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The Southern Rift is a large valley separating the two mountain chains of the map. The location offers several hiding places in the mountains should an army desire to move there. The coastline also offers a good staging area, as many locations are visible from along sea level.
This is Tiberius' starting location.
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"Heave!"
There was a collective grunt from the sixty or so, sweat drenched and mud caked Legionaries as they all threw their bodies forward in an attempt to free a mud stuck Onager. The lines slack, the bodies of the Legionaries able to pull no further, and in a quick bustling of bodies and mud, the first sixty are replaced by sixty more. A slender stave, approximately six feet in length, lifts into the air and then snaps quickly down, followed immediately by the hoarse bellow of a burly Centurion.
"Heave!"
Again the collective grunt. The men reset. The stave goes up.
"Heave!"
The Onager shifts and there is a loud crunch as one of its wheels snaps. The men reset, the stave goes up.
"Heave!"
Knowing that the Onager is nearly free, the men pulling the ropes give it their all, pulling for seconds longer than they had before. The great artillery piece twists, tilts and in a great mud slurping pop, pulls free of the restrictive mud to which it had fallen prey too. The sixty men all at once fall forward into a heap of worn and tired bodies, their breathing quick and loud. But this is only the beginning for them.
The stave goes up and the Centurion bellows.
"We aren't done yet! Get your lines ready!" His callused hand points to a group of about thirty men. "You there, to the rear and brace it so it doesn't fall back into the muck." The thirty men promptly hop to their assigned task. The stave is lifted a little higher when the men are finally set. It whips down.
"Heave!"
A great groan issues from the downed Onager as it is dragged across the thick, sticky mud. The stave is raised.
"Heave!"
Another groan, but this time the men have settled into a rhythm. With the men behind pushing and the men in front pulling, the great artillery piece grinds and slides its way free of the mud and onto more solid ground. With a collective sigh the men pulling drop their lines and move out of the way of the thirty men pushing the device, who immediately being lifting it back into an upright position.
Moments later three men approach, inspect the device and after a moment, walk away. Together they signal over a group of twenty loggers, who had up until then, been busy chopping up trees for the nightly palisade, and in quiet tones describe the wood they are looking for. In short order the twenty men are hard at work on the end of a large tree, chopping and sawing off a goodly portion of the tree to make repairs on the artillery piece. The three men, satisfied with this work, shoo away the twenty men and begin honing the wood to their own liking and design.
All the while, all around them, the busy life of an Imperial Legion camp hums and grumbles as it prepares for its nightly drill and prep.
*~*
General Tertius Primitivus Afer, seventy-three years old and, as some would more blatantly say, way out of his prime, stood solid and unmoving atop a great pedestal, over looking his camp and making sure everything was as it should be.
Straight. Streamline. No loose ends. No kinks. No slack.
His face pinches as he watches the men dragging the Onager free from its muddy prison. There was no order, no discipline. There was a light cough beside him and he looked toward the noise, only to find his second in command standing there, a small frown on his face. The pinch in the generals face vanishes and he turns to regard his second.
"Report," was all he said.
"Umm, well, yes." The second replied in his squeaky voice. "I have only a few things to report. First is the artillery pieces. This beach is an effective staging area, the sand offers good beds and view allows for excellent intelligence on enemy troop movements." The man was stalling, the general could see this. He let the man ramble on however, knowing precisely what he was going to say, and do about whatever the man happened to say. "It's just that this mud, that seems to line the edges of this sand, creates a great problem for the Onagers. Their wheels can't seem to clear the mud and they are constantly getting stuck. We've already had to fish out seven pieces, and two have been broken to the point that they require a whole days work just to get back into working order. The men are getting tired, to quickly, to early. They are requesting that something be done about it." The general let his eyes wander away from his second, and focus at a blue spec in the distant sky. His second moved on to his second piece of information. "Also the woodsmen are having a hard time finding suitable wood for the palisade and are wondering, because of the ideal location of our force, if they could only cut enough for half a wall, instead of the whole thing? It does make sense, in my opinion." There was a pause in his seconds ramble, and for a moment the general refocused on the man. He was waiting for something. perhaps a retort for his stated opinion? The general would let that slide, for now. The man continued. "And finally some of the scouts would like to go further out then just a few miles. They have a feeling that something isn't quite right with the northern side of those mountains and would like to take a look. They say that if they were to leave now, they could be back by tomorrow morning. They were just waiting for orders, that is all."
Now that the man was finished speaking, the general could frown without causing to much suspicion. He closed his eyes and turned away from his second. There was a moments silence before he finally reopened his eyes and turned back around to regard his second.
"Sleds. Tell the carpenters to fabricate sleds for the wheels on the Onagers. This should solve their problem."
