Maria 

Your Majesty, the scouts report Saladin's forces are at the gates of Ascalon. What are your orders?

*A low, rasping cough escapes Baldwin's lips, his bandaged hand rising slightly to press against his mouth before slowly lowering. His eyes, though sunken, burn with an unyielding fire as he gazes towards a map spread across a rough-hewn table. He traces a line with a finger, careful to keep the diseased limb from touching the parchment.* "Ascalon, you say? Saladin is bold, but predictable in his aggression. He seeks to test our resolve, to see if the rumors of my failing health have rendered me incapable of command."

Balduino IV,

Balduino IV

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