The Rogue Desert, though its generic wording is said to be named after Althanas' infamous Kylin Rogue, is located in the northeastern corner of the map. It is the largest area on the map and its filled with sand dunes and plateaus. Large land bridges (the northern most is not indicated on the map) connect this area to the Renzokuken pass in the north, and to the Grand Plains in the south.
This is Tiberius' starting location.
Round two begins at 3:00 PM CST. Good luck to everyone involved.
Althanas Operations Administrator
Dirks GP amount: 2949
The sun was a ball of molten metal in the sky, glaring down harshly at the barren, desolate landscape below. Great sand dunes, some towering nearly four hundred feet into the air, flowed across the land, being pushed and pulled by the almost ceaseless winds from the east and west. Great bowls of cracked earth and jagged rock sunk deep into the dunes, creating twisting vortexes of dust and sand as the winds roared across their jagged bluffs. Towering walls of rock, soaring up from the center of these bowls, buffeted and scared by countless years of constant exposure to the winds and sands of time, all gave the landscape a bleak and dismal appearance. For what seemed an eternity in each direction, there was nothing but desolate landscape and the pale, yellow brown of the dead earth. And in the center of it all, glaring with cold eyes in the midst of such terrible heat and death, stood one man, an army arrayed at his back.
We are blind and sitting ducks here. He thought, as he swept his gaze to the south. After a moment of silence, he lifted his eyes skyward, looking up to the sun. Then he looked south again. These sands are depressing. He shrugged his armored shoulders and then leaned a little to the left.
"Dursus," the man said. There a smallish man of about medium height, dressed in full battle attire, snapped to attention and focused on the man. "Prepare to march." The small man nodded, then rounded to a small knot of officers behind him.
"Prepare to march!" His yell could be heard by all of those present, but there was still a procedure to follow through with. The men of the Lost Legion performed it with a precise hand. First, it was up to the officers, having been given their orders, to get the men into marching formation. They all bowed and rounded on their respected companies or battalions or contingents. Then with voices thoroughly leathered through years of shouting orders, or just simply shouting, formed their men into the disciplined ranks of a Legion on the march. Five sword legionaries abreast in the center, with a single long line of spear men to either side, further flanked by half the mounted cavalry. Finally, taking position near the rear of the steadily elongating snake of men and metal, were the supply wagons, their archer and cavalry guards and the remaining Onagers and Scorpion bolt throwing replacements.
It had been a long march so far, and they had had to scrap three of the behemoth stone throwing machines, replacing them instead with nine bolt throwing Scorpions. This brought the grand total of Onagers lost up to four, but with the addition of twelve Scorpion throwers to the ranks. It was an acceptable loss.
Finally, after a good half an hour of disciplined and carefully paced maneuvering, the army was finally ready to march. The man in charge, the general of this grand force, turned from his place gazing out across the barren landscape to instead regard his neatly ordered men. A small smile came to his lips as he gazed down upon the orderly ranks. At all the sweat faced and dirt coated men of his Legion, standing at parade rest, waiting for their next orders.
"Dursus," the general said quietly. The small man once again appeared by his side. "Make ready to march on my order." The small man nodded and bowed.
"Make ready!" The man screamed to the long line of men. The order was repeated from all the throats of the assembled men and there was a collective Tha-rum! Tha-rum! as they all clanged their pila or spears or bows or lance against their shields. The small man looked to the general, who only nodded down to him. He nodded back and looked back out to the gathered army.
"Forward!" The order was once again repeated from all the throats and as one, the men all snapped to attention. The small man turned around, his face contorted from his yelling, and swept his left arm up, gripping the baton of office tightly in his hand. "March!" The baton came down and as one all the men slammed their shields against their pila or spears or bows or lance and stepped forward.
The army was now on the move.
The general smiled down at the assembled and now marching men, who were slamming their weapons into the shield every third step, to keep cadence. Discipline, it won battles, won wars and kept his men in line. He then nodded to the small man, who began scrambling up into the saddle of his borrowed horse. The general raised his right arm high. To his left and right there came a sudden gasping of breath as the forty-eight of his personal body guard readied themselves for the march, the horses whinnying and the creak of leather and metal filling the air as they did so. Then the generals arm swept down and as one, they too stepped off to follow just to the left of the great long snake of men and metal.
*~*
For a while they rode in silence, listening to the clank and grunts and whinnies of the marching army. The general was keeping his gaze forward, studying the lay of the land as they slowly marched forward. Presently though, he sensed someone approaching him.
The small man ridden carefully forward to ride beside the general after he and his body guard had settled in beside the marching men. He then coughed lightly into his hand to announce his presence and only when the general had acknowledged his presence, did he speak. "Where shall I tell the centurions to march, General?"
The general thought for a moment, let his gaze wander across the featureless landscape. Then he turned his gaze up to the sun and tapped his chin with a gauntleted hand. Then he sighed.
"South by south west Dursus. We march south by south west."
The small man nodded. "Of course general, I will inform the march centurions immediately." The general only nodded vaguely in response as the man rode off to issue the direction of travel order. Moments later, there were shouts from the ranks of the marching men and the great snake slowly turned itself toward the southwest. The small man returned then and fell in beside the nearest body guard, just behind and just to the right of the general. Yhe general called him forward with a wave of his hand after a moment.
"Get some of the scouts mounted on some of the spare mounts and send them on ahead," he said when the man had finished approaching him. "I want to know what might be waiting for us around the next bend."
The small man nodded quickly and wheeled his horse around to canter back up the slowly advancing lines of marching men and horses. The general watched him go for a moment before shifting his gaze back to his front and what lay immediately ahead. A few minutes later the forms of six galloping horses with man holding tight to their backs, appeared at the head of the army and quickly vanished from sight ahead. The scouts were out, if they saw anything, they would bring back a report as quickly as the situation granted itself.
The general abruptly felt a little less unease at the sight of the disappearing men on horseback. He was no longer completely blind. There was a creak of leather and metal as the small man resumed his place in the ranks of the body guard.
The general didn't spare him a glance though, instead he kept his gaze forward. Watching the ever twisting land as the long snake of men and metal wound its way through the lands infinite maze.
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