Share
MidReal Story
The Seducer's Guide To Seduction
Scenario:Глава 1 кипр, начало пути
Моё имя: Селиан Де ’Аристид и я
— храмовник. Я тот кто покинул родные стены дома. Я поклялся посвятить свою жизнь поискам Святой чаши Грааля
.После многочисленных исследований я нашел сведения, которые помогут мне отыскать его. Покинув родной город в Монсегюре.
Create my version of this story
Selian De Aristid
He is a templar on a quest to find the Holy Grail. He is determined,introspective,and adventurous. He grew up in Montségur and joined the Templar Order at a young age. After years of searching,he finally receives a lead about the Grail's location. He sets out on a journey to Cyprus,driven by both excitement and a sense of destiny. Along the way,he reflects on his past and the trials he has faced.
Constantine
He is a fellow templar who shares Selian's passion for their order's mission. He is loyal,intelligent,and supportive. Constantine provides valuable assistance when Selian receives the news about the Holy Grail. He helps prepare for the journey to Cyprus and bids farewell as Selian sets out. Constantine remains at the temple,handling duties and watching over the others as they await news of Selian's success or failure in his quest.
Guillaume
He is a young squire training under Selian at the Montségur temple. He is eager,hopeful,and impressionable. Guillaume looks up to Selian and Constantine,seeking guidance and inspiration for his own future role in the Order. As Selian departs,Guillaume expresses admiration and seeks promises of advancement. Despite his squire status,he displays potential leadership qualities and a desire to emulate his mentors as he grows within the Templar hierarchy.
My name is Selian De 'Aristid and I…
I am a templar.
I am the one who left the familiar walls of my home.
I vowed to dedicate my life to the search for the Holy Grail.
After years of investigations, I finally got a lead.
I know where it is!
The Holy Grail is in Cyprus!
It was the year 1291 when I finally found out where it was hidden.
I had been looking for it for twenty-four years.
I left my hometown, Montségur, when I was just twenty-four years old.
I joined the Templar Order, believing that I would be able to find it with their help.
However, this never happened.
Instead, I had to watch as the Order fell apart, bit by bit.
In 1307, King Philip IV of France ordered the arrest of all Templars in France.
I stand at the bustling port of Marseille, watching as sailors load supplies onto the merchant vessel that will carry me to Cyprus.
The salty breeze tugs at my weathered cloak as I clutch the leather satchel containing my research notes and maps.
A group of royal guards passes nearby, and I pull my hood lower, concealing the telltale cross of my order.
The captain, a gruff man named Marcel, signals that we're ready to depart.
I hurry up the gangplank, keeping my head down as I board the ship.
"Selian, are you certain this is the right course?" Marcel asked, his voice low and gruff.
"Yes, Marcel," I replied, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. "The Grail is more than a relic; it's the key to restoring the Templars."
I grip the worn wooden railing as dock workers untie the mooring lines.
Marcel barks orders at his crew, unfurling sails and consulting a weathered map spread on a makeshift table.
The autumn wind catches the sails, and I feel the deck shift beneath my feet as we begin our journey.
Two sailors rush past me with coils of rope, their boots thudding against the planks.
My hand instinctively goes to the familiar weight of my sword at my hip, a constant companion in uncertain times.
As Marseille's harbor recedes into the distance, I watch the city's stone buildings grow smaller until they're mere specks on the horizon.
The thought that I may never see France again settles heavy in my chest.
After three weeks at sea, the salty air clinging to my skin and the rhythmic creaking of the ship's timbers lulling me into a state of suspended time, our vessel approaches the main port of Cyprus: Famagusta.
The stench of smoke reaches us before we catch sight of land.
Through my spyglass, I see the harbor's outline against the horizon.
The once-thriving waterfront now resembles a charred skeleton.
Scorched buildings line the harbor, their blackened timbers still smoldering.
Marcel orders his crew to raise a merchant flag, signaling our peaceful intentions as we draw closer to the devastated port.
Local fishing boats scatter at our approach, their crews rowing frantically toward the shore.
As we dock, a trembling harbormaster collects our fee, his eyes darting constantly toward the horizon as if expecting another wave of destruction to descend upon the island.
A group of dock workers unloading our cargo flinch at every loud noise, their movements tense and fearful.
"Selian, what happened here?" Marcel asked, his voice tinged with concern as he surveyed the destruction.
