Holy Blood

chapter 1

Breathing filled the mind of Jericho's helmet. The cool holed metal warming him up with his own breath. His body weighed down by chainmail and cloth. A Templar cross on the front and back of his cloth as well as that all too similar pendant. He would look to his right and left. Men all dressed the same, carrying an assortment of weapons stood side by side him. All at the ready. Jericho would calm his nerves and let out a breath. Raising his sheild and sword.the sheild held the same symbol with a white pattern. Making it bold and bright for all those to see clearly.

His longsword placed in his right and was held with a firm grip. His fingerless let her studded gloves squeezed the leather wrapped hilt tightly. His pounding heart being steadied as he waited for what all could be known as battle. His third one so far and he prayed would not be last. He could not hear anything over the pounding of his heart. That rush one would get by doing something dangerous. He would take another breath in through his nose. The smell of morning dew filled them. His senses calming slightly as he repeated a procedualm himself.

Opposite of him and the Templars a resounding horn would be given. Screams of charging, battle crying men cam rushing over a hill towards them.all of them like madmen, barbarians, insane physcos and berserkers. Uncivilized swine they were. Eurpoean warriors who had no faith. Each one of the Templars screamedat the top of their lungs. Matching their battlecry with the might of God. A saying known among all the Templars.

"DEUS VAULT"!

They charged forward at rushing speeds. Their breaths filling the cool air. The Europeans and the Templars meeting in a huge clash. Jericho smashed the spear of a European away with his sheild and head-butted the man. Making him fall down to the ground. Jericho would then raise his foot and stomp the man's face with his leather boots. Electing a scream then a crack from the man's broken neck. Chaos filled his thoughts. His sheildraising instinctually to deflect an incoming sword. The force making his unstable feet stumble. He cursed himself before ragaining his footing. Jericho would raise his sheild and step forward. Duck under the blade and slamming the man in the side. Rising up and stabbing the European soldier in the throat. Blood filling the groove of Jericho's blade. His crimson fluids splashing on Jericho's garbs. The soldiers life would quickly drain from his eyes as he scratched at his throat. Falling down to the earth as his blood mixed with that of the soldiers allies and enemies. Their was a breif pause as everything slowed for Jericho. It always did this. His mind going into overhaul due to the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

All around him was chaos. The untamed insanity that always followed battle. Any man would have lost it here without training and preparation. Even for Jericho, this third battle, was like the last two. It never got any easier but the name of God must be defended and spread through the land. These infidels endangered the Lord's name. Jericho would turn in time to a morning star flying towards his helmet. He would once again, instinctually raise his sheild. Taking the brunt of the force. It hitting his sheild hard and would surely have killed if he did not defend. The man would be met with a stab towards the stomach. Only to meet it with a parry. Jericho would stumble down and land on the blood soaked grass. He would roll to the left and avoid a strike from the morning star. He was in a very bad position. He needed to get up or bring the man to him. So, that is what Jericho would do. He would strike at the man's undefended kneecaps. Kicking one in and causing his leg to bend backwards. Erecting a scream of dire agony and making him fall to the ground. Jericho would not waste a single second. Getting on his back and wrapping his hands around the jaw and neck. Giving a very sharp twist and forcing the man's spine to sever from the rest of his body. Successfully snapping his neck and killing the man.

Jericho would grab his sheild in his left hand and his sword in his right. Leaving the dead soldier on the ground. Along with many of his fallen brothers. Jericho surveyed the battlefield in a second and spotted fellow brother in need. He would move fast and quickly. Stepping in and slamming his sheild into the enemy soldiers fore . Forcing the warrior to release the weapon and succumb to death. Jericho was not the one to deal the killing blow. The Templar in need kicked the soldiers feet out from uderneath him, making the soldier fall upon the Templars blade. Jericho would help the templar up and they would nod to each other. Taking up a back to back position. This warrior weilded a spike mace. Having gotten rid of the previous sword he had in favor of his desired weapon. He had a sheild in his left just like Jericho did. They would synergize their attacks. Moving like a raging river. Fluid and decisive. Making each movement go unwanted. Each strike had purpose and most often garunted to meet their target.