[color=ed1c24][b]Legate’s Camp, Road to Indianapolis [/b][/color]

Thousands of crimson cloth tents stretched across the encampment where Legatus Aurelius had ordered his forces to halt for the day’s march. Such was the Legion’s drilled discipline, that even after a full day’s hard march, they were still fit and able to setup a fortified encampment in less than a few hours. Now, by late evening the camp was dotted with innumerable cooking fires while food was prepared. Each conturbinum was responsible for their own food preparation when the Legion was on the move like this and every Legionary received an equal share of rations which included a hearty portion of grains and meats. Great numbers of slaves busied themselves tending to the pack brahmin, distributing supplies, or fetching water while the Legionaries ate, rested, and regained their strength for the next day’s coming march. Some of the Legionary Veterans and Primes, their experience telling them to always think ahead to the battle to come, sharpened machete blades, cleaned their guns, prepared healing poultices, or sparred with one another in preparation for the fight that they were all heading towards sooner or later. The constant sounds of blacksmith hammers falling against anvils that reverberated around the camp as weapons and armor were being made and repaired were a stark reminder of that fact. 

The Legate himself, however, had other considerations on his mind. Inside his large tent at the center of the camp, Aurelius stood with his most senior centurion officers watching a curious scene unfolding before them. A young woman garbed in a bright red robe stood with her arms raised, a sharpened knife held aloft in her right hand. Before her was a brahmin bull, painted decoratively with strange symbols and held in place firmly by two strong Legionaries. The woman rhythmically chanted some strange prayer in the language of the Legion, while sweet smelling incense was burned by two female slaves seated at her feet,

“Father Mars, hear our prayers,” The Priestess chanted, “Accept this sacrifice and give us a sign of your favor.”

At this final utterance, she lowered the blade and drew it swiftly and cleanly across the bull’s neck. Blood gushed from the beast like a torrent, washing over her arms and hands, but she paid it no mind. The bull gave one final brief thrash of life before it collapsed on the ground. The Priestess immediately set to work, cutting the creature open and disemboweling it and further adding to the gore already covering her arms and legs. 

As the Legate and his officers looked on with apprehension, she wretched forth the creature’s liver, and one of the slaves quickly brought over a large tray for her to sit it on. With a practiced hand, the Priestess began to studying it carefully, lifting it gently and observing each minute part of the organ like it was a rare book or artifact. After some time, Aurelius finally spoke,

“What of the omens? Are they good or ill? Does Mars favor us?”

The Priestess of Mars stood, turning to face the Legatus confidently and folding her bloodied hands before her,

“Aye Legatus, the omens are good. Mars looks down on you with pride and blesses your warriors. So longs as Caesar’s banner remains raised on the field, you shall find victory.”

The audible sounds of relief came from the Legate and the centurions.

“Welcome news indeed, and what of this demon-god? Ug-Qualtoth? What defense can Mars offer against such an abomination?”

The Priestesses eyes darkened and she lowered her head mournfully, “Sadly Legatus, this is where I can give you no aid. Mars has shown me nothing of this demon. Long have I tried to read the signs for some understanding of what you go to face, but all I see is tendril shadows that obscure my vision. I fear this demon’s power is great indeed.”

“I see...and you say that as long as Caesar’s banner remains raised, the Legion will find victory. What befalls us should the opposite hold true?”

The Priestess bowed deeply as if in mourning, “As the standard falls, so falls the Legion.”

Her ominous statement was met with murmurs from the Centurions, before the swiftly raised hand of the Legatus silenced them immediately,

“So then, we shall simply not allow that to happen. We will be as Mar’s scythe and cut through the demonic shadow that seeks to choke out our triumph. Or shall we let The Brotherhood stand alone against this hellish foe?”

“And shame the Legion forever? Never Legatus!” Answered one of the Centurions. 

“Good. Then we march to Indianapolis, and to battle. Heedless of whatever fate may befall us. You may leave us now,” He said motioning to the Priestess, “We must make our preparations.”

“As you wish Legatus,” the Priestess nodded. She then turned to the two slave girls and snapped her fingers impatiently, “Go. Fetch some water so that I may bathe.” 

The slaves collected the still burning incense and scurried out of the tent, followed by the Priestess. The Legatus then turned to a hand-drawn map of the region that had been pinned to a large board behind them,

“The bulk of the Legion’s forces will continue the march to the city. However Severus,” He pointed to one of his Senior Centurions, “You will take two cohorts from the second Legion and head north to push with The Brotherhood’s troops in Detroit. A force of Great Khan riders will meet you on the road and will join you in your fight. They are good fighters, do not waste them needlessly.”

“Yes Legatus.”

“Once we arrive at Indianapolis, we’ll immediately engage the cult’s forces there and help break the siege. Once we’re through, we’ll continue our drive east. When we learn more from Vulpes’ frumentarii about the size and strength of our enemy, we’ll adjust our battle plans accordingly. Any questions? Good. Dismissed. Prepare your men for the long road ahead. Each Legionary must reach the city well rested and with the strength to fight.”