His second nodded, bending to jot down the order with his lead stylus.
"We have the full palisade, not a half of one. I want you to find whomever it was who asked this question, started this rumor and I want them, and all the other men who voiced this opinion punished. I will not see this Legion slack just because the ground is wet and the sand is soft!"
His second nodded vigorously, knowing that he too would receive the same as the men he commanded, and jotted down the order. A half palisade! Pfah! It was unheard of!
"As for the scouts, tell them they may go. They do not need my advice on how to run their sort of work. They know best, I just know how to use that information they gather. They may leave when ready."
His second, still nodding vigorously, jotted down the order and then looked up. "Anything else, sir?"
The general thought for a moment, then shook his head, waving the man away. His second nodded, bowed and then scurried away, yelling for the Centurions not already occupied. The generals face pinched and he turned back to regarding his still bustling camp site.
"Excuse me, sir?" The timid voice of his most trusted man servant, Hurel, reached up over his shoulder and pulled on his ears. The general smiled. A small smile, but a smile none-the-less. Hurel's voice always seemed to have the effect on him. The general turned to regard the man.
"Your tent? It is ready." The man bowed deep and then backed away from the generals presence. The general smiled a little wider. That man always knew his place, even if he had been freed from the bounds of slavery years ago.
It had surprised the general when the man had opted to instead stay in his service, choosing a life of servitude over freedom. Still, the general couldn't complain. Hurel had kept his house running smoothly and the man was an added bonus to have in the field. A sort of buffer to ward off any unwelcome spirits or omens.
The general turned back to regard his army and at that moment, felt the age in his bones. His smile faded and he stretched.
"Oh, but these bones could sure use a warm fire."
With that, the general stepped down from his pedestal and walked over to his tent. Where upon he promptly disappeared into, while two of his personal body guard took up station just outside the tent flaps. Unless there was some camp wide emergency, the general would not be bothered any more that day.
*~*
Having just finished handing out his generals orders, second in command Drusus, approached his own tent and disappeared inside. For a moment he simply stared blankly at the white canvas walls, his mind wandering. He then finally took a seat on one of his two camp stools and stared at the floor. He remained like this until a fully armed and armored Legionary appeared in his entry way.
"Drusus Opsius Speratus, you have been called before the camp to account for treasonous thoughts against the Legion. How do you plead?"
Drusus sighed. "I plead," he said as he slowly stood up. "Guilty."
The Legionary nodded and asked for Drusus' hands. Drusus promptly gave them and they were immediately shackled.
"This way," the Legionary said as he lead him out of his tent. Once outside, Drusus saw that he had apparently zoned out for quite some time, because all around him the camp seemed to have slowed down. The palisade was up, all of it. The sound of the loggers felling trees was gone, and the ambient roar of well over two hundred fires filled the air. But none of the fires had people standing, or sitting or laying beside them. They were all bare. He soon found out where they had all gone.
There were a total of thirty-seven men being charged, including him. And gathered all around, were the remaining nine hundred sixty-three men of the Legion. There to watch what happened to those who slacked in their discipline and thought treasonous thoughts. Dursus' eyes scanned the crowd.
The general wasn't there.
For a moment Dursus felt a pang of regret but this was soon forgotten, as he had arrived at the place where he was to be punished. He was lined up next to the other thirty-six men and was then turned around. There was a slight tug against his tunic as it was sliced open and he began to sweat. Moments later, the voice of a Centurion spoke up from somewhere behind him.
"These men are charged with treasonous thoughts and actions against the General, the Legion and the Empire. Their punishment, one hundred strikes of the lash!"
There was a collective murmur from the crowd. They all knew treasonous thoughts and actions were dealt a heavy punishment, but none had really taken into effect the true price of that punishment. There was a rustling behind Dursus as the whipping men get into position. He closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut, praying that he wouldn't cry out.
"Strike!"
As one the whips came down hard against the backs of the thirty-seven men. As one they cried out in pain, all except Dursus.
"Strike!"
Again the whips came down and again the cries of the whipped filled the air. Only Dursus remained silent, his mouth clamped shut, his nerves trained from years of abuse.
"Strike!"
He groaned as the whip sliced into his back. Never again! Never -
"Strike!" A hiss escaped from between his lips. Never! No never!
"Strike!" Another hiss and images of his parents flashed into his mind. His parents, stripped and bound to a wall, their backs red with blood. Their master, a cold and evil man, bring his huge whip back over his head. His hands, gripping the small dagger tightly in his fist. The look on the mans face as he drove it between his eyes. The cries of his mother as the strange men came to take him away.
The whip came down hard on his back. Another hiss.
The strange men had taken him to a dungeon and then too, was stripped and bound to a wall. A great big man, holding an even larger whip. The boy cried out in pain and the big man laughed.