"I fear we're too late," I replied, my heart sinking. "The Grail's power has drawn enemies we never anticipated."
I step onto the charred dock, my boots crunching on ash and debris.
The stench of smoke fills my lungs as I scan the devastated waterfront.
Marcel's crew whispers nervously behind me as they unload our supplies.
I motion for them to stay close as we make our way through the ruins.
We move between collapsed market stalls and scorched stone buildings, their blackened facades a grim testament to the destruction that has ravaged the city.
As we navigate the rubble-strewn streets, I catch glimpses of movement out of the corner of my eye.
A shadow darts between doorways, vanishing into the maze of destruction.
My hand instinctively goes to the hilt of my sword, its familiar weight a comfort in this desolate landscape.
I draw my sword, its steel glinting in the afternoon sun that casts long shadows across the ruins.
Following the path of the elusive figure, I lead Marcel's crew deeper into the heart of Famagusta.
We pass by buildings reduced to smoldering skeletons, their windows blown out by some unseen force.
The air is heavy with the acrid smell of smoke and ash. As we turn a corner, I catch sight of a half-burned storehouse, its wooden beams exposed like skeletal fingers reaching toward the sky.
Through a broken window, I see frightened eyes peering out at us.
"Who's there?" I called out, trying to sound reassuring despite the tension in my voice.
A young woman emerged cautiously, her face smudged with soot. "Please, you must help us," she pleaded, desperation etched into every word.
I motion Marcel forward while keeping my sword at the ready.
The woman's tattered dress hangs in shreds, and her hands tremble as she clutches a piece of torn fabric to her chest.
She backs against the storehouse wall, her eyes darting between us with a mix of fear and hope.
Marcel steps forward, speaking to her in Greek, his merchant's tongue gentler than my formal Latin.
The woman responds in broken sentences, her words spilling out in a mixture of fear and urgency.
"They came three days ago," she says, her voice trembling.
"They burned the port and took many prisoners. My husband was among them."
I study her closely, noticing the fresh tears in her clothing and the dried blood on her arms.
She points inland, toward the ancient fortress that looms over the city like a sentinel.
"They took them there," she continues, her voice cracking with emotion.
Marcel translates for me, his expression grim as he relays the news.
"They're still watching the harbor," she warns, glancing nervously over her shoulder.
"There are armed men waiting for anyone who might come ashore."
As if on cue, a door slams shut somewhere nearby, echoing through the desolate streets.
I scan the darkened alley, my eyes straining to see beyond the piles of debris.
Footsteps echo from behind a stack of scorched crates, growing louder with each passing moment.
A figure steps into view, an elderly man in salt-stained clothing that hangs from his gaunt frame.
His weathered hands are raised in a gesture of peace, showing he carries no weapons.
The woman gasps in recognition, relief washing over her face as she rushes forward.
"Stavros!" she exclaims, reaching out to grasp his arm.
The old man nods in acknowledgment, his eyes flickering between us with a mix of curiosity and caution.
He speaks to the woman in hushed tones, gesturing toward the fortress looming on the hill.
Marcel steps forward, speaking to Stavros in Greek.
Their conversation is hushed, but I catch snippets of words: "passage," "smuggling," and "fortress."
Marcel turns to me, translating their exchange.
"He's a local," Marcel explains.
"Stavros worked these docks for forty years. He knows hidden passages beneath the city."
I study the old man closely, noting the scars on his weathered face and the wiry strength in his limbs despite his age.
He looks like someone who has lived through many battles.
"What kind of passages?"
I ask, intrigued by the prospect of finding an alternative route into the fortress. Stavros responds in Greek, pointing toward the sea and then back at the fortress.
Marcel translates for me again.
"They're old smuggling routes," he explains.
"Stavros used them years ago when he was younger. He thinks they could get us inside the fortress without being seen."
I consider Stavros's words carefully, weighing our options against the risks involved.
As I ponder our next move, I turn to Stavros once more.
"What do you want in return?" I ask him bluntly, knowing that nothing comes for free in this world.
Stavros looks at me with a mixture of determination and sorrow in his eyes.
He gestures toward the woman beside him, then points at the fortress looming on the hill.
"My daughter is inside," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Help me save her."
I lean against a crumbling wall, my eyes fixed on the crude map Stavros is sketching in the dirt with a broken stick.
The woman, who has introduced herself as Maria, points to specific locations as she whispers urgently to Marcel.
