>>5995852>>5995901You steady your breath, eyes fixed on the sleeping crusader king as you approach the bed with measured, silent steps. The moonlight filtering through the canvas casts ghostly shadows, dancing on the tent walls. Your grip tightens around the hilt of your blade, the cold steel reflecting the dim light. The woman stirs slightly, her face turned toward you, but she does not wake.
Your target lies unaware of the threat lurking in the shadows. You lean in close, the tip of your blade aimed with precision, and with a swift, silent motion, you strike. The king's eyes open wide, his mouth agape, but before he can draw breath to scream, you press down hard, your blade slicing cleanly through his throat. A gurgling sound escapes him as his body jerks once, then falls still.
You stand over him for a moment, the only sound your own heartbeat thumping in your chest. The woman shifts again in her sleep, oblivious to the life that has just ended beside her. Her presence gives you pause, but your resolve is firm. You cannot stain your hands with the blood of a defenseless woman, no matter who she sleeps beside.
Swiftly and silently, you retreat from the tent, leaving the dead king and his oblivious companion behind. You slip back into the shadows, retracing your path through the camp. The guards remain unaware of your presence, their drunken stupor rendering them useless.
You reach the edge of the camp, the dark expanse of the desert stretching before you. The night's cool air fills your lungs, the only witness to your deed. Soon, the wind carries the distant sound of hooves pounding against the sand, the Mujahideen approaching like a force of nature.
Yusuf al-Fahd rides at the forefront, his sword raised high, the glint of steel catching the moonlight. The ranks of the Mujahideen follow, their resolve solid and hearts steadfast. Their silhouettes appear over the dunes, a wave of warriors ready to sweep down upon the Crusaders. The night air is filled with the war cries of the faithful.
As the Mujahideen charge into the camp, confusion ripples through the Crusaders. They scramble from their tents, armor half-donned, weapons clutched in frantic hands. They stumble and shout, their eyes searching for their leader, but he will not answer their call. Their king lies cold and lifeless, leaving them without guidance in the chaos.
>>Three anons roll dice+1d100+20 