The dull thud of heavy Trebuchets was drowned out by the thunderous crash of the heavy munitions they slung. Leonard stood, proud, upon the battlements of Acre, looking down into the burning city. Thousands of 'Innocent' heathens died in flames, smoke choking the city. Leonard drew his blade.<br/><br/>"Clense this city with sword and fire," He bellowed, "Purge this filth from their holes!, flood every warren with their blood!"<br/><br/>Charging down the stairs leading into the city, he dispatched with equal ease fleeing civilian and routing soldiery. Only pale-skinned were spared his wrath, and even then, only those in true faith. A few stood by the sides of the filth, and Leonard cut them down with equal zeal.<br/><br/>His blade fell upon the neck of a fallen mother, her crying babe begging for mercy. Bringing his heavy boot up, Leonard repeatedly stomped on the squealing thing until its sounds stopped.<br/><br/>No, Leonard did not believe, not truly, in his cause. Not anymore. He did this for pleasure now. "Gods Will" was a happy vindication that he was in the right, rationalization that he was truly superior to this scum. As if he needed more reasons to relish ripping the life from this defenseless vermin.<br/><br/>Leonard screamed as he rocketed upwards, his eyes flaring wide in panic. His scream came out as no more than a gurgle, as fluid spewed forth from his mouth and lungs like a guyser. A painful hacking fit too much for his weak lungs to bare latter, Leonard lie upon his bed, practically sitting thanks to the back-board, which afforded him more comfort with his affliction.<br/><br/>Across the way, he could see the less permenant resident, but he payed him no mind.<br/><br/>Leonard began to cry, openly, sobbing, his heaving interrupted by weak, pitiful coughs. He mumbled incoherently, mostly going between "Why, God, why?" and various inane sentences. His sobbing became more weak as his body simply couldn't afford to spend the energy on it. Leonard simply wished to die, to pay for his sins.<br/><br/>"What cruel god..." He muttered, not caring what ears would misconstrude, "Would let this suffering exist?"<br/><br/>He did not beg for release from his torment, rather, he begged that his own existence had been cut short long ago. Nothing would ever make the memories go away, the things he did and relished doing. He could give some small peace, however.<br/><br/>Leonard lay himself flat, and be it through force of will, or simple weakness, refused to right himself. He knew soon enough what would happen. He accepted it.<br/><br/>This would be Leonards last night.