I study their exchange, noting how Stavros's hands shake slightly as he draws.
The passage he indicates starts from an abandoned warehouse near the docks and surfaces inside the fortress kitchen.
When Marcel translates the final details, I unsheathe my sword to check its edge.
Maria steps closer, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.
"There's a guard shift change at dusk," she says, glancing between us.
"If we time it right, we can slip through unnoticed."
I lead our small group through the dank tunnel, following the path Stavros has drawn on his map.
The air is thick with the smell of damp earth and decay.
As we move deeper into the passage, the walls narrow, forcing us to crawl on our bellies through centuries of grime.
Marcel mutters curses under his breath as he scrapes his back against a jagged rock.
The sound of Greek voices drifts down from above, echoing off the cold stone.
Marcel translates their conversation, helping us time our movements to avoid detection.
As we approach the fortress kitchen, I motion everyone to wait.
I carefully lift a loose flagstone Stavros has marked on his map and peer through the cracks in the floorboards above.
Six guards sit at a wooden table, eating their evening meal and passing a jug of wine between them.
I count their movements, waiting for the moment when they are most distracted. When one of the guards stands to refill his cup, I motion everyone forward one by one.
We emerge from the passage behind storage barrels filled with grain and dried meats.
Marcel keeps watch while I scan the kitchen, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword.
The guards are engrossed in their conversation, oblivious to our presence.
I signal everyone to follow me as I make my way toward the back door.
We move swiftly through the darkened corridors, avoiding the flickering torches that cast shadows on the walls.
As we approach the cellblock, I can hear muffled voices coming from behind the heavy wooden doors.
I draw my sword and motion for everyone to wait.
When I enter the cellblock, I find a group of prisoners huddled together in one corner.
They look up at me with a mixture of fear and hope in their eyes.
I gesture for them to follow me as I lead them back through the corridors toward the passage we used to get in.
As we emerge into the night air, I see Maria rushing forward to embrace her daughter.
The old man Stavros stands beside her, his eyes filled with gratitude. The rescue operation has left me with burns and bruises, but the information we gained from the prisoners is invaluable.
Through Marcel's translations, we have learned of a Templar sanctuary hidden deep within the Troodos Mountains.
This morning, a messenger arrived with confirmation - the Grand Master awaits us there.
I sit at a weathered table in the back room of a local tavern, studying my notes and keeping one hand near my sword.
The tavern keeper brings me a mug of watered wine before retreating to his post behind the bar.
I study a crude map drawn by one of the rescued monks, marking mountain paths and potential dangers along the way.
When I am satisfied that I have memorized every detail, I carefully fold the parchment and tuck it into my tunic.
I urge my horse up the winding mountain path, Roland close behind.
We have been traveling for hours, the sun beating down on our armor as we make our way toward the temple.
The sound of hooves echoes off the stone walls as we enter the courtyard.
Fruit trees cast dancing shadows in the midday sun, their branches heavy with ripe fruit.
I dismount and draw my sword, motioning for Roland to do the same.
We move cautiously toward the stables, our eyes scanning the surrounding buildings for any sign of life.
Roland checks the stables - empty, with hay still in the mangers.
The garden beds are untended, weeds sprouting from cracks in the stone pathways.
Tools lie scattered on the ground, as if someone had been working here moments before our arrival. As we approach the chapel doors, I notice a trail of muddy bootprints leading inside.
The lock has been broken, its splintered remains hanging crookedly from the doorframe.
My heart pounds in my chest as I push against the heavy wooden door, its hinges creaking in protest.
The chapel is cool and dark after the bright sunlight outside.
I squint as my eyes adjust, taking in the sight of overturned benches and torn tapestries hanging from the walls.
I step cautiously inside, my sword held at the ready.
Roland follows close behind, his own blade glinting in the dim light.
The door slams shut behind us with a thunderous bang, making me jump.
As our eyes adjust to the darkness, I see short figures emerging from behind the bookcases that line the walls of the sanctuary.
They are bandits, their crude weapons glinting in the dim light.
Each one has a protruding belly and a scruffy beard.
The leader of the group steps forward, his voice thick with a lisp as he speaks.
"Welcome, travelers," he says.
"We've been expecting you."
I glance at Roland, who has his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
I give him a small shake of my head - we can handle this without violence. "What do you want?" I ask the bandit leader.
He smirks at me, his lips curling upward in a sneer.
