Heolstor and about thirty horsemen head west- most are his, some have been picked by Theoderic to ride with Heolstor, to act as “native guides”.

Theoderic has only recently been crowned a king.  It was in the will of his father, King Clovis, to divide up his lands among his sons, but due to distance and the war, Theoderic was never given a coronation until just last year.  Prior to the Dukes of Belgica declaring their fealty, the actual land controlled by Theoderic was small- just a string of small towns and villages on the south side of the Ardennes, with Treverorum the only city of significance.  The strip of territory on the south side of the Ardennes west of Lucimburic is the only part that has been directly controlled by him, and when people speak of “Theoderic’s Domain” it is this hilly, forested land they are speaking of.

Heolstor passed through part of it briefly before, just a corner, the village of Longus.  It is this same village that he reaches again after the first days’ travel.

There is more thought behind Theoderic’s division of his force than immediately apparent.  In addition to disguising his intentions, it reduces the logistic burden.  The small villages in his land cannot feed large numbers, and a score or two of soldiers can provide for themselves by hunting.

Heolstor returns to Longus,   The place looks much as they left it, though slightly more “tired”.  It was a busy winter for them- more people coming and going along this road than anyone remembers.

With a small group, it’s also easier for the troops to enjoy the local tavern, the Longus House.  This is the ridge top tavern that is also the village center.  The rest of the village, as they remember,  consists of a small temple, an iron foundry, a smithy, a handful of shops, and clusters of small homes and barns built from logs.  The village has a population of at most  500.  There’s no defensive wall, but the ridge itself looks like it would be very defensible.  It’s a very sharp drop off to the Chiers river below.

Heolstor recalls the “key people” here:  the Viscount Gerraud, and the nature priestess Fica.

With no pressing reason to call a long halt here, it is only an overnight stop.  The next few days sees them cross Theoderic's domain, which is home for a few of the Frankish troops with Heolstor's force.  It's more or less a line, formed by the Chier River, and a stretch of the Meuse River.  When they are on the other side of it, they are in Hiricio, (Hirson, France).  Hiricio is the home of Gellas, Theoderic's "right hand" and Commander of Troops.  Because of this, the little village has become the headquarters for recruitment, supply, and training for the Franks.

Even though they've been at this for a while, a lot of Hiricio still has a temporary military camp look.  The "real" village is a few hundred people, and a handful od shops, and the lord's manor.  Around that, the "military town" has been superimposed.  There are dozens of tents set up, and many horses grazing.

Heolstor took comfort in the road. He'd been on it so long, at this point, that it almost seemed as much a home as anywhere to him. There was a part of him that took great pleasure from crossing through "wild places" too, a part of him that Lord Strang found growing with every day. The Saxon sat tall but comfortably atop his saddle, Pwyll soaring above - a small dark shadow against the blindingly bright saucer of the sun. From somewhere in the briars a thrush sang, its lyrical voice like dancing windchimes, rising high above the insistent gurgling of the Chier river.

The forest wasn't quiet, and it wasn't peaceful. A stag crossed their path, running for the far hills, joined with everything around in it in a constant struggle to survive.

Behind him Heolstor's banner flew, black raven cavorting across a field of scarlet, its edges barely shifting in the afternoon's stale and windless sky. The standard bearer was the same boy who'd flown it at Beda - a promising young warrior, one Heolstor reminded himself again to keep his eye on. A lord was always in need of more capable warriors.

Slowly the wooded glens and river paths gave way to rolling hills and tents. Soldiers. "Men, form on me!" Heolstor called over his right shoulder, drawing back on his reins to slow his mount and give his soldiers time to form a clear and respectable column. Each horseman fell in on the rider to his front and right, creating clean rows and columns. Strang's men would know this - he'd tried to enforce greater standards of drill and ceremony on them. He'd learned that much from the dwarves.

Heolstor would lead his men into the camp and meet with Gellas. Then, planning for tomorrow would begin.

The display of military discipline impresses people- especially those here who know the look of a genuine military unit, and how to tell it from an ordinary armed mob.

Heolstor's approach brings the attention of the lord of the town.  He is a many with a touch of gray in his short hair, and the the lines and scars of many years of war.  He looks to be in his forties, and his armor just as old- but it has the appearance of forty years of loving care and maintenance, not just wear and tear.

He recognizes at once these are allies, because a few of his own men are with Heolstor's.  He approaches with confidence.

"I am called Gellas, the Steadfast, friend and retainer to Theoderic, son of Clovis.  Welcome to Hiricio.”

The Saxon nodded in recognition, pulling his horse's reins gently to keep it still as Gellas spoke. Heolstor could tell immediately that this Gellas was a man deserving of respect. He liked him, innately recognizing all the things a warrior sees in another of his own caste. A stance like iron. Confidence like an unrelenting river. "...And I am Heolstor, Lord of Lingones and Tullum. Fresh from the battle of Beda - your lord had need of swords and men to wield them, I offered myself and mine." Strang introduced himself and offered Gellas the writ Theoderic had provided, to display proof and purpose indicating his mission.

Behind him the Raven Banner flew, proud and bright scarlet in the day's resplendent sun.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:05, Tue 21 May 2013.

“Swords?  We would say Lances,” Gellas says.

In his travels, Heolstor has learned some of the way the Franks do things.  To them, the horsemen are the cream of the warriors.  Most young men want to be mounted warriors, and the Franks take the training of horses and riders very seriously.  They are in a saddle from a young age.  A horse is an expense.  So is a sword.  So the Franks make more use of cheaper weapons- lances and axes, typically, and some bows.

Gellas has received messages from Theoderic.  He knows what Heolstor is up to even before he sees the letter, but it does confirm that Heolstor is who is says he is.

The Frankish lord has his reservations about Theoderic's plan, he will support them.  He invites Heolstor to dine with his family that evening.

“I cannot support you with men,” he says.  “Theoderic is doing one of his outrageous and daring things.  Only a few men.  But maybe there are other ways.”

He gestures towards the manor house.  "Come on.  We'll have goose."

"Yes, this King Theoderic, he seems given over to bold action. Some would call it brash, but those men do not understand: a good strategy, enacted now with great violence of action, is preferable to the best strategy enacted when opportunity has faded." Strang declared. "That is why soldiers win wars, and not scholars and tired old men."

"I would be happy to," Heolstor bowed his head in thanks "But first I'll have to make arrangements for my men and find them quarters."The Saxon lord couldn't in good conscience let the question of where his men would sleep go unanswered while he enjoyed a fat goose.

"If your offer still stands then, I'll gladly join you Lord Gellas. My only regret being that I did not bring any fine food with which to repay the favor."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:22, Mon 27 May 2013.

Gellas has no fine food either!

His meal is basic, and heavy on meat, bread and cheese.

"Less farming last year than there should have been, and I think that's why Theoderic wants the men at home this spring," he says.  "Can't run on blood and glory forever.  The Romans used to say we never planted orchards.  We're planting one this spring!"

But there is more than farming on his mind.

"You can raid with a small force, and maybe even take a town or two, but how will he hold it?  Gwalthus has held the line at Mos Trajectum for a long time, but there's the Meuse there, and you can't ask for a better defensive line than that.  I think we'll have to whip whomever is there into some kind of militia."

"A militia? I formed one in Lingones this past year," Heolstor added conversationally "Not a simple task: turning a man whose never held a spear or blade into a soldier. Even then, it takes more than pitchforks and bravery to give a man a chance against the Huns." Heolstor pulled a strip of meat off his portion of goose, holding it out over his left shoulder for Pwyll. The crow snatched it up greedily, barely avoiding biting Heolstor's fingers.

"The fyrd, or militia, is important in my homeland. We know it well. How to form it. How to use it."

"It's better than nothing," Gellas says.  "And there may be a man or two left who remembers old days.  If there are... they'll be gray."

Gellas describes the history, some of which Heolstor already knows.

The Huns have held the Rhineland the better part of a century, now.  They have crushed and squeezed and drained the spirit from the Human inhabitants, who live as slaves.  The numbers of Humans has been in steady decline, so the Huns have launched slave raids into the Germanics that still live in the east (causing many Saxons and Angelns to flee) and the Slavs further east.  They took Colonia Agrippina in 459 AD, just 4 years after the Franks had claimed sovereignty over it.  At its height the city was home to 45,000, and now just a fifth of that.

The Huns continued to press westward, against the Franks, but this "northern front" was a lesser priority.  A stalemate persisted for decades.  Then in 493, to coincide with attacks elsewhere, the Huns pushed west, quickly reaching the Meuse River with the Franks stretched too far.  The could go no further.  They consolidated their holdings, and launched repeated attacks at Mos Trajectum but could never take the bridge.

The area between Colonia Agrippina and the Meuse, including Theoderic's objectives, have suffered a lot in the years since.  Two decades of Hun control...

But even so, Gellas holds out hope that there may be some of stout heart and body who might aid Heolstor.  He is willing to contribute some weapons and other equipment, even if he's been told not to send men.

"Weapons and armor - those I can use," Heolstor stated gratefully "I will be glad to turn those spears into soldiers for you. So long as they're meant for a Hunnic heart. Gods willing, they will be enough to meet your king's need." The Saxon cut himself another piece of bread, careful to avoid Pwyll's hungry beak as he ate it. The crow looked nonplussed, feathers ruffling indignantly.

Heolstor regarded Gellas thoughtfully for a moment as he chewed, olive eyes taking measure of the soldier again. He did not know this Gellas. He did not know Theoderic. What they thought of Lingones he couldn't say - but if they succeeded against the Hun, their borders would rest within marching distance of his own.

Abruptly, he carried the conversation in a different direction. "What is King Theoderic's relationship to King Gundobad? Do you think, if peace is won from the Hun, they will bring war to one another? Or will peace last?" Heolstor thought both seemed good men. Theoderic had the makings of a warlord though, the Saxon thought. Warlords found conflict, never straying too far from battle, lest they rust in peace. King Gundobad was not a warrior in the same way - that was true, but he was a shrewd man, the sort to seek advantage where he could.

The greater question, for Heolstor, was what it would all mean for his fledgling domain. Lingones and Tullum were not Burgundian... but they were not Frank either. It seemed to him that should the orcs of Germania and Italia be defeated he would sit astride two unthreatened giants. It was an unspoken worry that Heolstor had held for sometime.

Lord Strang felt that he had good relations with both. Once he had been a vassal to Gundobad - before he carried a secret war North, to Gundobad's benefit. Theoderic seemed fair and just; he had, though not in that king's service, given him his aid in this gambit. Would they remember? Heolstor cut several more hunks of cheese and offered one to Gellas.

He hoped kings had long memories.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:13, Sun 02 June 2013.

At some point, Petra makes her way in, to rejoin Heolstor and the others. 

She sought Heolstor out, and once there was time, she relayed what she had learned.

Some of it.  What she had not been asked to conceal.  It made her uneasy.  She didn't like it.  Actually found she hated keeping secrets from him.  It made her feel a little unclean. The 'right' reasons nonewithstanding. Yet, she had been given a sacred trust, by a being whom she knew was benign.  And gathered that Mosanna's wisdom and insight were something greater than a mere mortal woman, such as herself.  So she would have to console herself with that.  If there came any reason that Heolstor must know the rest, then she would tell him, and abide the consequences, at that time.

But, for now:

"I did contact, and communicate with Mosanna of the Meuse. And here is what I learned- The enemy was driven from the bank of the Meuse, and now they fear it.  We can cross anywhere in safety, because of this.  There is no Hun within leagues of Mos Trajectum's bridge -- for they fear death, there.  But, they do not grasp that Mosanna is of the Meuse, and also the Wurm, and all the other tributaries.   She will help us, if we approach Aquae Granni from along the river. She said to go from the bridge at Mos Trajectum, east upon the main road, and we would soon reach a road that bends south, toward the Aquae Granni.  But, we do not take it.  Instead, we continue east to the Wurm, and then travel as close as is possible to its banks. There, she will conceal and protect us."  Petra, paused and then went on as regarded Corioviallum.

"There, at Corioviallum, she cannot offer us aid.  The town is too distant from her waters. Coriovallum has apparently paid the price for the defense at the Meuse.  With every frustration, the Huns returned angered, and the town suffered for it.  Now there are few surviving Humans, and their plight is miserable.  This may draw the attention of our allies, if they hear of it, and the relief of those unfortunates would be a blessed thing.  But it must not become the priority. We must focus on freeing Aquae Granni from the Huns. That is the thing that will help everyone, collectively." And yet more:

"There, I am told, the champion of the Huns is a giant. A mighty warrior, the like of a Jotunheimer. He has several times repelled the efforts of the Elves.  But, his power is made greater by the amulet he wears, which he thieved from the temple.  It is an old, old, gift of Belenus.  The wearer can bring to himself the injuries suffered by others, even a death blow that has felled another, though it must be done quickly.  Blows that would slay Orcs or Humans outright are but pin pricks to him.  His own forces and minions can be very hard to kill, consequently. We must be wary of that, in combating them." 

We will assume Petra catches up with Heolstor just past Hiricio, when they are turning north towards Belgica.

In their dinner, Heolstor learned about Gellas.  Lord Gellas of Hiricio, officially, but just Gellas to friends.

A wise warrior-king, such as Clovis certainly was, knows one of the secrets to raising princes.  Put them on the battlefield early, and get them used to the sights and sounds and the feel of it, but pair them with veteran mentors who know how things get done.

Gellas was Theoderic's mentor, and has the title of "commander of troops"- technically, he is the commanding officer of Theoderic's army.  It is a full time job.  Even in the "off seasons" Gellas is concerned with the quality of the young men just joining, and their horses and equipment.  He determines the training activities, and how to pay and equip men with the meager budget they have.

Gellas takes his role as mentor very seriously, but he tends to be reserved if he thinks Theoderic is making a mistake.

* * * * * * * * *

Now, they are crossing the relatively empty stretch between Theoderic's land and Belgica.  This is technically the land of Theoderic's brother Clothaire... but no one is really paying attention, anymore.

Heolstor rode tall in his saddle, thoughtful, and distant. His second, a veteran of his own campaign, watched their route and informed him of their progress as they traveled. His conversation with Gellas had been pleasant at first - but its ending bothered him. Things had been left unsaid. Worrisome things.

Then Petra made her appearance, and despite himself Heolstor seemed to lose some of his distance. "Then that is the route we must take. I would not doubt the word of a Goddess." Word of Coriovallum and its fate seemed to bother him - he said nothing of interfering or avoiding the town, clearly bothered by the suggestion that they leave those humans to their fate for now. His brow furrowed in part even as he nodded agreeably.

"This amulet - not a weapon to let sit in the hands of a Hun." Heolstor admitted. "I am sure the bright one would agree. His gift was not meant for the beast that wears it now." 

"I spoke to Gellas, Theoderic's second. I asked him of the relation of his king to King Gundobad. If there was cause to suspect conflict between them, should the Huns be defeated." Heolstor mentioned, eyes cast to the South. Towards Lingones. Towards Tullum. "He had no answer."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:35, Tue 04 June 2013.

(Gellas strictly avoids political speculations.  Not wise for someone in his position.  And, he is not the sort to think about another king, far away. There are immediate things to worry about- this year's crop of young men, and the status of horses and weapons.)

A little time jump here to skip some dull travel...

It is a ten day trip from Hiricio to Mos Trajectum.

For the first part of it, into the wide, wild stretch of land separating the territory of Belgica and Gaul, they see little.  Traveling is easy- the road is the straightest, flattest length of paving Heolstor and Petra have ever seen.  For miles, it is as if the Roman engineers were superstitious about not wavering from geometric perfection, not for an inch.   They conceded to geography only when they had no other choice.

Perhaps it was this attitude, that nature was something to be defeated by civilization, that put them at odds with the Elves and the Fey, creating divisions the Huns and other Orcs would exploit.

The towns of Belgica are lined up neatly along the road, nicely spaced a day apart.   Just enough for caravans to leave one gate in the morning, and be safely within the next gate before evening. Belgica is built along two lines that meet at Mos Trajectum in the northeast.  The coastal route links Ganda and Anteverpia, and the inland route, the route Heolstor is following, runs through Bagacaum, Castrilocus, and Bruxzella, and then Tungrorum before meeting the other route at Mos Trajectum.

The convergence of the two main roads there, along with the Meuse River, and then the short road to the Rhine River, is the reason for the great strategic importance of Mos Trajectum.  The more Heolstor learns of the geography of Belgica, the more he sees why the place has such a high priority to Theoderic.

Theoderic’s messages, delivered early on with the aid of a winged courier from Lucimburic, have alerted the Dukes of Belgica to Heostor’s presence, that he comes as an ally and not an intruder.  Heolstor finds the nobles along the way cordial but not eager to press into Heolstor’s business- Theoderic has not shared what he intends to do, even with them.

They provide grain for horses and food and ale for men, and other support as is the duty demanded by their king, but avoid any involvement.

Until they reach the town of Tungrorum, one day out of Mos Trajectum.

Tungrorum is the smallest of Belgica’s six Duchies, with less than 10% of Belgica’s population, and no large cities.  About 25 miles long east-west, it can be crossed in a single day.  Once, it was far more important, although the town of Tungrorum never had more than 5,000 people.  Tungrorum was the regional administrative capital for a large portion of Belgica, when it was a Roman Province.  But in the 4th century, threats from the east caused Rome to make Mos Trajectum the priority, because its bridge location enabled to control traffic.  Much of the population fled when Roman control here collapsed, as they did not believe that the Franks would sustain the area’s historic prospertity.  As the town declined, it lost its major symbols of power one by one- in the 4th century, Servatius was the most powerful cleric in Belgica.  A century later, only a few minor clerics tend the almost abandoned temples here.

Now the Duchy consists of the town of Tungrorum, the smaller town of Thuin, and some outlying farmsteads, with a total population only about 3,300 people.

This place is ruled buy a Duchess named Lunelle, whose family was decimated by the Huns.  She is the first noble to extend an invitation to Heolstor and Petra.  Perhaps she knows… perhaps she merely suspects that with only one day of travel left in Belgica, whatever objective Theoderic has assigned them must be close.

Tungrorum has a very peculiar look.  It is a small town living in its own half empty remains.  As the population shrank, they abandoned the least desirable buildings first.  Every person is wealthy, if they are judged by the size of the buildings they dwell in.  No one lives in a peasant hovel.  But it gives Tungrorum an oddly empty feel.  The town really ought to have more people in it.

The Duchess’s palace is the old Basilica, where the Romans had their regional government center.  Like so much of Tungrorum, it seems too big for its current purpose.

Lunelle’s staff is small- just a few guards and servants, and some family members who act as advisors and retainers.  The halls of Tungrorum Basilica seem empty.  Lunelle has had to mind her budget, and a large palace staff is an extravagance she would rather avoid.

Her senior servant, Elias Legonas, was scribe and secretary to her parents.  Now he has taken on new duties.  He is the general manager of various things needing management, and the butler.

It is he who meets Heolstor and Petra as they arrive, and brings them to the meeting room, where Lunelle, in her worn leather armor not looking at all like a Duchess, waits with several of her warriors.

Elias starts with the necessary introductions, introducing Heolstor and Petra as leader of a small troop in the service of King Theoderic, here with ‘special trust’ of the king.  Then he introduces Lunelle, Duchess of Tungrorum, and Brennus, her kinsman, who acts as chamberlain, scholar, and emissary for the little Duchy.

”It isn’t hard for me to guess why you are here,” Lunelle says when Elias is through.  After the battles of the last season, Theoderic must want to send his patrols across the Meuse River.   It must be that, because you don’t look like whom he would choose for a diplomatic mission to the north.   We’ve been across, you know.  My warriors, and Duke Gwalthus’s… the Meuse has been a fine barrier but you don’t trust all your defense to a barrier.  We’ve patrolled on the other side.  I want to offer aid.  I must.  There are experienced fighters here who have been where I believe you intend to go.  And Brennus is very wise.  He has kept and studied the reports our patrols bring back, for years.”

Brennus, a young man in Gallo-Roman style dress who looked oddly unmartial given his surroundings leaned forward. Shrewd hazel eyes studied the newcomers before flicking back to the Duchess. If he questioned his cousin's offer of aid he did not voice those concerns.

Turning back to Heolstor and Petra the young nobleman spoke up: "Pray most noble friends, tell us your mission so that we can offer what aid we can."

