The troll stands slightly behind the human prince a pace or so to the side and rear in deference to his status. She holds a shield on her arm and has a kopis hanging from her hip and a Rhomphaia over her back.

In contrast to the bright and shining armour of the human she stands behind hers is dull, bronze greaves and vambraces, and a scale hauberk over her body, all of which is far from polished, in fact seems to have been made dull in some way.

At her side scurries a large redback beetle, its head and thorax totally red this colour running into a mottling pattern with the black of the wingcase over its abdomen.

As the human bellow his call to attention the insect launches itself aggressively forward, mandibles clacking aggressively, but with a low guttural grunt from its master it stops and backs up to her side again.

Prince Envoranus gives a quick cursory glance at the assembled troops and turns his attention to the table where he approaches Amilcar.

"Ah good, the new scribe. No, no, sit down, I need you writing. Are you recording everything? Leave out no detail, this is a tremendous day and all who are blessed to follow me, no matter how undeserving, shall be rewarded beyond their highest hopes. Great deeds await us, for thus is my destiny. (Write that down)."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:06, Fri 11 June 2021.

By the Ram's beard, I'm going to deserve a great reward for this!
This message was last edited by the player at 04:20, Fri 11 June 2021.

”Yes, of course, Sir, and most expeditiously.”

Amilcar set to as his hand scribbled away with a new vigor, the quill shaking in the air like a pheasant’s plume.

”…deeds await us, for this is …my destiny.” Golden fingers extended to the sky, punctuating “destiny.”

The Scribe paused, then continued, ”I shall record all faithfully.  You’ve a unique bunch together on this one, Sir. Your entrance just now with your Troll was the stuff of legend, if you ask me. I dare say it will make a fine story for the ages.  The stuff libraries are built on.” He inclined his head in aplomb approval at Envoranus, smiling wide, his quill at the ready.

Amilcar looked at Corolotha, then Hawendona and the warriors- then to the Praxians.

The Bronze scholar made sure his smile didn’t waiver, but it wasn’t without effort.

Envoranus nods.
"That's good. Resplendent as Yelm, use that.
Captain, are they all signed in?"

Coroltha replies, "Most, lord. There are a few stragglers. The wagons are loaded outside the River Gate as you ordered."

"We'll send the list of deserters to the governor's office and have that lot skinned alive. I have a few more preparations, we leave in an hour."

He nods at Wanakela.

Strolling by the assembled troops more appraisingly this time, he says "You are all in for a glorious adventure. All will explained when we are outside of this stinking city."

He returns to the palace.

If I had a clack for every time someone talked of the great deeds they were about to lead us to, I'd have already retired by now, thought Daranmon, wryly.

The problem with 'unique bunches' was that they lacked cohesion, teamwork, the ability to work together under pressure when it mattered most. It was far from a promising beginning.

The Prince walked past and then returned to the Palace. When he was out of sight Daranmon softly quoted the famous words of a revered, ancient sage.

"Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face."

"Well, it looks like our work here is done" Hawendona says, as she kicks the crescent shield towards Amilcar's table and puts her pack back on.

"Don't forget your shield, Master Panegyrist" she adds, slinging the figure eight shield on her back.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:52, Sat 12 June 2021.

Yes, 'this stinking city'.  Write that down, scribe.



"Was that Tysinius?  Anyway, I get the feeling this prince has never been punched in the face."  The Aggabortas responds in an equally soft tone.

"The very one. And as far as the prince is concerned, I can only agree. It will be up to is to ensure he can take that punch, or at least bounce back from it."

The small scribe wheeled around at the warriors, speaking out of Envoranus’ earshot.

Amilcar’s words were hissed rather than spoken, keeping his voice low as well.

”And who, exactly is going to punch him in the face?  You?” he jabbed a finger at the Aggabortas, ”You?” a golden finger jabbed at the air between Amilcar and Daranmon, ”Tysinius?!?” Amilcar made a mocking fisticuffs gesture with his hands that betrayed the fact he may have never been in an actual fist fight in his life.

He continued, ”Another famous quote from a general: ‘To lead people, walk behind them.’ If that Lord is punched in the face it is because you lot didn’t do your job.” a golden finger tapped his stack of papyrus, ”It is a scriveners thin line that separates a valiant warrior and a dead one. Often they are one and the same. You should be willing to to jump in front of any fist aimed at that Lord’s face.  And watch your tongue!  Are you missing the talk of crucification and flaying while alive?!”

The scholar’s eye darted from left to right as he finished speaking, though whether he was looking to see if someone had overheard them, or checking to make sure that Corolotha had, was hard to tell.

"'The quill is mightier than the sword'..only a scribe could have penned such nonsense. You stick to your records and fables, and leave us to do the dirty work."

Daranmon eyed the Scribe with disdain then turned to Zyxx and The Aggabortas.

"Come. We had better inspect the troops and make sure they're ready. They will need to be."

In reply to Daranmon (msg # 56):

Amilcar gave a squinting side eye to Daranmon, slowly raising his little book and violently scrawling something in it, never breaking eye contact.