The whip came down hard on his back again. This time there was no hiss.
On and on the whipping went. It seemed to stretch on endlessly. After fifty whips, when most men would be near to death, some other men appeared, cleaned the wounds and bandaged them temporarily. And then the thirty-seven were turned around, and the whipping began anew. This time it was the chest that was whipped.
Dursus took pride in that he only cried out once, and that was when the final whip landed on his flesh. Instead of finding its mark on his chest, it instead landed on his lower stomach. He passed out immediately after crying out.
*~*
At some point during the whipping, a small group of six men departed from the camp. Making their way quickly north, their eyes set on the massive peaks ahead. They would hopefully return by morning, if all went well and they discovered nothing hostile.
If not, well. They were quite well known for their survival tactics.
Out of Character:
Out of Character:
Three floating eyeballs, the size of bowling balls, have flown into this location from the Central Coast (Location B). They are flying high enough to appear as a threesome of birds in the classic v-formation, but they will still be recognizable as round objects for anyone who studies them from the ground.
They will head to the far corner of this location, then move back to the center of it. If attacked, they will react with the reflexes of a bird and attempt to dodge.
"Dursus, you there?"
A voice, just outside his canvas entry flap, woke the second from his pain indused slumber. He blinked his eyes open wearily, staring blankly at the peaked ceiling of his tent for a moment, then he sat up painfully. Stifling a groan, this took all the will he still possessed, he threw his legs over the edge of his cot and rubbed his temples. After a few more moments he lifted his head and spoke to the voice.
"Yes. You may enter."
A few moments later, Tertius walked into his tent, his cold, hard eyes surveying the scene inside the seconds tent, as well as the condition of his second. After a few moments of silence, and the two of them staring at one another, the general moved toward the camp stool that was inside the tent. He beckoned toward it and Dursus nodded. The general sat down and after a moment, spoke.
"I'm sorry I had to put you through that, but as you well know, if I were to slack in discipline, who knows what the rest of the men will think. Politics, you see?"
Dursus could only nod. He had expected as much, which was why he had not fought against his generals decision. A general in the field could wield great power, both here and on the home front in the capital. He had to tread his ground very carefully, watch his every move, breath and step. Dursus had seen a few great men climb to the top, only to fall back down again because they misstepped and were perceived to play favorites.
"It's quite all right Tertius," he said, waving away his generals apologetic look. "I would expect that you would want me to have done the same, were I in your position."
Abruptly the general laughed.
"Do the same? By the gods boy, I would most certainly not want you to, but I would expect you too. No man could willingly except that kind of punishment, just on a whim."
Then they both fell silent. The silence stretched for a few minutes, until Dursus spoke, his words surrounded by a silent chuckle.
"Where else would I be anyway? If not here."
Tertius smiled, looked toward the canvas entry way and shook his head. "I'm not sure."
Then they both smiled broadly and began laughing. It only lasted for a moment, as Dursus soon found himself groaning in pain. Tertius stopped soon after and a concerned look came to his face.
"You going to be able to walk, like that?"
Dursus sighed. "Walk, yes. Running, will be difficult. Fighting is most certainly out of the question." He lifted his eyes to look at his general. "I'm not completely useless, yet."
Tertius chuckled and then stood. "Good, because I'm going to need you. Take your time getting ready and I'll meet you at my tent."
Dursus nodded, used to such quick comings and goings of his general and motioned that the general could leave his tent. Tertius nodded back and after a moment, disappeared outside.
Dursus stared after the departed form of his general for a few more moments, before painfully rising to his feet and shuffling toward his travel chest. Bending proved more difficult then he had originally thought, but in relatively short order he was dressed and had slipped into some comfortable shoes. He would have one of his guards tie them up for him, as bending that far proved far to painful.
He stepped out of his tent and into what most men of the army would call, controlled chaos.
*~*
Earlier in the evening, probably while Dursus was still passed out, there had been a series of strange sightings in the camp, and had caused quite a ruckus as a result. Apparently, three small orb like objects had flown over the camp, heading in a southwestern direction. This had caught the sentries off guard, as they were the only ones (save a few men within the camp) to notice the objects, and they had not reported it until the objects had flown over a second time. Only, instead of flying completely over, they stopped, just north and east of the camp. This sent alarms blaring through the sentries and they immediately reported this to the general.
By this time however, as news generally traveled in a small camp of military men, the entire camp was aware of the objects, and all were staring in disbelief at the three hovering things. There were a great many murmurs about curses and angry gods, there was even some talk of running, but thankfully the centurions (hardened veterans who had seen many things most men had not) quelled all such thoughts and were now working on getting some semblance of order returned to the camp. Their loud, leather-lunged voices filled the air amidst the muted buzz that was camp life.
