Assassins are real? How can this be? What do they want with me? Then again, I was the one that nearly face planted in their bureau. If he was going to kill me, he probably would have done it by now. What are they going to do to me? I paused for a moment, trying to piece together everything that I knew about Assassins and Assassin behavior. I went back to the basics, reviewing the very creed the game was named after. Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent. Hide in plain sight. Do not compromise the brotherhood. Perhaps there had been a conflict between the first and third tenants? And there was, of course, nothing is true, everything is permitted, which meant anything could happen.

I inwardly groaned, and started back at square one. What would I do if I was an Assassin with a strange woman in my bureau? I had little resources to account for cultural differences, but my guess would be to find out more information to determine whether or not the trespasser is a threat. Maybe this could be useful, even, as a hostage or even a worker? Considering I came out of nowhere, and the Assassins would find no information on me (except perhaps from the guards who chased me), my prospects were looking grim.

A Day in Acre

I had no sense of time in my dark make-shift prison, but I could not have been in there for more than a couple of hours before the door was open, light momentarily blinding me. I felt two hands loop behind my head, dexterously untying the knot in order to remove the cumbersome gag. I eyed the cup the older man, presumably the rafik, then presented, not even realizing how dehydrated I was until that moment. Remember how we are told as children not to accept things from strangers? I probably should have listened to that advice. But I had been running, climbing and fighting, and hadn't had anything in my stomach since I crawled through that cursed tunnel. When he pressed the rim of the cup to my lips, I sipped from the rim cup greedily- and nearly spat it back out. The herbal concoction was far stronger than anything I was familiar with, it was overwhelming. The elder seemed insistent, continuing to press the cup against my lips, so I drank, slower that time. I was halfway through the second cup before I discovered just how fuzzy my mind was becoming, Aha! So that's your game. I spit out what was in my mouth the moment I realized what was happening to me, spraying the liquid both on myself and my attending captor.

The older man seemed unfazed, offering a look that spoke, You sure you want to do that? while speaking to me in a low tone. He pressed the cup to my lips again, to which I responded by stubbornly pressing my lips together. He said one more thing to me in the cockney-accented language, before switching to the throaty language, addressing someone unseen. There was a brief exchange of words with someone with a younger sounding voice, and I just leaned against the wall as I tried to fight off the waves of drowsiness, muttering darkly, "This is a violation of human rights; you know that?"

The older person moved out of the way, revealing someone with exceptionally darker skin visible around the only place it showed- around his eyes- and, remarkably, a person larger than me. I greeted him with my trademark stubborn glare. He replied by grabbing a fistful of my shirt's fabric behind my neck, shoving the upper half of my body out of the crevice I had been tucked into, using his free hand to force my jaw open. I tried to pull back, but the younger Assassin simply placed a hand on the top of my skull, effectively immobilizing my head. The hands of the rafik firmly pinched my nose, and I felt a spout as it was jammed into my mouth. I struggled to expel some of the liquid from my oral cavity, but given the choice of swallowing or inhaling the liquid, I ended up swallowing the majority of it. The spout was removed for a moment, giving me a chance to cough and breathe, and too soon, the spout was reinserted and my battle resumed. It was a losing battle, their technique and teamwork proved effective, and whatever drug they had used on me was beginning to take hold.

Finally they were finished, the younger Assassin releasing his hold on me. Alas, the dreaded gag was returned to its former place. I weakly fell backwards, feeling like my skull was gradually filling with cotton. They simply waited, idly chatting with each other in their tongue. At one point, the older one broke out laughing, the younger simply cracking a smile.

I wasn't unconscious, per se, or even asleep. The drug worked like a low dose of morphine- I was just too out of my mind to really do much. As the duo started untying my arms after an indiscernible amount of time, my grand escape attempt involved me standing up and running into the wall, which after I minute I realized was actually me trying to stand up and instead belly flopping on the floor. Oops.

My only protest involved me lazily trying to swat hands away, but the younger assistant had no problem keeping me restrained while I was being wrapped in a rough and heavy fabric, like a human burrito, before rope on the outside secured me inside my fabric cocoon. All the while the older man was speaking softly to me in the Latin-based language, as if somehow attempting to soothe me. Considering I was being restrained against my will, he had little hope of success, but I can say it was more effective than yelling, which is what everyone else seemed to do. Finally, I felt fabric being wrapped around my eyes, and all I saw was white.

I felt my body being hoisted into the air. My attempt to yell in protest came out instead as a groggy moan. I lazily wiggled a bit, but it was clear I wasn't going anywhere. And then there was movement. Light flooded through the fabric of my blindfold, and the smells changed. I heard the sounds of people on the street as I was jostled in the hold of whatever, or whoever, was carrying me. I sweated like no tomorrow insulated in my burrito restraint, and my stomach churned with the movement. Eventually though, I started to grow used to the abuse.