Heolstor entered the meeting room, weary but not diminished by the road. Atop his shoulder Pwyll made his post - dark feathers bright in the Basilica's torchlight. "Your knowledge, and your warriors, will both be valuable." The Saxon acknowledged. Strang looked to Brennus; eyes trailing the other man's movement. There was something about the other man that made him seem unprepared for war and a campaign. Short and close as it might be.

Perhaps he was wrong though. Heolstor had been wrong before, and he'd be wrong again.

Heolstor bowed his head respectfully, one hand at the hilt of his blade and the other at his side. "I must thank you, too, for the hospitality of your household. The road had been long, with much of it left"

There was a pause then. Careful, deliberate, and thoughtful. "I know not what can be shared of our mission. So: I will speak only in generalities. We go to the Hun's land. There, we will strike against him. To remind him that, just as us, he can bleed."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:09, Fri 07 June 2013.

Brennus looked equal parts uneasy and hopeful. "The way to fight the Hun is not on a battlefield of his choosing; the dark arts of spying, poisons and deception are better allies to us than weight of armour." He turned Lunelle.

"Cousin have I not long said we must find a way to turn the Huns against each other rather than confront them directly?"

"You guess closer to our purpose than you know." Heolstor admitted. "It is the true objective of our mission to increase division among the Huns. To cause the many warlords of their empire to lose trust in their Emperor's strength and will to protect them. A lord who cannot protect his vassals will not long hold any."

"That is very true and you have my full support in your mission in that case." Brennus replied, looking intrigued. He glanced at his cousin for a moment in case she cared to comment on this before he spoke up again.

(Posting for Petra because she will unavailable for a few days)

 Petra has done some scouting, and some listening to one who knows more than she says.

“Splitting the Huns is part of what Theoderic wants to do,” she says.
“That's why this is happening here, on the far north end of the Hun's holdings.  It's a long, long way for the Emperor to respond, and if he doesn't, all the other Hun lords along the Rhine river will wonder if they too would be forsaken if they were attacked.”

Lunelle offers her own two copper pieces.  “This is their weakest end, it's true.  They've bled themselves for years against Mos Trajectum, and never taken it.  Last year was as close as they got, but the river itself rose to defeat Zerova."

"The river is on our side," Petra says. "But we cannot depend on it for everything.  Still... we should trust it."

"Where do you go from here, then?" Lunelle asks.

"To Mos Trajctum, and then, where the plan takes us... the whole of which we do not know, yet."

"Mos-Trajectum is Gwalthus's city." Brennus commented. "Though more a fortress that a city so given over to war is it. He is a Frank of Clovis's kin but he and his people are close to Belgicans these days. War makes strange allies and the Huns are the enemies of us all."

Brennus suddenly looks a little unneasy.

Lunelle does not consider Gwalthus a strange ally... the Elves, maybe.  No one would have thought of them openly working with Humans a few years ago... Elven pride, Elven aloofness would have gotten in the way.  And certainly, from their perspective, the Elves must have a few complaints.

"I have more than a score of men there.  I have no qualms about Mos Trajectum," she says.  "We've helped pay the blood price for the bridge, there."

For centuries it was the only bridge on the Meuse north of the Ardennes in Roman hands.  Now.. it is more or less a bridge to nowhere, with the Huns controlling everything beyond it.  But to the people who have fought for it, it has meaning.

"Brennus, may you lend them wisdom," Lunelle says.  "I think they will need it more than might, I have a feeling.  If Theoderic intended brute force there would be hundreds of horsemen here.  I will add a few others.  Leanna has fought at the bridge and across it, and she knows the ways of the Orcs."

Reinforced and re-equipped, and fed, the troop prepares to move north.



http://europa512adgame.pbworks...5235/Mos%20Trajectum

"Yes... of course cousin." Replied Brennus, who looked anything but happy to be sent to the cockpit of the war but could hardly refuse such a request.

As the audience drew to a close he departed to alert his servants, ready his horses and make sure his armour and weapons were in condition suitable for travelling.

Lunelle  provisions the group as best she can.  The trip to Mos Trajectum takes less than half a day, across flat and fertile farmland.

The group is expected- Theoderic had sent word ahead.

Brennus, who lives in this area, has been to Mos Trajectum before.  Information on the town can be found here:

http://europa512adgame.pbworks...5235/Mos%20Trajectum

The town looks much the same as it always has, from Brennus's point of view. The only thing different is the camp of a troop of traveling entertainers, the New Europa Review, on the south side of the town.

Brennus has heard of them.  According to the stories being told, they had been enslaved by the witch-demon Zerova and forced to do their bidding, and escort her around, becoming her servants and playthings, as well as her “cover”.  But Zerova was destroyed just as the Hun war began, and the troupe, recovering and reorganizing, has spent the winter in Belgica.

They've become locally well known- by default.  It's not like the region has a lot of these groups running around.  The New Review is it.  Supposedly, they are quite good, and vary their routine a lot.  Every now and then, they put on a dramatic retelling of the battle in which Zerova was killed- with the aid of the River Goddess Mosanna.

Rumor also has it  (and this is rumor substantiated by eye-witness account) that some of the entertainers turned on Zerova and helped defeat her, and for that reason, were granted some of her property- enough to establish the New Review.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:21, Mon 17 June 2013.

Brennus glanced disdainfully at the New Review camp as they passed by. To one of the troops who asked him he muttered: "The entertainers? Frankly I don't trust them. Consider, if they were good enough to act as a cover Zerova, just who might they act for now? Travelling players go where they will and such people make excellent spies and thieves. Were I Gwalthus I'd keep a very close eye on them. As it is one of days he'll probably be sorry he didn't."

He rode on, trusting no member of the party would chose to linger with such folk.

Brennus knows that a visit to Mos Trajectum almost obligates him to call on Duke Gwalthus, at his keep.  It's a serious social faux passe if he does not.

He knows this place, on the south side of the city, a section of fortress turned into a home… or a large home turned into fortress.  The blend is so complete it is hard to tell which came first. As Lunelle’s general court “smart guy” he’s been back and forth to the court of her principal ally.  He knows Gwalthus is the youngest Duke of Belgica, and like Lunelle, lost his father to the Huns.  But despite common tragedy and alliance in war, they are different.  Mos Trajectum has been the first line of defense, and Gwalthus is dedicated to it.  Lunelle… sometimes, Brennus suspects she would ignore all defense of her people, if it gave her the opportunity to kill Huns.  Gwalthus has always been the more cautious of the two.  Winning, to him, is more important than vengeance.

After greeting him, and Gwalthus eventually let's Brennus know of the news he's recieved.

"King Theoderic sent word ahead by messenger," he reports.  "Several messengers, actually.  He’s a clever one.  Three messages, each meaningless without the other two."

He shares what he knows- he regards Brennus as a trusted retainer of an ally.

"He means to go east, Brennus, and strike hard at the Huns.  Not just a raid- he intends to sieze and hold.  I have lived my life with this damned bridge, with the Huns always a threat on the other side, and now, finally… this is something we’ve waited for, Brennus.   But Theoderic has gone out of his way to hide this.  He isn’t moving with a large group of soldiers.  I think he has it in mind to infiltrate and do as much damage as he can from behind their lines, first.  In truth, it’s a line I’ve never been across."

There is no “front line” as far as Brennus knows.  There is the river line, and there is the bridge, but that’s the last line.  East of the river, fourteen miles in, is Coriovallum.  It is the nearest Hun stronghold.  Huns have gone west to the bridge, and Gwalthus’s patrols have gone a few miles east from the bridge, and they’ve clashed in the forest between, most notably at an old ruin called “Falcon Ridge”.

This fourteen miles…  contested, patrolled by both sides... but no one really holds it.  Too dangerous.

Brennus eyes widened at the news. He was impressed by the King's audacity... if it worked they could start the process of rolling back the Huns. If it worked.

"Duke Gwalthus, as you know I've always said that the best way to weaken the Huns is to strike within - assassination, rebellion, bribery. Force the Huns to fight their slaves or better yet themselves. I am no warrior but if King Theoderic feels infiltration can work I am all for it."

He frowned. "That said we will need men who know forests and their ways better than the backs of their own hands."

"Theoderic knows I cannot supply many," Gwalthus says.  "A handful, at most.  The men who guard Mos Trajectum guard all of Belgica, they cannot be risked on audacity.  I can assign a few scouts, and no more.

"But I would guess that Lunelle was a little more eager to aid, and so she volunteered you, did she?  I wonder how this is to work.  Is Theoderic planning to send spies ahead, or simply launch an attack.  Did you pass the performers on your way in?  They were spies.. or at least, some of them were.  Zerova... the Demoness... had a gang of loyal followers mixed in with the performers, and those.. beast-men she called her sons.  But those that stood with her are dead now, or fled, there are a few we could never find.  I wonder if the others would be willing to be spies, again.  I wonder if I would trust them."

Brennus looked dismayed.

"Frankly I wouldn't trust them, a least for a task of such importance. I have heard the story often enough but I confess I have always had doubts about their part in Zerova's downfall.  But even if they did act with pure motives then how are we to trust them now? Travelling players owe no loyalty to any one ruler or city and they make excellent spies; how are we to know if they are not already in someone's pay?"

He sighed.  "If you feel you must use them then I would accept your judgement Gwalthus - but I'd advise keeping some of the players as hostages in guarantee for service. If they are loyal then set them free with appropriate reward. If they are not... well you know what to do."

“It’s true, at least a few of them are shameless opportunists,” Gwalthus says.  “Maybe it’s best to rely on my own scouts.  We have a few that have put in a lot of time east of the river.  They would know more than anyone, other than the Huns themselves.”

Gwalthus has one of his servants round up whichever of his scouts are currently available.

The scouts, as Brennus knows, can be a little problematic themselves, but not like the entertainers.  They are dependable.  On the other hand, they know they are worth far more than the regular soldiers, take on much more risk, and are better paid… and often have a disdain for military formalities.

The senior scout is the first to arrive.  He is Sanwolt, a veteran with years of service.

"This man knows all of the towns to the east, even as far as the Rhine," Gwalthus says.

"Yes," replies Sanwolt.  "And when I last saw them, I was younger than you are now.  I haven't been east of Falcon Hill in years."

"Sanwolt, this is Brennus, of the court of Lunelle.  And Heolstor, who is sent by king Theoderic himself.  Falcon Hill, please explain further for our guests."

"An outpost on a hill, an old tumbledown watchtower atop a hill cut through with caverns.  It's a temptation, but a curse.  In your father's day, we took it several times, but each time the Huns were hiding in the caverns below, and were loosed into the tower at night.  It's the halfway mark between here and Coriovallum."

Brennus was not a military man but felt he had to offer his thoughts, to at least show he was paying attention.

"Hmm... could we not lay fires at the entrances to the caverns and smoke the Huns out?"

"No, not unless the caverns rose up from their entrance." Heolstor replied. "I have fought in caverns before: trolls and orcs, they are at home in the dark winding ways. Falcon Hill - this place, what significance does it hold? Enough to sacrifice the secrecy of our mission?" The Saxon had his doubts. He was a man who, by his reputation, had no reluctance to bring the sword to the Hun... But this hill, were they to take it, could not be cleared from within its caverns. They would have to sit, by night, and await the enemy's counterstroke.

While word traveled East, to their enemy.

"I would have my men bypass it. Our path, and our objective, is clear: without need, I would not complicate it."

Brennus nodded thoughtfully.

"Perhaps a diversionary force, seemingly sent to capture Falcon Hill then? The Huns would be busy watching that while the real mission takes place elsewhere. We could perhaps use the traveling players after all in the ruse - if they are in the pay of the Hun so much better as they can pass on exactly what we want the enemy to hear."

Leanna was a bit later then she had hoped she would have been. She wasn't expecting to be summoned on such a short notice for that matter and was slightly unprepared to leave her child in the care of friends.

After she had left her daughter behind, something she struggled with every time, but she knew it had to be done. She was wearing a plain and simple looking leather breastplate. Over her back she kept her Greatsword, over that rested a simple wooden small shield. On her hips she kept a pair of simple axes. Her rugged red hair was kept in a simple loose ponytail.

When she entered she made a slight bow to Gwalthus and looked over the others for a brief moment. You summoned me Lord?

"Gentlemen, Leanna," Duke Gwalthus says.  "She knows the Huns, and their ways.  I am not clear on the details, perhaps it is something she will share, but her knowledge has been helpful to us.  She knows more than my other scouts, and she knows their language."

Then the young duke turns to his newly arrived scout.

"My cousin... our new king... plans to launch an attack of some kind to the east, the lands beyond the Meuse that you know well.  It seems he is trusting to skill, stealth, and speed instead of great numbers. It is his will that only a small force be entrusted with this.  But they are gathering, here.  I have heard that Elves are on the way to join us, and the king himself will lead this.  He has not specifically asked for any of my forces.  But the experience and knowledge we have here is much too valuable a thing to hold back."


Below is a view of the area east of Mos Trajectum.  Patrols have typically gone as far as Falcon Hill.  Leanna is one of a handful familiar with more.


South of the main road, the "Via Belgica", the forest becomes hillier and denser, until it reaches the Ardennes, which is Elven land.  There has never been a clear boundary, and the Elves have patrolled up from the Ardennes, but as far as anyone knows, not as far as Via Belgica.




 

And here is a reissue of the wider view, covering all of the area between Mos Trajectum, the Meuse and Rhine rivers.  The close in map above covers about an inch from Mos Trajectum eastwards.

 

"Then she will be of great use to us," Heolstor replied "The road ahead is unfamiliar to me and mine." The Saxon returned Leanna's measuring glance. She looked a soldier - that was good, soldiers Heolstor understood. Soldiers he trusted. It was other men, with winding motives and labyrinthine minds, that he had learned to be wary of. Heolstor's hands hung at his side, one free and the other wrapped about the sheath of his blade to steady it.

"Though the Hun doesn't hold these lands, I am sure he does not allow them to sit quiet. If you know secret paths, old forest trails, that parallel the Via Belgica then perhaps those are the roads we ought to take. To avoid patrols and complications." Heolstor suggested. "Til we reach the Wurm... And then, on to Aquae Granni."

Heolstor had to admit he would feel more comfortable walking the forest ways, even if this forest wasn't one he had ever known. Pwyll clung tightly to the Saxon's shoulder - bobbing his dark head in wordless agreement.

Brennus gave Leanna a nod in greeting as he he tried to hide his chagrin that Gwalthus hadn't bothered to introduce him.  Evidently his rank extended only so far.

He gave a start when Heolstor mentioned Aquae Granni. Glancing at the soldier he asked curiously: "You mean the temple of Apollo Belenus at Aquae Granni? Do you know anything of it?"

There was a very slight, almost unnoticable, glimmer of distaste in his use of the name of the deity.

Leanna knows the forest well enough to lead anyone across it without using the roads.

And Petra, the Frisian priestess, knows a little about the temple at Aquae Granni.

"I know something of the temple there," she says.  "It's sacred to more than just Belenus.  Mosanna, the River Goddess of the Meuse, considers it important too.  The waters there are charged with healing magic, and flow into the Meuse, so they add to her power.  The temple complex there is just south of the town, and is built around ancient, sacred springs."

Gwalthus asks, "Others are on their way.  Do you intend to start off from here ahead of them, or wait on their arrival?"

I'm going to be traveling for a week starting tomorrow.  Posting might be scarce.

The Saxon nodded as Petra said her piece. There was something more to the way he watched her. A familiarity. Was that a private smile creeping along Heolstor's solemn face... Or had it just been a trick of the light?

"I know enough," Lord Strang answered when it came to be his turn to speak "Enough to be satisfied that it is a well-chosen target. Distant enough to be vulnerable. Important enough to hurt; the Hunnic emperor will feel this pinprick. Theoderic, your King, is no fool. There are many holy sites in the grasp of the Hun... All mean something important, to both us and the Hun. This one is close enough to reach out and grasp while they reel from their defeat at Beda."

Strang's hand reached out, palm upward, closing around imagined fruit - low hanging, ripe, and ready for picking.

"We took Lingones from their slavers. Tullum from their despots. We smashed them at Beda. Now this shrine, we pull from the grasp of their infernal overlords. Every chain shattered along that road, every soul freed, a victory." Heolstor suggested. "We cannot stop. Not til every link in their cursed chain is sundered, or they'll gather their strength again, and threaten to strangle us with it."

"I will not wait. Every day spent in waiting, they muster and my people sit undefended to the South. If nothing else: we may prepare the way for our allies' arrival." Lord Strang explained. His return was long overdue. What would Tullum and Lingones look like when he returned? Unchanged, he guessed, but men coming back from war often thought the same... And time, he knew, had a way of proving them fools.

Leanna quietly listened as the others spoke. In her thoughts she wandered to her daughter. When the others went silent for a moment she pushed it from her thoughts again, quietly praying for her own safe return and the safety of her child in her absence.

After she cleared her head she spoke up, foregoing any formalities on her part So where are we going into the Hun their lands? And it is still theirs, they only lack the numbers to hold it properly. They're put down to about a hundred from what I heard. Though the leader does have some large beast. I got no idea what it is and he has used it against the elves so far, leading to victory's for them.

Brennus stirred uneasily, uncomfortably aware that being neither scout nor warrior he was out of place at this gathering. It was an unwelcome reminder to hear Heolstor speak of 'my people' that he, Brennus, had no title or lands for all his noble birth.

They make the decision not to wait for the rest of the force before beginning eastwards.  Duke Gwalthus promises to relay the information to Theoderic and the others when they arrive.

Gwalthus is not about to let them go… not without adding his own contribution.  Let it not be known that the Duke of Mos Trajectum approved this expedition, and failed to help them!

”Leanna… wait,” he says.  “I have armor here for you.”

She knows the armor he is talking about.  It had belonged to one of the priests of Mos Trajectum.  Two of them were slain during the battle at the bridge last year, when the Demoness Zerova was killed.  So perhaps it does not have the most glorious history.  But not even the best armor is perfect, and Zerova’s band included her powerful, demon-born sons.  Even looking at it, it is obvious it is far more valuable than the armor Leanna currently wears.  It is bronzed steel, and bears symbols of the pantheon of the Romans- a Jupiter’s lightning and Mars’s sword, crossed, over Minerva’s shield.

”I do not believe it to be cursed or deficient in any way,” Gwalthus says, as he is also very aware of the death of the last owner- it happened very near here.   “Just… overmatched. Zerova was a powerful foe.  You can use it if you wish.”

They head for the bridge when they are ready.

The Mos Trajectum bridge, around here simply called “The Bridge” is the reason the town exists- it is the only bridge over the Meuse for many miles, and across it, the Via Belgica connects all of Belgica to the northern Rhine area.

It is a great stone bridge, with multiple arches, wide enough for two lanes of wheeled traffic with pedestrians passing to the side.  Carvings of the Roman gods, and tributes to the emperors line the bridge, and there are still lamps on poles.  The ancient magic still works, and the lamps still have a soft- though reduced- glow.  .

On the Mos Trajectum side of the bridge, the west bank, the bridge entrance faces a large commercial plaza, the Mosae Forum.  (Zerova was ambushed in the large “public hall” building of the Mosae Forum, where she was decieved into giving having her performers put on a show.  Badly wounded by the fight with the priests here, she fled to the bridge, where she was stopped.)

On the far side, the east bank, the bridge landing is surrounded by a maze of ruins, mostly just walls and tumbled piles of stone, brick, and moss.  This is the remains of the town that once occupied the east bank, across from Mos Trajectum.  It has been laid waste.  There is nothing to be looted here- these ruins have been fought over for years.  The ruins provide hiding places for the scouts of both sides, and those who have crossed the bridge… such as Leanna… know that this is the first place one is likely to encounter some force of the enemy.  Since the battle, though, Huns have been few here- if anything, just scouts, here to observe the city.

As Ben rode along his hand constantly strayed to the hilt of his sword. He was not a true warrior by training or experience or inclination but neither was he completely unblooded. When ever the attack came the others would not find him wanting.

He eyed the ruins doubtfully; expecting a horde of Huns to rise out of the rubble at any moment.

Leanna bowed her head as she accepted the armour "I'll use it with honour." She seemed a little puzzled at the images of the Roman pantheon and shrugged a little at it. She donned the armour and then headed out.

As they reached the ruins, Leanna led them through the paths she used when she passed through here. She constantly kept her Greatsword in hand, expecting Huns at any point.

"How many years, I wonder...," Heolstor thought aloud "Have these lamps and monuments stood watch here?" The Saxon's horse stepped lightly over the bridge, slow enough to keep pace with those who walked. "I have thought for sometime that the Romans were softer, weaker, than us." Lord Strang continued. He wasn't sure who he was talking too - Petra, certainly, but perhaps their newest companions too.