“Move it you scurvy scum! There ain’t nothing to see here! Move it!” There was also the occasional yells, grunts and hollow thumps of those men who had taken upon themselves to get into a fight or two. These were quelled almost as quickly as they came up, as the punishment for fighting within the ranks was fifty lashes for those involved, as well as those who didn’t do anything to stop the fight. As such, men were more than willing to step in and stop the fights.
By the time Dursus had reached the command tent on the far side of the camp, everything was in well enough order, only the sounds of whips dealing punishment to those who earned it rising above the buzz. Dursus stopped short of the command tent, coughed once to get the attention of the guard on duty, and then waited patiently while the man entered the tent to announce his presence.
Shortly there after the guard reemerged and beckoned for Dursus to enter. The second nodded his consent to the man and entered into the spacious tent. Inside he found everything as he had seen it earlier, the only thing that was out of place being the location of where his general normally sat. The man was instead standing near the back of the tent, staring silently out the back flaps toward something in the distance. Dursus coughed lightly into the back of his fist and the general turned.
“Ah, Dursus. Not too much trouble on the way here I hope?”
The second smiled and bowed his head slightly. “None to be worth any mention, sire.”
“Good, good. Good.” The general turned back to staring out the canvas flaps, his entire demeanor suddenly distant, aloof. Dursus remained silent for a moment, before walking up to stand next to the general and stare out the flaps.
What he saw wasn’t any different from what he saw from his own tent, the deep blue of the lake, the dark silhouettes of distant mountains. He looked at the scene for a moment before turning a questioning look to his general.
“Should I see something?”
There was a moment of silence. Then, “Yes. The origins of those three floating orbs we’re seeing.”
Dursus blinked. The origin? He turned his gaze back to the waters and mountains. He squinted, searching. After a moment of finding nothing he looked back to the general.
“I don’t understand.”
The general only smiled, then pointed to something on the far side of the water. “They arrived only a few hours ago, and began setting up camp. It was brought to my attention by a bored sentry, neglecting in his duties unfortunately, who had gone down by the water to throw stones.” Dursus, only paying half an ear to what his general was saying, followed the pointed finger and stared at the far shores. After a moment, he saw them.
“What are they?” To him, they were nothing more than distant shapes, moving like a wiggling worm against the backdrop of the distant shore. He squinted, trying to get a better picture.
“I’ve no idea, and neither does the man who saw them. Whatever they are however, they are still a good days march from here, and if they try to cross the water way here, we’ll be ready for them.” The tent flap fell shut and the general turned back into the tent. “That isn’t what I called you here for however, but it’s always good to let you know about those kinds of things, no?” He didn’t wait for his nod of agreement. The general took a seat at his camp chair and motioned for Dursus to occupy the other seat, a simple camp stool. The second took his seat and turned his attention to the general and what he was about to say. The general then pulled a rolled piece of parchment up from where it had been laying on his cot. He unrolled it and laid it out on the ground, weighing the corners down with the tips of his boots and two small candle sticks.
Dursus leaned over and found himself staring at what appeared to be a rough sketch of the valley and coast they were camped on. On it there were marks displaying camps, land marks and possible paths in or out of the valley. Marked on the far side of the map, approximately where that foreign group was about, there was a large dot with question marks surrounding it. Dursus turned his gaze up to the general.
“Then what is it you wanted me for?”
The general smiled. “We’re not going to be able to remain in this location for long. Rumor has that there is an army camped here, just north of us.” He pointed to a blank spot on the map with a long, slender stick. The area where they had sent the scouts hours earlier. “And with this new force arriving here,” his stick pointed to the dot with the question marks. “We’re quickly finding ourselves to be surrounded. However,” the stick slide to a place somewhere near the center of the two aforementioned armies. “Moving our men here could result in further disaster. We need to find away to move our men out of this valley and away from this one force, and this other unconfirmed force.” There was a moments silence. “Any ideas?”
More moments of silence. Then Dursus spoke. “Well, for starters, we should send a small force of scouts and horsemen up north here.” He pointed with another long, slender stick to the area just center to the two forces. “Small, maybe four or five scouts and thirty horse. Then we should see about getting some men across this lake to see what’s up with that force over there. Nothing large mind, two or three scouts and maybe fifteen infantry. The rafts shouldn’t take much, the winds in this place don’t look too unforgiving. We should be receiving word back from the scouts we sent north here any minute now, I hope. Once we have their information, we can begin planning large movements from there.”
The general listened, quiet save for a few grunts and nods. After Dursus had finally wound down he only stared at the map, tapping it lightly with his stick. Then he spoke.
