Heya everyone,

A few months ago, Wes and I decided to change our fursonas. Wes is now a Knight Templar named Matthias von Brandenburg and I'm a Knight Hospitaller named Benjamin Martin.

Same species and everything, just different back stories.

Speaking of back stories, Wes asked me to write one for our new 'sonas. So I'm slowly doing just that. Here's a taste of what I've written so far.

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Matthias emerges from the barrack's humble sack-cloth entrance into the burning sun. His footpaws bring him across the burning sands to the drill yard, where the crack and yell of mock weapon clash rings in the Jerusalem air.

The new recruits are drilling. They are young. They are enthusiastic.

They have no idea what they are doing.

Matthias' ice blue eyes spy a young otter swinging his sword at a wooden post under the bored gaze of a brother sergeant. Sword and post wring with each sloppy strike and Matthias can see the pained expression in the lad's face as each half hearted swing stings his paws.

Faster than a striking snake, Matthias' hand axe flies through the air and buries in the practice post with a resounding thud.

All activity in the drill yard stops.

Striding forward to retrieve his weapon, Matthias' voice booms across the yard, "You are here to train for war! To kill! Start acting like it!"

With an electric start the militia recruits resumed their training, realizing their actions are under the gaze of a brother knight.

Retrieving his weapon, Matthias glowers at the young otter, who for his own part, blushes deep beneath his fur. Bending at the waist the large lion comes to eye level and, changing tack, speaks like a father to the young mustelid.


"This isn't a post, boy. This is a Saracen. The enemy." Swinging his axe again, the lion buries it's razor sharp edge into the post to punctuate each statement. "When they come, you hit them and you hit them hard! Swing through your target and drive them back because your life will depend on it."

Nodding with steel in his eyes the boy resumes his practice. Each swing buries his sword in the wood and sees his confidence build.

Nodding too Matthias walks away searching for another target.

Nearby, a group of recruits are undergoing close order drill practice with their spears. Matthias smiles. They are doing well for being so green. Close order drill will give them confidence in themselves, toughen them to hardship, and build unit cohesion.

The recruits are tired.

They've been on a "three nighter" as it's known. For three nights the recruits have been drilling ceaselessly. They sleep during the day in open bivouac with no cover and then drill again when night falls. The conditions are deliberately contrived to make the exercises as close to combat conditions as possible, simulating everything but casualties. There were night assaults up steep hills bearing full kit and armor then, once the peak has been gained, assaults back down the other side. The men learned to flow over the terrain and obstacles like water.

All these things they did on minimal food and water. Wine was at half rations the first two days and no liquid whatsoever was allowed on the final. Food came in the form of hard linseed loaves and figs alone, nothing hot.

The boys feel like men now that their ordeal is almost over. Tired though they are there is a strut in their step and bark in their voices.

Matthias smiles fondly at his own memories of such ordeals.

The sergeants call for a break and Matthias' alight upon two wolf boys bragging to their fellows about their martial prowess and how many Saracens they will slay.

Matthias strides over to them like a storm cloud.


"You two come here and learn something!" he barked.

They dropped their kit instantly and came running to him like school boys.

Grabbing them by the shoulders he turns them towards one another.

"Kill him" he commands one of the wolves.

Both boys turned a shade of plum. Was he serious?

"How do you kill a man who is running from you?"

They didn't know.

"What do you do if he turns and faces you?"

Again, they didn't know.

Grabbing one boy by his tunic Matthias takes his spear and growls, "Run."

Before the wolf could take one step the butt of Matthias' spear had upended him and cracked him over the head, leaving him helpless and face down in the dirt.

"Like this," he instructed the other boy. "Sideways, so the blade doesn't stick in the ribs." And then Matthias stabbed him. Not a pinprick but enough to feel steel iron scrap against bone.

The boy howled in pain.

Turning to the standing wolf, "If the enemy faces you, lance him here. One push. Pull it straight out so it doesn't jam."

Then the lion turned to all the youths assembled, "When you hit a man, how hard do you do it?"

Before they could respond he cracked the shaft of his spear across the standing wolf's chest. The boy crashed to the ground as if dead.


"Do that to the Saracen" Matthias said, "before he does it to you."