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<blockquote data-quote="Greenfield" data-source="post: 5892309" data-attributes="member: 6669384"><p><span style="font-size: 10px">***</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Oh, you poor thing!", cooed the Druid, as she looked at the wounded wolf.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"That 'poor thing' tried to tear my leg off!", Seeburn retorted angrily, as the Cleric tended his wounds.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"He only did what he was taught to do.", she responded. "</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"><em>Vitai Minorus</em>", she intoned, granting the wounded animal a small solace. The crying stopped, though the animal was still badly hurt.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">She spent the next several minutes with the animal, cleansing its wounds and talking to it quietly. By the time it was ready to rise, it had lost all hostility towards her. It moved towards its fallen mate and tried to nudge it awake, but such wakefulness would not come again in this life. Still, it lay down and waited, holding vigil for an awakening that would never come.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Meanwhile Marcus had taken stock of the rest of the party's condition, and aside from Seeburn's injuries, the rest were simple scrapes and bruises.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Penn', we need to get you a weapon of some kind.", Cassius said, as he took stock of the items the Goblins had been carrying. He tossed the Bard a short sword. The bronze blade was pitted, but intact. Even so, as soon as the warrior saw the scrawny fey try to swing it, he reconsidered.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"You're going to hurt yourself that way, Penn'.", he advised, gently relieving the Half-Satyr of the unaccustomed weapon. "We'll start you with a staff, and I'll help you practice with it."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Well, these guys have been on the road for a bit.", commented Sylus, as he looked at the assortment of coins the Goblins had been carrying. "I see Sheckles, Crowns, Dinar, and a dozen others I don't know. But here's something interesting.", he added, unrolling a piece of hide marked with chalk and charcoal. It was a map of sorts, crude but apparently useful.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"It looks as if they're marking off points of interest.", Seeburn said, peering over the Ranger's shoulder. "Probably farms and steadings they've raided on their way south."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The companions had been advised, when Calvinus had briefed them, that the Vandals would probably have three types of groups in the field.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Scouting parties would be built for speed, not combat, and would only stand and fight if they thought they had found easy pickings. Foraging groups would be out scavenging for food, and would have only one or two warriors among them. They'd flee an armed party. War parties, on the other hand, would try to kill them no matter what.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"It's not as if they're a real army.", Calvinus had explained. "They're more like locusts. Their commanders don't exercise any discipline, and splinter groups will fan out looking for whatever they can find."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">This looked like a minor war band, or perhaps a scout group. The party had been lucky.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"I hope you don't have too high a price to pay for that fire spirit.", Sylus said in a worried tone, when Nedel joined them. "Pacts with being like that can cost a man his soul."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Oh, that?", laughed the Sorcerer. "It was a trick of light and movement, nothing more. No fire, no substance, and no price to pay. Just a little something to distract a foe for a moment."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Well, it did do that.", Penn agreed. All were keeping a visible distance from the Nordic Half-Elf as she tended the wolf. It seemed unnatural for her to befriend such a beast, and the animal's feelings of friendship seemed to be reserved for her alone. It growled and bared its teeth whenever anyone else approached, particularly Seeburn, who still smelled of its mate's blood.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Cassius took a quick tour around the camp, in case there were other foes out there in the night, while the others moved the fallen Goblins downwind of camp, lest the smell of death attract predators.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The Carthaginian returned with a small surprise: Two sacks of flour, half full, tied together to sling over someone's shoulders, or perhaps a wolf. Also a small sack of salt, a few blankets, an 8-pint cask of wine and a couple of half-empty skins, and some cook pots. Apparently the Goblins had been doing a bit of looting as they went, and had left their burdens in the brush before the attack.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Well, breakfast is taken care of.", he laughed. "There was a bit of meat, but who knows where it came from. Goblins will eat anything."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The group settled down to finish their rest, leaving Appalenea and her new friend on watch, along with Penn, to keep watch on them.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">***</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The group rose before the sun, or at least they thought they did, and made a quick meal of biscuits and hard cheese, washed down with a bit of wine. The burdens were distributed, and they set off.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">They began with the Roman march, 60 paces running and 60 walking, painfully aware that their comfort may have cost lives in the city, but the rest had been needed.