In the Hospice, slowly drowning in his own lungs, Sir Leonard is beseiged by muddled vissions of past memories. However, as oxygen slowly begins to return, a deep, unexpected sleep comes over him, one that opens wide his subconciousness.<br/><br/>Horrors of his own hand play out within his mind...<br/><br/><i>Holy Land, Crusader Encampment, Black Sea</i><br/><br/>Leonard tosses the sobbing Heathen to the ground inside of his tent, tossing his breastplate over by the table. He chuckles to himself, eyeing this woman hungrily.<br/><br/>"Hands and knees, dog." he growls, unfastening his belt. When she does not respond, instead continuing to cry, fury grips Leonards heart just as assuredly as his gauntlet smacks her cheek. "Did you not hear me, you stupid Fucking Cunt?!"<br/><br/>Ripping off his greaves, Leonard snarls, and slams a fist into the womans head. With a cry of pain, she slowly spins, utterly terrified. With a chuckle, Leonard simply rips his rope belt off, allowing his pants to fall to the floor and kicks them away, not expecting to need them for the rest of the night.<br/><br/>It was not a pretty thing, nor was it quick. For most of the night, her sobbing would occasionally be punctuated by his own enraged commands, often followed by some form of abuse. At some point, her crying was cut painfully short with a shrill scream, before silence over-took the camp totally.<br/><br/>By sun rise, the Camp was packing up, and a Groggy Leonard staggered from his tent, rubbing his eyes in the Desert sun.<br/><br/>"Someone get the Squire to get my armor on!" He yelled, finishing fastening his sword upon his belt, "And get some Serfs to move that whores body, too."