Finally, with a self satisfied smirk, he snapped the book shut and put it back in his bag.

-



The shield clattered at the Golden Scholar’s feet.  He watched it, somewhat perplexed, unmoved.

”Master what?” Amilcar looked at the shield, blinking, bewildered, ”I can’t pick that up.” it was a simple statement of fact, ”Do you wish me to sit on it?  Like a sled?  Are you going to pull me?  Like a horse?”

The skinny, golden hued man looked expectantly at Hawendona, and, for a moment it was unclear whether the statement was made in jest, or was, in fact, a request.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:55, Sat 12 June 2021.

"Panegyrist - praise poet" Hawendona says, waving a finger toward Amilcar's little book.

"Let me share an observation about arrows" She leans her elbows on his table resting her chin on her fists. Though her heavy leather cuirass doesn't leave a lot of scope for cleavage, what there is, confronts the scribe at point blank. "The thing is, they're woefully indiscriminate on the matter of combatants and supernuminaries (people outside the fighting complement of a unit)." Her finger wavers towards the book again, as she smiles before adding "Same goes for sling stones. People like us, who hang around with soldiers, we're well advised to look to our own protection. They're really not that heavy on your back, and that's just on the march." She smiles again, straightening up "It's not like you'll have to write with it on."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:52, Sat 12 June 2021.

Coroltha looks over her shoulder at the exchange, and moves deliberately over to the stables. She speaks to one of the servants and presently the zebras are led out to the northeast. A pair of servants hoists a magnificent saddle of dyed leather with inlaid precious stones onto one of the white horses
.
Coroltha circulates among the troops and assigns The Aggabortas, Daranmon and Zyxx to each lead 9 soldiers, each group consisting of 4 heavy infantry and 5 slingers.

Each man or woman in the company is allowed to use their own gear, and otherwise receives appropriate kit from the quartermaster. Whatever else you may think of the prince, you notice that the equipment is of good quality.

The troll, who remained where she was standing when the prince left, has been doing just that and in silence, looking at Yelm as though challenging it to make her retreat to the shadows.

Now though she speaks up in excellent new pelorian "The human Amilcar is correct, your jobs are to see to it that the prince is not punched, or assaulted in any way for that matter."

"If you fail in this then you fail in your job and then is your worth any greater than food?"

The Aggabortas listens impassively, then says, "Calm yourself, scribe.  I did not suggest any of us would punch the prince, or even want to.  Daranmon speaks the truth.  The truth of the battlefield.  At some point, something will go wrong.  At that time, we must be ready.  It's how all of us react that will decide our Fates.

"The prince leads you too.  When the time comes, will you be willing to jump in front of any fist aimed at the Lord?"



Without waiting for a response from the scribe, The Aggabortas walks away and meets with his assigned squad, to learn their names, gauge their abilities and knowledge.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:16, Sat 12 June 2021.

“Keak…keak…keak.” Wanakela waves her trembling hand at her new friends. “I look forward to testing our abilities with you all.  This will be a magnificent campaign!”  She heads out of the meeting area, cackling loudly.  Then the riders mount their sables and get ready for the precession.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:43, Sun 13 June 2021.

Reluctantly, Amilcar pulled  out his book again and began writing in it, slowly.

”Ah.  A compliment then.  Thank you.” the scribe made a little frown, ”These are simply my initial, off the cuff thoughts and ideas.  You should hear my actual poetry.” He said it and glanced at Hawendona out of the corner of his eye, then back to his book, as if appraising a fine jewel.



Again, Amilcar reluctantly made marks in his book at Hawendona’s behest, intermittently.

Amilcar looked at the shield.

Unless the scholar grew a few new muscles immediately, it would be impossible for him to lift.

”While I see the point of your logic…have you something smaller?”

Regardless of what was proffered, Amilcar would only answer “smaller” until the absolute smallest available shield was offered.



Amilcar looked from the Troll and bug to the Warriors and back again as they interacted.  When they finished, he simply added:

”Yeah!”

The Golden Scholar nodded at Hurtzag, a smug, self satisfied smile splayed across his face as if to say “we told them.”

Hurtzag returns the scribe's look, and though it is always difficult to read the expression of another race, he might be forgiven for thinking it is the same look that a wolf might give a deer.

Envoranus emerges from the palace again. Coroltha rapidly strolls over to him, nodding at his instructions and at last saluting him, which he casually returns.
Envoranus climbs gracefully into saddle of one of the white horses. The second is led out of the stable by a servant.

Coroltha gets the troops into formation.

You hear trumpets from the Lunar palace; looking up to the balcony you see the Governor of Prax, Halcyon var Enkorth, a middle aged man with golden plaited beard and wearing the ornate robes of his office. He solemnly salutes Envoranus, who returns the salute, striking his right fist to his chest and then and then extending his fist at shoulder height, and holding the salute for a few seconds.
The prince begins moving his mount forward.

Eight elite soldiers of Halcyon's retinue marches slightly ahead of the procession, pushing pedestrians out of the way and otherwise making way for your troop.