“Good, good. As soon as you are able, collect volunteers for these missions.” He then kicked over the candle sticks, rolled up the map and stowed it. He then beckoned Dursus to rise and follow him to the rear of the tent. Together the two of them stepped out and Dursus found himself staring at what appeared to be the remains of one of the Onagers. He turned toward the general to ask what this was about, but the man was one step ahead of him.
“Broke apart when they were trying to wrestle it out of some mud. Dragged it here and then left it. Seems a waste to put such a good weapon to the grave, so I was wondering if you could figure something out. Might be able to get some pieces for a boat, or two.” A hand clapped down on the seconds shoulder and he refrained from wincing. The general gave him a big smile, turned and then walked into his tent, leaving Dursus to stare blankly at the remains of the great machine.
Now what the hell was he supposed to do with this?
*~*
It took him a bit, hard thinking as well as some carefully placed questions with some of the men, but he finally had it. He found the nearest carpenter and gave the man the basics of what he wanted. The man nodded, saying all he needed was one more carpenter and a few strong backs to help him and he could have it set up in a jiff. Dursus gave the man what he wanted and with that being completed for now, set about searching for those men he would send into the unknown.
Out of Character:
The Scorpion is basically a large crossbow turned on its side, mounted on a stand and used as an anti-infantry weapon. It has an excellent range, approximately one hundred twenty-five yards, with a maximum range of one hundred ninety-five. This weapons ammunition can easily skewer two, or even three men. (One, maybe two bunnies) It can fire three rounds a minute and requires only a two man crew, to load, fire and carry the weapon to a new location.
Out of Character:
Out of Character:
Dursus stared up at the night sky, his eyes wide with wonder, and his mind tying itself into knots. There, hovering not fifty above the center of the camp was what looked like a medium sized ball. Except, Dursus had never seen a ball that could hover, much less shine a beam of concentrated light down onto the ground. This was what this one was doing, steadily sweeping the camp in a systematic pattern. Almost as if it was searching for something.
Or someone.
A small fear gripped his breast and he reached out to the nearest passing soldier. "You there, how long has that been doing that?"
The soldier, who had just finished his evening meal and was heading over to one of the larger, more festive campfires, looked up at the ball and then shrugged. "Since sun down, I think. We've tested it with a few shots from the bows but the thing just moves out of the way. Never seen anything like it but so far it hasn't done nothing but shine that light every once and a while, so most of us figure it ain't nothing to worry about."
Dursus let the man go with muttered thanks. That ball was dangerous and despite the blasphemies he knew he would incurr, he couldn't help but consider the possibility that it was magic.
All magic, as stated in every book of law and philosophy, was blasphamy as well as the incarnate of evil. It was strictly forbidden, to be practiced within the Imperium but there were still small cults that worshipped its practice. Some even believed it to be tangible truth, while others still prescribed it as simply theory from time of heathen gods.
His eyes drifted back up to the ball and he frowned. They had already shot at it, but it had simply moved clear of the arrows. This proved, at least to him that it had to be something magical as he had never seen, or heard, of a creature shaped like a ball that could shine a light down onto a camp or other place.
But, this was absolutely no time to think of such trivial, albeit important things. He had scouting parties to form. His general had commanded it, so should it be done. He turned his gaze away from ball and began to walk away.
"Dursus!" The cry came from a wiry carpenter, one of the two who had been working on the new engines for the army and if forced Dursus to a halt. "Dursus!" The man sprinted from almost nowhere and came to a skidding halt in front of Dursus, panting for breath.
"Calm yourself man, speak when able."
The man only nodded, inhaling breaths at a record pace. After a moment, he could speak.
"The engines are nearing completion. We should have them ready by morning. You said you wanted to be kept informed on their progress."
"So I did. Good work man, but don't push yourself to hard, we still need strong backs if our generals feelings about this place are correct. Rest yourself, and finish the remaining work in the morning."
The mans face lit up and he bolted back the way he had come, shouting his thanks and that he would see to it that they were finished in the morning. Dursus only nodded absently after the man, having already put him out of his mind. Try as he might however, the ball refused to go with it. He looked up; it was still there. After a moment though, he was able to reconcentrate on other things.
How was he going to get these scouting parties formed, on such sort notice?
His frown deepened and then, like a flash of lightning in a stormy sky, it came to him. Came to him in the form of a man named Korvs.
Korvs was a veteran campaigner, having served nearly twenty-seven years with the Imperial Army and having witnessed at least four major wars and dozens of full-scale battles. He was also an avid horseman and a genius planer, and tracker. Finding Korvs however, was the biggest problem.
The man could track yesterdays wind across granite true, but he could also make himself so invisible, you wouldn't be able to find him in a white room with him wearing black. Dursus cursed the man for this and nearly had to tear the camp completely apart trying to find him. He did, eventually, but not where he had hoped to find him.