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The mile-eating pace covered the distance quickly, and after the first hour Sylus had them swing off the road and follow a trail over the rolling hills.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The flow of the land wasn't harsh, but even so the pace took its toll, and after a few hours they again had to call a rest.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"I'm worried about the weather.", Sylus said, indicating a cluster of dark clouds against the slate-gray sky.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"All clouds are dark these days.", Appelenea advised. "Those are still thin. We won't get much rain out of them."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Still, the Ranger's concern added another burden of worry for them to carry, for even if they made it to the troops in time, a storm would render their efforts worthless. The Legion wouldn't get to the city in time to save it if they had to slog through mud.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">But the weather was in the hands of Zeus. All their hands held was the parchment bearing the cryptic orders, and a bit of hope. They pressed on.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The wolf trotted along with Appelenea, but still growled at anyone else who got close, a fact that frustrated a certain Half-Satyr. While he knew that they had just met, and not under the best circumstances, he felt he had an obligation to at least try. But such an effort would have to wait until later. For now there were other things to occupy his mind.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The hills rolled by, and their eyes scanned the horizon for signs of an army, or an enemy.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"That bird is wrong.", Appelenea advised, indicating a solitary raptor soaring over the hills ahead. "See? He doesn't circle or stoop, and he flies too high to hunt for prey on the ground. That's someone's Familiar."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The prophesy proved true as they topped a rise, for a cluster of dark forms were just beginning their descent of the hill ahead.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Orcs!", Seeburn called, drawing his bow. This was a full war party, and the companions were too tired to outrun them. They'd have to fight.</span> </p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px">The leader of the foe called a halt to his followers, and raising his arms to the heavens he began to shout in a twisting tongue that sounded like neither Latin nor Greek, nor even the harsh tongue of the wild nomads.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"It's a spell of some kind.", Seeburn advised, a warning that drew odd looks from his companions.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"What do you know of magic?", Nedel asked the burly Barbarian. </span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"My father employed both Arcanists and Seers.", the Scott replied. "I studied some with them, and know the language."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Hold your rage, and your weapons.", Appelenea advised. "Let them come closer, and they'll be ours."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">And so they waited while the Orc Shaman roused his troops to a frothing fury, ready to chew on their own shields. Then, they charged.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"><em>Root Bind</em>", the Druid intoned, laying her hand gently on the ground.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">And the earth responded to her call, the grasses rippling in a wind that wasn't blowing, seeking to grasp anything within their reach.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The war cries of the Vandals may have been legendary, as was the fear they inspired, but these quickly transformed to cries of surprise as their pace dragged to a halt.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Seeburn smiled as he finally let loose with a shaft, targeting not the Shaman but the bird that did his bidding. It cried out in pain and immediately altered course, heading away from the conflict.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The Shaman raged in impotent fury as Nedel also sent a bolt of magical energy at the hawk, wounding it further. The Shaman's rage translated into action as he found the strength to wrench his feet free, and he began the slow trek forward, murder on his mind.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Two of his soldiers managed to follow him, though being less consumed by hate they made the wiser choice and headed for the nearest edge of the grasping grasses.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Cassius laughed and sprang forward to meet the Orcish warpriest, obstructing his path just before he reached freedom. Weapons flashed, curses were hurled and blood flowed. Cassius' smile never faltered.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Seeburn and Sylus sent arrows like thunderbolts into the Vandals, dropping one after another in quick succession.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Penn, grasped his new staff in both hands and advanced quickly, then dove into the heavy brush. He was no warrior and he knew it. To his surprise, Appelenea stood her ground, drawing her bright sickle and commanding the wolf to stay back.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Marcus fired his crossbow, then charged forward towards one of the Orcs who had managed to free himself. The Orc had fixed his eye on the Druid, and his foul intent was clear.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"I am the son of Jupiter himself, and you will not pass!", the Cleric cried, leveling his crossbow directly between the Orc's eyes.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The dark one faltered for a moment, then smiled anew, for no quarrel had come forth. In his haste the Cleric had forgotten to reload, and now fumbled with the mechanism. The Orc's blade met the Cleric's body, and Marcus lay on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. "Where's your father now?", he gloated, preparing to finish his fallen prey.