[center][h2][b]The Amalian Quarter, Tautom[/b][/h2][/center] Quintus stepped out his manor, his boots tapped on the worn down cobblestone as he took in the warm air. Dressed in drab brown clothes and a worn travelling cloak, he looked nothing like his usual proud, armoured self. Behind him was a soldier, dressed in shining, but scratched Lamellar mail. The bright red crest on his helmet indicated his status as an officer. Following close behind Quintus with a wax pad, scribbling down notes. [i]“-And the fourth. I want their best equipment from their armoury, don’t let anyone near it. They’re to be replaced with the old kit. It’s a waste not to use it when we have more loyal and effective soldiers in the second. Understood?” [/i] [i]“Yes sir.”[/i] They walked through the busy, hustling streets of the Amalian Quarter. They were overcrowded, sewage running down the sides of the cobblestone street, with crude timber and stone buildings packed so closely together even a small spark could risk setting the entire quarter ablaze, yet none of this seemed to worry the inhabitants who had become desensitized to their surroundings. [i]“Give the best Lamellar Mail, swords and shields to the second’s armoury, that’ll teach those plebeians a lesson until they can keep their kit in better order.”[/i] The officer hurriedly notched the notes down, struggling to avoid a beggar lying in the street as they walked, the Amalian quarter was cramped, bitter and overpopulated, but it had become a way of life for them. [i]“That’s it for today. I’m riding outside the walls to personally invite some extended family members into the city for the wedding. The wife [b]insists[/b]. Your final job is to inspect the second. If you suspect anyone of being lazy, undisciplined or worse… Disloyal. Move them to the fourth. Got that?”[/i] [i]“To the fourth. Understood.”[/i] [i]“We’ll get them in shape, God grant me strength…”[/i] Quintus muttered under his breath as he approached a horse, already saddled and ready to go. Putting one foot in the stirrup, he hauled himself up in a smooth and practised motion. [i]“Dismissed Arminius. I should be back before Noon tomorrow. If i’m not, send out a patrol.”[/i] Pressing a fist to his chest, he nodded to the officer who responded in kind, before disappearing in the crowded streets, the deep red crest still visible above their heads. Clicking his tongue, Quintus looked thoughtfully over the streets, thoughts played through his mind, the legacy of his once proud people reduced to refugees in Tautom, the whispers of war and strife from travellers, to the city’s defeat at the hand of the Chlotars. Finally, he drove his heels into the flanks of his horse, heading out Tautom’s gate with a determined expression. [center][b]Aemoot, a Baltian village [i]two kilometres[/i] to the west of Tautom[/b][/center] [center][hider=Tavern Reference][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/DPlqE7I.jpg[/img][/center][/hider][/center] [i]“Coin fer my services boss?”[/i] A youth called out, resting against a set of wooden poles driven into the mud and dirt outside a tavern, looked not much better than the muck he was trying to avoid. Quintus glared at him, before sighing. Producing a coin, he tossed it to the youth before dismounting, handing him the reins. [i]“If she’s clean and fed when I’m done, I’ll give you more of that.”[/i] Looking around properly, he took in his surroundings. A crude, simple village. It’s roads were dirt, mostly mud from the constant passage of carts and horses. Timber frames and wooden walls dominated the village, but the streets were wider than the Amalian Quarter, giving him a sense of relief as he finally turned to the large thatched building that dominated the street. The youth offered a crooked and yellowed smile, nodding as he tied the horse to one of the poles. Looking up to the tavern, Quintus inspected the sign verifying it matched the name, ‘Odovakre’s Rest’, that had been written on the small scrap of paper he’d received. Even so, he hesitated, and couldn’t help but wonder ‘Why here?’ He didn’t entertain the thought for long, stepping towards the tavern, he adjusted his cloak and the sword hidden beneath its confines, before reaching out to open the heavy door of the building. From where he had taken a seat in the smoky confines of the tavern the sound of a door being pulled open, doubtlessly the front from its volume, could be heard over the bubbling voices and occasional cheering of patrons. At once he recognised the man stepping through, and it would seem he him as the eyes of Vetericus and Quintus briefly met -- in his eyes Vetericus recognised the same grim determination he had witnessed a year ago. [center][h3][i]A year prior on the fringes of Baltia.[/i][/h3][/center] [color=007236][i]A small skirmish, a small fight between a few hundred men. It never left the field blood red, coated in mud and gore. It certainly hadn’t prepared Quintus for a pitched battle. His past victories felt meaningless, and indeed they were as he knelt on the cold, damp earth, the cacophony of screams and wails of dying men. The pleading cries of those who were dead, but simply hadn’t realised it yet. He looked around, struggling to blink past grime that coated his face. All he could see was bodies. Swords. Spears. Bodies contorted in their death throes, some with the weapons that had taken them still cleft in their bones. They said war was glorious. Heroic. The shock was greater still when you realised most men died struggling to hold their blood or guts in with scrabbling fingers, then simply falling over lifeless.[/i][/color] [color=ed1c24][i][b]“For God and glory! We shall prevail this day!”[/b] Vetericus yelled, at the front and surrounded by his kin bearing his same red and black warpaint who scythed through the Tautan lines like so many rows of wheat. [b]“Show no mercy for those who stand in our way!”[/b] Onwards they charged as one, Baltavigoc chanting mingling with the clash of steel, brothers united and finally able to reach for the throat of those who had sought domination unearned over their home. Thoughts of revenge and a burning hatred inspired in them a strength far surpassing what their enemy could muster, making their way towards the banner of the Tautan General, Valaris.