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The crusades: a time of turmoil and

He was in the midst of his morning prayer, moving up and down as he spoke the prayer. It was melodic, beautiful, the true words of the prophet sent from Allah himself. Sometimes he liked to imagine it was Allah speaking directly to him as he had to Muhammed, but that was silly nonsense. Heathen speak, his mother would say. Moving through the motions, he finally stopped and gave one last bow to Mecca. He then proceeded to rise and sigh.

It was dawn, the bright light peeking out just barely over the horizon. He had four more prayers of the day and in-between that work as a doctor. It wasn't exactly professional. Rather he served as doctor for the small village he lived in. Many of the people couldn't reach places such as Damascus or Baghdad, where medicine was more advanced, so they had settled with the son of craftsman, who had spent some time with the Bedouins and learned medicine from his travels with them.

He had successfully cleared two cases of cataracts since his time as resident doctor and had eased pain and suffering from both young and old. Most oft was he found reading in his books the medical works of popular writers. Currently he was looking into research on the Humors, written by Hippocrate. Of course Sarim knew of the battles nearby... of the dangers that his village would face, as they could possibly be caught up in the storm of Jeruesalem.. He tried not to worry about it though... tried to bury himself in his works.

Pulling at his beige trousers again, he crinkled his nose some and looked down to them. They always felt longer than they were, but still they sat perfectly at his ankles. Frowning, he tugged at it again and sighed.

[[im bad at describing visual features]]]

He wasn't startled when he'd been told that there was a bleeding young soldier looking for him. The battle was not so far that it was totally unheard of that such a thing could occur. In fact, he had a bag set aside for such an occasion. He hadn't really one hundred percent expected them to come though. After all, Salah ah-din was a skilled leader, a brilliant fighter. And so when he'd approached him, clinging to his shoulders so desparTely, so full of fear... Well it filled him so full of fear

Despite his fear, he held strong though and nodded. "Salam. Salam. I will head there fastidiously. I know the direction of the battle. I will head there immediately. Lay down and take ease my friend. You have traveled far my friend. Chew on the root atop the shelf and rest your weary head. I shall attend to the battlefield and bring them back with the aid of my village."

And so he took to the road, some men from the village at his heels with camels. The walk was far and when they arrived they found but a bloodbath, men moaning and bleeding upon the land.

His soul was hurting doing this kind of work. There were many a man still alive, but not many he could save, even fewer that they could give a proper burial to. Not only did they not have the time, but they lacked the supplies both to save and to bury and it was.. well.. it was painful. Too many a good man had died in his arms that day and too many more were going to die before he could even reach them. His beige clothes were stained red... his hands so drenched he could paint with the color upon them...

Sitting upon his knees, he held a man in his lap, giving him the last bit of water he had to his name for the moment being. The man was thankful and muttering. He had one last wish.. to hear a favorite hadith. Just as he was about to utter the words for him though, he was interrupted by a ruckus in the distance. The other men that came from his village approached him, explaining that they'd found a knight alive, but just barely so. They insisted that the man be saved, that a ransom of this nature could enrich their village. He wanted to protest, to tell them no.. but they insisted. And so he relented.. with the one request that he be allowed to stay here for a few moments longer... He had wanted to take the man with him.. this man in his arms... to save him, but he had not the option.. And so he spoke to him his hadith.. and held him for a few moments longer before rising and heading to the knight.

He was in sore shape.. much sorer than many of the men still in the field. Frankly, he felt it was a waste of time. Why try to save a man that might yield them some profit, when they could save their own kin so much easier. He relented though and did what was necessary to keep him alive long enough for him to make it back to the village. Setting him carefully in the cart, they drove back to his home, the doctor sitting in the cart amongst these men, checking their vitals all the while...

When they arrived, he got hard at work, making sure all the men were stable before sending them off to the homes that had promised refuge. The knight would stay in his home, as he required more constant care, due to his injuries. One eye had been removed, the lazy one as it had taken damage from the arrow and as Sarim knew not enough of the man to realize it was something he'd been born with, rather than merely a condition he'd sustained from battle. Whether it had been in working condition or not, Eldric would know, instead merely realizing that it was gone, along with his armor and weapons.

He would awake in cotton clothing, a man resting near his side and a tight feeling around his chest..

The man stirred from his half asleep state at the sound of the struggle and speaking of the bed-ridden man. He was speaking Arabic, which startled him some. He hadn't expected such a barbaric beast to know his mother tongue, much less that he'd be able to form more than the simplest of words. Here he was though, requesting water in Arabic. For a moment, he was too stunned to move, frozen in place. Soon though, he snapped out of it and moved to the pitcher in the corner. There he poured him a glass of water and came back yo his side, handing the glass to him with a clear look of puzzlement on his features.

The soldier drank it so quickly it was as if he'd travelled in the desert without oasis for weeks. Soon he was finished though and Sarim took the glass back before moving to his side and grabbing a fresh rag. Placing it on his head, he spoke not a word to the man. He did not trust him, thought he was perhaps a djinn having hidden himself amongst the bodies of the deceased. He had to be a trick...

He.. He was laughing? Why was he laughing? What was so funny? He didn't understand and then he told him.. explained it very simply and the words, they made his blood go cold. They had gone through all this effort and they would not even get a pence from them? He was angry, so angry. He could've saved that man on the field.. He could've saved so many more if he hadn't had to take so much care with this hefty heavy piece of meat. For a moment, he lost control of himself, reaching down to his shoe with full intention to give him the deepest disrespect he could think of at the moment. Just as he was about to raise it to hit him though, he stopped himself and took a deep breath and set it down.

"If you are alive.. it is only because Allah wills it. The guilt is merely my own shame for having given into such greed... Those men are simply where they were meant to be.. with Allah and the prophets," he said, bowing his head some as his spoke the words aloud. The knight would likely get the impression that he was talking to himself and he wouldn't be entirely wrong. Soon though, he moved his ramblings from himself to the man in front of him. "What do you mean they won't take you back? What could you have possibly done?"

Nodding softly, he seemed to mull over that answer for a bit before sighing. That was not good, not good at all. He feared if that was the case, his village would rather have him stoned than simply let him leave. They may even choose to sell him back as a slave. Both were unfavorable for the knight and would leave a guilty conscience on his own soul. After all, to allow a patient of his to come to such horrid ends.. well, it was against his code. He needed his protection and he had promised him it the moment he'd taken him into his home.. If he were to let something happen to this man his town would become no better than Sodom.

"Every life is worth something to someone. Honestly yours holds more value to me now than it had before. I was afraid you were some vile brute It is a relief to know you will not attempt to cleave me with an axe...," he said before getting up and heading to his shelves. There he scanned the items before grabbing a root.

"Chew this. It will help with the pain.. Also, what is your name Child of the Book?"

Crinkling his nose some at the man's lack of courtesy, he shook his some and sat back down, watching to make sure the root took effect. "My name is Sarim al-Harun," he said as Jessica stared blankly at the page.