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"No!', came a cry from an unexpected source. Penn had dragged himself out of the bushes and was charging at the Orc, staff raised.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Penn struck him in the head with the staff, while Seeburn moved behind him. The Orc tried to call to the wolf, issuing orders in a harsh tongue, but the lupine warrior had only served Goblind before, and his prior master had had no love for the Orcish overlords. He stayed where he was.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Cassius found himself laughing at the Shaman's fumbling attempts to formulate a curse, while his own blade spoke with an eloquence of its own. Sylus continued to cut down any Orc who managed to advance even a single step. For all their fury, the Orcs weren't very effective in the fray.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Penn landed another blow, and Nedel finished the Orc off with the last of his magical energies.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Now the remaining Orcs sought only to flee, a strategy impeded by the tangling grasses just as effectively as their charge had been. But one managed to rip loose and place the field of entanglement between himself and the companions, and began to flee.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"No!", roared Seeburn, and charged after him, only to find that the grasses didn't care whose feet they grabbed. He managed to avoid falling, but his pursuit was done.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Sylus danced to the side, to get a clearer shot, and placed an arrow directly between the Orc's shoulder blades. He fell, and it was over.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The grasses relaxed their grip as the Druid's request, and a quick assessment was made of the fallen.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"I think that this one is still alive.", Cassius said, indicating the Shaman, whose chest still rose and fell, albeit slowly, as his life's blood dripped out.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Appelenea's attentions were reserved for the fallen among her own people, however, , and though she wasn't as skilled a healer as Marcus was, her magics proved sufficient to at least get the Cleric to open his eyes.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">***</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"We can't wait until he's ready to move.", Seeburn insisted, as they tended to Marcus wounds. "And that one will work to slow us down", he added, indicating their prisoner.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The Shaman glared at him with one baleful eye, the scarred socket on the other side of his face testimony to his dedication to the Vandal's dark deity.</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"What would you do then?", Cassius countered, "run the rest of the way by yourself? That's suicide!"</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"I'll run with him.", Penn volunteered. "I won't slow him down much, and I can help in a fight. A little."</span> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">So, with misgivings it was agreed, more because of the highland warrior's stubbornness than any real consensus. Seeburn and Penn would try to cover the remaining miles at a quick pace, while the others followed with the wounded, and their prisoner. He would be an untrustworthy slave, at best, but the Legion might be able to get information from him.</span> </p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px">[FONT=&quot]***</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Marcus tended to the wounds of his companions as the impatient Barbarian set off to find the Roman troops, with the Bard on his heels.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"I hope they make it.", Appelenea said, before turning her attention to the task of healing.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The prisoner spoke only curses and threats, boasting that he would feed on their entrails before this was all finished. He swore that he'd die before he served a pink-skinned master, but when the offer of a clean death was made, his determination faltered. Though he never agreed, he did rise when commanded, and followed as ordered.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">With Sylus in the lead, they set off of a slightly weaving course, going around hills more often than over them, to avoid being spotted. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">As they traveled, they could see dust to the north, and the occasional dark shapes in the sky, signs of the Vandal horde and their avian allies.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Finally they arrived at the Legion's camp, but the army was long gone. Seeburn and Penn had arrived over an hour ahead of the rest, and the command had responded with amazing speed. Within 15 minutes of the arrival of the orders, the soldiers had slung their packs, formed ranks, and marched off.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The camp slaves, cooks and other workers had been left to strike the tents and load the baggage, then follow at their own pace.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Even this operation was proceeding at remarkable speed, and the weary travelers could see that soon they would be left alone here.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Through the jumble and ruckus of the camp, they were directed to a senior slave, who in turn took them to the man left in charge of this operation. He was older, obviously past fighting age yet unwilling to leave the army just yet. He still wore the breastplate of a junior officer, a Legionaire's short blade at his side.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">"Good to see that you made it through.", he said, upon seeing the orders they bore. "Your friends arrived some time ago. I'm not sure where they got off to. I'm sure you must be tired from your trek. I have space in the Mercurial wagons, if you need to rest as we go."</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The group readily accepted the offer. The wagons would normally service the ill or injured, attended by the priests of Mercury, but since the army had been at rest for two weeks the only injuries they holy healers had to deal with were the occasional accident or brawl within the ranks. Riding there they could rest, and still catch up with the army.[/FONT]</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Greenfield, post: 5892309, member: 6669384"] [SIZE=2]*** "Oh, you poor thing!", cooed the Druid, as she looked at the wounded wolf. "That 'poor thing' tried to tear my leg off!", Seeburn retorted angrily, as the Cleric tended his wounds.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "He only did what he was taught to do.", she responded. "[/SIZE] [SIZE=2][I]Vitai Minorus[/I]", she intoned, granting the wounded animal a small solace. The crying stopped, though the animal was still badly hurt. She spent the next several minutes with the animal, cleansing its wounds and talking to it quietly. By the time it was ready to rise, it had lost all hostility towards her. It moved towards its fallen mate and tried to nudge it awake, but such wakefulness would not come again in this life. Still, it lay down and waited, holding vigil for an awakening that would never come.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Meanwhile Marcus had taken stock of the rest of the party's condition, and aside from Seeburn's injuries, the rest were simple scrapes and bruises.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Penn', we need to get you a weapon of some kind.", Cassius said, as he took stock of the items the Goblins had been carrying. He tossed the Bard a short sword. The bronze blade was pitted, but intact. Even so, as soon as the warrior saw the scrawny fey try to swing it, he reconsidered.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "You're going to hurt yourself that way, Penn'.", he advised, gently relieving the Half-Satyr of the unaccustomed weapon. "We'll start you with a staff, and I'll help you practice with it."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Well, these guys have been on the road for a bit.", commented Sylus, as he looked at the assortment of coins the Goblins had been carrying. "I see Sheckles, Crowns, Dinar, and a dozen others I don't know. But here's something interesting.", he added, unrolling a piece of hide marked with chalk and charcoal. It was a map of sorts, crude but apparently useful.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "It looks as if they're marking off points of interest.", Seeburn said, peering over the Ranger's shoulder. "Probably farms and steadings they've raided on their way south."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The companions had been advised, when Calvinus had briefed them, that the Vandals would probably have three types of groups in the field.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Scouting parties would be built for speed, not combat, and would only stand and fight if they thought they had found easy pickings. Foraging groups would be out scavenging for food, and would have only one or two warriors among them. They'd flee an armed party. War parties, on the other hand, would try to kill them no matter what.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "It's not as if they're a real army.", Calvinus had explained. "They're more like locusts. Their commanders don't exercise any discipline, and splinter groups will fan out looking for whatever they can find."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] This looked like a minor war band, or perhaps a scout group. The party had been lucky.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "I hope you don't have too high a price to pay for that fire spirit.", Sylus said in a worried tone, when Nedel joined them. "Pacts with being like that can cost a man his soul."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Oh, that?", laughed the Sorcerer. "It was a trick of light and movement, nothing more. No fire, no substance, and no price to pay. Just a little something to distract a foe for a moment."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Well, it did do that.", Penn agreed. All were keeping a visible distance from the Nordic Half-Elf as she tended the wolf. It seemed unnatural for her to befriend such a beast, and the animal's feelings of friendship seemed to be reserved for her alone. It growled and bared its teeth whenever anyone else approached, particularly Seeburn, who still smelled of its mate's blood.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Cassius took a quick tour around the camp, in case there were other foes out there in the night, while the others moved the fallen Goblins downwind of camp, lest the smell of death attract predators.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The Carthaginian returned with a small surprise: Two sacks of flour, half full, tied together to sling over someone's shoulders, or perhaps a wolf. Also a small sack of salt, a few blankets, an 8-pint cask of wine and a couple of half-empty skins, and some cook pots. Apparently the Goblins had been doing a bit of looting as they went, and had left their burdens in the brush before the attack.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Well, breakfast is taken care of.", he laughed. "There was a bit of meat, but who knows where it came from. Goblins will eat anything."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The group settled down to finish their rest, leaving Appalenea and her new friend on watch, along with Penn, to keep watch on them.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] *** The group rose before the sun, or at least they thought they did, and made a quick meal of biscuits and hard cheese, washed down with a bit of wine. The burdens were distributed, and they set off. They began with the Roman march, 60 paces running and 60 walking, painfully aware that their comfort may have cost lives in the city, but the rest had been needed.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The mile-eating pace covered the distance quickly, and after the first hour Sylus had them swing off the road and follow a trail over the rolling hills.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The flow of the land wasn't harsh, but even so the pace took its toll, and after a few hours they again had to call a rest.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "I'm worried about the weather.", Sylus said, indicating a cluster of dark clouds against the slate-gray sky.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "All clouds are dark these days.", Appelenea advised. "Those are still thin. We won't get much rain out of them."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Still, the Ranger's concern added another burden of worry for them to carry, for even if they made it to the troops in time, a storm would render their efforts worthless. The Legion wouldn't get to the city in time to save it if they had to slog through mud.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] But the weather was in the hands of Zeus. All their hands held was the parchment bearing the cryptic orders, and a bit of hope. They pressed on.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The wolf trotted along with Appelenea, but still growled at anyone else who got close, a fact that frustrated a certain Half-Satyr. While he knew that they had just met, and not under the best circumstances, he felt he had an obligation to at least try. But such an effort would have to wait until later. For now there were other things to occupy his mind.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The hills rolled by, and their eyes scanned the horizon for signs of an army, or an enemy.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "That bird is wrong.", Appelenea advised, indicating a solitary raptor soaring over the hills ahead. "See? He doesn't circle or stoop, and he flies too high to hunt for prey on the ground. That's someone's Familiar."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The prophesy proved true as they topped a rise, for a cluster of dark forms were just beginning their descent of the hill ahead.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Orcs!", Seeburn called, drawing his bow. This was a full war party, and the companions were too tired to outrun them. They'd have to fight.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]The leader of the foe called a halt to his followers, and raising his arms to the heavens he began to shout in a twisting tongue that sounded like neither Latin nor Greek, nor even the harsh tongue of the wild nomads. "It's a spell of some kind.", Seeburn advised, a warning that drew odd looks from his companions.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "What do you know of magic?", Nedel asked the burly Barbarian. [/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "My father employed both Arcanists and Seers.", the Scott replied. "I studied some with them, and know the language."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "Hold your rage, and your weapons.", Appelenea advised. "Let them come closer, and they'll be ours."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] And so they waited while the Orc Shaman roused his troops to a frothing fury, ready to chew on their own shields. Then, they charged.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "[/SIZE] [SIZE=2][I]Root Bind[/I]", the Druid intoned, laying her hand gently on the ground. And the earth responded to her call, the grasses rippling in a wind that wasn't blowing, seeking to grasp anything within their reach.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The war cries of the Vandals may have been legendary, as was the fear they inspired, but these quickly transformed to cries of surprise as their pace dragged to a halt.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Seeburn smiled as he finally let loose with a shaft, targeting not the Shaman but the bird that did his bidding. It cried out in pain and immediately altered course, heading away from the conflict.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The Shaman raged in impotent fury as Nedel also sent a bolt of magical energy at the hawk, wounding it further. The Shaman's rage translated into action as he found the strength to wrench his feet free, and he began the slow trek forward, murder on his mind.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Two of his soldiers managed to follow him, though being less consumed by hate they made the wiser choice and headed for the nearest edge of the grasping grasses.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Cassius laughed and sprang forward to meet the Orcish warpriest, obstructing his path just before he reached freedom. Weapons flashed, curses were hurled and blood flowed. Cassius' smile never faltered.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Seeburn and Sylus sent arrows like thunderbolts into the Vandals, dropping one after another in quick succession.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Penn, grasped his new staff in both hands and advanced quickly, then dove into the heavy brush. He was no warrior and he knew it. To his surprise, Appelenea stood her ground, drawing her bright sickle and commanding the wolf to stay back.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Marcus fired his crossbow, then charged forward towards one of the Orcs who had managed to free himself. The Orc had fixed his eye on the Druid, and his foul intent was clear.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "I am the son of Jupiter himself, and you will not pass!", the Cleric cried, leveling his crossbow directly between the Orc's eyes.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The dark one faltered for a moment, then smiled anew, for no quarrel had come forth. In his haste the Cleric had forgotten to reload, and now fumbled with the mechanism. The Orc's blade met the Cleric's body, and Marcus lay on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. "Where's your father now?", he gloated, preparing to finish his fallen prey.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "No!', came a cry from an unexpected source. Penn had dragged himself out of the bushes and was charging at the Orc, staff raised.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Penn struck him in the head with the staff, while Seeburn moved behind him. The Orc tried to call to the wolf, issuing orders in a harsh tongue, but the lupine warrior had only served Goblind before, and his prior master had had no love for the Orcish overlords. He stayed where he was.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Cassius found himself laughing at the Shaman's fumbling attempts to formulate a curse, while his own blade spoke with an eloquence of its own. Sylus continued to cut down any Orc who managed to advance even a single step. For all their fury, the Orcs weren't very effective in the fray.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Penn landed another blow, and Nedel finished the Orc off with the last of his magical energies.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Now the remaining Orcs sought only to flee, a strategy impeded by the tangling grasses just as effectively as their charge had been. But one managed to rip loose and place the field of entanglement between himself and the companions, and began to flee.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "No!", roared Seeburn, and charged after him, only to find that the grasses didn't care whose feet they grabbed. He managed to avoid falling, but his pursuit was done.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Sylus danced to the side, to get a clearer shot, and placed an arrow directly between the Orc's shoulder blades. He fell, and it was over.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] The grasses relaxed their grip as the Druid's request, and a quick assessment was made of the fallen.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "I think that this one is still alive.", Cassius said, indicating the Shaman, whose chest still rose and fell, albeit slowly, as his life's blood dripped out.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] Appelenea's attentions were reserved for the fallen among her own people, however, , and though she wasn't as skilled a healer as Marcus was, her magics proved sufficient to at least get the Cleric to open his eyes.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] *** "We can't wait until he's ready to move.", Seeburn insisted, as they tended to Marcus wounds. "And that one will work to slow us down", he added, indicating their prisoner. The Shaman glared at him with one baleful eye, the scarred socket on the other side of his face testimony to his dedication to the Vandal's dark deity.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "What would you do then?", Cassius countered, "run the rest of the way by yourself? That's suicide!"[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] "I'll run with him.", Penn volunteered. "I won't slow him down much, and I can help in a fight. A little."[/SIZE] [SIZE=2] So, with misgivings it was agreed, more because of the highland warrior's stubbornness than any real consensus. Seeburn and Penn would try to cover the remaining miles at a quick pace, while the others followed with the wounded, and their prisoner. He would be an untrustworthy slave, at best, but the Legion might be able to get information from him.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2][FONT="]*** Marcus tended to the wounds of his companions as the impatient Barbarian set off to find the Roman troops, with the Bard on his heels. "I hope they make it.", Appelenea said, before turning her attention to the task of healing. The prisoner spoke only curses and threats, boasting that he would feed on their entrails before this was all finished. He swore that he'd die before he served a pink-skinned master, but when the offer of a clean death was made, his determination faltered. Though he never agreed, he did rise when commanded, and followed as ordered. With Sylus in the lead, they set off of a slightly weaving course, going around hills more often than over them, to avoid being spotted. As they traveled, they could see dust to the north, and the occasional dark shapes in the sky, signs of the Vandal horde and their avian allies. Finally they arrived at the Legion's camp, but the army was long gone. Seeburn and Penn had arrived over an hour ahead of the rest, and the command had responded with amazing speed. Within 15 minutes of the arrival of the orders, the soldiers had slung their packs, formed ranks, and marched off. The camp slaves, cooks and other workers had been left to strike the tents and load the baggage, then follow at their own pace. Even this operation was proceeding at remarkable speed, and the weary travelers could see that soon they would be left alone here. Through the jumble and ruckus of the camp, they were directed to a senior slave, who in turn took them to the man left in charge of this operation. He was older, obviously past fighting age yet unwilling to leave the army just yet. He still wore the breastplate of a junior officer, a Legionaire's short blade at his side. "Good to see that you made it through.", he said, upon seeing the orders they bore. "Your friends arrived some time ago. I'm not sure where they got off to. I'm sure you must be tired from your trek. I have space in the Mercurial wagons, if you need to rest as we go." The group readily accepted the offer. The wagons would normally service the ill or injured, attended by the priests of Mercury, but since the army had been at rest for two weeks the only injuries they holy healers had to deal with were the occasional accident or brawl within the ranks. Riding there they could rest, and still catch up with the army.[/FONT][/SIZE] [/QUOTE]
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