Written by Nick Feder and played at Advanced Camp 2007.


It featured the Knights Templar, the Knights Hospitaller, a band of last-minute innocent pilgrims, making their way to the Holy Land, and a band of demons. God and Satan both make appearances.


The heavy mist lay in a thick blanket on the wide field. Dense woods formed the borders to the south, east, and west. To the east, an unpaved road led from the small cluster of homes to a larger road, which led to another road until they joined the main highway into London.

An owl called into the night. It focused its gaze on a small mouse, scurrying through the high grass of the field. The mouse stopped and sniffed the air for a moment. It’s eyes widened when it caught a whiff of something unpleasant and it leapt out of the path of a large red sneaker as it came crashing down on the small patch of earth. Running, inside the shoe, was a boy, panting, not looking back toward the wood. His breath poured from his mouth in thick clouds in the chilly, humid air. Close on his tail, a group of men sprinted as quickly as they could, each of them gasping for air, and none of them looking back either.

They left the field, crossing the small, dirt road and ran to the small house in the center of the row. The boy crashed into the door and grasped the knob and wrenched it. The others crashed into him and they all pushed into the house. The last man in, a man with silver hair and a scruffy beard to match, slammed the door shut and locked it tightly. Still breathing heavily, he pushed the curtain aside and peered out at the forest, though much of it was hidden behind the blanket of mist. His hot breath steamed up the window, but he quickly cleared it away, sliding his hand on the cold glass. Nothing stirred in the darkness. His eyes darted around, scanning the ground, then the sky, then the ground again. Still, nothing moved. He turned around and leaned against the door, drawing in a deep breath. In the living room, the others had found places to sprawl out and they lay there, breathing heavily, contemplating what had just occurred. The old man entered the room. He sat down in the large armchair near the fireplace. He looked around at his companions. His gaze finally came to rest on a sword hanging just above the mantle.

“Did you see the size of that thing?” panted the boy. “It’s not the big one that concerned me,” said the old man, with a northern English accent. “It’s the little ones that I’m worried about,” said another, with an Iberian accent. “Will we be safe here?” asked another. Each of them peeked through the windows every time they could spare their eyes. The old man got to his feet. He moved to the mantle piece, where he took the sword from the wall. “We’ll be safer with these,” he said, fastening it to his belt. The others hopped to their feet and disappeared throughout the house. Within seconds, they had reassembled in the living room with a sword at their hip. Despite the differences in shape, size and country of origin, each sword was decorated somewhere with a small red cross.

Across the field, something began to stir. The trees quivered as a dark figure approached the field. The ground quaked, and the house shook. Everyone in the house froze and peered through the foggy panes of glass. The dark shape emerged from the line of trees and shot into the sky. Close behind it, several smaller figures appeared. The old man moved to the door and unlocked it. He pulled it open and stepped out into the nightly air. The others followed him and they formed a line on the stone path. A large shadow passed over them. Their hands moved to their swords and they scanned the skies for the source of the shadow, they could not see in the dark. They turned around and looked beyond the house. Their eyes widened as they saw a flock of tiny creatures, with stone gray wings perched on the roof of the house. They cackled and gnashed their small teeth at the group. Cautiously they drew their swords and held them tightly, readying themselves for whatever was to come. Just then, a massive dark shape came thundering to the ground behind them. The boy wheeled around and saw the beast in the moonlight. Its broad wings cast dark shadows on the ground. In its muscular, clawed hand a wide, curved sword waited menacingly to do its wicked work. Robert slowly turned to face the creature, and stared it straight in its black eyes.

“Hello, again,” he said, as if greeting an old friend. The beast roared and moved toward them.


Secrets of the Templar pits God against his ultimate rival, Satan. The story took place in a small fertile patch of land in the Middle East, somewhere in the triangle of Jerusalem, Acre and Damascus.

What Really HappenedEdit








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