A Day in Acre

I don't know what happened exactly, or when it stopped. I just remember finally coming out of my zombie state on a bench in some- you guessed it- alleyway. I gently felt around my eyes, experimentally tugging at the fabric until the hood of the cloak fell away from my face. No restraints, no blindfolds, and I was alive. The cloak, which I later realized had been my previous restraint, effectively put my modern day clothes out of sight. I struggled to stand, almost sending the basket on my lap toppling to the ground which had… bread? I was suspicious after the… whatever drink they gave me was, but my last meal was a distant memory, and my stomach protested at my neglect. So I nibbled at the bread. When I didn't find my eyelids getting any heavier, the opposite in fact, I devoured the bread with greater enthusiasm. Am-nam-nam-nam-survival! Okay, maybe I could forgive them, after I got home.

The sky was changing color, shadows were growing longer, and the heat of the day was gradually dropping by the time I mustered the energy to haul myself to a stand. I braced the wall, still unstable on my feet, and staggered forward.

A Day in Acre

When the sky transformed into a network of stars unhindered by my time period's light pollution, I had made some progress. At the very least, I managed to stumble into what I believed was the same district as where my way back home was. However, in the shadows of night, the world looked very different. Shadows were cast everywhere, most of the citizens were tucked in their homes with only a few people meandering the streets, these people becoming steadily fewer. The guards watched the streets with hawk-like eyes, but with my cloak on and eyes kept down, they seemed to leave me in peace.

This was the poor district, it smelled worse than the other district I wandered in from. Where did the homeless sleep? After some searching, I found the ruins of a building, already occupied by a few like-minded squatters. They cast glances toward me suspiciously when I entered, but otherwise seemed to pay me no mind. I had no fear of being robbed. What was there to steal? The clothes off my back? The paper in my pockets?

A Day in Acre

I had not planned on falling asleep, such an endeavor seemed useless, I simply planned on waiting for daylight to make its return. I realized plans changed when I was startled awake by the shrieking of others. One shadow, a guard, moved in towards me, bringing me to my feet roughly by my collar before starting to tow me away by my wrist. I would have none of that. One wrist escape later, and I was running. Clouds had moved in during my unplanned nap to obscure what little light the stars and moon would have provided, forcing me to run blindly. I spotted a lantern, running foolishly towards its light. I discovered a ladder nearby, offering me a chance to break my pursuer's line of sight. This thinking might have been sounder had it been broad daylight. What I should have done is used the darkness to my advantage to hide in the shadows. For whatever reason, my thinking did not extend that far ahead, and it was a very simple matter for a guard to aim and shoot his arrow while I was climbing up the ladder. Martial arts training never did cover what how to defend against an unleashed arrow while climbing.

Caught by surprise, and already in a weakened state via dehydration, I simply tumbled off the ladder and into the arms of an awaiting guard. I hissed in pain, clutching my shoulder with my good arm, still unable to process that there was an arrow lodged in me. With the archer's next arrow notched, I dared not resist, and became compliant with my captor. The next shot could be to my knee- or my heart.

A Day in Acre

They brought us to a fortress*. It seemed like a tourist attraction had the structure survived to modern times. I certainly didn't feel like a tourist. Maybe it was because I was being dragged in while another arrow was aimed in my direction. They brought me to a table, which I sat on, but when I refused to comply with their jesters commanding me to lay down, my body was slammed down, belly facing the wood. I felt a couple of men pinning me down as I felt rope encircling my legs, and then the same to my wrists. They did not lift their weight off me until I was securely tethered to the table.

An new group of people entered, men in aprons, younger than I expected the doctor to me, but clothes stained by no less blood. Assistants, perhaps? There was more than one, as they began discussing something over me, as if I were some puzzling object. "Hey! I am a human being. I've already put up with enough of this shit for one life time." Unsurprisingly, I was ignored.

Once again, my body was thoroughly immobilized by the weights of the soldiers, which didn't make sense because I was already restrained, unless… "Oh no, don't you guys have pain killers? Alcohol? Opium? Something!"

I clenched my teeth as I felt someone prodding the arrow, "Shit, that hurts by itself! Look asshole, I have health insurance back at-" My wisecracks were interrupted by overwhelming pain. I was still screaming as the bandages were being applied. Much later, I would whimper myself into a troubled sleep.