"Oh, we want many things," he says.
"But first and foremost, we want your gold and your valuables."
I look around at the other bandits, who are all watching us with greedy eyes.
"We don't have much," I say.
"We're just travelers looking for shelter."
The bandit leader laughs, his belly jiggling beneath his tunic.
"Don't play dumb with us," he says.
"We know who you are. You're Templars."
I shake my head.
"No, we're not," I say.
"We're just ordinary travelers."
The bandit leader raises an eyebrow at me, clearly not believing my denial.
"Where is your Grand Master?" he asks. I shrug my shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact that my heart is pounding in my chest.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say.
"There is no Grand Master."
The bandit leader narrows his eyes at me, clearly suspicious of my response.
"Don't lie to us," he growls.
"We know all about your little secret society. And we know that you're hiding something from us."
I take a deep breath and try to remain calm, even though I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.
"What do you want from us?" I ask him again.
The bandit leader smirks at me once more before responding.
"Oh, we want many things," he says again.
"But first and foremost, we want your gold and your valuables."
"But what we really want is the map to the sanctuary," he continues, his eyes gleaming with intent.
Roland steps forward, his voice steady and firm.
"You'll have to take it from us, then," he says, gripping his sword tightly.
I step forward with my hands raised, keeping my voice steady as I speak.
"We don't want any trouble," I say.
"But we can't let you take our supplies."
The bandit leader eyes me skeptically, but he doesn't attack.
Instead, he gestures for his men to lower their weapons.
"Very well," he says.
"But you must give us something in return."
I nod my head in agreement and slowly reach into my saddlebag.
I pull out our water skins and dried meat, holding them out for the bandit leader to see.
"This is all we have," I explain.
"But it's enough to feed your men for several days."
The bandit leader looks at the food and water in my hands, then back at me.
"What do you propose?" he asks.
I gesture toward the mountain path that leads to the temple.
"We can each take a different route," I suggest.
"That way, no one will know where the other has gone." The bandit leader strokes his beard thoughtfully as he considers my proposal.
After a moment, he nods his head in agreement.
"Very well," he says.
"We will take the food and water. But first, we must inspect your bags to make sure you are not hiding anything else."
I nod my head in agreement and carefully slide our saddlebags across the floor of the chapel toward the bandit leader.
He opens them up and begins to search through their contents, looking for anything of value.
As he searches, I keep a close eye on him, making sure that he doesn't find anything that could put us in danger.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the bandit leader finishes his search and closes our saddlebags once again.
He nods, satisfied, and gestures for us to leave, but as we step back into the sunlight, I know this encounter is far from over.
I lead Roland along the narrow mountain trail, deliberately taking the longer eastern route in the hopes of throwing our pursuers off our scent.
We pause at a rocky outcropping where I can see the bandits' camp through my spyglass.
They've split into two groups - three of them are heading west, while four others are following our path at a distance.
Roland points to the bandits and suggests that we confront them, but I motion for him to stay quiet.
We continue higher up the mountain, using the thick cypress groves to conceal ourselves from view.
As we cross a small stream, I notice fresh hoofprints in the mud.
The tracks show that the bandits are trying to circle ahead of us.
Roland whispers urgently, "They're trying to cut us off. We need a plan."
I nod, scanning the terrain for any advantage. "We'll set a trap at the next bend; the narrow path will work in our favor."
He grins, gripping his sword with renewed determination. "Let's give them a surprise they'll never forget."
I crouch behind a boulder with Roland, listening as the sound of approaching hoofbeats grows louder.
The narrow mountain path forces the bandits to ride single file, their horses' hooves clattering against the rocks.
I check the position of my sword, feeling its weight in my hand.
Roland holds one end of the rope we've stretched across the trail, while I grip the other.
We wait silently as the first rider comes into view around the bend, followed closely by three others.
I hold my breath, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
As the lead horse takes another step forward, I nod to Roland and yank on the rope, pulling it taut.
The front horses stumble, throwing their riders off balance.
In an instant, I leap out from behind the boulder with my sword at the ready. The bandits crash down onto the rocky path, their weapons clattering as they struggle to regain their footing.
Roland steps forward, his voice firm. "Drop your weapons and surrender, or the next fall will be your last."
One of the bandits, clutching his injured arm, looks up with fear in his eyes. "We didn't know you were the ones guarding the map to the lost city!"