Standing knee deep in what had to be the most disgusting newly formed mud pit in the camp, Korvs was entertaining himself with a few of the youngest recruits, in a game of stick'em. A game where two men wrestled one another into the mud, face first, and the first man to either pass out from asphyxiation or surrender, was declared the loser. Most men didn't get as far as the first option, but many men did not indulge in the game too often either.
Korvs was, rather unfortunately, an avid player.
Dursus shoved his way to the front of the crowd, and called down to Korvs.
"Korvs! Get your head out of that mans ass and out of that mud, you're services are required."
The old man only smiled and lazily looked from where he had placed some sorry chaps head into the mud. "But I like the view down here. Why should I just leave it here, with out admiring it's beauty?"
A native of the far northern island of Britannia, the man had a wicked accent and it was rather hard to understand him. Dursus snarled and pointed a finger toward the man angrily.
"Because dammit, you are needed by order of the general! Now you get your sorry ass out of that mud right now, or I'll have you flogged for insubordination!"
Some of the men in the crowd booed and then burst into laughter, slapping one another on the back and creating all other sorts of ruckus and who-ha. Korvs only laughed, raised his arms and made the men get louder.
"I don't know Dursus, the men seem mighty happy that I stay here, so I think I'll just plant my sorry ass right here, and just wait it out a bit, no?"
Dursus growled and threw down his scrip and lead. He then jumped into the mud pit and grabbed the old man by his hair. The crowd of men burst into loud cheering and yelling, and began yelling bets on who would win. Dursus was no real player of stick'em, so he had no real chance at winning, but his temper had gotten a hold of him and he hadn't much thought of the consequences for his actions.
The old man, despite being some fifteen years Dursus' senior, was strong as he was spry, and in a very short period of time, had regained the initiative in the fight and was now forcing Dursus to give ground. Moving in the mud was hard, especially with it being as deep as it was, and Dursus was having difficulty keeping up with the old man. As such he made a fatal mistake when trying to lunge at the mans exposed left side, and wound up face first into the sloppy wet mud. Luckily his ears were not completely submerged, so he was still able to hear.
"I'll tell you what lad," Korvs said, leaning in real close. "I'll do what you're asking, but only because the general said so. Just, do yourself a favor next time," something yanked at Dursus' hair and suddenly he was free of the mud. "Don't go doing that again." All around him the men were cheering and yelling quite loudly. Korvs had his hands up again, a sign of his victory in the pit.
Dursus climbed out of the pit a muddy ruin, and bent to pick up his scrip and lead. In his adrenaline-fueled haste, he had forgotten that he had just been whipped earlier and now the wounds had reopened on his chest and back. Blood oozed together with the mud and he was beginning to feel the sting of infection. He was going to have to wash, else be killed by the infections.
Dursus sighed and made his way back to his tent. He could tell, that tonight was going to be a long night.
*~*
General Tertius stared out at the relatively calm expanse of water, lost in thought and relatively unaware of the world around him for the moment. There were times, in his early life and during his various endeavors, when Tertius found it necessary to simply, lose ones self to the endless bounds of nature and the world around it. Simply forgetting all the hurts, worries and obligations of this life and just letting go.
It was rather peaceful. Quiet, calm, relaxing but, like all things of the like, painful. Painful in that it had to end. Painful in that it almost wasn’t worth doing in the first place, if only because it had to end. The small smile on the general’s face became a frown and he knew that he had lost his paradise. He was back in the real world now, where death and pain and sorrow were everyday and could never be avoided. He turned his back on the calm waters and faced his second in command, Dursus.
The man, as it were, had apparently been rolling around in some mud and had been forced to delay his meeting with the general to freshen up and rebandage himself. The man, however he might have looked before, was everything a second in command should though, and held himself in that very regard rather nicely. Tertius had long since forgiven the man for his flogging and had in turned, asked for forgiveness, but the man had simply waved him off, his pride too strong for such profligacy. Tertius liked this man, had always liked this man. He reminded him of himself, when he wore a younger mans flesh.
But that was neither here nor now, and was something that must be forgotten in any case. No sense in living in the past, when the future was always rapidly approaching.
“Ah Dursus,” the general said after he had turned around. “Please, please, make yourself comfortable.” The man nodded; painfully it looked like, but waved the general away.
“No sir, I think I’d rather stand.”
“Nasty fall into that mud, I suppose?”
Dursus nodded a second time.
“Well, no matter.” The general extended a steaming mug of wine toward the man. “Care for a drink?”
Dursus nodded graciously and took the cup, sipping at is carefully. One couldn’t be too careful with heated wine, as it usually resulted in a burnt tongue if one wasn’t. The general lifted his own mug, in a silent salute to just about anything and nothing, then sipped silently for a moment.