A Day in Acre

"I wonder when they are going to feed me," I commented to the unmoving woman beside me. Not much had changed since daylight flooded in. Seeing as how I was left strapped to a wooden table belly down, I didn't have much of an opportunity to do much else. If I looked ahead, I could see other beds and tables, and patients wandering around. "Not that this is such a bad thing. I'm not sure if I'd trust whatever they put into their food, I have already been drugged, yesterday in fact. I've read about the experiments of this hospital. It's because the doctor, I forget his name, is trying to control our minds using herbs, except he doesn't know how yet, and the piece of Eden is who knows where." Naturally, she remained unresponsive. "I know you can't respond, though they say unconscious people can still hear you. I doubt you'd understand a word I'm saying even if you were awake. If I found anyone in this mess who spoke modern day English, I would… I dunno, do something ridiculous. I'll think of something humorous and creative soon, I promise. What happened to you? Why did they bring you here? Actually, none of the other people I was with were injured. I was just fine until that jackass archer shot an arrow in me while trying to get me here. If he had left me alone in the first place, I would have been fine. Is this the part where I laugh in a dark humor way about the irony? Can't say I've ever been much of a dark humor person." I continued to cycle between silently people watching and ranting at my seemingly comatose companion when my chin needed a break, all in an effort to ignore my throbbing shoulder and empty stomach.

It was still mid morning when the good doctor made his rounds. I shivered when I spotted the man, unmistakably the one in power, complete with his bloodstained apron. I saw one person moving subtly with the crowds. I would have simply thought of him as another person, perhaps an observing scholar, had I not known to watch for him. There isn't much to describe, only that one minute the doctor was standing, the next he was faltering, until the so-called healer was gently laid at the Assassin's feet. At first no one reacted, it happened so suddenly, so silently. It didn't take more than a breath's time for all hell to break loose, as guards came charging in to avenge their fallen master. Anyone who has fought a group of guards in the first Assassin's Creed knows the pattern well, and I found myself unable to look away as I witnessed the protagonist cut one guard down after another with calculated efficiency until no hostile was left standing.

Those sound in their minds were scattered by panic. It seemed my starring did not go unnoticed by the hooded man, and I felt my heart rate jump an octave when I realized he was purposefully striding towards me.

Ever wonder why you are just running along in Assassin's Creed, and there always seems to be that woman who cries out, "Help, this man is trying to kill me!" when you are clearly doing nothing of the sort? The reason for this, my fellow video gamers, is because Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad can scare the shit out of anyone in person. His face was kept hidden by his hood, he was armed to the teeth, and moved with the grace of a predator. He earned the title "Angel of Death" honestly. I was certain I was going to die.

I could not make peace with death, not the way I was: strapped to a table like an animal waiting to be experimented on in a country where nothing and no one is familiar. I turned away, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for whatever was that would happen to me. I felt is calloused hands hold down one of my wrists, odd, seeing as how they were already immobile, and-


One smooth, clean motion sliced ropes apart, freeing that hand, then the other, and finally the rest of the ropes that kept me strapped down. When I had the courage to open my eyes, there was no trace, save for the cut bondage, that he was ever there.

Stiffly, I rose from the table, listening to my joints crack. I cautiously walked to the other table, where my neighbor still lied, and confirmed my suspicions as my fingers prodded around her neck. No wonder she was unresponsive- she was dead.

A Day in Acre

I was exhausted, hungry, dehydrated, and beginning to stink. It was easy to simply move with the other crowds, as if we were a herd of masterless sheep. I don't remember how long I did this, only that I did this until I found myself in a very familiar alleyway.

A Day in Acre

Never was I so happy to see hear the sound of traffic. I could have kissed cement wall that greeted my vision. My bag was even untouched, and the world's rhythm continued to move, oblivious to my unbelievable misadventure. All of that, and I never did get back my paper. Of course, I was lucky to get back with my life. Had I been dreaming? Was this some kind of twisted mental breakdown from the stress of school? How could have any of what I had experienced been possible?

"Um Miss, are you okay?" an awkward looking man was staring at me. In fact, it seemed most of the people in the vicinity had their attention on me. I released the shoulder I hadn't been realizing I was clutching, and saw red on my finger tips. Nothing is true, everything is permitted.

A Day in Acre

End Notes:

Late old English and early middle English barely look like English. I copied a few phrases, but feel free to look some more up on Google or Wikipedia.

The older man, the rafik, is Jabal. Actually, I can't imagine this would be the first time he had some clueless innocent accidentally stumbling into the bureau over the years, and it would seem out of character, considering this rafik's age and personality, to just kill every single person to do so.

The fortress contains the Knights Hospitalier Hospital ran by Garnier de Naplouse.

Do you have questions, comments, suggestions, constructive criticism, reactions? Should I break this up, keep it as it is, or expand on this more? I take all of that in more if you'll just click that "Review" button… please?