>Year of our lord, 1220 Anno Domini
>Every hopped-up tyrant and petty lordling desperately buying up all available crossbow bolts and arrows, blacksmiths are churning out arms at unprecedented rates
>Knights of the realm are brought before his majesty's inquisitors, "Would'st thou stand against the peasants should the need arise?" What nonsense, I was flaying Saracens before this noble boyfucker was out of his mother's clutches.
>King Barack the Obongo insisting that the footmen in his employ require arms, yet levies against the fiefdoms of those under his rule. The talk of the beer-bench is only of impending civil unrest. Methinks his majesty John of Kennedy would rise from his grave and force his codpiece down the blaggard's throat himself.

The shame of my fathers and their fathers weighs heavy upon me, that I may be forsworn by oath to raise my sword against the very kingdom I serve. Thrice-damn this misbegotten moor, and his goblin-whisperers of jerusalem, may they have their eyes plucked out and their large noses cut and stuffed with misbegotten gold. No matter, the deluded fools placing their hope in bolt and shaft are beyond sense, my maille-coat and plate has always been enough, and I have yet to meet a man that does not cleave under pig iron and steel.