Dursus, ever the vigilant second in command, put down his mug after a moment and got right down to business. The new engines from the old Onager were coming along nicely and would be completed by morning. The two scouting parties that Tertius had ordered were just in the process of completion, Dursus having just found the commanders for the two of them, and everything looked like it was going to play along nicely. Dursus was just moving into how they were going to get the Onagers through the mountain passes and forests when a guard poked his head into the tent and coughed gently.
“Um, sirs? There is a man who wishes to speak with you.”
Tertius raised an eyebrow at Dursus, who only shrugged his shoulders. The general lifted his arm and motioned for the guard to let the man in. Moments later, a light scout entered into the tent, bowed to Dursus and then to Tertius before standing silent. The three stared at one another for a moment before Tertius spoke up.
“Well, out with it man.”
The man swallowed and then in a flurry of words, began to tell of what he had seen. The eyes of the two commanding officers grew wider and wider with every passing moment. After the man had finished Tertius looked over to Dursus.
“Dursus, get those parties out, now.”
“Yes, sir!”
“You are dismissed.”
The scout was the only one to leave.
"Dursus?"
The man jumped, having been staring silently at the tent flaps the scout had departed through.
"Was there something else you wanted to add?"
The second cleared his throat and after a moment, found the words to speak. "Yes, sir. There appears to be a ball, of some sort, hovering just above the camp. It has a beam of light emitting from it and it's tracing this light all across the camp. I haven't followed its path in its entirety but I am most certain it is gathering Intel for whomever sent it. We've no idea what happened to its partner, but I believe that it left, leaving this one to play the role of sentry. A few of our men have fired shots at it, but it just seems to move out of the way. I just thought I'd inform you of this sir, as it seems very important to me that we eliminate this thing before it does something unspeakable to us, and our men."
A moment of silence followed the second’s speech, and the general used that time to think. A ball? Hovering just above his camp? He had heard rumors about those things when they had first appeared but had simply shrugged them off as birds mistaken for something else. This new find however, changed that. He moved to the back of his tent and stared out at the water beyond. After a few more moments, he spoke.
"Those engines you're working on, they will be finished tomorrow?"
His second coughed lightly. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Keep me informed and I will speak with you in the morning."
"Sir?" The man was obviously confused, having been expecting orders to rid the camp of the thing. The abrupt dismissal had caught him off guard.
"Dursus, I told you, I will speak with you in the morning. Something tells me that that second one, isn't far off. Call it a hunch, call it the hairs suddenly standing on end at the base of my neck, call it whatever you want. All the same, I will speak with you in the morning."
As doubting as his second was, the reason he had earned those stripes of his today, he was still loyal and would follow orders. He nodded silently and let himself out just as silently.
Once alone in his tent, Tertius stared out at the water for a few more moments before closing off the tent flaps and making himself ready for bed. He blew out the candles a short moment later and in the darkness of the tent, found his cot and fell asleep. Night, was for rest, unless at war. He was not yet at war, just on the brink. He could rest easy, for now.
*~*
Once outside, Dursus immediately sought out Korvs and the other man he had found, Lucius. Both were standing with their parties near to their respective gates of departure. Dursus gave them simple orders. Find whoever it was out there, find out their intentions without getting caught, and then get back here safely. Take no lives, lose no lives, risk no lives. Each man nodded and then gathered his men around him before setting out in the ever increasing darkness. The men heading north took with them twelve horses, with six remounts between them and enough supplies to last them a week on their own. While the men heading west only took with them their spears and shields, as well as much supplies as they could carry on their backs. Each group set out with twelve men, only time would tell how many made it back.
*~*
That finished, Dursus could begin to focus on other, more important things.
Like sleep.
His sleep however, would be plauged by dreams of that ball descending upon the camp and unleashing untold magics upon the men of the Legion.
Out of Character:
Out of Character:
Dursus awoke the next morning as sore as a, well, as sore as a man who had just receieved the beating of his life the day before. He found it hard to stand, but once he had, he realized that the pain wasn't quite as great, so long as he didn't make any sudden movements. This was normal, he had heard, so he didn't think anything of it as he dressed himself.
He emerged from his tent a few moments later, temporarily blinded by the bright light of the sun, and squinted around him. The sounds of a bustling Imperial camp filled his ears. From the sounds of soldiers turned ferrier reshoeing horses, to the belting of a grizzled centurion, running the men through their morning drill. The camp was alive and fervent with life, it brought a smile to his face just listening to it.
The trip to the generals tent was a short one, but he took his time, enjoying the morning air while he could, saying hi to the soldiers who weren't entirely too busy, patting shoulders here and there. Just taking his time before he got his morning orders.