Coroltha arranges you to march in threes, with each squad leader extending the line to 4 every 3 rows, and calling out marching orders; you are pleased that most of the recruits are doing well at this point. Hurtzag is near the front just behind the prince, Astorl riding near the front, and Blazik leading the prince's backup steed just behind. In the rear she puts The Aggabortas's squad, just behind Wanakela and the Praxians, Amilcar and Hawendona.

You file past the Old Gate, where traffic into and out of the city has been arrested for your passing, and turn southeast, along the Pavis Way. A considerable crowd has gathered and looks on with a variety of emotions, from awe to curiosity to contempt. and through a path in the Founder's Market, merchants scurrying to shove carts or roll up rugs full of goods to avoid their being trampled.

You file past the Seven Mothers temple, the priestesses playing instruments and singing a beautiful and eerie tune. Lay members, initiates and priestesses line the road to touch you tenderly as you march by, loudly whispering
"Be blessed"
"Blessings of Sedenya"
"Know her love"
"Be blessed"
"Grace of the Goddess go with you"
Their murmurs create a beautiful harmony that somehow melds with the song.

Turning northeast you march toward the meat market, the smells of the stock and offal becoming overwhelming as you finally reach the River Gate.

The eight elite soldiers steps to the left and right as the Prince rides through the gate. Soldiers are lined up along the walls saluting you and beating their spears on their shields as you exit the relative safety of the city walls.

Hawendona scoops up her spare shield after Amilcar has accepted the buckler from Colotha's supplies. She looks overburdened with her armour, pack and shields, and soon breaks a sweat as the column moves off.
On leaving Founder's Market, she gives the Seven Mothers temple and priestesses an eyes-left and a deep head bow. Whenever she is touched by a worshiper she replies "I am not helpless, you are not helpless"

Before the group heads off with their orders, Zyxx walks over to Amilcar and speaks to him quietly in a careful and considered almost monotone tone. "Scribe, I am a professional solider and so are The Aggabortas and Daranmon. I would like to suggest that respect is a two way street. I respect your skills and professionalism, and I expect to you respect mine. I know that The Aggabortas and I both put our lives on the line fighting the Sartarites gaining scars for it too as we defended our commanders. Please never question my loyalty, or commitment to the Empire."

He then looks into Amilcar eyes for a few seconds before continuing but in a more caring and loud tone "I would like to suggest Scribe that you do carry some kit for two simple reasons. One it useful to be able to defend yourself. Two when we attack our foes we kill the easiest ones first, this causes most unhappiness in the enemy unit and also most unarmoured folks are healers and mages that are possible some of the most valuable and/or scarce resources in a unit. I suggest you try and look like a light slinger so the enemy does not single you out. But the choice is yours"

Again he looks at  Amilcar straight into his eyes and says softly & quietly "If you want some training in martial skills, or even knowledge of how to read the battle field see me. I normally train alone at the start of each day as I watch the moon fade away."

As Zyxx walks away he stops and turns toward the scribe "Please remember that The Aggabortas, Daranmon and I are all professional soldiers, and we will always do our duty for the empire."

As the unit walks through the city Zyxx keeps a close eye on his squad. He is sees a few weakness and flaws, but none that need to be correct in front of a crowd. He makes a mental note that they might not be lambs. With a mild concern over magic he starts to repeat in his head the phrase "Blessed mothers protect us all"

As he walk past his temple, he looks into each of the eyes of the priestess that touch him and he nods his head to show thanks for their blessings.

Zyxx walks through the gate with the squad thinking I wonder what the grand plan is before return to his private prayer of "Blessed mothers protect us all".

Amilcar flashed an uncharacteristic anger, hissing at Zyxx “I’ve been in battle before.” as his jaw jutted forward a long scar could be seen traveling along the underside of his jawline. There had obviously been extensive healing work done, but the scar was visible none the less.

The Scribe seemed suddenly to catch himself, realizing the other man’s obviously more martial makeup, and his demeanor calmed significantly, ”And I hold my tongue for no one, Sir. I hope you are all good fighters and loyal too- I’m trusting you to keep me alive!” Amilcar leaned his head to the side, ”But…I will say, as far as the offer of training…that, while I have some skill of my own, I could be persuaded…to be more …committed to doing yours,” his eyebrows raised as the last words rushed out of his mouth as if dropped out of a bucket.



”We’re counting on it,” Amilcar waved at the man as he left, smiling.

-

Later, as the Crimson Avocet Company passed through the city, Amilcar waved and preened for the crowd as they marched. His smile sparkled in the sunlight and his golden features seemed to reflect the sun itself.

At least, if you were to let Amilcar tell it.

In truth, his enthusiasm did not match his station.  While the scholar behaved as if he were one of the coordinators of the procession, the fact was, he was not.

As the unit continues to follow the Prince, Zyxx performs a quick scan of the area. I he sees that all the "gang" are with the Prince in this procession. He thinks to himself Odd that we did not sort out the unit roles and objectives in the city. I hope this Prince has experience of the wilds as he should be sending those scouts off about now too.