"Than Northmen, I mean." Heolstor clarified. Above him, Pwyll soared through the ruins, lofting gently to a crumbling statue and alighting atop its headless marble neck.

"But this..." The warrior nodded in the direction of the bridge. "This isn't weakness." Heolstor looked ahead, to the road East. Pwyll leapt from his perch, dark wings beating a path towards Hunnic lands and war.

"Weakness could not last so long..." Heolstor muttered, voice quiet and thoughtful.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:29, Wed 10 July 2013.

Brennus is the one with the history.  The first Roman Bridge was built here in the first century AD.  It was replaced with the stone bridge less than a century later, and it was rebuilt in 333 and now, the river has been bridged here for the better part of five centuries.*  Even by Elven reckoning, that’s a good chunk of time.


They watch warily as the move through the decaying remnants of what was once the east side of Mos Trajectum.  This area was built low to the river plain, and parts of it close to the water actually appear to be slowly sinking.  (That is, on a year by year scale, not like you're going to see it!)

It's the kind of place where imagination can play tricks- the creaking of old beams, a stone occasionally skittering down from a pile of rubble, a rat running through shadows.  But as yet, no real signs of opposition.




*This bridge, in the real world, finally collapsed in the 13th century,  900 years past its last major overhaul.  Not a bad bit of bridge building.  The crossing stayed strategically important and other bridges built on the same site.  In WWII the bridge was blown up by both sides, and rebuilt by both sides.



 

"The Romans ruled the world not very many decades ago." Brennus reminded Heolstor. "I'll wager this bridge will stand long after the Huns have withered away to nothing."

He glanced around and in a lower voice said: "Several patrols have scouted out this area. They have seen “signs” but no actual Orcs. I'm not a military man but to me that says scouts are present while larger numbers are not."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:52, Wed 10 July 2013.

"Whatever their numbers, we present a target. For one who claims to not be a warrior, you have a head for it." Heolstor looked to the column following behind him. Their formation wasn't too stretched out - how could it be? There were only twelve of them. Still though, this main thoroughfare made them vulnerable. Heolstor raised his right hand, forming a closed fist. The signal to halt immediately or "freeze" in place.

The Saxon pointed out two groups of four, one headed by Brennus and the other by Leanna. Then he indicated the path North through the ruins to Leanna and the road South to Brennus. "Until we are out of these ruins. Be mindful: the enemy is clever, he is ruthless, and we are in his land. Whatever claim Gwalthus makes to these crumbling walls. I will lead my three up the main street." The implied task was for these groups to support eachother should they come into enemy contact within the ruins.

Leanna shrugged a little as she partially ignored the group told to follow her. As she led them through the ruins. Once we clear the ruins, we're clear of most enemy's. And if we keep ourself big enough as a group, their scouts won't likely see us as a target of oppertunity.

Reluctanly Brennus rode back a little way to join up with his three warriors. "We'll uh, bring up the rear I suppose."

Leanna is correct about the relative sizes of the group, and the Hun scouts.  The Huns have give up leaving large forces here.  They’ve gone through too many scouts.  But where they number have numbers… there is still ferocity.

The more sharp eared among the group hears them first- snorting, heavy breathing and thumping footfalls reminiscent of cattle… but the hairy heads, while having the horns of bulls, are held erect.

Still, there appear to be only two of them, off in the ruins.  Among the tumble-down walls and piles of brick and stone, they cannot find cover as easily as Humans can, and their great horned heads stick out.  They pause, as if trying to make the calculation- is this group worth it, or not?  Even monsters have a sense of self preservation.

 

Brennus could see the enemy but he was in no hurry to attack. Doubtless even if they were as few in number as they looked they had set traps. Still no harm in keeping his sword to hand and instructing his men to do likewise.

Not all encounters mean combat.  Sometimes, both sides are hesitant when a battle means little to gain in return for the risk.  The minotaurs are fierce creatures, and strong, no doubt they could make quite a dent in the force they face.  But they know they are only one bridge away from Mos Trajectum, and Duke Gwalthus, and more than enough warriors to overwhelm them.  An alarm would be sounded, and a hundred men would be across the bridge before the Minotaurs finished dealing with this patrol.

They watch, they observe.  Sometimes, even a Minotaur knows to leave the fight to another day.

The troop continues on through the remains of the “East bank” village unperturbed, and soon they are on the road headed east, straight towards Falcon Hill, and beyond that, Coriovallum.

Within two hours, they can see the old outpost of Falcon Hill on the rise, on the south bank of the Geul.

The small tributary is the sort of watercourse that would rate as “river” in the modern world only west of the Mississippi.  It is a gentle, easily fordable flow.  Leanna recalls that past Falcon Hill it veers to the south, but the forest becomes much denser, and the going is tougher.  That's why few go that way.  But on the other hand, the Huns have the same difficulty, and they tend not to go that way either.

"That battle was not our own. It would only delay and distract us from our true purpose." Heolstor explained, as his horse set a calm course down the road. "We will have enough anyway, I suspect, by the time this is through.

The Saxon set their course for the tributary's bank, as he had discussed with Petra. He said nothing of the river goddess, and her message - though he found himself trusting to the Meuse's promise. Petra had believed her... And one did not question gods and goddesses, not if one was wise anyway.

Minotaurs.

Bull-headed men. Petra had encountered the like, before.

Figuratively speaking.   Never literally.  In spite of all she'd seen, the priestess gaped a little at the horned goliaths; wondering what bad magic spawned such a mix of man and animal.  If she recalled, the Romans had some legend of a cursed queen mating with a bull, or such.  But, she gave it no more credence than she did Hermod's species arising from the decapitation of a snake-haired woman.  Romans were a fanciful lot, for such a civilized and rational tending people.

Anyrate, she agreed with Heolstor's take on the battle; nodded her concurrence to his words.  And was glad that she, at least, had a man with a better head on his shoulders.  Likewise glad he was acting on what Mosanna had conveyed to them.  Her own faith in the goddess of the river was strong.  She was certain they had been steered rightly.

His new companions seemed to keep themselves to themselves Brennus noted, and he was hesitant to intrude on their thoughts. Instead he turned to Leanna for conversation.

"Have you been in the Duke's service long?"

The next "waypoint" on the journey is a place called Falcon Hill.  It is the site of an old outpost, placed where the road to Coriovallum crosses the Geul River.  The Geul is small, and easily forded over it's whole length, but it leads into wilder country, away from the road.

Countryside with old magic associated with it- fairies, spirits, and monsters, the northern fringe of the great forest called the Ardennes.  It is rarely traveled.

Falcon Hill itself, though, has been occupied many times during a long, long history.  Its stories are ancient by even Elven reference, though maybe not in the eyes of Treants.  When Humans and Elves were young and wild, before they tamed metal, they collected Flint in the caves below the hill.  Millenia later, the Romans would build a fort on the hill to watch the road.

The fort is ruin now, destroyed in the wars with the Huns, but Leanna and Brennus would know that it is rarely an empty ruin.  Sometimes, it's Huns.  Just as the Huns often keep watchers close to the bridge at Mos Trajectum, they occasionally keep a patrol at the ruins.  But there is more.  An ancient place like this has a way of calling out, and there are often dangers in the caves and ruins on that hill that would prey on Orcs just as quickly as they would on Humans or Elves.  That is one of the reason no one has even tried to hold the hill for very long, since the fort was destroyed.

It does have a way of making everyone feel watched.  But if they keep on the road, and then keep to the bank of the Geul river, they should come no closer than a quarter mile to the old stones, and far older caves.

"The next time it falls someone should demolish that thing." Brennus says to the others as they sight the shattered walls of the fort in the distance.

Leanna shrugged a little at the question directed at her "For as long as I have been old of to volunteer. I haven't kept exact track of it." She grinned a little as she pressed onward. She decided to stay a bit closer to Brennus, seeing as he was one of the first to strike up a conversation with her.

"So Brennus, what is the plan any ways. We go into their lands and then?"

Brennus looked surprised then smiled back.  "I haven't been told much if anything more than you I'm afraid; I think the Lord of Lingones has a plan though. I think we'll want to meet up with the subjects of the Hun soon enough - we need friends who are familiar land."

He glances at the scout thoughtfully and asks: "Have you crossed swords or arrows with the Hun many times?"

At some point, when there is an opening in the conversation, or if she is asked directly, Petra would supply: "It is in fact Aquae Granni that we must reclaim from them.  All else, in this region, hinges on our doing so.  The import of it cannot be overstated. For those reasons I mentioned earlier. We are taking some of this on faith, yes; but Mosanna of the Meuse has proven a reliable friend, on more than one occasion. I think not heeding her counsel would be a very bad strategy."  And, as to what they were up against-

"You are courageous warriors, and you need to know now, that the champion of the Huns there is a giant.  Who has several times repelled the efforts of the Elves.  His power is made greater by the amulet he bears, that he thieved from the temple.  It is an old, old, gift of Belenus.  The wearer may bring to himself injuries taken by others; even a death blow that has felled another. Which might seem more curse, than gift -- but, wounds that would slay orcs or humans outright are like pin pricks to him.  His own minions may be hard to kill, consequently.  For this reason, we must not be overconfident as regards the Hun's smallish numbers.  And we will need to scout, before engaging, and devise the most clever strategy possible against this foe."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:15, Thu 25 July 2013.

They skirt around Falcon Hill… but there is that inevitable “we’re being watched” feeling.

Hermod, Petra’s winged horse, gives an occasional disgruntled snort, being somewhat sensitive to the presence of Things That Shouldn’t Be there.

When the get a good look at the old ruin on the hill, they can see, here and there, the heads watching them.  Maybe.  Hard to tell, at the distance.

Then they turn southeast, along the fast but shallow tributary river called the Geul.

This seems to provoke a reaction.  There is definitely movement up on the ruined fort.  Maybe it’s just a reaction to the change in direction- after all, the group is now headed in a very unusual direction.

As Leanna knows, people don’t come down this way.  This way goes into the northern fringe of the Ardennes forest, and things can get strange there.

"All that Petra says is true." Lord Strang confirmed. He held his mount's reins loosely with one hand, while the other sat his belt hanging inches from his scabbard. "The shrine at Aquae Granni must be recovered and the foul champion that guards it thrown down. We will do all this, and in so doing destabilize the Hun... Casting his claims of power, and the loyalty of his warlords, into doubt." From his shoulder Pwyll, the Saxon's crow, crooned approvingly.

As they rode, Heolstor's gaze traveled back on occasion to the old fort. Here and there, a silhouette emerged to haunt the horizon. Strang knew they would send word. Fortunately, the orcs at Aquae Granni would not receive word in time, he tought. Not if they hurried.

"We race against rumor now. We'll have to be quick, words have wings." Heolstor suggested.

The group picks up the pace...
And as they go south, the scenery changes.  The greenery becomes lusher, wilder.  There is a certain look to the last stands of primeval forests.  Life looks more alive.  There are draperies of moss in trees, and clusters of bright mushrooms.  The land has a soft, easy look, with the Geul flowing along a valley a mile wide between very low, rounded hills.

But no sign of being followed, or intercepted.

The hills become more pronounced the further south they get.  With a good day's trek behind them, they make camp along the Geul River, and continue further upstream the next day.

It is on the second day...

There is a loud howling from the forest to the south, further along the direction of travel.  Those who have heard wolves know it is not a wolf, and while Orcs have been known to bellow out their war cries, it is no Orc either.

Brennus had by now given up trying to converse with the Lord of Lingones and his Half-Eleven companion but the sound of the howling filled him with sufficent alarm to speak up.  "An Orc trick?" He suggested. "Perhaps using warhorns?"

He didn't sound like he was convinced by his own theory.

Even without orders, the troops with the group take up defensive positions at the sound, and orient themselves in the direction of the howling.



There is a change in the flow in the water of the Geul.  Like a sudden bulge in the water, carrying with it a trio of early blooming water lilies.


Hermod snorts, in that way that he does when something with some magical nature has got his attention.

But the ground here is flat and thick with trees.  There are hills that might offer a vantage point, about a thousand feet away to either side.

Brennus looks uneasy, his hand constantly straying to the hilt of his sword. He looked at the stream, then did so again in surprise. Quickly he drew the attention of the others to the floating lilies.

<Purple>"Water lilies grow in still water my lord, not a quick moving stream like the Geul."/Purple>

Unaware that a man who'd never once addressed her personally, was now ignoring her out of some sense of sleight, Petra continued to attempt to offer what she did know:

"Some river goddesses, such as Mosanna, make claim of the entire watershed; the river, and its tributaries, from source even out to sea.  Or so I've been informed.  So while we cannot rule out some foul magic in a fair guise, I believe this more probably a hailing from our ally." She stroked her steed's neck briefly.  "And Hermod seems only to sense magic, of some variety.  Not malevolence." But she shrugged and summed:

"Of course, best to be cautious, until we may say for certain."   

OOC- Brennus, I was out for a time, and Ben was minding my character.  I know he did reply a few times for Petra, and that was because I'd requested him to do.  Beyond that, I don't think your character made any attempts to speak with mine. If he did and got no reply, it wasn't out of indifference. And I apologize for that. And, it looks Heolstor has dialogged a fair bit with you. His player has a military career, and does get busy periodically.

Both of us tend to longer posts, every few days, rather than the short daily kind.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:52, Fri 02 Aug 2013.

Laciersian sprang from her sheath, singing her bittersweet steel-song as she kissed oiled leather. Beneath his thighs Heolstor felt his mount circle in place, instinctively searching for the howl's origin as its rider did the same. The warrior's eyes, dark and green as a pine's boughs, quested through the woods intently - though, their glint held as hard an edge as his blade, rather than the wild wideness that came with fear.

"Nothing. Not so close that my eyes can see them, anyway." Heolstor admitted with drawn-out reluctance. His horse's pacing slowed to null, beast coming to a standstill with a nervous shake of its head. The Saxon replaced his blade in its sheath too - well aware that the shine of bright steel could only give them away, if the sounds of horses and men had not already. "An orc trick it may be, though I doubt it. Here is one thing about the orcs you must understand, Brennus, if you mean to fight them: they fear just as we do. These ancient places, trunks thick with eons and glens overgrown with vines, the magics that often reside here terrify the Hun."

"And if it is not orcs, then it is something else." Heolstor supposed, looking to the river as if expecting it to answer him. "And maybe... that is worse."

Then the lilies were brought to his attention: odd that, admittedly. Perhaps there was a lull in the river here? A deep pool that disturbed the stream's flow? A sheltered inlet? Something had let them take root here.

"Perhaps that is something Brennus." Heolstor spoke. "Though Petra has the right of it - she had words with Mosanna, and if these waters hold any surprise for us, it is well-intentioned. Stay close to the banks."

Heolstor unhorsed and stepped to the perimeter with his men, listening for howls or movement - was their mysterious source closing? He looked to the hills, considering their advantage, but discarded their potential... Streams did not flow uphill, and Heolstor would put his trust in a goddess before he would place his faith in an incline. The Saxon hoped his belief was not misplaced; he had made it this far though, through night and flame across the Ardennes. If the gods meant for him to fall, there were a hundred empty graves meant for him along that road that laid empty.

OOC: Brennus, I'm going to have to echo Petra! It's not my intent to ignore you, and I do apologize for how quiet I get on occasion. When I get back I try to wrap up dialogue threads that I've missed - if I do miss something, it's oversight of Heolstor's player, not rudeness from the Saxon himself!
This message was last edited by the player at 20:20, Sat 03 Aug 2013.

Needing some high ground for a view of the route ahead, they move up the slope to the west that evening.

The howling sound is sporadic.  Somewhere, out there, hungry things are.

Heolstor does some mental calculations, based on distances... if the scouts sent word to the Huns, then by now, that word must be halfway there.  The earliest the Hun chieftains would know would be sometime overnight.   If they sent out troops, they are still more than a day away.

The creature that comes to find them is clearly not the thing that howled, nor is it a Hun warrior.

It is a short, lithe looking Humanoid, with a definite “aquatic” look, and a bit of Elfin nature tossed into the mix- webbed fingers, and pointed ears.  Blue-green, smooth skin.

It doesn't seem worried by the wary troops watching it as it approaches.

It introduces itself.  “My name is Liloo.  I am a river sprite.  May I speak with you?”

Brennus rode out ahead a little, his nervousness replaced by fascination with this peculiar (though oddly beautiful) creature. At the very least it certainly didn't look like something that had anything to do with the Huns.

"Uh... greetings Liloo, I am Brennus of Belgica, a, uh human. You may speak with us."

Petra nodded affirmation at Heolstor's words, that the Huns indeed had their own fear of those elemental and fae allies who aided them.  It was one point of comfort with which to confront the baleful howling.  She offered silent prayer that it was not worse than orcs. But, if true, it would hardly be the first time.

With the manifestation of the sprite, Petra reverently and courteously inclined her head; recalling the one Hermod had conversed with, before Mosanna had appeared.  That one had spoken no tongue that she could understand.  Whether out of limitation or choice, she did not know.  But this one spoke clearly enough to the mortals gathered near the banks.

After Brennus had responded in the affirmative, she awaited to hear what the being would ask of, or impart to them.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:18, Mon 05 Aug 2013.

The little creature makes an attempt at a bow.  It is not a bad attempt.  A little soggy.

"I must tell you that you are not alone here, but not all who are here are foes.  Not far away, I have brought a group of Elves.  I thought to lead them to an ancestral home of ours, the Water Garden.  It is not far.  Once it was a place of beauty, a shrine and haven for us.  The Huns do not often go near, but as a reward for service they aided a group of wicked water spirits, giving them magic to help them steal it from us.  We hoped to gain allies to set the water garden free again."

The sprite climbs up a little ways, and finds a good vantage point.  He points off to the valley ahead.

At first, the glimmer of water can be seen, like a pond.  But no... it is like a cluster of ponds, or ponds on islands in ponds, in very regular shapes, very deliberate, with lanes of flowers, and a scattering of little buildings among them.

For those who know something of the Fey, this has far too unnatural appearance to be one of theirs, it seems.

"It is dangerous," he says.  "Beset with evil spirits.  It is not a thing for any mortal to attempt.  I am sad to say, others have, but the results have been... bad."

By now, it is noticeable that the little creature's attention keeps getting drawn towards... Hermod.  Hermod nods at Liloo.

"But you are here," he says.  "Who would come, but expecting to face dangers?  Would you help us?  Join forces?"

"We will, little one." Heolstor assured, eyes set on the water sprite. It was difficult sometimes to remind himself that he was supposed to be in charge - with a Pegasus, and its rider, in their company. He could not blame them for being drawn to Petra though, as he had been. She was the sun, how could their eyes find any other light?

Still, he was a druid. A swynyr to boot. Magic and its tendrils held no fear for him. "I am Heolstor Strang. My mother kept the old gods and walked the old forest paths in Brython. I am not of this place, but I would see it free of this perversion."

"But also, when this place's waters flow free of taint... there is a town we mean to free from the Hun. A shrine there, belonging to the Bright One." Heolstor explained. "Our help comes freely, but perhaps when we are done here, you and yours will find a way to help us in that task?"

Petra nodded once.   "As my lord Heolstor says, Liloo.  We are already upon a task in conjunction with Mosanna of the Meuse. It is a great priority.  And, completion of it will aid many in this region; human and otherwise.  Are you related in some manner to Mosanna? Best if we might understand how this is woven with what she has asked.  Do you know the plight of the place humans have named Aquae Granni?" She glanced toward Heolstor, the others. "My one concern is that we be delayed from that. For it was impressed upon me that all else hinges upon it."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:05, Tue 06 Aug 2013.

Liloo nods.

"My people, wherever we are, are subjects and servants of the Nymphs, and the great mothers of them like Mosanna are our Queens.  Ten thousand living things spring from her*.  And I know of Aquae Granni, for that place is a special place for her, even if claimed and made over by the hand of Man... this water garden and that temple, two halves of one, because many years ago, when Humans built their temple at Aquae Granni, there was a bad time, because they displaced us.  To settle the debt, some Humans built for us the water garden.  It has been a home for us since... but now it too is lost.  We will help Aquae Granni, if we can.  It is not ours, but it is still Hers."



*In all likelihood more, but this is as high as a sprite counts.

"I see. Well, we are agreed to aid each other, in common cause, then.  But, I am still not certain about attending to the water garden, first.  Mosanna made no mention of it.  Not out of neglect, I am sure.  But, she conveyed that freeing Aquae Granni was the thing of greatest import.  If we must contest with evil spirits to liberate the garden --  well, most of our force are not mystics. I am not certain how that would go down." She looked again to Heolstor, Brennus, Leanna -- anyone leading, or familiar with the region, and its denizens.

"Liloo -- is there anyway you might speak quickly with Mosanna? It took me a good deal of time to call on her. Learn her view on this?  And if that isn't possible -- might we consider dividing our number to address both things? Sending those best suited to each?"  This posed again to Heolstor and the others.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:52, Thu 08 Aug 2013.

"I think we best handle Aquae Granni first." Brennus said, looking puzzled - he had no knowlege of this Mosanna.

"Mosanna is very strong," Liloo says.  "But tired.  Much she has tried to do, much left to do.  She cannot drive them out.  She is spread thin, and needs time and the spring rains.  But I know she will help, if she can, how she can.  She is trustworthy."

He points over towards a hill in the distance.

"There is a troop of Elves, on that hill.  I led them here, to free the Water Garden.  Salen Soulwater is with them.  They await my word.  Perhaps all should gather, and decide then, who is to go to the water garden, and who to Aquae Granni.  I know the way to Aquae Granni as well- from here it is past the water garden, and through the break in the hill, the valley of the Selzer... a fair stream, but occasioned by Dragons.  A half day's walk.

"You two are right," Heolstor added with a furrowed brow "Aquae Granni requires our immediate attention. Of those of us here, only two can touch can touch the spiritual realm..." The Saxon explained. "And my own ability is, unfortunately, limited."

"We are not armed with the weapons you require, little one. I am sorry. When we are finished with the Hun, we will return. By then our allies will have arrived. With a powerful sorceress and sages in their keeping - better suited to the battle you seek to fight." Heolstor looked to Petra. "Heart, I cannot go into the melee without you. The men at my side would suffer greatly for it: I can heal, but not so many, and not wounds as grievous as you."

"We must press on, for the moment. Within a day. Two, perhaps, we will return." Heolstor promised. His heart hung heavy though, eyes glancing to the South. How long would he ride through these Northlands? Lingones. Tullum. His people... They were all waiting for him. The Saxon blinked, turning his attentions to the moment and road directly ahead again.

"Can you show us the path to Aquae Granni, Liloo? The sooner we are there, and the sooner the Hun's ruin is wrote there, the sooner we will return to put to right your garden."

Petra nodded, placed a hand on Heolstor's arm, as acknowledgment of her concurrence.  Personally, she wanted to keep the pact she had made with the Meuse goddess.  And not be diverted into another task, however worthy, that might delay what she had already agreed to do.

And she did know that Heolstor counted on her to serve as primary healer.  And that what awaited them at Granni promised no shortage of wounds, and injury.

She remembered Salen, Theoderic's new kinsman, from the wedding ceremony.  An Elf of no little mettle, from the talk that she had overheard.  She added to what Heolstor told Liloo:

"Elves are usually the best mortals to deal with the spirit world.  Surely Salen and his company can give immediate aid, if it is needed?  And then as my lord says, we will route back as soon as we can. But, what is this you say of Dragons? What sort? Are they out of Basilea?"

The River sprite looks saddened, but does not make further efforts to convince.

”Of the two, Aquae Granni is the harder, or it is as we see it.  It is built into a town, a place of paved roads and cut stone and brick walls, and so my people have no place there, and even the power of great river spirits is diminished. There is a source of Her power, but even so, she is weak there.  You will pass close to the water garden anyway, but I ask, be cautious.  If you are not there to retake it, you may instead stir our foe, and make him more wary, and this we do not want.

”Skirt east of the water garden, and make for the gap in the hill line.  The way is watched, sometimes, by a Dragon with scales black like coal, and with spines like the quills of a great hedgehog.  The Enemy knows Aquae Granni is a prize, and this Dragon was enticed.. or goaded.. or perhaps bribed.. into guarding Aquae Granni’s western flank from the Elves.  Nihomus, it is named, and it has guarded with skill and fury.  Nihomus has a singular weakness, a liking for lurid and scandalous tales.  But nothing twice-told, that is the problem the Elves have.  Their culture, as it is, does not produce enough scandal to keep the Dragon entertained.  If you face Nihomus, it will not grant you passage, but it may grant you escape in return for lurid gossip, or it may be distracted enough to give you advantage."

”But the gap in the hills is the best way, and water course there, the Selzer, will bring you close to your goal, almost upon it.  There are other ways, but they are over hill and rough land, and I do not know them.  My folk are always close to water."

If they have no further questions, Liloo wishes everyone well and heads off in the direction he came from.

Brennus, touched by the River sprite's woes tried to reassure him. "Thank you for you aid my friend and I promise you we will do all we can after our own mission is through."

Leanna kept silent as she listened in to the talking and kept herself appraised of her surroundings. She took a deep breath as stretched a little. She didn't feel very comfortable in the open, so close to the river.

When Liloo was a bit saddened she approached the sprite and made a slight bow as she looked at it. "I will offer what aid I can, once I am done with my current mission. You have my word of it Liloo."

Liloo acknowledged the kind words before leaving.

“This is not sadness,” the Water Sprite said.  “I am no worser off than before, and better for knowing that the Huns have more foes here.  We shall meet again.  I am of this place, and its water.  And the water is what is important.  It is the kindest of the elements.”

* * * * * * *

The head south, and then east, following the Water Sprite's directions, skirting near but then away from the Water Garden.
 get hillier as htey

The land here is gentle, along the water course, but low hills rise all around.  They get hillier the further the group travels, as well as more rugged.  Not much higher, but more abrupt, with steeper slopes.

And here and there, signs of something destructive living around here- dead trees, with blackened trunks, but in scattered patches, not a single swath as one might expect from a fire.

"The dragon has left its mark." Heolstor observed, hands on his mount's reins and eyes cast upward to the sky. He felt something cut into its palm and looked down, surprised, realizing that he had gripped the reins so hard that they bit into his skin. "We must pass quickly, and quietly. What time we saved might otherwise be lost in combat with the wyrm." That was, assuming of course, that the dragon would not be their end.

"You were both pained to leave the sprite behind." Heolstor reflected, hand rising to guide a low-hanging branch away from his path. Dappled sunlight, cast in the silhouettes of leaves, danced across the Saxon's face. "There is much wrong in this world..." Lord Strang's voice came on, touched by an unexpected measure of sorrow. "You cannot undo it all. Fight against the tide as you can, it will eventually carry you away - unless you pick your battles and save your strength for the confrontations that matter most."

Petra recollected that, when she and Heolstor first set upon this road, one of their first encounters had been with a small, feral white.   And now, here it sounded was its contrast; a crafty, world-experienced, decadent black.  It was the last thing they needed.  But naturally the Huns would not leave such an important place without gate-guard.

She had commented to Heolstor at the notion of its preoccupation:  "A scaley-one with taste for scandal, eh?   Perhaps some - your father's folk for example -- might consider our own association such?  But, I think it probably too tame for this wyrm's liking.  And, for better or worse, I spent too little time in ale-houses, to have anything more bawdy to tell." 

Although a passing comment, apparently made in jest, it was something that mattered to her.  What his kin on his sire's side might make of his choice.  She had an idea what they thought of Brython blood being mixed into their line.  So what of the mix of Frisian commoner, and Elvish criminal? Ah, she could imagine the fanfare to come if that were announced!  And dreaded it.   But this wasn't the time or place, to dwell on any such matter...

Brennus' and Leanna's words displayed the kindness of their hearts.  It was to be hoped they could make everyone happy, by the end of all this.   Their work was cut out for them.  Again.

Heolstor spoke wisdom; the hard earned sort.  And indeed, the land and its life bore the scars of a dragon's displeasure.

Heolstor's face went rigid at the mention of his father's people, the Saxons, as if he felt a sudden barb pierce his side. He had given nary a thought to how they would view his and Petra's love. Pwyll took flight in a fit of black feathers, seeking the canopy's refuge. "There was a time when I thought Caedmon's opinion mattered. That was before he gave me the road... And showed me what he truly was." They lost that right long ago. What mattered now was Lingones, Tullum, and perhaps most of all: Petra.

"... But, I think our story... One of a storm-tossed priestess and lordling meeting in the midst of a conflict that stretches across all of Europa, would perhaps lack appeal to this dragon." Heolstor grinned, mischievous eyes all for Petra, as he leaned forward in the saddle towards her. "Most of it, anyway." Strang added, his voice a whisper.

It was just enough of what she had hoped to hear.  She smiled, reached out a hand briefly toward his cheek.   Then glanced down toward her own mount's back.

That was enough to hide the tear that glistened in one eye.

So she hoped.   Still enough the teufelsbraten* of the Frisian coast and wilderness, to be comfortable being seen as some weepy little maid!


*The funky looking word is her native Germanic for something like "hellion."

The nice thing about Dragons is that they are not always alert to who or what passes near.  Some of the wiser, more established ones have networks of spies, servants, or allies to tell them when someone is passing through their land.  Perhaps this one does not.

For whatever the reason, the Dragon does not make an appearance.  However, it does serve to speed their journey through the valley of the Selzer.

Aquae Granni is a in a natural bowl created by a ring of hills, about two miles in diameter.  The terrain creates a natural merging point for the spring-fed streams that meet here to create the Wurm river, which eventually flows to the Meuse.

Almost every settlement is surrounded by a ring of agricultural land- grazed fields, wood lots harvested for timber and firewood, and planted farmland all give away the presence of a town long before it is reached.  They know they are getting close to their goal when they reach the outer strips of farmland west of Aquae Granni.  But at two miles distant, the land is fallow, with weeds and shrubs growing.  Trees have been cut, but not until much closer to the walls of the town do they see worked farmland.  There isn't much of it.


Approaching, they see what at first they take for a scarecrow.. but as they get closer, they can see that the Huns have made a grisly circle around Aquae Granni with the corpses of enemies.  Judging by the tattered and weathered remains of the clothing they see, the nearest one was likely an Elf.

From a distance, they see the walls of the town- and they look to be in poor condition, battered and collapsed in places.  They can see roof tops within, and some of them look broken as well.

They can see a few figures moving at the base of the wall, but from a distance, they cannot make out further detail.

Looking back at the troops, Heolstor judges that they can go no closer in "traveling" mode without being visible to anyone on the wall.

"See this farmland?" Brennus said to Heolstor. He had ridden up to column to talk to the group leader.

"Far too much of it has been left fallow and outright abandoned to support a large population. I doubt there are more than a few hundred humans left alive in the city."

The news of the small population here is both good and bad.

On the one hand, a small "civilian" population means an uncomplicated fight.

On the other, King Theoderic had originally hoped that the local people could be made into a kind of resistance.  His troop commander, lord Gellas, had provided Heolstor with extra weapons just for that purpose.

And on the third hand, it makes approaching the town much safer.  Fewer eyes, means more options for a concealed approach.

Even so, getting right up to Aqua Granni unseen will be a trick.  They take up a spot on some high ground, for a better view of the layout.

The temple complex is on the south side of the town, facing the hills of the Ardennes.  Several of the roofs there gleam with gilding. North of the temple complex, the main town occupies a rough circle in the center of the "bowl" formed by the high ground surrounding Aquae Granni. Judging by Brennus's accounting of the number of people here, it must be mostly empty.

The river- very small, here, actually originates in the town, as the outflow from the temple complex joins a few other streams.  It cuts through the town and flows out to the north.  A low, gentle looking mist obscures it where it leaves the town.

"A good point," Heolstor replied from atop his mount "One that heralds both good and bad news. The uprising we'd hoped for in the locals may be impossible. In the numbers we'd sought, anyway. We shall see." The Saxon pointed to the river, in particular, where mist ebbed and flowed beside its mouth. "There is where we make our entrance. Pray that the river remembers its promises. Though, if necessary, I can bring more fog to the riverway myself if she fails."

"A forward team will enter by the path, on foot so as to go unnoticed. The Burgundians and Frankish cavalrymen will wait out here for a signal. That signal being fire or the sounds of combat." Heolstor suggested. "Then they will rush in, carrying the full impact of their charge into the enemy."

"We fight our way to the Temple. They will not be ready for an enemy amongst them. The chaos we bring with us is our greatest opportunity here: we must be swift and purposeful, to drive the blade home before they develop an orderly defense."

"Does that sit well with all of you?" Heolstor asked, already beginning to dismount in preparation for his approach. Assuming all the others in their party were agreeable, they'd begin their disguised advance. If at any point Heolstor thought that they were too exposed he'd cast Fog Cloud to make certain their subterfuge.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:21, Fri 23 Aug 2013.

This will work better than words alone, I think.

Looking south, at Aquae Granni:

The temple complex is the cluster of highlighted buildings in the back, the south end.  The river originates there, joining several other streams.  It flows through the town and exits at the north.

Like most towns of its type, the social/commercial center is the plaza in the heart.

Although you cannot see much detail, from where you are, it's obvious that there is a serious shortage of people.  From the party's vantage point, the town looks very underpopulated.

Even as Heolstor speaks, the mist on the river visibly increases.  Normally, such bizarre effects worry troops, but they've heard.. here, the magic is on their side.  Word has gotten out, Petra has an "arrangement" with the river goddess, who sends the concealing mist, to allow a few to slip into the town.

It was well that Mosanna was making good on her promise.  She'd held little doubt that it would be so. However, Petra's own word had been given on the matter, and it had felt something like her responsibility.  Heolstor's own capacity for mist-bringing notwithstanding.

In terms of strategy, Petra offered:  "There is magic I can cast that makes possible the breathing of water.   It might be of some use to us...say, if we needed to slip someone into the temple, as an advance, to open its gate, or such?  It may be cast upon more than one...though each person shortens the spell's length. Although I imagine, the water-ways will have their own wards or guards.  And the spell makes it no easier to move through water, bearing arms and armor.  Going lightly encumbered would be necessary." 
This message was last edited by the player at 20:19, Sun 25 Aug 2013.

(Handling Brennus as an NPC while he's out)

"How many of us will this magic extend to?"  Brennus asks.  "The water courses in the town go all the way to the Temple.  Aquae...  The Temple is built on ancient sacred springs.  Many were.  If we could get all the way there, at least a few of us, and take the Temple from the inside out, yes, I fully support that plan.  If you covered the three of us, how long would we have?"

"With our limited numbers, it may be necessary." Heolstor reflected. "We'll have to do away with most of our armor... But, if we can slay the enemy's champion before a battle ever begins..." The Saxon left the thought unfinished, conclusion obvious. They might prevent a single civilian casualty. He'd have to leave the extra weapons intended for their "militia" with the riders.

That was, he recognized, a fine alternative.

"The magic, by the Gods' grace, has a span of ten hours.  And that is allotted among those it is cast upon.  So, then three and a third hours each.  More than enough, I would think, for our purposes?" 

And on the topic of said champion:  "I think being small and swift would serve us better against a giant, than any armor.  Although I was warned there will be orcs in his service, too.  But if we can open the gates, our own soldiers can address them." 

It is far more than enough time.  Looking at Aquae Grannis, it is less than a quarter mile from the northernmost gate to the temple.  Even allowing for slow, cautious, "infiltration" swimming and frequent turns, it could not take more than fifteen minutes.

Are we assuming that this is what the party is doing?

Heolstor prepared himself. Thankfully, most of his equipment was light. His shield, emblazoned with his sigil, had to be left behind though. It would encumber his movement too greatly. Laciersian he kept at his belt. There was something poetically fitting about infiltrating a city via a river, then laying low its oppressor with a blade named River's Wrath.

He stepped up beside Petra, wrapping his arm around her hip. "Every time we go into harm's way, I worry over you." Heolstor smiled, content despite his words. "If I could convince you to do otherwise, but keep you the same woman you are, I would."

"Petra Faust does not sit by idly while great works are done, though. That is why I love her." Heolstor explained, before stepping aside to let Petra finish her own preparations.

The Saxon made his way over to his Burgundian and Frankish warriors, explaining to the plan. He and the advanced party would breach the city by way of subterfuge. Once inside, they would sneak into the temple and take the enemy unawares. When battle began, by way of fire or sound of combat, the soldiers were to commence their own attack. They'd carry the milita weapons with them, arming those civilians who attempted to rally with them. Fighting towards the temple was a secondary objective. They were to stay alive and distract what attention they could.

Leanna quietly peered into the town and their surroundings. Planning a battle ahead wasn't really something Leanna was to good at. With a soft shrug and nod she made her agreement to the plans made. When the talk came of leaving their armour behind she spoke up "How well do our plate armoured people fight, without their armour then?"

Petra fully blushed, glanced earthward, spoke under her breath-- "Ah, well, 'crazy Elgersdottir*' you know they called me back home--"

But the smile upon her lips spoke of what the accolade meant to her, bestowed by the one from whom it meant the very most.  And she made plans to repay him in full.  The very next time they found themselves alone...

To Leanna she answered:

"The thought so far, is to have the three of us -- Brennus, Heolstor, myself -- go through the water way.  Once inside, we will let the rest of the forces in through the main gate. So they will all be fully armored.  As for yourself, you must decide -- whether you are best to come with us.  Or lead in the main forces." 

Heolstor was occupied speaking to the Burgundians and Franks.  She knew he would not begrudge giving Leanna her own choice in the matter.  Knowing her own skills and strengths better than they did.

*Elger being her father's name.

(I would like the keep the party together for this!  Mercy for the GM, please!)

There is some good news for Leanna:  the river here is not exactly a mighty flow.  It’s small and shallow and mostly channeled into canals through the town.  Being a shallow waterway, swimming isn’t necessary.  She can scuttle along the bottom, crablike, with her armor. (Which is, fortunately, not plate, just a breastplate, which is a solid piece over the chest connected to more flexible armor elsewhere.)

The enemy is already alert to the presence of *something* out there- eyesight works two ways, and Heolstor’s force was too big to hide entirely.  Orc warriors take up positions on the wall, at least, the sturdier sections of it.  In the town plaza, a pair of Worgs are readied for battle.  But the Huns here have a limited number, and they know better than to chase off after every Elven patrol they see.

Let the Elves come, they know, and trap them, and crush them.  That is the way.

So they watch.   A shaman passes among the watchers on the wall, giving a few  selected warriors the Gift of the Eye, Orcish magic that will counter the Invisibility and "Elven Cloaks" and other sneaky, unfair tricks commonly used by the Elves.

But Petra’s approach is not one of those tricks.  It’s an entirely different kind of trick.  When the Shaman gets to the north end of the town, he waves his arm and tries to dispel the mist on the river, but it’s not that kind of mist.  Instead of obeying the shaman, it spreads into a light fog blanketing the ground within about 50 feet of the river.

The Wurm River is almost at its source, here.  It is small and shallow, not deep enough to truly hide in.  The mist hides them, though.  Most of the time.  They pass into the town unnoticed, but several times, they are fairly sure one of the few Humans still in the town noticed something in the water.  But they ignore it.

It is spring, but the water is thoughtfully warm (it comes from naturally hot springs to the south).  They follow the water through the town.  At the temple, there is rectangular collection pool where several of the thermal streams meet.  The water pours over a low wall at a spillway to start the river.  The spillway is the first real obstacle they’ve encountered.

Huddled against the spillway wall, under the tumbling water from the temple pool, they cannot be seen, and the sound of the water also masks their voice.

And they have two options here:  leave the water now, and explore the temple on foot from this point, or cross the spillway (possible salmon style) and swim to the far side of the collection pool.

Hey, you (as Brennus) were the one who said 'the three of us'!  That's why I didn't assume she was going, and left it an option.

 >or cross the spillway (possible salmon style)

Oh damn. And here it was the trout style feat I took...

"Over the spillway then? We've gone this far on luck and stealth alone." Heolstor suggested, voice disguised by the pool's murmuring waters. Far above, Pwyll made his own path. One much easier, by the way. There were benefits to traveling "as the crow flies". The Saxon took up a position under the spillway, holding out his arms and entwining his palms to give the other three a platform with which to easily cross over the spillway.

"When you're over, give me a hand if you can." Heolstor asked, as he helped the others over. Occasionally he glanced back warily, looking through the curtain of water that disguised them.

Over the spillway it is....

The spillway takes them into the sluice.  This is the channel that passes under the outer wall of the temple, under the columned, covered walkway that serves as the front foyer to the temple, into the pool at the heart of the temple itself!

The pool is not indoors, and is surrounded by marble walkways all around.  The marble walkway at the north has columns and a roof and a wall on the south end, but is open on the south side, facing the pool.  There are temple buildings all around- the ones on the north and west look like the most important, and both have steps leading up to their entrances.

The noise of the spillway and sluice mask the groups sounds.  That's fortunate, because on the south side, up on a high terrace that runs along the wall of the main temple, there are several Orcs.

Note the usual orientation is reversed; south is at the top.

"Past time to turn this from a matter of subterfuge to a matter of steel, I think." Heolstor said, crouching down in the pool as he slipped Laciersian silently from her sheath. Opposite their position in the pool, Pwyll came down above the guards, perched just over their heads... Cawwing at some imagined indignation, before he glided towards the orcs. The crow harassed the guards, making passes over their heads and screeching at them as loud as he could. All in an effort to distract.

"I can conceal us, in a way. The orcs will know something is afoot. Hopefully not what, though, until it is too late." Heolstor worked his free hand in a brief series of esoteric motions. They ended with a fist, oriented to his front. On cue, mist started rising out of the water around him, spreading out into a thick cloud of vapor.

"Let's go." The Saxon suggested, proceeding towards the nearest set of stairs.

OOC: Heolstor casts obscuring mist.

Prior to Heolstor's command, Petra had stopped for a brief moment to take in the sights about her.

It was a very formal temple-construction; the sort Romans were fond of, and her own people not, far more rustic in their ways of worship.  Generally the way Petra preferred to keep it.

But, as she had been moved by the spa they had come upon, early in their companying together, so too did this place resonate with her.  The pure marble construction of the walkways and columns was very grand looking; just enough so, without seeming ostentatious.   And the other structures so too.  And the pool at the center of it all added the grace of blessed nature, that otherwise would have been absent.

In fact, she liked this little city as a whole. At once vaguely familiar, and very different, from what she as a coastal dweller was accustomed to. Yet another fine placed despoiled by the Huns' ignominious touch.  Yet more profanity hurled blatantly at the Gods.  That it was not one of her Gods notwithstanding.  Lord Belenus was the one closet to the hearts and spirits of this place's rightful residents.

And for Him and them they would strike, reclaim what had been stolen.  For Lady Mosanna too, of course.

Petra nodded at Heolstor's word; composed, focused, and ready to do what was needed.  No more, and no less.

As they moved, shrouded by eldrtich mists, she did spare some attention as to where this champion of the Huns might be.  A giant not so very easy to hide, after all.  There was magic to seek objects; which would have been useful if she'd actually seen the giant's stolen amulet, even once.  But, she had not.   And so they must wait for him to show his hand...

The Orcs are a little on edge.  There’d been reports of enemy in the distance… Elves, no doubt, it was always those hated Elves.  And there’d been the strange mist by the river.  Natural, or another Elf trick?  No one knew.  And now, the mist seemed to be coming here, because it was on the water!

The mist hides the party as they reach the nearby stairs out of the pool but the Orcs, are on the one hand worried, but on the other, expecting a possible Elf intruder.  An Elf intruder might be dangerous, but then, punishing Elves is what every Orc feels born to do, and they know they'd get in big trouble if they simply ran to bother their boss with the first sign of trouble.  So they hurry towards the mist… in time to see the party emerge from the water.

Not Elves.  The nearest Orc readies his shield and spear.  Not Elves.. but these would have to do.

Brennus clutched the hilt of his sword uneasily as he looked around himself.  While he was glad to be in civilisation... or what was left of civilisation... in truth he had never cared for Apollo the deity and a superstituous part of him wondered if the archer god was looking down on him now as as much an enemy as the Orcs.

He glanced at the Lord of Lingones, awaiting the direction of the far more experienced warrior.

Leanna quickly stepped forward to stand next to Heolstor. She was saw herself as a warrior and wouldn't be found shying away from facing these orcs head on. She held her sword high as she went to stand next to Heolstor. Glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, waiting for his signal to attack the orcs.

Petra remembered what she had been told about these orcs; that the amulet the giant had appropriated might ward off some of their wounds.   Therefore it might be they would be more challenging to kill than usual.  She prayed not overly so.

And, in fact, prayer could do something to even things, if it proved to be true.

She began whispering a soft and heartfelt prayer to Eostre, to whom she now most often prayed before battle.  Not a warrior goddess, like beloved Freya; but one of Life, and renewal. Whom Petra hoped would keep bloodshed and hurt to no more than what was absolutely needed...

Casting prayer spell --  everybody gets +1 luck bonus on attacks, damage, saves, skill checks, while the orcs take -1 on all that.  Or however Ben chooses to work it in.

For five rounds...

Heolstor came out of the mist, sword's hilt firmly grasped by both his hands, chased by tendrils of steam as he stepped to the fore. The Saxon carried with him the unnatural calm of a man inured to battle, tight mouth thinned neutrally and eyes set stolidly on the foe before him. Brennus and Leanna stepped up to stand this one, waiting for instruction. "I'll handle this one," Lord Strang suggested "Take the other two. Before they realize their doom and call out an alarm." Strang was confident that the pair would make short work of the other two Huns.

He'd travelled with them long enough to dispel any doubt. Long enough to come to trust them. Leanna, stoic and dependable. Brennus, clever and driven. This would be the first time he'd seen them in combat though - Heolstor wondered if his private confidences would hold water.

Heolstor's signal to attack was movement. He rushed from the mist's edge, Laciersian held high in preparation to strike earthward and bite into the first orc. With his blade in both hands, the attack came savagely, strength fixated entirely on bringing this orc down rather than balanced between attack and defense.

Doubtless any other Hunnic servants might hear their combat. If they could manage to bring these three low quickly, however, they might perpetuate their foes' confusion. Awareness was not the same as understanding, and anything that might unbalance or further surprise the Hunnic champion was worthwhile.

They seem surprised, as though, they were ready for a battle, but with someone else.  Heolstor, Leanna, Brennus, and Petra weren’t invited… they weren’t even considered.

As the Orcs reach the party, though, they are clearly ready to fight, even if it's an unexpected fight.  They are Orcs, after all.

In accordance with the Stormtrooper Rule the first Orc to rush towards the party is immediately killed.  Leanna and Heolstor rapidly advance and engage the second.  The third Orc pauses, and seems to have recognized that an immediate charge perhaps wasn't the brightest tactical option.  It halts and turns to go back where it came from.

The party is dripping wet, in the center of what was once obviously an important temple complex.  On the wall, even in the tile work at their feet, mythic imagery is part of the architecture.

There are marble statues flanking the stairs to the building on the right, on stone pedestals.  Each shows a "heroic" looking man wearing a flowing cape and nothing else- allowing the stone carvers to show their skill in capturing every nuance of anatomical detail.  One statue has a broken hand.  The bases have been covered with graffiti and filth, as if to mock to being portrayed in the statue.

In front of them, that low wall with the terrace and parapet on top has a figures carved in friezes, and they seem welcoming, with arms outstretched, offering wreaths and pitchers.

15:50, Today: Petra rolled 15 using 1d20+5. Kn religion --  for general info she may know about the religious imagery.   In particular;  is this statue of Belenus?   

Well, these had not been hard to kill. Heolstor and the others made shortwork of the few here to greet them.  Petra silently cursed herself, for not having her bow ready soon enough to take down the fleeing orc.  She supposed the clangor of combat would bring others soon enough, anyway.

She tried to get an idea of the direction to the temple's gate, from here.   Letting in the rest of the men was a priority.

Do we know where the front gate is, relative to our position? 
This message was last edited by the player at 21:03, Sun 08 Sept 2013.

As far as Petra can tell, the statues must be Belenus.  Clearly, as interpreted by Greco-Roman sculptors.  Their skill is remarkable, but no Germanic or Celt would dare to leave so little to the imagination.


The third Orc is still fleeing, headed towards the stairs and doorways at the far end of the pool.

(The front entrance is behind, to the north.  Bottom of the map.  The party is actually already inside the temple complex, with the pool being in an open-air atrium in the middle.)

Leanna let her sword stick in the dead hun at her feet as she unclipped one of her axes. She took a moment to aim and then hurled it after the fleeing orc, trying to finish it before it gets out the temple.

OOC:
Throw one of the throwing axes at the fleeing orc.

Heolstor rushed after the retreating Hun, sword held out to his side as both legs pumped furiously to close the distance. Ahead of him Pwyll continued his harassment - going so far as to claw and strike at the orc's face, blinding him in a flurry of black feathers as the corvid's beak sought out eyes and soft tissue. Between the crow's assault and Leanna's axe Lord Strang could only hope that the Hun would be distracted enough to slow, or even halt, his progress.

Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough for Heolstor to close the distance and put him down.

The Orc runs up the stairs, towards the doors.  They are large double doors, fitted with dark brownish brass plaques displaying mythical scenes, as well as the names of the donors who funded the temple.  (Many years ago, of course.)

Leanna throws an ax as Heolstor gives chase.

The Orc is hit... wounded.  It turns his head to see what is happening, and gets.. bird.

Heolstor's raven was bright enough to follow the group from overhead as they traveled underwater. Smart bird.

Wounded, and now distracted by Pwyll, the Orc does not reach the doors before Heolstor and Leanna, followed closely by the others, catch up.

Except for one other...

They got the orc!   As well as being prevented from sounding an alarm, perhaps things might be learned from him, as well.

But Petra had another objective in mind...

How near to this place are the forces outside?   Close enough, that if I open the gate, they would see it open?  Or are they further back than that?

If it's feasible to let them in now, Petra will dash for the other end of the temple, and try to get the gate open.

If not, she will join the others instead. 

Heolstor's quickening footsteps brought him up behind the Hun. The Saxon knew that he had to end this last foe as quickly and quietly as possible. So far as he knew, as of yet, no alarm had gone out. He wasted little time as he came up on the orc's heels, reaching out to wrap his arm around the guard's mouth and stifle any cries for help. His blade would come up past his side then, elbow bent back like a coiled spring before shooting forward to plunge Laciersian into the orc's back.

If all this went as planned, he'd hold the guard still til he went motionless, then lay him out quietly on the temple's floor.

Feeling out of his depth Brennus trailed behind Heolstor, his sword drawn but unused. No warrior born he was loathe to strike in case it messed up the strategies of the more experienced members of the party.

He glanced at the statues and shivered unconfortably, wishing they were quickly out of this place.

1 There are doors at the other end of the temple complex , Petra realizes, but she remembers swimming through the canal into the temple pool- under the entrance.  Those doors could only lead back into town.  If there are doors to the outside, they haven’t found them yet.

On the steps leading up to the south side terrace and doors, they dispatch the last Orc in a short fight.  Outnumbered, it did not have much of a chance.   There is a silence broken only by heavy breathing.  It seems the Orcs were slain before they raised an alarm.  They might not have been expecting an attack from within.

Now, surveying the area, they see the pool is the heart of a temple complex. The doors at the north end (bottom of the map) are through the perimeter wall, and lead back into the main town area of Aquae Granni.   The doors ahead, leading south off the terrace, and the doors to the right near the big stairs look like serious doors to grand spaces. They are surrounded by engravings and statues.   The doors off to the left, the east, look smaller and simpler, with no great adornment.

Brennus had been looking thoughtful a few moments before speaking quietly to Heolstor.

"Doors leading outside of the town likely exist.  The “front doors” are the grand public entrance to the temple complex, and would not have been used for everything.  The priests would certainly want their own private entrances, and there would be an entrance or two for servants and workers and deliveries.  No Roman temple would conduct all its “worldly” business through the front door."

He paused a moment, glancing around anxiously. "Let us move swiftly; I am no devotee of this god and I am sure he knows it well."

"Our cause and actions are those that will serve him," she said softly, in response to Brennus' comment. "I think that, while it holds true, not being a devotee will be overlooked."  Gods were not so different from mortals, in that regard, by her experience.  And who could blame them-?  Existence being as tough as it was...

Brennus had a point as regarded the doors.

Petra made her way over to the smaller, simpler doors situated at the east.  Despite the lack of adornment, for any solar godling, it was an important direction.  Being the point of sunrise, as it was.

She glanced silently back to Heolstor, her 'I'm going to open these unless you think it's a bad idea,' look being easy enough to read.

Unless any contesting opinions, she will.  But will do a detect magic spell, beforehand. 

Leanna kicked the dead orc over to its side so she could collect her throwing axe from the corpse. After wiping the blood of it using the clothing of the dead orc, she puts it back on her hip.

She quietly goes to stand by the door and gave Petra a silent nod. She wasn't much of a city person, but when it came to fighting it didn't really bother her all that much.

They explore the doors to the east...

On the east side of the complex, the doors lead to a series of "supporting" chambers, with secondary roles.  The simple, basic things that had to get done.  A chamber full of mops, buckets and rags.  Another, a small kitchen.  It's been in use.  Recently.

And the next door over tells the tale:  it is a dining room.  A communal dining room, for priests, and temple workers, and for certain occasions, the public.  At least, that's what it was.

Two women are working on fashioning loaves of bread, complaining about how little they get, and oblivious to all else.  They do not notice the party.  They look poor, with ragged, dirty clothing.

Meanwhile, the Huns do not stay still.  They hear shouts in the distance, from the direction of the terrace, where the one Orc was running to the doors before being stopped.  And there is one very loud, very deep voice.

The two peasant women are astonished when they are finally spoken to. There is a feeling that maybe, they did know someone was there, and they were deliberately ignoring.  Petra and Heolstor have noticed that, with people who have spent years of servitude under the Huns.  Sometimes, noticing things can get you in trouble.  Better not to notice.  What you don’t know, and never saw, they can’t beat out of you.  Maybe they’ll return the favor and not notice that put some extra food in your pocket.

And they see, in the eyes of the two peasant women, those mixed emotions.  Fear- please, don’t involve us in your trouble making because we don’t want to get in trouble- and hope almost against belief:  are you… is it possible.. fighting back?

The two women, Arta and Gia, are assigned to the “bread detail”, but in this case, for the other Humans still living as slaves here.  The Hun masters have evidently hit upon the logical end to “how much to take from the Humans.”  They take all of it, and give back what they think is enough.  The food detail makes bread loaves and rations them out.

Arta and Gia hear the loud, deep voice, too.  They know what it is.

"Sillok, the Hunter," Gia says.  "If he is coming for you, you must go.  We did not see you.  We never saw you."

She speaks quickly, nervously, knowing that with each minute the party stays here, that fiction will become harder to maintain.

"Sillok the Hunter," Heolstor repeats with a pointed look in the direction of the terrace "I would bet that he's the one we're here for. The one with the sun god's amulet." The Saxon looked to the two women here, the bread makers, for confirmation.

"We're not running anywhere.... But we will leave you to your business. Stay safely out of sight, Arta and Gia." Heolstor made his way back out of the side chamber and back beside the pool, expecting to see their quarry making his way toward them at any moment.

"You know the amulet!" Gia says, excitedly.  "It was worn by a champion of the temple here for ages, passed down Merle's son Riotho when Merle fell, but then taken by the Huns, Riotho would not abandon this place, when so many did.  Fell in the great chamber."

She points to the great doors on the south end, where the parapet and terrace are.  Where the Orc was running to.

The other woman looks shocked that her colleague would say so much.  "Gia!" she says in a scolding hiss.  Just the name, nothing more.. it is all inferred.

Now curious, Gia looks out into the pool area, and gasps.

"You've slain three!" she says.  "Do they... no, it's too quiet.  They do not know, do they?  But they will know, soon.  Twice as big as a tall man, Sillok is, and ten times the strength at least.  He lives there, in the splendor of the temple. Mocking us, mocking our gods.  Hunting Elves.  You must escape before it is too late!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:10, Wed 09 Oct 2013.

"Then Riotho will have his justice today. I am only sorry that his spirit was forced to wait so long." Heolstor promised. "I did not ride from Lucimburic to turn back now, empty-handed and broken like a whipped cur.... My people and soldiers go on without me - so that we can be here. I will not turn back and waste that sacrifice. Either Sillok falls, or I do. Stay here, out of sight." The Saxon cautioned them both, then motioned for the others to follow him as he headed into the great chamber - where the orc had been running before.

Heolstor hadn't drawn his sword yet, but his hand hovered there, palm resting on its well-worn pommel. The Saxon walked with confidence, as if he was meant to be here - and wasn't he? The gods had brought him through fire and blood from Beda. They'd guided him this far.... Now here they were, a band of heros, in the same place as this villain.

That was no mistake, he was certain.

Heolstor entered the great chamber.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:57, Mon 23 Sept 2013.

Gloomily Brennus followed Heolstor, his own weapon drawn though it felt strange and clumsy in his hand. The aristocrat wondered just how he had allowed himself to come to this point - he was no fighter, no lover of Apollo. Gia's warning was still ringing in his ears as quietly moved on.

Heolstor's words to the women were the same sort of assurance she'd wanted to give, and thus she had naught else to add.  Her own resolve was as strong, if for different reasons.  She'd no doubt at all Silok was the adversary Mosanna had apprised her of.

And, indeed, by sacred Vanaheim today was the day he received recompense for his thieving treachery.

Still, such a giant was no mean foe.  Even when compared to some of the other things they'd faced.  Petra unslung her bow, and extracted an arrow from the quiver, ready to nock.  The quiver's enchantment allowed her to add bane for a specific enemy.

The one she held already had Silok the Hunter's name on it.

She too made her way into the chamber.

The main chamber is the largest and most splendidly decorated part of the temple complex.  It is grander in scale and style than the “priestly” temple, off on the west side.  After all, this chamber had to impress the public.  The priests could settle for comfortably spiritual.

On the wall off to the left, a dozen Elven outfits hang as if on display.  Robes... armor, cloaks.  A couple of those outfits may still have Elves in them.

On the other side of the chamber, there are a few fine, plush velvet covered chairs, and a large silver harp.

There are benches, and many have been cast aside, as they got in the giant’s way.  There are two big brass chandeliers, but they have been taken down, and one lies atop a pile of benches by the door.  Evidently, the giant did not like low hanging objects.  There are two huge rosette windows, one of which allows the light in on a raised platform, where an altar has been refashioned into a throne, of sorts.

The throne is occupied by a Giant.

The great double doors and the smaller ones lead into the same large space.  But the smaller doors open into screen walls, arranged so that people could enter and leave without being a visible disruption, during ceremonies.  No such luck from the main door.  Heolstor and the others will be quickly noticed.

Nevertheless, for just a few moments, the Giant’s attention is elsewhere, as an Orc in armor enters from behind him, with news.

”Great one, they are not Elves, they are Humans, it is strange, I do not know what has brought them so far.  We should have heard something from Hrekka, if they came straight from the west, but there has been no message.”

”How many?” the Giant rumbles.

The Orc replies.  “A small troop.  A score?”

”No threat to me.  Send messengers to Hrekka, I want her to know that this group has slipped past her without so much as a word of warning to me, and I am not pleased.”


”I go.”  The Orc says, and turns.  That’s when the Giant turns back, and the brief lull is over.  He very definitely knows he has intruders.

Encountering such a being was no little thing for Petra.

Giants figured prominently in the cosmology and lore the clerics of her faith learned.  Such Jotun were the traditional enemies of the Gods; it was even prophesied that during Ragnarok, the giants would storm Asgard, in one last, climactic battle.

Aye...such as Silok had a long history of perfidy and carnage.  And she would do everything she could to see him toppled from the mock-throne he'd appropriated for himself.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall! 

Petra moved swiftly to a position where she'd an opening with her bow:

"For the Gods you have disgraced, and the mortals you have killed! We come to end your rule here!"

Petra let fly an arrow at their nemesis -- knowing well that one alone could not fell him, no matter what the enchantment.  But the battle for Aquae Granni was now joined.

Heolstor listened to the interplay between orc and giant, drawing what inferences he could from the creatures' words. He did not know who this Hrekka was - but that seemed a question for another day. The challenge that stood before them loomed large, reducing the threats of the future to pale shadows.

And there he sat... atop an altar meant to venerate a god. Heolstor had never held himself in service to Belenus, but he was as much a god of valor as Tiw; there was a vile bitterness to seeing a being that symbolized such virtue dishonored by a murderer... And a murderer he was. If the tales he'd heard from Gia hadn't been enough to make that obvious, the silent chorus that hung limp on the room's left wall sung their own bitter and abruptly severed song. The Saxon could feel his crow's anxiousness, as the worried corvid shifted from side to side on his shoulder uncomfortably. To Heolstor's credit his features remained stolid, despite the size of the task before them.

Heolstor whispered words of power. Preparing himself for the fight to come. He thought to make himself quick-footed, knowing that he couldn't hope to match the giant's strength.

In the final moments before their bout the Saxon clasped Brennus on the shoulder quietly, remembering the younger man's earlier despair. He looked to him encouragingly, smiling with all the calmness his roiling heart could muster, as the orc announced his departure. Then with a nod to Petra and Leanna he stepped forward into the giant's gaze as his half-elven half made her play.

"You would be surprised to learn what we humans are capable of..." Heolstor announced, drawing Laciersian as his feet started to carry him forward. Pwyll took flight from his shoulder, spreading his black wings and leaping into the air to begin circling the room's interior. "...And what we can threaten!"

Heolstor's plan of attack was simple: to get in close, and strike for the monster's hamstrings. If they could bring the beast low, to their own level, they could strike home blows that would cause their foe real worry. It was well that he hadn't brought his shield: better to put all his strength behind each hit, using both hands to hold Laciersian's hilt. Besides... He doubted the thin wood and steel of his shield would mean anything against this foe.

OOC: Heolstor casts "Longstrider" and "Cat's Grace"; increasing his movement speed by 10ft and raising his dexterity by +4 to 20.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:59, Thu 26 Sept 2013.

The giant is not happy with the sudden intrusion.

"Runts," he grunts, and moves to do something about this, as Heolstor casts his spell.

Petra begins the battle, firing off arrows.  Her first deflects off the thick hide and leather armor on the giant's forearm, but the second finds a mark and plunges into his thigh.

But it looks so small, sticking into the giant like that.  Like a little needle.  It will need a lot more, to bring this enemy down.

The giant hurls a piece of broken altar.  It weighs over a hundred pounds, and it tumbles through the air, narrowly missing Heolstor and tumbling past Petra.  Already the Giant is looking for other big things to throw, and has his eye on the benches, which he moves towards.  Getting hit by one of those would not be pretty.

Heolstor darted to the side, legs moving more deftly than they ever had before. He felt the weight of the altar as it crashed down - shaking the ground around it with its mass. No, he was certain now, his shield wouldn't have meant anything here.

The Saxon continued on course. He darted, quick-footed, towards the giant's ankles. He intended to land a two handed strike along their back - an attempt to start hamstring the creature, gods willing.

Brennus followed the more experienced warrior into battle, waiting for an opportunity to strike at the giant should he expose any weak spots. He tried to keep out of sight of the brute, circling to his rear to attack from behind.

She had been tested in battle against hordes of slavering Huns, and demons of the dark Abyss.  But never before a foe who could squash her like a bug with a single blow.

As the broken altar tumbled past, it sunk in there was no margin for mistake in this fight.  No getting by with relatively superficial bruises and cuts, that might be easily healed after.

Realizing what Heolstor was striving to do, she decided to see if she could aid the effort, with a more meaningful strike.

It was no easy target, with the behemoth in motion, and looking to and fro as he was.   But nonetheless, she took aim, and attempted it.

Petra let fly a shaft for one of Silok's eyes.

No one goes head on at the Giant... and that means the Giant turns to face the one he feels is the greatest threat.

It might leave him more exposed to Petra, but this can't be helped.  And Petra puts two arrows into the giant... though not in the eyes, the Giant is turned and those eyes, while the size of apples, aren't easy targets when moving.

The Giant's mace swings towards Heolstor... and somehow, misses, perhaps the Giant underestimated Heolstor's agility.  But it breaks some floorboards in the process- one of which the Giant flings at Leanna, injuring her.

Heolstor finds the Giant's hamstrings aren't that easy to reach when the Giant is attacking him, but he manages to wound the Giant in the leg as he tries.

Meanwhile, Brennus tries to work his way around the other side.

Along the way, Brennus cannot help but notice the Elf trophies hanging as décor on the walls.

Leanna grunted as she got hit by a piece of floor board. After a deep breath she unslings her sword and follows after the warriors. She move to the opposite side of the Giant, hoping to get into a flank with Heolstor.

She swings her sword at his ankles and knees.

Twice lucky. He was faster than he had been, more agile - but how long could his luck hold out? A single crushing blow from that mace and it would all be over. Desperation drove Heolstor as he cooperated to with Leanna and Brennus - trying to flank the beast, in the hopes that at least one of them would be able to strike at the creature's heels.

She gasped, as the gargantuan cudgel came near to impacting Heolstor.  Skill and speed saved him, but it had been close!

Petra then looked to Leanna -- to see if she'd taken any wound that needed immediate healing.  It didn't appear so.

She considered rapidly what else might work here, what might save her comrades from harm, and hamper this goliath's capacity for harm...

The Giant now faces a combined attack- Heolstor and Leanna circle around it, ensuring that one of them is always behind.  The Giant assesses Heolstor as the greater threat, so that leaves Leanna behind it.  And  Heolstor realizes that by attracting the Giant’s attention, he can keep the Giant’s back to Petra, as well.

Petra adds more arrows.  The Giant’s back is a fairly easy target to hit.  Piercing the tough hide is another story, but she is certain he must be feeling something, from the cumulative effect of the arrows.

And then Heostor scores a hit, followed by success for Leanna.  A normal man would be dead several times over.  The Giant is holding up.. but weakening.  It’s clear.

The Giant lands a crushing blow on Heolstor.  He rolls with it, it isn’t fatal.. but he does not know how much more of this he can take.

Brennus retrieves one of the prizes hanging on the Giant’s wall… an Elven longsword, with a shimmering, pale glow.  It seems to want to join the fight.

Pwyll screamed from the air, his call both tortured and angry.

Heolstor rolled across the floor, pain lancing through his body. He felt every bounce across the marble - his insides felt like broken glass, shorn and sharp, trying to slice their way out of him. As the Saxon rolled to a stop he righted himself, putting one hand beneath him and lifting up his aching body. Whatever damage the giant  had done to him, it was terribly painful... But he could still move. He felt himself begin to rise, disconnecting from the effort, as if watching another. There was no time for self-pity. If he stayed still, the giant would land his coup de grace, and he stood to be crushed once and for all.

Lord Strang finished righting himself and took a tentative step forward. It all felt like it was in the right place; the pain was harsh, but not unbearable. He suspected it would worsen after the adrenaline of the moment ebbed away. For now though: he and his enemy were both upright, and this creature threatened both the woman he loved and his travelling companions.

"Weak as mother's milk!" Heolstor bellowed, drawing the giant's attention back to himself. "For all your size you can't kill a man! What more should I expect from a coward who avoided battle, sheltering in this city of old women and broken men like a frightened cur while war raged at your doorstep!"

"It takes a warrior to end a warrior!" He growled, raising his tapered longsword in both hands and rushing back into the fray. "Not a craven!"

He couldn't hope to land a mighty blow capable of ending this all - but they could, together, inflict a death of small cuts on this creature. That would have to do.

OOC: Heolstor continues to attack the giant. If he can hamstring him, excellent, if not he just hopes to bring him down by way of their continued assault from all sides.

Brennus dropped the Elven blade with a shudder - the thing had a mind of its own! He had no wish to use a mysterious and unknowable blade like that that might subsume his will. Kicking it away from himself in disgust he wields his own sword and returns to the fray, again concetrating on trying to strike while the monster's back is turned.

In the brief moment in which he held the Elven weapon, Brennus felt something...


There are four of them against the Giant- three circling around, and Petra engaging with her arrows from a distance.  Still, the Giant's focus is on Heolstor.  Deal with this one foe, instinct tells him, for it is the most dangerous, and the rest of this treacherous ambush will fail.

Facing the Giant, Heolstor has the hardest time. It is hard for him to get an opening, and when he does manage, he just can't seem to make headway against the Giant's hide.

Silok connects again, but it is a glancing blow- battering Heolstor but not killing him.  It might have been worse, but Brennus, with his own sword, managed the strike Heolstor had been aiming for, and suddenly, Silok is off balance.

Petra hits him again.  Now it seems the tide has turned.

There are sounds from outside, and the doors open again and... people, Humans, run inside.

A group of a half dozen, dressed mostly in ragged and unwashed clothes, and they seem awed, to see the Giant so pressed in combat.

There are shouted blessings and prayers to the gods.  Any gods.  Whichever will listen.

Leanna kept her focus, willing the pain in her hip away. It worked, mostly due to the adrenaline rushing through her as she fought what was easily the most dangerous thing she ever faced.

She noticed the Giant paid her no heed and happily abused this fact, aiming blow after blow at the giants legs, trying to get him down so someone could finish it of.

Noticing the newcomers Brennus called out, raising a sword slick with giantsblood. "We have him in hands friends; seize weapons and help us kill this oversized vermin!"

He didn't waste time to hear their reply, again moving in to stab at the monster's legs.

As the giant dealt Heolstor the crushing blow, time almost seemed to stand still for Petra.  The din of battle seemingly drowned by the pounding of her heart.

On some level, it almost seemed like a bad dream.  Of course, she knew her love was a mortal man of flesh and blood. Yet - she realized she had come to regard him in a nearly mythic way.  So much the daring, dashing hero that lays and legends were wont to canonize.  Certainly, he was every bit her hero.

But, in the real world, heroes died.   She now knew no few whom had.   As Heolstor could just as easily be the next --  if they didn't do something...

And so she nocked and fired several more areas, after briefly deliberating drawing her sword instead.   She was the only not in front of this fray --  which might have been cowardly in the reckoning of some.   And yet, the sword was her second weapon -- archery her strongest proficiency -- and bolstered by the magic of the Elvish quiver Kandralde had given her -- which honestly never seemed as effective as she had been promised...

And then Heolstor was struck a second time.   It was too much.  Petra didn't think then; just reacted.

"NO!" She dropped her bow, without even realizing it had fallen from her hand.  Neither did she draw her sword -- and thus unarmed, set off toward Heolstor as swiftly as her feet would take her.

Once near, she began speaking the strongest healing incantation she had.

Yes - Petra is opening herself to what D&D terms an 'attack of opportunity.'   If she doesn't get swatted, and manages to touch Heolstor, he will receive a cure serious wounds spell. 

Heolstor regained his footing again, defiant despite the beating he was taking. He could feel his footsteps slowing, his sword growing just a mite heavier, and breath coming harder... But the giant was off-balance, and for the first time in this bout, they had the advantage. Just a bit longer. The Saxon wiped a droplet of red from his chin with his wrist. He could take another hit, maybe... And if not, he'd leave Petra and the others with a fighting chance. Heolstor stepped in closer, intending to taunt their opponent again and continue to draw his gaze - but the words died in his throat.

Heolstor's gaze ranged across the temple, eyes wide with abject terror, as he saw Petra running his way across the giant's path. "Petra!" Heolstor yelled, voice laced with shock and pain. She was so close to those gigantic legs. To that deadly club. Too close. A thousand terrible scenarios ran through his mind all at once, filling him with dread purpose.

He couldn't lose her like this. Not at all, old gods be good.

Heolstor had to keep Silok's eyes on him. Strang stepped into his next slash, bringing his blade down as if he intended to hew the giant's ankle like a great oak.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:21, Wed 09 Oct 2013.

Silok the Hunter is struck by several attacks at once, from different directions.   The attacks are unbalancing him, and he is growing wearing and frustrated.  No longer strongly focused he aims where he can, smashing Brennus away from him like a croquet ball.

Other Humans are still arriving  in the temple, excited, afraid, baffled.  It’s more than the battle here.  Something is causing them to come here…

A half dozen swarm around Brennus, offering assistance.  Two boys, both barely into their teens, seem drawn by that sword Brennus dropped.

And there is shouted Orcish curse from the pool area outside.  The bodies have been seen.  A second later, an Orcs arrives in the temple.

Even before noticing that the lord and master of this place is busy, the Orc reports:

”Lord Silok, they* attack!  Mounted men, shooting at our guards on the wall!”

* * * * *

Now that she’s closer to the Giant, Petra notices something she was told about.  The Giant’s amulet.  It’s a tiny speck around his neck- the gold chain that supports the pale pinkish stone is itself suspended by a long braided rope.  (Yes, the magic of the amulet still works when worn in this way.)  But as Petra recalls, the amulet didn’t aid the giant.  Instead, it allowed him to absorb some of the damage of his distant allies, damage he could easily accept and recover from.  But it gave his allies the appearance of uncanny healing powers- and as Orcs generally don’t concern themselves with healing, this had caught Elves off guard on several occasions.

The damage done to distant allies was normally inconsequential to Silok.  After all, a mortal blow to an Orc was a scratch to him.

But now… wounded sorely already....

Somewhere, out there, Burgundian arrows strike Lopdreg, the best archer and watchman  Silok had available, the one he kept posted by the main gate.  Twice in the past, during raids by Elves, Lopdreg had fallen, then suddenly recovered and went on to fight.  And now he did it again.

Silok feels it immediately, understanding exactly what Lopdreg had done.  But this was not the time!  Cursing, Silok tears the amulet from his neck.  The rope snaps, and the amulet skitters across the floor.  And Silok has two new holes in flesh, bleeding, as if struck by two invisible arrows.

He is pressing his limit.  The Giant, it seems, is going to fall.

Petra manages to use her magic on Heolstor, reviving him.

*They Orcish language, being derived from the Infernal, is the only “mortal” tongue that has no different pronouns for gender, but does have different pronouns for the feelings one has for the person or people being referenced.  Thus it’s not really merely “they” but “Those that I have contempt for.”

At the culmination of her spell, Petra reached out and touched Heolstor upon the back. And then had the sheer relief of knowing the worst of his injuries were mending, praise merciful Eostre.

And it seemed that Silok's thievery had finally played against him.  It was the only explanation she could think of for the appearance of wounds her allies had not inflicted.  Her eyes went briefly to the fallen talisman. Plainly the Jotun had no further wish to use it.  And for them there was yet a much more immediate goal.

Now Petra did draw her broadsword, and moved to aid Heolstor, Leanna, and Brennus in finishing off the towering tyrant.

Heolstor felt the pain melt away, blessed relief and a sense of rightness swimming through him from Petra's hand. It was an incredible feeling - to be broken one moment, and mended the next. To see everything Silok had wrought in all his wrath undone in a single moment by Petra's gentlest touch. Heolstor looked back to Petra's face, adoration and thanks flowing from his eyes. He said nothing though. Nothing needed to be said. Strang's grip tightened around his sword's hilt. Victory was certain now. All that was left in this drama was for Silok to take his bow, and die.

"Pick up the sword!" Heolstor shouted to the growing crowd. "Take your freedom back, and give Riotho peace!"

Heolstor engaged Silok again, moving to support Petra while making his own mark on the giant's hide. He stayed as close to her as he could, perhaps over-protectively, while still remaining distant enough to prevent her from being hit if he was struck again.

Laciersian sang shrilly as she cut through the air. Each biting slash meant to drain Silok of just a bit more of his strength.

His moment in the limelight over Brennus was left bruised and bloody, contemptuously hurled from the fight as the real heroes fought on. Battered and ashamed he rose to his feet, helped by the hands of the civilians.

"The orc," he gasped pointing a digit at the Orc that had entered. "Kill it before it brings others!"

2. Brennus points to the Orc, and the Orc has a sudden very bad feeling about that.  They were only peasants he was up against, and a good Orc warrior could easily take down a half dozen Human peasants without feeling a scratch.  But he counted eight.  And they weren’t all peasants… and one of them had an Elven sword.

Aquae Grannis didn’t have a big garrison and it didn’t need one.  The nearby foes were Elves and Elves didn’t form up in large numbers.  As long as there was Silok the Elven raids wouldn’t matter.  But now Silok seemed to be in trouble.

Recognizing what it had to do, the Orc runs to the Giant’s side.  It must aid Silok, because if the Giant falls…

Brennus’s angry mob swarms after it.  And… the mob is growing.  A few more show up, including the two women they met in the baking area.  One of them howls at the youth with the sword, “Hillard, what do you think you are doing?”

Hillard doesn’t have much of a choice.  Brennus knows why.  The boy rushes at the Giant, sword raised.  In stories of fated heroes, magic weapons, and monsters, the outcome would be obvious.  But that doesn’t happen.  Magic alone does not overcome strength and skill, and the boy is sent tumbling across the floor the same way Brennus was a few moments ago.

But the opening is enough for Heolstor and Petra and Leanna.  After receiving a few more blows, the Giant staggers, and sinks to a knee, and cries out. “No more, take my treasures and leave me be!”

"Silence dog!" Brennus thunders at Silok. He turns to the mob. "Behead this fool; he'll serve as a warning to the Hun and their lackeys. The time of man has come again!"

Turning to the orc he moves to slice it down with his blade.

In a way, Brennus' words echoed the stirrings of Heolstor's own heart. A thirst for vengeance, a desire for mens' place in the world to be respected even among the fae and monsters, a penchant for seeing justice as a greater mercy than kindness. Freedom for men, death to the Hun. If Brennus had not said those words Heolstor might have said them himself. Yet, hearing them from the younger man's mouth - so full of vitrol, so empty of forgiveness, brought to light a dawning realization in Heolstor's mind.

It was not a comfortable feeling.

Still. The people of Aquae Grannae were to be free and safe. They could never be either while the memory of Silok still lived. "We did not come for your treasure, Silok..." Heolstor's sword did not leave his hand, nor lower from its place of readiness. There was, surprisingly, a portion of him that wished it would. Would not letting Silok live be the greater evil though? Allowing such a powerful enemy of the free peoples of Europa to escape to commit further atrocity?

Heolstor looked to Petra for answers, a moment of hesitation passing between them. Then, quick as it had come, his uncertainty disappeared - green eyes hardened, brow furrowed in concentration. "Face your end with dignity and go to your gods proud, Silok." Heolstor suggested, voice quieting as if to spare the giant embarrassment "This cannot end without death."

Heolstor motioned for the mob to move as far back as they could - to a safe distance, if possible. Then he raised his blade against Silok again.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:03, Mon 14 Oct 2013.

Silok offers grimly:  "If to the last, then to the last, I shall laugh in the halls of Surtur.  Take life, take treasure, you cannot take away what I have done!"

Silok’s title of Hunter was not lightly given.  The giant was cunning enough to study his opponents, and learn their weaknesses.  There was little left in him, strength enough for one last effort before darkness.  Heolstor was quick, evasive, and tough… but Heolstor had already betrayed how he could be hurt, and Silok seizes the chance.

Silok lunges at Petra, with all his remaining strength, hurling himself so that even in death, his body would be a missile.  The floorboards buckle beneath him as he leaps.  The Giant’s estimate was correct; he does not survive this last charge.  Heolstor and Leanna aree there, and ready, and they strike.  Silok’s body heaves towards Petra like a great ocean wave.

Petra evades the worst of it, but she is struck by Silok’s flailing, armored left arm, and sent spinning and tumbling over the piled furniture.

Brennus, meanwhile, attacks the Orc, accompanied by an angry mob.  The Orc, one of Silok’s henchmen, defends himself with desperation, cutting down two of the townsfolk before being overwhelmed.

Heolstor had expected the giant to strike out desperately at him. To try, with one last breath, to snuff him out and carry the Saxon with him to the dark. He had not expected the giant to spend himself with such cunning and spite... Threatening something deeper, something more central to his being than his own beating heart.

"No!" Strang cried out, body in motion as he brought his blade's bareness against Silok, piercing his side and plunging to its hilt... He felt the giant's body shudder and die... But Heolstor wasn't fast enough to stop what had already been in motion. His exchange with the giant had given it all the time it needed to enact its last terrible machinations before the curtain fell.

Petra! That single name lit up every corner of Heolstor's consciousness, an overwhelming sense of urgency chased by a shadow of dread. Even in death the giant had managed to pierce him with one more barb, twisting it painfully in his heart. The Saxon pulled his blade free of Silok's still form and rushed after Petra, dropping his blade thoughtlessly as he ran, unsure how badly she might be hurt. The moment felt numb.

The way she'd spun and tumbled through the air. It made him sick to his stomach with worry.

OOC: Heolstor moves as swiftly as he can to Petra's side. Once there, he casts Cure Light Wounds and tries to assess her condition.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:37, Mon 14 Oct 2013.

"Silok is dead!"

The words were shouted from person to person, rapidly passing out of the great temple chamber, out of the temple complex, and along the streets of Aquae Grannis.  No great jubilant crowds; there were too few left in the town.  But there were enough to hear the word and spread it.

The Orcs knew that the Humans were not mistaken.  They would not dare, they were not so insolent as to say such a thing if it were not true.  They also knew they were too few in number to hold this place, and too short of tricks and treachery to stop an Elven attack, which would surely come quickly, if their bastion of strength had fallen.

Wherever they could, they abandoned Aquae Grannis, out the doors, over the walls, like rats from a sinking ship.

In the temple chamber, the Giant's heart has stopped beating, his eyes are glazed over.  Nearby, the Elven sword whose arcane compulsions have brought only pain to its wielders, loses some of its glow as its geas is satisfied.

There are a score of local Humans here now, gathering around the bodies, and around the wounded, fetching food, fetching water.   Responding to an emergency is easy.  There is a ready, obvious answer to every "What should I do?"
Harder things will come later.

"You are free good people of Aquae Grannae!" Brennus cried out to the gathered mob. "Quickly, though if there are any orcs still living in the seat they must perish before they can warn others. This night is far from over."

Taking the weapon of the fallen Hunnic soldier he handed it to most martial looking of the peasants before turning to the rest of the mob. "Those of you who can fight at all arm yourselves; there are other dead Huns close at hand and their weapons are yours for the taking.  The others see to our wounded and fallen... a number which I fear will grow before this over."

He moves to lead the mob back out into the pool area to gather the blades of the defeated orcs.

Leanna let herself fall of to to her left side and grunted a little as she landed with a soft thud. Now that the adrenaline rush of battle started to seep out of her body did she fully realize the stinging pain in her right thigh.

After a while Leanna pulled herself up and grabbed a piece of wood to support herself on to give her sore leg some rest as she half limped over to the rest of the group. "Is she still alive?"

It was an example of how rapidly one's situation or condition might change on a field of battle.

Even given a foe whom was nearly done in.

One moment, they'd been upon the victory they'd striven for -- Silok nearly gone to that devil Surtur, and the people clamoring to regain rightful sovereignty of their home, and holy place.

And it had been done with all of them surviving to see the end; Brennus' injuries plainly needed treatment, but the Gods would mend him. Just as they'd done her Heolstor, she would see to that.   Just as soon as Silok met his final fate.

As the giant had implored mercy, Petra's grip had tightened upon her broadsword. They should grant none, to one of his ilk.  It would be a mistake.  And Brennus' and Heolstor's words echoed what she too felt.  Yet, they had to be careful.  It wasn't over...this behemoth brigand not without guile.   She wouldn't put it past him to make some final attempt on Heolstor's life...

And her attention was on Heolstor, when Silok lunged. At herself.  Reflexes honed now in multiple battles, and augmented by her Elven lineage, she managed to avoid being crushed by the toppling bulk of their enemy's body.  However, she was unable to get out of the way of his mailed arm.  Which smashed toward her like an oversized maul.

It was the single most forceful blow she'd ever received -- her senses mostly stolen with the impact. She was only vaguely aware of Heolstor shouting 'No'; ironically mimicing her own cry of only minutes earlier.

The next instant was a painful mix of rolling, tumbling, and several more impacts.   Had she been able to assess herself at the end of it, she might have considered the likelihood of internal injury.  Which she had in fact sustained. But she wasn't around for that...

^*^*^*^*
After some time -- impossible to say how long -- the darkness seemed to abate.   And, she was aware her environment had changed.   No longer did she lie upon wood and stone debris. Nor even the marble floor of the temple -- no; she was reposed upon a grassy field.  There was a wind that was cool, and crisp, yet oddly comforting.  She could still feel some pain -- but it was nothing like the logical part of her mind whispered that it should be.

She could feel her own heart beat.  It seemed slow -- and getting slower.  She should be concerned -- and yet -- what?

A sound overhead.  Like -- like -- Hermod?  Aye -- wings.  Great pinions.  Drawing nearer...had her steed come for her?

She forced her eyes to open...and indeed, a winged steed was descending to land near her.  Silhouetted against the sun, it was hard to make out any detail.  She squinted, tried to see.  The steed had a rider...
^*^*^*^*

The blood from the corners of Petra's mouth - her shallow, uneven breath - and diminishing pulse, told the story in the mortal world.  Heolstor's healing magic washed briefly over her, lending her body a little more strength against the injury sustained.

Yet this was no light wound.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:00, Tue 15 Oct 2013.

"Healer!" Heolstor shouted, voice thick with undisguised distress. "Find a healer, gods damn you!" His glaring eyes stabbed at his standing companions and the locals, equally full of pain and fury both as Lord Strang's carefully maintained calm shattered in the space of an instant.

He'd ran to Petra's side and tried to apply a healing spell in those first hectic moments. The seconds passed by in a blur, flying by like leaves caught in a stiff wind, such that Heolstor could not remember entirely how he'd come to be kneeling on the floor beside Petra's broken form. He just knew that he'd arrived there.

Now though the world swam around Heolstor slowly, each languid moment passing like a friend's sorrowful farewell. He wanted to tear Petra from the ground and run through the streets, cradling his fading love in his arms. To find a healer. Not to wait - to bring her there. To do something. He would tear this whole town to its rotted foundations if it meant saving her. The Saxon knew better though - to move her so vigorously would be a death sentence if the giant had struck her neck. Frantic action would only bring greater harm, an herbalist had once told him. Somehow through the fog of terror and regret, Heolstor remembered that much. So instead he'd brought her head up onto his lap, cradling the hollow where her head met her neck gingerly with one hand while the other laid atop her stomach. His fingers glowed faintly in the inner temples dimness, Heolstor desperately draining what healing magics he had at his disposal.

In their meagerness, he feared that all they would do was hold death at bay... If only his magics were stronger. If only he had followed his mother's path, rather than his father's. He could make her whole. If only he had took the road to Lingones instead. If only he had said nothing to Silok, and killed him outright without words or honor. If only he had let the giant flee. So many mistakes. All leading their way down a twisted and imperfect path to this place, this moment.

Heolstor's eyes fixed themselves upon the beautiful face beneath him, struggling as her chest rose in staccato rhythm, thin breaths laboring in injury. The peace of her closed eyes, hiding her perfect amber eyes, mingling with brows above furrowed in pain. Her lips - parted in unconsciousness, blood dripping from the corner onto her honey-spun hair. A tear dripped onto Petra's cheek, mingling and disappearing on her red-streaked cheek.

A tear? Strang hadn't even realized he'd been crying, but he felt the moisture clinging to his eyes now, blurring his vision. When had he last cried? Heolstor couldn't recall.

Compelled by a volition only half-understood, Heolstor leaned into his injured charge. Gently, moving slow as if to lengthen the moment by will alone, he pressed his lips tenderly against her forehead. Then he straightened his back, eyes still on Petra's closed lids. "The healer will be here soon," he assured her unconscious form "And they'll make you right as rain." Even as he said them, Heolstor wasn't sure who those words were truly meant to comfort. They felt like a thin shield against this storm.

Then more forcefully, but still quieted against the temple's chaotic movement. "You'll be all right, Valkyrie. Just hold on."

OOC: Heolstor casts Cure Light Wounds again as he calls for a healer.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:33, Wed 16 Oct 2013.

Heolstor’s call goes out for a healer… and none answer.  Aside from himself and Petra and Brennus and Leanna… there are only the remaining townsfolk.

The woman they had talked to earlier, Gia, comes forward.

”I’m sorry, sir… there are none.  We had… long ago, they were taken away, or killed.  We have some of us who know some ways, though.”

By that she means the sort of healing that the poor in rural places have access to- there always seems to be at least one older women, who knows the lore of herbs and poultices and setting bones and birthing babies, knowledge passed down along lines of women far longer than men have passed down swords and crowds.

Word goes out… “Get Verda!”

But in the mean time, Heolstor realizes… life saving miracles will not be necessary.  Through his own magic, Petra’s life is not in danger.

More and more people gather, and then... Hermod, who has landed in the middle of the temple area.  The winged horse has quite the effect.  People bow and pray to it.  But Hermod only walks in, and walks up to Petra.

Brennus realises he is losing the crowd and tries to regain some authority and keep forward momentum up. "The Hun." He reminds the townspeople. "We have to run them down while we have the chance; one less that escapes is one less that will be coming back with his comrades."

Leaving Petra to the care of Heolstor and this Verda he turns to the crowd and raises his voice: "Your leaders, who are your leaders?"

^*^*^*^*

It was a woman who stood above her.   Petra still couldn't make out an abundance of detail.  But she didn't need to.  She knew who and what this was.

Some called herself valkyrie.  Ha. They should be here now -- to feel the sheer grandeur of the real thing...

The warrior-maiden knelt, and very gently, took Petra's fingers into her own.  The rest of the pain vanished then -- there was only a supernal sense of glory -- so overwhelming, it almost made her weep...

A tear splashed onto her cheek, then.

The valkyrja was crying for her-?   Why-?

And then with a sudden jolt, she knew with certainty it had not fallen from the valkyrie's eye.

And she recollected with utter clarity why she was not ready to forsake her life in the mortal world.

Heolstor.   She could not see him...but she felt him, all the same. She knew he wanted some sign from her. She attempted to speak to him...but found she could not.  She had to do something...or very shortly, it would be too late.

Petra disengaged her hand from that of the valkyrie;  a very small motion, but one that communicated volumes of resolve. For one of her calling, such a refutation might have been tantamount to sacrelige. Be that as it may, there was no hiding or denying the choice of her soul.  Her heart.

The unearthly countenance above her frowned slightly, briefly.  Then smiled a little less faintly, nodded once.  And stood; turned back toward the wing-steed.

With that, the pain rushed back into Petra's awareness.   Terrible, awful.

But it was alright.

It let her know she was yet alive.

^*^*^*^*

Those watching might have noted Petra's hand move suddenly and slightly. Almost as if she were retracting it from something.   And then she coughed a little.  Her breathing became a little more regular.

Heolstor calms when confronted by Gia, putting away his worry over Petra for a moment and hiding it behind a mask of stoicism. For once, it didn't feel very effective: he could still feel the drying moisture clinging to his eyes' corners. ... But they had come here to aid these people, after all, not impart on them greater anguish. "Thank you." Heolstor replied gratefully. More could be said, Heolstor was sure, but those words were not at hand.

In Heolstor's absence Brennus took charge - not surprising, truth be told. The Saxon watched him for a moment as he tried to rally the crowd. In any other circumstance, Lord Strang would be with him. Ready to ride the enemy down and make their defeat absolute.

But, he couldn't leave Petra's side.

"Brennus!" Heolstor shouted, calling the younger man's attention to himself. Still seated, he reached to his side and unstrapped a second scabbard - one he had not drawn the blade from during their travels. The Saxon took in in hand and tossed the sheathed sword to Brennus.

Even within its scabbard, it was obvious: this was an extraordinarily fine blade of Germanic make. Something more was obvious. Heolstor was giving Brennus his blessing to bring this episode to an end. So far the Saxon had led, now he was trusting Brennus to.

"I took it from the Huns we smote at Beda." Heolstor explained. To Heolstor, this moment had meaning that was hard to put into words. Gundobad had once given him his chance. Now, Heolstor shared the same with Brennus. "It has a keen edge, but no name." The Saxon indicated with a half-smile, still weighed down by the somber nature of their situation as Petra laid still on his lap. "Give it one." Give it one, and win your glory here today, Heolstor thought. Mens' lives were stories and a man's true journey, as a warrior, must begin somewhere. Brennus' began here, as Heolstor's had begun at Lingones.

Heolstor turned his attention back to Petra, and he continued to monitor her condition. He was relieved to notice the regularity and evenness of her breathing increase. Perhaps his healing had done more good than he had dared hope. The Saxon watched her hand move, as if fleeing from an embrace. The situation still seemed dire - but for now, at least, it seemed Petra's life was secured. For that, Heolstor was grateful to the gods.

He breathed an audible sigh of relief, wondering what offering could be sufficient in return for this mercy. Heolstor didn't know. Perhaps the priestess at his side would know, once she was whole again.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:01, Fri 18 Oct 2013.

     In the main hall of the temple, people are swarming around, some in wonder, some in shock, most curious.  It's one of those “something has happened” events that draws people in.  The call to find “Verda” accelerates the process.

Brennus's call for a leader is met with perplexed, worried glances among the townsfolk.

“You've killed the leader,” Gia says, after seeing that no one else had anything to say.

One of the boys who tried to join the fight against Silok adds a little more explanation.  “He didn't allow anyone else.  None of us... they'd take you away, if they thought people were listening to you.  So nobody here...”

He trails off and a young woman holding a baby picks up the narrative:

“But in Colonia, there are.  They came from there, sometimes, men who said they worked in the name of the Emperor of the Huns.  They told us what we had to do.”

It becomes clear.  There is no one left here with any authority.  There are a few that the people trust more than others, mostly by virtue of age and experience, but for a long time, the only ones imposing any order here have been Huns, and those in their service.

Hermod ruffles his wings, stretches his neck forwards, and makes a soft “hrrmph” sound, seeming to be paying attention to something else for a moment, and then plods over to Petra... although who opened the door for the Winged Horse is unclear.

Verda arrives.  She looks young for an “old wise woman”- only about forty, Worn, tired, as ragged as any of the others, but not yet gray or wrinkled.  She wears a necklace made of interwoven plants, a few fresh, some old and dried.  The villagers steer her to Petra immediately.  She looks with amazement at the Winged Horse.

"You don't have healing powers, then,"  she says to the horse after a few moments.

Hermod shakes his head.

"I will have to do what I can, then," Verda says.

Seeing and listening to the people, the party can tell, they are Germanic.  The place is certain Roman, at least it was for centuries and the Romans built everything here.  But the people are Germanic.  As the party would know, Germanic people have spent the past century streaming into the Roman Empire, in large part fleeing the Huns and other Orc powers behind them.

Here, clearly, they did not flee far enough.

Brennus smiled gratefully to Heolstor, taking the proffered sword in hand. "My thank you Lord of Lingones. You must attend to your comrade.  I'll see what I can do here with the tools at hand."

He raised his voice again: "I am Brennus of Belgica; my cousin is the Duchess of Tongrorum and for now you can consider myself under my protection and leadership... if you'll have it.  You are no longer bound to the service of the Hunnic Emperor; you are free."

He drew a deep breath trying to keep his nerves from showing. "We must send to the Elves and my own King requesting aid for in truth we will not hold out long without help. Gia, you are wise in the ways of this place and I have need of your wisdom - how much food does the town have?"

They gather around Brennus.  Despite the wonder of a winged horse, Brennus seems to have the air of "I know what's going on" which people cling to in uncertain times.

"We have no shortage of food now," Gia says.  "Now that we don't have to feed him."

She points to the body of the giant.  "And the Orcs.  They ate a lot, and our work was to feed them."

"How far are the Elves?" someone asks.

There are more people approaching the temple hall- but these are a pair of Heolstor's riders, and one is injured.

"The Huns fled the town," the injured man says.

There are cheers from the townsfolk, people embrace each other.

"Every which way," the soldier continues.  "Chasing them down would have divided us too far.  But this is an empty place.  Almost every home is abandoned.  How many people are left here?"

"Six score and ten and two," Verda says, leaning over Petra and applying a wet but  sweet smelling leaf poultice. She speaks without turning her head, evidently following what's going while keeping her attention on Petra.  "But that accounts for those I know are dead this day.  There may be fewer of us.  It will be one more next week, when Rosagund has her baby."

"I will do what you want me to," Gia says to Brennus.  "I cannot speak for anyone else..."

There are murmurs of consensus and consent.  Evidently, she does speak for some others.

Brennus tried not to show how terribly relieved he was things had gone so smoothly. He smiled thankfully at Gia.

"Well with the orcs gone our first priority will be to gather any equipment they have left behind.  Not simply weapons and armour, though they are important, but any maps and paperwork - they might give us a better idea of what we are facing. Do the orcs keep any slave camps nearby?"

Brennus was already hinking how terribly few his people were. If they could liberate slaves from the Huns it would give them a much needed source of manpower... and greatly improve morale. He was under no illusions that the townsfolk were brave and determined but against Orcish soldiers they needed something more.

Turning back to Helostar he glanced at Petra for a moment, then said sympathetically: "My Lord Lingones... we need someone to go and bring aid as soon as soon as possible.  Someone who can handle themselves in a fight and also has the authority to ask for help and get it. I know it is much to ask of you but will you go?"

Brennus learns that there are people held to the north, in a place called Juliacum.. in fact, Humans are slaves wherever there are Orcs, because the Orcs depend on Humans to provide food for their lazy hordes.  Juliacum is a bit different.. the people here think there might be Elves held there as well.  Elves are never set to work.  Orcs see Elven captives more as entertainment.

Brennus talks with the locals about the Orcs, and what they were doing, and slaves, and between what he already knows about events over the last year, and what Heolstor and Petra know, and the stories here, he builds up a picture- and sees how Aquae Grannis fit into the much larger scope.

Aquae Grannis is on the north side of the Ardennes, the deep and rugged forest that is home to the Elven Kingdom of the Ardennes as well as the much smaller Lucimburic.  Last spring, the Emperor of the Huns began laying the groundwork for an offensive designed to do two things- crush the independent, upstart Belgican Duchies and destroy the Elven Kingdom.  It was ambitious, but the two goals overlapped- defeat of the Belgicans would result in the Elves being completely surrounded by Hun armies, and the Elves could not be everywhere at once.

“Unforeseen events” caused the Emperor’s plan to stall.

Heolstor and Petra had been with the force that checked the Emperor’s advance from the east.  Heolstor had brought a force of Human warriors all the way from Burgundy, and along the way they had allied with Dwarves and Elves moving north with the same purpose.  Orc thinking simply didn’t allow for such unprecedented cooperation.  The Huns’ eastern force slammed into a “field fortress” created by Dwarves, something the Orcs were unprepared for.

On the western front, the Hun army cut through Belgica quickly, and then advanced into the Elven forest.  Here, also, Theoderic played against the lack of Hun appreciation for cooperative effort.  He had Belgican troops retreat into the Ardennes.  He had to overcome some Elven reluctance to have Humans swarming into their lands, and it left some Belgican towns open to the Huns, particularly Bruxzella, but it meant that when the Orcs finally reached the point where the Elves decided to stop them- Namaco, on the Meuse River- they were met by Elves, along with many Belgicans, and  Theoderic’s Frankish cavalry, assisted by a company of Centaurs.

Thus were the two main Hun offensives stopped.

Here, on the “northern front”, there was something of a side show.  The Emperor didn’t have enough troops on hand for a third major offensive, but the Elven kingdom is divided into “Marks” and the north side is home to the Mark of the Royal Line.  Where the Emperor could not focus his main attacks, he used “holding attacks”- raids and feints designed to tie up his enemies’ resources, so that they could not join in defending against the main attacks.  The goal on the northern front was to pin down the Elven King and Queen, and their considerable strength.

So while much larger forces met in the main contests on the east and west sides of the Ardennes, Aquae Grannis became the staging point for a series of probes, raids, and feints against the Elves.

This was very costly for the Huns.  One does not lightly raid into Elven forests, especially into land guarded by their king.  The Huns planned their “winter war” knowing that frozen ground and leafless trees worked against the Elves.  But it wasn’t enough of an advantage.  Hundreds of Orcs were lost- along with Ogres, Trolls, and other servants of the Huns.  A few Elven prisoners were brought back.   According to the people of Aquae Grannis,  perhaps ten.  And of course the Orcs told tales of vast slaughter of Elves… but who could believe them?

The Elves retaliated, but this was more dangerous for the Elves.  They killed many more Orcs, but paid for it.  There were several Elven attacks here, and one early on killed the powerful Orc shaman that was supposedly in charge- leaving Silok.  Still, the Elves were not able to take the town, and it is likely that they weren’t really trying.  The Elven raids stopped midwinter, when the last prisoners here were moved out.

But overall, as costly as it was, the “northern front” war achieved the Emperor’s objective:  the Elves here could not go to the aid of their brethren elsewhere.  The winter war left Aquae Grannis very depleted.  Only half as many Orcs were here as there were a year ago.  According to what the party recalls about the Elves, though, this is not known by the Elves.  Apparently Elven Reconnaissance has overestimated the number of Orc still here, and underestimated the damage the Elves had inflicted.

The Humans here know a little of Hun politics- more than the Huns ever thought.  They know that the Huns were planning on “restocking” Aquae Grannis, but there are some ongoing squabbles among the great Hun warlords.  Aquae Grannis has earned a reputation with them, a place of constant friction with the Elves.  Orcs enjoy fighting Elves, but Orc Warlords do not enjoy seeing their war bands frittered away through bloody attrition.  So there has been a lot of disagreement over whose turn it is to garrison Aquae Grannis.

Heolstor let the request hang between them for a moment. It was much to ask, with Petra in the condition she was. Still - Lord Strang saw the urgency and purpose clearly. Still, it was not an easy thing. He had duties long overdue among his own people too. Duties he had put on hold to lead an army North. Now that this temple was secured, he had thought to make for Lingones once again...

But these people did need assistance... And they needed Brennus to stay. A young man with vision, leading a group of refugees that had once been slaves. It was the same as it had been for Lingones. All but the names.

"I will." Heolstor promised. Binding words, for a man who saw every oath as an unbreakable pact. "In two days, at the latest, I will ride from this place and bring word of your need to where it must go." That might give Petra time to recover her legs. Or, at the least, to wake... So he could be sure of her condition before departing.

Brennus looked deeply relieved, and a rare smile broke across the young man's face.  "Thank you."

The noble quickly returned to considering matters with his provisional council of advisors (that is to say Gia and anyone else who carried weight with the townsfolk.)  "As I see it we should raid Juliacum and try and liberate the unfortunates in chains there. As well as rescuing our own people if there are Elves there it will help win the gratitude of the long lived folk.  However I know it will be no easy task. Does anyone present know Juliacum?  Even if the information is old it is better than nothing."

He paused thoughtfully, conflicting emotions crossing his face.  "Also... we should clean and reconsecrate this temple to Belenus, or Apollo as the Romans call him.  I... admit that I have not been a follower of him before but I cannot believe it coincidence that we slew the giant in the shadow of his temple.  The god favours this town, favours this cause and we should show gratitude."

Eventually, the entire population, all that is left of the people of Aquae Grannis, is gathered here in the temple complex.  They have no idea of what else to do.  The town was empty enough before.  Now, without the Huns, it's almost ghostly.

There are a hundred and fifty people here.  Woman make up about two thirds- there is a less chance that Orcs will consider them challenges, so they tend to survive in greater numbers.  About a quarter are children.  The children look weak and poorly fed, and the younger ones, having lived their whole young lives under the shadow of the Huns, have a fearful and feral look.  Those who have seen Hun occupation before (notably Petra and Heolstor) recall that the Huns frequently tolerated some continuity of the Human social order, and allowed some Humans to prosper.  Those would aid in managing the rest.  But not here.  As small as the surviving Human population is, there was no need for an managerial class above them.

No one has traveled out of here in years, except for a few, who worked as baggage handlers and drovers for the Huns.

A boy raises his hand.  He looks to be close to becoming a man, and maybe somewhere along the way to becoming a rat, because he is scrawny (but with a wiry look) and small and dirty.

He steps forward and speaks to Brennus quietly.

"I was in Juliacum just a while ago... maybe two months, when we moved the Elf prisoners up.  I was.. I was the only one they let come back.  Haldred and Vessy, the Huns thought.. found out.. they were talking about helping the Elves escape, and they weren't allowed back.. I think they were... we don't talk about it loud, because they were brothers, and their mother is still here.  But I know some of Juliacum, and a few others here have been there before me, but I been there last."

Brennus looked sympathetic.  He was not so very many years older than the youth himself come to think of it, even if his life had been far less hard.

"What is your name lad? And please tell me all you can of Juliacum.  How many guards and prisoners? Are many others from here?"

1. “Orreg,” the youth says.  “I went there… it’s not as big a place as here but its more filled up with things.  They’ve got a fort there, and that’s where the Orc who is in charge of everything between the rivers, that’s where he is.  We went there through Corriovallum, cause that’s where the road goes.”

He explains further.  From the sound of things, the Huns “regional headquarters” is there, safely back from Mos Trajectum to the west, and the Elves to the south.  It is a smaller place than Aqauae Grannis, but there are more people and Orcs there.

The most surprising part of Orreg’s description is the “Blackguard’s Quarter.”  The Blackguards are those Humans that serve the Huns.  They are selected from the Humans that are sociopathic and selfish, yet also malleable enough to be manipulated.  There is a village here built within the walls of a fort.  It appears to be a perfectly respectable little village, but it exists entirely for the sake of the Blackguards- for their comfort, because, after all, even if you’re a sociopathic evil traitor to Human kind, it’s still more pleasant to live in a Human environment.  Orcs have hygiene issues. They seem to live a normal life in this little village, but it is like a zoo exhibit- except for the Blackguards (Orreg knows there are at least a few)- no one can leave.

And one more thing.  It is home to a Demon.  A genuine Demon, summoned and pressed into service as the prison warden, because they hold the important prisoners there.  Orreg knows nothing about this Demon.  He just heard it mentioned, while he was there.

* * * * * * *

The people of Aquae Grannis have to make some decisions in the days to come.  Stay..or flee?  That will be the first.  But all that will come.  For the moment, they are going to celebrate this day without Orcs, with the dreaded Silok dead.  They decide by quick consensus that there will be a village feast- whatever they've got and can get- here in the Temple complex.

With Petra committed to the, perhaps more capable, care of Verda... Heolstor decides to help in what way he can. Still though, he seems reluctant to move too far from Petra's side. On occasion, he makes a point to check back in and see if she's woken.

During a quiet moment Heolstor finds Brennus and pulls him aside in private, intent on offering what advice he can. "When Petra is able, I must leave. I have been apart from my own people for too long. Lingones and Tullum both - I promised to protect and lead them, and I cannot tarry much longer here. I led an army North and shattered the Hunnic offensive into the Ardennes. They will not forgive, and they will not forget."

"With us gone, you and Leanna are the only warriors here. You must know that. Whatever enemy lies waiting for you in Juliacum, these people cannot fight them. The Huns killed the fighters among them and broke the rest - if they go to that place, they march to a slaughter." Heolstor spoke plainly. "Wait for Theoderic. Wait for his warriors. When they are here, explain yourself, and he will move with you." It felt odd to Heolstor, to now dispense wisdom as he did. Though the Saxon spoke evenly he felt clumsy as the words left his mouth. Only a year prior there had been a council of great men advising him as he began his tenure as a lord.

"He is a king, but you are a lord in all but name now. Explain your case to him. He is a good man, and he will listen." Heolstor clasped Brennus on the shoulder. "Let me know if you need anything of me, beside the delivery of your message."

Heolstor left then, to again check on Petra, and also to look into the matter of the medallion. Silok had fallen, but the question of his enchanted necklace had not been brought to its end. Was it destroyed? If not, would it remain in the temple? These were questions that needed answers.

Brennus reluctantly nodded at Heolstor's wisdom. "My thanks Lord of Lingones. I suppose it would be a mistake to move too far, too fast."

He turned to the gather citzens and rose his voice to let them hear him: "People of Aquae Grannis; the days ahead will be hard and you must be brave and strong. It will be very hard, but I have seen with my own eyes what you are capable of. If we hold - and we will hold - help with come. Tomorrow we will see to the city defenses, but for this evening rejoice in your liberty, rejoice in your victory, rejoice in the favour of your gods!"

Turning to Orreg, he clapped a hand on the youth's shoulder and gave him a smile.  "You're a bright lad. Think you can rustle up a team to drag that-" he pointed at Silok's prone body "-out of our temple?"

Orreg lets it be known that Brennus wants the body out.  People get to work dragging the remains of Silok away.  The Giant weighed as much as ten men- dragging him is a lot of effort. Silok is deposited in a field away from the town.  When they have the time they'll give Silok some sort of grave.  Not out of any respect for the giant, but to keep the smell of decaying Giant out of Aquae Grannis.

A few of the townsfolk perform some field butchery on the giant.  And this is not out of disrespect, but rather, from the desperate pragmatism that is the hallmark of the oppressed, who have learned to overcome squeamishness, when there is value to be had.  Bonework is a common craft, especially among the poor and "rustic".  Animal bones, horns, and antlers are carved into a wide variety of useful and decorative objects, such as combs, clasps, fish hooks, buttons, sewing implements of all sorts, and toys and figurines, and a wide variety of other tools.  Human bones would never be used for anything; that would break all manner of taboo.  But a giant... well.. the idea seems to be running around that some of those bones must be strong as iron, to bear that weight.  Too good of a resource to waste.  Some of Silok's bones go missing.


The people here can only celebrate so much- life makes its demands and they must be met.    But there is a lot of “what's next” talk.  Things are not as straightforward as it may seem.  They could leave, and try to reach Mos Trajectum- surely the Belgicans would have room for them to settle.  But then... how would they get there?  There is talk of a Dragon- the same Dragon the party was warned about.  While the Dragon clearly chose to leave a large, strong group unchallenged, it would probably not be so passive given a caravan of poor settlers- what kind of toll would it claim?  And they cannot take the roads.  The only road here goes north to Coriovallum, and there joins the main east-west road that links Mos Trajecutm in the west with Juliacum and eventually Colonia Agrippinia.  And Coriovallum is held by the Huns.  They cannot use the road.

As they eat, and talk, the idea seems to spread... at least for now, they must stay here.

* * * * *


Heolstor's eagerness to advance on Juliacum is tempered by the reality of wounds- he needs time to recover, and Petra, more so, even with the aid of their magic.

The worst of injuries, they both know, should not be healed solely with magic except in extreme circumstances.  Sometimes the magic does not give, but borrows, and for this reason it is known that the body must left to do its part as well.  It is not for nothing that Wotan's great injuries were not fully healed, though surely the god has the power to do so at a whim.

So they have some time to spend here, although they intend it to be as brief as possible- days and not weeks.

They see the people get to work, this time, mostly for themselves, although they are generous with supplying the party and the warriors.

Brennus keeps them busy and organized.  It is late spring, and there is lots of work to do in the fields, to grow food.

Within a few days, Petra is ready to travel again.  But now, there is word from the warriors posted as sentries.  Upon the very hill that the party used to look out onto Aquae Grannis, they now see... Centaurs!  A sizable group of them, two dozen at least!

Brennus had turned rather green at the sight of the townspeople setting to work on the giant but forbade to comment.  He knew what desperate straights they had been living under and how no potential resource could be squandered.

In the following few days he set up a makeshift town council to advise him as acting leader of Aquae Grannis, appointing Gia and (despite his youth) Orreg amongst others.  In truth he was growing anxious over the delay in sending for aid but he was careful not to show his doubts in public.  Morale had to be maintained. And then the centaurs arrived.

In wonder Brennus summoned his makeshift council to his side and walked out to meet the newcomers. He ordered the group to carry arms but keep them sheathed, so if it came to a fight they would not be entirely helpless but nor would they be actively hostile. "Welcome to Aquae Grannis friends... if indeed you be friends."

It was a rather reflective and pensive Petra who eventually came back to consciousness.

What had transpired after her injury had the seeming of a vague dream now.  And she chalked it up as such. But the fact that she'd come nearer to being killed than ever she had was cause for some thought.  On a number of things.

As a first priority, she sought out Heolstor's company, and attempted to procure with him what time alone could both be had and afforded.  She did not say a great deal; some things were better communicated without words.

Afterward, she set about taking stock of the current situation, and how she might best assist.  Tending the injured or ill was, as usual, a priority.  So too ministering to any down-trod souls who particularly needed it.

Beyond that, she was in concord with Brennus' post-battle assessment.   The temple of Aquae Grannis needed reconsecration.    She did that task very willingly, if the folk of this place were agreeable to an outland priestess performing the function.   Both Eostre and bright Phol were complementary to the Celtic Sun-lord.

As for the folk's practical approach toward the enemy's remains, she didn't begrudge them.   Her own people were a practical minded lot, as well.  Any northward civilization needed to be, with the hard winters.   As well, it could be considered as Silok providing some recompense in death, for everything he'd stolen by force in life.  It sat well enough with her sense of justice.

She was surprised as any to hear heralded the arrival of Centaurs.  Another curious race she'd never met priorly.  To be part human and horse-?   She could scarcely imagine what life was like for them.

Brennus formed his own delegation, and went off to greet them.  She trusted him to be suitably diplomatic, and gain allies, if possible.

Nonetheless, she stood with both Heolstor and Hermod, ready to mount up and provide cover from the sky, if things happened to go south.

"Have you ever dealt with centaurs, before?" she inquired of Heolstor, at his side.

"Quite a calvary they could be, hey?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:59, Wed 30 Oct 2013.

Brennus heads off to greet the newcomers and will find them in a new thread:  Aquae Grannis. 

For the moment, the rest are still here.

 Brennus's selection of Gia and Orreg as “leaders” goes unquestioned by the locals, who are used to accepting what they are told.  Yet, it was an act of expedience, everyone knows.  Neither seem optimal for the role, but then, optimal may not be available, and sometimes making do is the best that can be hoped for.  Orreg has traveled recently and seen a lot more than most here.  And yet, by his own admission, he owes his survival to having more of a “shut up and accept” attitude than his peers.  It's left a mark on him- though he automatically obeys Brennus, he expects the other youngsters of Aquae Grannis to treat him with the same kind of quiet deference.

Gia has more wisdom of years, and she has a good heart, and she even remembers the pre-Hun life, when she was a girl.  But her experience has been dulled by years of monotonous drudgery, the endless focus on making bread, making bread, making more bread, and keeping the people fed with whatever scraps the Huns overlooked.   She has little knowledge of anything beyond her immediate world, though she has faith and optimism that “it will be better.”

Soon, the group sees that there is a sort of informal leadership pattern among the people here:  although none have authority, they do know who knows what, and they will defer to the person who knows best the issue at hand.  For example, the "guy who knows about making stuff" is Cergord.  He's and older man, approaching fifty, and frail looking.  But he's the best craftsman here. He's managed to produce an excellent looking fishing spear, a pronged, forked spear- out of a large bone that recently belonged to Silok.

* * * * *

Once the people here realize Petra is a cleric, (and Hermod's presence is a very good clue to Petra being “special”) Petra gets an instant following.  There is probably a lot of things people could be doing, but there is no shortage of volunteers for “temple cleaning.”

One question comes up:  Silok's trophies,  the arms and armor he displayed on the wall.  Some complete Elven costumes.  And that odd sword that had been charged with a  compulsion to slay Silok.  What of them?  There are Elven cloaks and suits of armor hear, bows, swords and other weapons, and various pieces of “field gear”.

Heolstor was easy to find, being not far from the heart of things as usual: overlooking Brennus' meeting with the centaurs from afar. For once he did not stray to and fro, consumed by the necessities of duty, but remained fixed. He said nothing of the events in the wake of Petra's injury. Nothing of his nervous protectiveness nor of the trying moments following Silok's fall. Still, relief was palpable in everything he did. As Petra met with him, he stepped aside to make room atop the ridge he stood on. A good place to overlook the proceedings of Brennus' rendezvous.

"No, I never have." Heolstor smiled. "We've seen many oddities in our travels, but I think even the two of us must be naïve as children."

Especially me, he thought, but said nothing. To ever think the world was ever truly as simple as I saw it. And that ignorance, that inflexibility, nearly cost me you. Heolstor looked to the Northwest, to the horizon, squinting as if looking at something very far away. "I gave my word that I would carry a request for aid to Belgica... But only once you were whole."

"... And after that, I think, Lingones and Tullum. We've struck the blow we came to offer the Hun, there's work enough for us in the South." Heolstor suggested. "But, what do you think, Petra? Have we done all that we should here?"

One other thing, definitely a priority I neglected to mention;  Petra will see to proper disposition of the remains of those Elves.   Either a pyre, or burial, depending which Elves normally do.  She would know from her mother.   And she will perform the rites in Elvish, asking for the blessing of Frey to see their spirits safely to their proper destination. 

"Almost," she answered him.  "I do want to remain just a little longer, to ensure the temple is properly cleansed and blessed.  After that, as for my being whole -- "  she smiled, shrugged.  "I am a priestess, no?  Naturally, I am whole-y. Oh. That was terrible. You see why I did not become a skald?  But, yes; truly I am fit to travel. And I agree with you.  The south needs us. In fact, Lingones is my true assignment, as given by Kandralde. There is the matter of the founding of a temple, there. I followed you out here only to demonstrate we Frisian clergy don't sit praying by the altar, while there are deeds to be done out in the world. I think I've proven my point, now."

She nodded in affirmation; moved a lock of hair the breeze had blown into her face, and that seemed bent on robbing her of gravitas.

Actually, it was assisting. Intentionally, she was doing her best to lighten the mood.  He had far too much on his shoulders, as was ever the case.  She did not want to be responsible for adding more to the load.  She already had.  Just as she'd reacted to the sight of his own peril and injury.  It was unavoidable.  But now it was over, she would mitigate as she could.

Heolstor smiled despite himself, in a 'did you really just say that' sort of way, rolling his eyes as a smirk worked its way across his lips. "I think you proved that long ago. Perhaps something else has bound you to this course." The warrior's olive-hued eyes looked to hers, quietly speaking what his words had left out. With a lingering that border on reluctance he turned his gaze back to Brennus' delegation, and their half-human counterparts. Only, wait - were some of those centaurs actually mounted men?

Even from a distance, Heolstor thought he could recognize those riders. Theoderic had arrived from the West. Was he then in league with the centaurs?

That would make them allies, wouldn't it? Yet another question that deserved an answer.

"We should make our way over, to see what is being said, if they don't start this way." Heolstor suggested.

Elven armor, weapons, and clothing in the hall.

(Assuming there was time for this "off camera")

Identifying the owners- to be more precise, the families and presumed heirs of the owners-  is not as easy.  Brennus is the only one present who knows much about the who is who among the Elves, and even Brennus’s knowledge is limited to those family lines that chose to interact often with Human civilization.  This was not a common pastime for Elves.  And not every Elf wore identifying heraldric symbols.  And on top of that, the Elves that sent warriors this way to deal with Silok and the Huns did not overlap 100% with the Elves who visited Belgica.   Only where the three circles intersect- Elves known in Belgica, Elves coming this way to raid the Huns, and Elves wearing known household symbols, is Brennus able to clearly associate outfits with names.

That gives him only two.  There are the Lighthawks,   for one. Not only the strongly geased Elven blade infused with a desire to slay Silok, but the armor that went with it- a suit of very fine chain main, with the metal links coated in some dark, smooth resinous material that seems to draw in light.  Brennus knows that the Lighthawk family has long supplied the champions and war leaders for the Elven Royals.   Lighthawks often appeared as guards of emissaries of the Royal family- that is how they are known in his region of Belgica.   At least one other Lighthawk had fallen to the Huns, because an Elven hunter, complete with sturdy leather armor, bow and short sword, was hung on the wall, and his belt bore the family crest.

The other symbols Brennus can identify indicate a member of the royal household itself- the Taurvants.  There was no body here, but there was armor and weapons on display both  of which indicated the Royal house of the Elves.  It must be noted, though, that this family is quite large, and no one recalls the Elves mentioning the recent loss of a prince or princess of their realm.  The extreme Elven longevity can result in six, or even seven, generations of a family being alive at the same time, and having living patriarchs and matriarchs in their midst binds together 4th-cousins more tightly than is seen in Human clans.  The Royal Family of the Ardennes has over 200 members.

As for the rest, nothing can be said except “it looks Elven”.  The armor, weapons, equipment and clothing left behind cannot be linked to any lineage known by the party.

Heolstor left Petra to the task of checking elven regalia against her memory. The Saxon knew nothing of these elven houses, beyond what he'd learned just now by way of Brennus' and Petra's knowledge. The place he'd come from was far and afield from the Ardennes: their elvish ways and society alien to him.

Instead, he left to see this delegation... A mob, really, by the size of it. Centaurs, franks, and elves intermingled with other curiosities. Like a water sprite, whom Heolstor found familiar.

"Perhaps something else has bound you to this course."

She laughed and smiled warmly, tip-toed to reach his cheek, then kissed him there.  "You are perceptive, sir, is all I will note."   

She didn't have near Brennus' knowledge of specific houses, only general about Elvish customs and religion.  Apparently returning the gear to heirs and loved ones was impractical.  It must be enough that she supervised and administered rites for the deceased, may Frey and Arduina guide their spirits.

With no more ado, Petra accompanied Heolstor to join the highly cosmopolitan crowd.

Hermod has no real part in big meetings.  He knows this.  He works on a much more individual level, he does not attend conferences or debate strategy.

But on the other hand... there are matters he has to attend to.  He looks out over the western fields as Petra greets Heolstor.

Is that a Unicorn?

Petra's attention is on Heolstor.  Hermod spreads his wings and in moments is soaring over the gatehouse.  He turns towards the west, to the low grassy rise where the Unicorn is waiting.

Time for a meeting of the minds, a comparing of notes.