He had just finished conversing with a young archer when there was a commotion at one of the gates. Men were running around, yelling to get the gates open. The men located on the palisade walls rushed to their stations to look out over the great valley toward the mountains. More shouting and then, bursting through the just barely opened gates, was one of the twelve riders that Dursus had sent north just last night. He absently said goodbye to the archer, who in turn barely noticed his leaving, and steadily began to walk faster and faster toward the generals tent. The speed at which the rider had come in told volumes about the information he must carry. Dursus soon began to run, ignoring the blinding pain in his chest and back. He had to get to that tent, before the man could give out his information.
As luck would have it, Dursus got to the tent at the same time the other man did and they were both rushed in together.
The general, having risen hours earlier, was seated behind his folding table when the two were ushered in and he looked up upon their entrance. He then silently placed his mug of chilled wine down onto the table and stood from his chair. He looked the two over, nodded toward his second, who nodded back, then stood tall to regard the scout whom had just returned.
"Report," he said curtly to the man once he had finished his going over of the man. The scout bowed deeply and then spoke in a rush.
"We've spotted two forces in the area of the Plateau. One possibly numbering now more than a few hundred and for the moment, stationary on the ridges to the west. The second force is perhaps twice their number and is advancing west at a goodly pace. Korvs and the remaining eleven plan to parallel the larger forces movements and will report on anything else that should arise. He also asks if you have any other orders?"
The general, having become suddenly thoughtful during the mans speech, silently turned around and stared down at his table. It held only one item, and that was the rough sketch of this valley and the lake valley beyond the northeastern mountain range. After a moment he spoke.
"Congratulate Korvs on his work and tell him that he is to carry on with his plan. I have no further orders, you may rest and have something to eat here before you depart to once more join up with him. Dismissed."
The man nodded, bowed and then exited the tent. Dursus watched the man go and then turned to his general.
"Should I ready the men?"
"No," the general said, looking up from his map.
"But sir, we simply can't allow those armies to - "
"I said no god dammit!" The roar of the generals voice cut Dursus off short and he stood quivering beneath the other mans gaze. "Don't have me whip you again for your insolence."
"Sir, yes sir." Dursus said shakily. He had known of his generals temper, but he had yet to really experience it first hand. He now knew that incurring it, could very be one of the last things he ever did. "Might I ask why, sir?" Dursus asked after a few moments of collecting himself.
"It's quite simple, I don't know why you haven't seen it yet. We are safe here, they can only attack us from one direction, unless they build a score of boats, which will take more time then it is worth. We have a broad view of both directions of attack, and we have a sound defense in place. If we march, we march right into a forest and fighting a war inside a forest, is hell. Our men are safe here and I would rather see all of them survive, then many of them die and the one left alive wondering why it wasn't them that died. We stay put, reinforce the current defenses if you need to, but we stay here. That is an order, Dursus."
"Yes sir," the other man said slowly.
"Good, you are dismissed."
Once outside, Dursus inhaled and exhaled slowly. His heart felt as though it were trying to race a lion across the plains. He clutched at his chest, groaning in pain. A racing heart meant that his chest was moving in a way that caused his wounds to stretch and contract more then they needed to. He shook his head, trying to will the pain away, and then straightened.
He took another deep breath, winced in pain and then started off toward where a small knot of Centurions stood. He felt a need to order someone around, and what better way to start, then by ordering the expansion of the palisade.
*~*
Inside the tent, General Tertius stared at the tent flaps where his second had departed. The man still had some of his squeakyness, a flaw in his voice that would never leave him, but as of late, it hadn't shown much of itself. Perhaps that beating had changed something in him. The general shook his head and turned back to the map. He picked up his glass of chilled wine and took a sip.
"Gah!" He winced, pulling his head away from the glass. It had gone warm. "Hurel?" The general called to the back of his tent. A moment later his man servant appeared. The man was usually so quiet that Tertius hardly noticed he was there, and the general had strictly forbidden the man to pamper and dress him. As such the man had taken up residence in a small tent just to the rear of his master, out of the way but still within ear shot should the general require anything. The flaps of Tertius' tent opened and Hurel stuck his head in.
"Yes, master?"
"More chilled wine if you would. Mine seems to have gone stale."
The man nodded. "Of course sir." And then he ducked out of sight.
Sighing the general returned his attention to the map and leaned on the table top. What were those two other armies up too? Were they going to fight? Or were they going to ban together and then descend upon Tertius and his encamped force?
These questions, as well as a few others, raced through his head, so much that he hardly even noticed when his man servant entered with his chilled wine. He left it sit there, slowly warming in the morning heat and wondered what the day would bring.
Wondered what tomorrow would bring.
Out of Character: