Vultures spiral above the battlefield. Blood soaks into the rocky ground from hundreds of dying men and their horses, a grim reminder from the desperate hours prior.
For those who fought and died, the battle was as purposeless as any. Prince Satabus of Khoraja was tricked into bringing an army to aid King Ulam-Khala of Akbitana in a war against his cousin, King Nezurab of Shumir, another of Shem’s eastern city-states. So confident of the outcome was Satabus that he brought with him his bride-to-be, a Stygian noblewoman named Neferet, along with her closest handmaiden. With them also was a small delegation -- envoys and court officials. They bore princely gifts to cement the deep and everlasting friendship between Khoraja and Akbitana: a chest containing fistfuls of gems; urns of precious oil; bolts of Turanian and Khitan silks and other fine cloth; ingots of precious metal; and measures of rare and fragrant wood... a sumptuous collection of finery befitting a royal visit.
The battle was over before it could even begin. In the days prior to Satabus’ arrival, Ulam-Khala and Nezurab had made peace with one another, messages traveling via messenger bird. The two Shemitish kings agreed to unite and destroy Satabus’ army as a show of solidarity, an act of betrayal that would serve to weaken Khorajan resolve against further incursions into Shem.
Seeing that that the day was lost, Satabus sounded the order to flee, and as horns echoed across the desert, his mercenary army scattered across the dry plains and into the nearby foothills and hard-baked gulleys. They were pursued by the asshuri, picked off one-by-one. Satabus and his cadre of knights fought valiantly to protect his beloved Neferet, but the caravan with her litter was cut off in the retreat. Their fates are unknown.
Each of you was part of Satabus’ army, either as soldiers, knights, or as part of the envoy. You’re here now. Somehow, the last wave of asshuri and footmen missed you. Everyone else is dead. Some of the gear that you began the day with is damaged or missing.
What role did you play in the battle, and what are you doing now?
Crom! (better than a dot!)
Before they knew it, the battle was over. Amar was on his way to find out what was happening and bringing the answer of 'Treachery' to his captain when all he found was death. Spending the next few days hiding and scavenging the battlefield, Amar collected what he could and started heading toward the nearest friendly town. He moved at night, hoping to avoid the enemy patrols. How much good loot did he have to leave behind...how many of his friends dead...what a waste...
The Crimson Hand mercenary band is no more. Kern looked about him and realized that he was the last warrior standing in this part of the battlefield. The main battle had washed over their position, and now the troops of Satabus were scattered and retreating, which as he watched turns to a route.
Not wanting to bring horsemen to his position, Kern gathers up some equipment and rations, along with several water skins and heads towards the dry wadi not far from the battlefield. If he can just make it to the ravines he should be O.K. Others seem to be thinking along the same lines as him, for across the battlefield others are making their way to the same place.
He arrives and stops to take a deep drink and clear the taste of battle and defeat from his mouth. The others straggle in and some move on while others take time to check their equipment and examine the battle before deciding what to do next.
By Mitra and Ishtar, Hells by wicked Set himself somehow Amalrus has managed to live when so many around him died! No doubt it is because when the pavilion collapsed, clever Amalrus found a depression in the ground and lay within it. With so many prize targets in the envoy and soldiers rattling their blades, why search a collapsed pavilion for prey!
When the sounds of battle died down it was then that brave Amalrus emerged. There are always looters in such battles and it was not difficult for the Diplomat to slit the throat of a few unwary soldiers. Now coated in the blood of the enemy with a weapon in hand. The Diplomat started to seek out other survivors. From the corpse of some unfortunate soul, Amalrus manged to find leather armor that fit him fairly well. Now he had the look of a hardened warrior! Even if he did not, the blood on his hands and clothes would fool anyone into thinking he had fought valiantly for the losing cause...
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Count Trocero* of Poitain** had many friends.
This was befitting of a young nobleman of the wealthiest Aquilonian province. He maintained this friendship through shrewd, yet judicious use of rich flattery and rich gifts. So when he heard that Prince Satabus of Khoraja, which was one of the most important suppliers of fine ales to be found, was to be wed, he sent an envoy of fine wines and vibrant silks, along with an honor guard of stout Aquilonion warriors, clad in thick steel and shining helms.
Among these was Gauis Marcus Arvitus, a Bossinain who had been recognized for his heroic actions at the Battle of Three Rivers. Gauis was but newly promoted to the lofty and inactive post of palace guard, a "reward" for his recent actions, and still chafed at the relative calm of the post.
Hence, he greeted the vile betrayal of the Khorajan prince with a certain glee, lustily charging the enemy ranks, singing a Pictish barbaric chant he picked up as a lad.
Alas, the enemy was without end, and a leaden mace clanked against his head, denting his stout helm and bringing a black curtain to his consciousness.
He did not know how much time had past when he awoke, the copious blood from his dented helm apparently saving him further malignant attention. The broad shield he had carried into battle was not to be found, and his helm sat awkwardly on his head. Still, he was alive.
Casting about the field, he saw at least one face that he had recognized, though his yet-foggy head could not place when he had met the man. Perhaps in the sparring ring? That would seem so, since the man had the definite look of a warrior.
"Ho there! Amalrus is it? I see you have slain your fair share of the enemy this day! And you live to speak of it! Can we ask for any more the day after a battle?
Pah, listen to me prattle on. Let's look about and see if we can secure a drop of water or a scrap of jerky, and then we'll be about our business, aye?
What plans have you? Home would be a far march, and I'm not certain the folk between here and there would be too welcoming of a brace of fearsome warriors as we? Ha!"
Gauis claps Amalrus heartily on the shoulder, glad that he's found a fellow warrior and won't have to worry about a knife in the back.
Signey was with the envoy on a bluff and a prayer, her father's contacts were running out of sympathy for this silly little girl and her money was running out.
And now this... Signey had seen combat before, but drunken brawls or single combat did not prepare her for bloodshed of battle. An intense fear gripped her as the tides of battle drew ever closer.
Seeing the way the battle was turning against them, Signey cut her losses and slipped away. No brave hero was she, and felt no shame in slipping away and hiding. Perhaps she could recover something from the aftermath if all was not looted by the victors.
Hours later, Signey emerged. Judging what little was left of her fine clothing to be barely modest after climbing over rocks. She salvaged a sturdy jacket from a dead soldier before approaching the men starting to gather. How to play this now?
"You men look like noble, honorable folk, I appear to have lost near everything here. Can you at least escort me back to civilisation?" Signey itched to reach for her knife for protection, but these hard looking men would be able to bat it aside as easily as a child's toy. Better to look vulnerable and hope they had good natures.
Ahmargane drags a load of what he thinks is valuable into the Wadi...the stress and strain shows that he has no idea how to ration his energy in the wastelands where water is not easily found.
He sits down on a small chest and begins to chew on some unfortunate soldier's dried rations. He looks about at the hardened survivors with a mixture of awe and mistrust even the girl who pretends to be helpless...
"By Istar, we should all be dead. Be you cowards or blessed by the gods, I care not. The battle is lost and we are enemies of Shem though I see they care not to hunt us too carefully.
<pondering and looking around him at the desolate landscape>
"Lets be out of this place, We can pose as a mercenary company looking for work and head toward my home in Khoraja. I know not where we are but they must be north of us. If the gods will, perhaps we can find civilization before we reach the great mountains. What say you? Better protection in a group or do we head off on our own?"
"I'll not turn down protection or armed men on these roads... when the winds bring tale of this battle, low scavengers will be thick on the roads. Speaking of which, we should see what we can find ourselves." Signey starts poking around where the princess' envoy fell, see if any valuables have been missed, though she continues talking.
"I may not be a mighty warrior, but I can heal, I've studied and I can care for animals. I can also cut a good deal most places. I'm not expecting you to treat me like a charity."
Kern looks to the two warriros and the girl who have invaded his area. Looking them over he pegs the girl as some sort of camp follower for one of the "princes", while the one warrior looks to be a real killer, the other seems too "soft" for warfare, but the blood on him tells a different tale.
"I am Kern apCul. I was a member of the Crimson Hand, and it would seem the last surviving one at that. By Crom do you call me a coward? I will gut you and leave you on this field for the crows to feast upon!"
He looks angrily at Ahmargane as he speaks.
As you gather and take inventory of both your gear and the region around you, the weightiness of the situation begins to take hold. This portion of eastern Shem is a region where scrub foliage and clay-rich soil eventually gives way to nomadic desert. All around you lies a plain of reddish, clay-rich soil, baked hard by thousands of years of pitiless sun, the cracks extending deep into the ground.
Those of you who are familiar with such things can perceive that that it was an alluvial flood plain long ago, but now the waters have receded to the north and to the west, leaving this land as harsh and rough as any part of Shem. Rocky escarpments cut through the land, and switchback valleys and stony ridges make passage difficult. Many civilizations — cities and signs of thriving cultures — once stood in this land, but now only broken walls, misplaced stones, and barely visible sections of brick road show any evidence that humans once dwelled here.
At various places within your view small tendrils of dust spiral up, weaving their way to the sky. Whether this is some natural happening or sign of asshuri forces and hunters it is difficult to tell. However, if one were to wager, the most successful wager would be on the Shemitish forces gathering what they might term 'resupply' from the dead and even collecting the bodies of leaders and champions for who knows what purpose.
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Wandering over the spoor of the battlefield, he comes upon the few others conversing. "The Crimson Hand you say? I have heard of them. Their defense of Zingara against the pirates of the Barachan Isles was some good work. If they have met their end here, I shall hoist a horn of ale for them...should we live to know such a thing again."
He turns to the others. "And greetings to you Khorajan, and...my lady." One of Neferet's handmaiden's? Aye, most like. "Nay, you'll find no charity here. Alas we are bereft of soft cushions and mounted steeds to carry you. If any of us get out of here, 'twill take all our strength and cunning to do so.
I am Gauis Marcus Arvitus. Of late from Aquilonia, though I was sent here as 'reward' for my actions in battle. My the gods keep such rewards to themselves! Any more such gifts shall be my undoing!
But, what say you, Khorajan? You have a clan near here? If you offer the hospitality of thy kin, then we'd be a fool to say no and trust to the softness of our conquerors.
Let us take any rations that might be found but quickly, and leave aught else for the buzzards. By the rising smoke 'twould seem they draw...close."
Grunting in response to the Aquilonian's comments, Kern takes his hands off his axe handle and looks to the Khorajan for his response to Gauis' query. He still eyes Ahmargane with cold, dead eyes.
Signey gives up looking for valuables and aids Gauis in looking for supplies
Amalrus grins in response to Gauis' comments. Better to keep his mouth shut then reveal too much his father always said. As other survivors begin to appear from the fog of battle Amalrus nods to each in turn.
He remains silent still, now is not the time for honeyed words, now is the time to scrounge up goods.
Observation (TN=08):
Ahmargane chuckles "I called you neither coward nor hero for I care not which. Just to be out of this desolate place of blood and stench. If you want to spill more blood over a perceived slight, then lets be at it. Otherwise, we should grab what supplies we can and be gone. Perhaps even move at night and sleep in shelter during the day. I believe I remember some oasis we passed a few days ago on our way to this slaughter..."
If Kern makes no move to attack him, then "Amar" will try to pick up the trail that they followed back toward the water supply, carrying only his weapons, armor, bedroll, food and water that he can find.
Kern sneers at Amar, but does nothing more. He rests on a rock as he watches others scurry around. He has already procured food and water before he came to this cleft in the landscape, so waits until they have finished their scavenging before heading off up the wadi.
Signey tries to recall if she's read anything about the region, maybe she can prove her worth by giving some suggestion of where to head...
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As the group bends to their gruesome but necessary tasks, Gauis voices the unasked question.
"Are we in agreement then? We head back for the oasis, then make tracks for Khoraja? Once there and resupplied with provisions and, possibly, mounts, we part ways?
I have a noble patron in Aquilonia. If any of you would seek a better life, you are welcome to follow and I'll put in a good word for you. Each of you have survived a grand battle, and that is more than I can say for half the wet-ears that I march with!"
As the group was making introductions and getting to know each other and the possessions of the dead, the sound of galloping horses could be heard in the distance, approaching quickly.
As the tableau came into view, there was a man on horseback being chased by a pair of what appeared to be Shemitish riders, intent on riding him down and most likely taking his life.
Turning, the man, who appeared to be a Hyrkanian, let loose with a spear, which when combined with the galloping speed of the trail horse, was enough to embed it almost to the end of the spear in the beast.
While the man was dealing with one rider, another got within blade reach and managed to stab the lead rider's arm. Drawing his blade with a reverse grip in what was clearly his off hand, he parried the follow-up stab, which damaged his blade, but put the Shemitish rider off balance. He followed up by stabbing his sword through the other man's groin, where the blade promptly snapped. The horse creamed and then died shortly thereafter.
Cursing in his native language while staring at his broken blade, he finally appears to have noticed your group. Riding up, he says in Shemitish:
"If you work for the damnable traitor or his sorcerer loving lackeys, you will join your friends that I just gifted my weapons to. Who do you serve?"
As Gauis mentions an Aquilonian Lord, Amalrus finally breaks his silence, "Ah my friend, now you are speaking my language. There is nothing but blood and death here for anyone... to greener pastures I agree we should travel. If we head to the oasis cautious we must be that a larger force already there, and not friendly, may break our streak of luck".
As the rider heads towards the group Amalrus calls back,
"may swift horses and open plains always be yours then. My name is Krieg, and I hold the rank of Domi, although during the battle I was a scout. I fought on the side of Prince Satabus. Were you part of his mercenary army as well?"
Ahmargane speaks in the common trade tongue "Yes, we were part of Sabatus' Host. His Army, his baggage train, and bride are all lost. We are considering retracing our steps to find water but going after that prize would make us all rich men though the traitor's army would most likely just finish us off."
Lore (TN-7):
Warfare (TN-8):
"The army will travel to the oasis for there is no place else for them to resupply. I think we should stay away from that place for a few days at least. Let us hunt this treasure first...gather up as much water you can carry and let us go!"
"We need water to survive. Gold will not get our bellies full or keep us from dying."
"Neither will walking into an encamped enemy. I do not suggest we not go to the oasis, but that we wait until the bulk of the army have vacated the area. And while we wait, no reason not to enrich ourselves!"
Amalrus speaks in the common tongue, "Let us pick up Gold in one hand and Water Canteens in the other. This way we become neither too greedy nor too full that we let our guard down. There must be some canteens that still hold water among the dead, after all, they need them no longer..."
Krieg will dismount from his horse, which appears hard to do one handed and say
"I wouldn't try to mount him if I were you. He's meaner than I am. We should probably check these bodies for supplies if you want to go look for the prince or his bride."
Momentum: 4 Doom: 15
Around you lie all manner of bodies. Horses with markings showing a Hyrkanian breeding, soldiers and mercenaries from Aquilonia, Koch and Shem itself. Friend and foe alike lay together for the vultures to feast upon. Your minds tell you there is no harm gathering supplies, but something about looking in the faces of the dead give you pause. Because the dead have no need for material possessions however, it is merely a pause, not a barrier.
Time passes and the far off dust clouds move a bit closer. The effort is not in vain, for not only have sacks full of dried fruits and meats been found, but flasks and skins holding both water and liquor. Nourishment is not all that has been found left behind either. Gold and silver coins, a gilded dagger and a well-balanced and sharp sword are among the finds.
Amer has no problem looting the dead and pocketing what he can find, as it's probably not his first time.
He follows some tracks to the NW but looses the trail...
"Anyone else see any wagon tracks, the track is hard packed here but I think it goes up that way.
We should get moving. Lets grab what we can. Those horsemen will be upon us soon and I, for one, don't want to die in this cursed place.
Discipline (7):
Survival-tracking-1 (18):
Looking over the field of dead, it reminds Kern of the slaughter of his own people by the Picts. He turns away from the sight, slightly shaken by the whole affair.
To take his mind off the dead, he casts around to locate any tracks that might give them some idea where the army has gone, and where the envoys fled.
- 2 successes.
- 2 successes.
Signey is a pragmatist, she cared little for these people, except to advance her own ends, while their deaths were unfortuate it's time to move on.
Signey will also see if she can fill a pouch with suitable dust or sand to throw in an opponent's face, she always faired better with trickery than with real fighting.
I hope that made sense... :-)
Since no one want's to challenge Amar for the sword, he shrugs and says 'I'll keep it for now. I'm sure I'll find a way to put it to good use.
The Khojaran straps the sword to his side, hefts his 2 days of supplies and starts following the trail to the NW.
Discipline 1 1 = Willpower 12
Amalrus turns to the dust cloud, "We should start to make our way away and soon, if they are on horse we will have a hard time getting away on foot if they get any closer. Shall we take a roundabout to the Oasis? If we are not spotted we can wait for our foes to leave or start picking them off in the darkness..."
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"Hoho! Look at this! A bloated skin full of Khorajan ale! Ach, ill luck that one should die with so vaunted a treasure as yet untouched. Fear not, cold one, I shall take up the task that you are no longer able to carry!"
Gauis stares into the un-seeing, fly-speckled eyes of the aleskin's former owner, and he thinks how very close he himself came to sharing the same fate. He shivers a bit inside before he can gain hold of wits.
Gaius grins wide as Ahmargane belts on the fine sword. "Ha! You may keep that. Hopefully it will let you live longer! As recompense, might you allow me to make use of this fancy dagger? I...know one of us that might find aught of use for it."
Gauis approaches Signey, and flips the dagger around, offering it to her hilt-first. "I regret that thy palanquins are unforgivably late in arriving, my lady, and thy handmaidens and tirewomen have alas come down with a mild case of death. But soft, takest thee this small trinket, and do me the meager favor of trying thy hardest to stick it in someone that is not any of those gathered here? You have my greatest thanks."
Despite the sarcastic tone, he hopes that seeing the woman armed will make it easier to get her home in one piece...and unspoiled.
He turns to Amalrus. "Eh? Give off that talk! Didn't you hear the good Kern ap Cul? He can read the trails of the royal's caravan as if they left signs and appointed us a soft-skinned messenger, awaiting our leisure!
We have wine and vittles in store for the now. Let us give chase to the rescue! If the caravan has naught but a scant honor guard, we might rescue them and receive their generous reward before yon foe knows they are even gone!
Come, let us away to the North-West, and find our destiny!"
Gauis follows Ahmargane, softly singing crude sea-chanties. "Ooooo, on a knoll a young maiden named Molly...."
The Hyrkanian man seems to have no trouble looting the dead.
Finally noticing that his arm is wounded, Krieg will rip a strip of cloth from a cloak on one of the dead men and use his teeth to tie off a bandage, then continue searching.
Signey's eyes flash a little, but she accepts the dagger. It should be worth something even if she already has a serviceable blade. "Oh, thank you brave warrior. We wouldn't want anyone to mock the size of your weapon would we?"
Krieg follows along behind the group, keeping an eye out for either more supplies or ambushers.
Signey's eyes flash at the ribald comment and opens her mouth to retort, before biting her tongue. Instead she turns away, as if embarrassed by his forwardness.
Momentum: 4 Doom: 15
While it is a challenge to sort out the path the caravan took among all of the ruts, bodies and hard-packed soil it is not impossible. Slowly but surely you travel the path inching you way for first tens of yards, then hundreds, and finally over a mile. Lying in the dust, scattered about are remnants of fine cloth and wood, broken and torn. Further along lie the spokes of a wagon wheel alongside the ruins of the wagon and it's broken cargo of oils, perfumes and other liquids, their scents mixing and filling your nostrils even through the caked dust in your nostrils.
Scattered about are clothing and other items obviously belonging to a woman of wealth. Those who were part of the envoy recognize most of them as belonging to Neferet herself. Mere steps on lie the bodies of some of Sabatus' personal knights, armor pierced by dozens of long shafted Shemitish arrows. Alongside these soldiers are the richly clad envoys, courtiers and other lesser officials, strangely incongruous in this setting but no less dead than the rest.
As you approach a point where the gully you are in narrows and turns further west you hear the unmistakable cry of a woman from somewhere ahead around the bend. A scent of more spilled perfumes and oils wafts across your noses as well. Echoes of armored men moving about resound underneath the woman's echoing scream.
"Those who force themselves on women are less than jackals."
Krieg spurs his horse around the bend, notching an arrow as he goes.
Ahmargane draws his new sword, tests the balance, equips a shield and charges around the bend in the gully westward and slams full force into the mass of men surrounding the woman...
"Die you Shemitish Dogs..." He screams
Kern shakes his head at the others as they run forward. He looks over at Signey and offers her his arm.
"Shall we?"