[/i][/color] [color=007236][i]Quintus looked up. He was surrounded by the Amalian soldiers who hadn’t routed, or simply hadn’t started routing soon enough. Each of them was covered in grime and blood. Usually their own. Some begged for their lives. Some were silent… quietly resigned to their fate. Fewer still glared defiantly at the enemy around them. Weapons were cast aside, around them, stood dozens of Chlotar barbarians, weapons pointed at their captives. He twisted, looking further down the line to the Tautom soldiers, where the center of their battle lines had once stood. As he watched, a barbarian plunged his longsword into the neck of a captive, who simply fell like a damp towel, fingers clawing at the steel embedded in his flesh. Quintus flinched at the cold brutality, wondering if the same end awaited him and his men.[/i][/color] [color=ed1c24][i]The other clusters of survivors experienced similar fates, a Baltavigoc stepping forwards to question each man of their loyalty to Tautom, and more importantly their devotion to God. The hedonists, those who perverted the sanctity of God would be executed on the spot by axe and sword. Very few were left alive. At last Vetericus himself approached the confined Amalian warriors, followed closely by several warriors speaking in low tones. He and his entourage stopped a short distance before the foremost Amalians, Baltavigocs parting to let them through. The great axe balanced over his shoulder slowly fell towards the ground until its head remained resting there, a loose grip kept on the top of the haft. [b]“Who amongst you can be called Captain?”[/b] Vetericus said in a tone harsh using his native Celesean, but with far less disdain in it than he had given towards the other captives he had already come across.[/i][/color] [color=007236][i]Quintus stared at the fearsome Viigoc warlord as he approached. Upon hearing those words his stomach sank, feeling the cold dread rising up through him as his mind forced him to run through every possible way he was about to die. Lifting his hands, he unstrapped his helmet, letting the crested helmet fall to the floor as he forced himself to stand up, wiping his face clear of the grime and gritting his teeth, summoning the last vestiges of his determination, staring Vetericus down. [b]“Me.”[/b][/i] [/color] [color=ed1c24][i]Vetericus watched the man stand, nodding as his helmet impacted the earth now muddy with blood. Of all things his tone softened, though it never lost its gruff and warning edge. [b]“May I have your name, Captain?”[/b][/i][/color] [color=007236][i]Quintus let out a slow breath, his eyes drifted down, looking at the discarded weapons, he felt his resolve hardening, wondering if he even stood a chance. Before the idea became a reality, he clenched a single fist, nails digging into his palm as he spoke [b]“Quintus Vitalius of Amal… And these men are from my Amalian Battalion. ...The ones who broke last. If you’re going to cut us down, I don’t think our names matter.”[/b] He forced out between his clenched jaws.[/i][/color] [color=ed1c24][i][b]“Indeed,”[/b] Vetericus retorted, eyes glancing around the surrendered men scattered about Quintus. [b]“Who broke last. Do you know what the men who stand beside me say of you?”[/b] Vetericus gestured with his free hand towards the Baltavigocs nearest him.[/i][/color] [color=007236][i][b]“I honestly don’t have a clue. I’d imagine that they want to kill us?”[/b] He replied, his eyes narrowing on the men surrounding Vetericus accusingly. He still could not shake the sense of dread he was doing his best to hide.[/i] [/color] [color=ed1c24][i][b]“They say that you and your men fought well. Bravely, in fact. Tell me, Quintus Vitalius of Amal, are you a man of God?”[/b] Vetericus’ bloodsoaked figure loomed menacingly over the Amalians, clear to all that the survival of Quintus was dependant on his answer.[/i][/color] [color=007236][i]Quintus didn’t respond immediately, caught off guard by the question. It didn’t take him long to think of a reply. [b]“Give me a blade and your word that your friends won’t interfere, I’ll do you one better and introduce you to him.”[/b][/i][/color] [color=ed1c24][i]Vetericus responded with a grim smile, the intent of which was hard to discern through all the blood. [b]“I think mettle has been proven enough today. For your men to follow you so well, they must share a similar conviction, no?”[/b][/i][/color] [color=007236][i]Quintus simply nodded, he shifted his weight, allowing himself the brief respite as his armour wore heavy on his shoulders. [b]“Aye. We are of Amalia. Our faith is strong… Stronger than some. Stronger than…”[/b] Quintus frowned. He looked back over the captive troops to where the Tautan soldiers were laying, executed mercilessly, realising the true weight behind Vetericus’s question. Immediately he felt anger and relief. Anger at the crude barbarity of murdering captives over their faith, and relief that his answer may have saved his life. Deep down he couldn’t help but feel that after what he had witnessed inside the city, the Tautans had deserved their fate.[/i][/color] [color=ed1c24][i][b]“You and your men may go free, so long as you leave your weapons. But be warned; should we meet you in whatever battle may come after, this offer will not be extended again.”[/b] The Baltavigocs did not move, waiting to see the reaction of Quintus.[/i][/color] [color=007236][i]Quintus stared at Vereticus, biting his tongue as he took in what was happening. Eventually, he simply nodded, reaching down to pick up his helmet. He ran a finger over a cheek guard, wiping the mud off of it as he looked up. [b]“I’ll keep this then.”[/b][/i] [/color] [center][h3][i]The present.[/i][/h3][/center] Vetericus pushed himself up, on this rare occasion without his axe for the sake of appearing inconspicuous. Casually walking past Quintus he pushed the door open, nodding to him politely as he would a stranger, expecting him to follow. Idling outside the door for a moment he continued on as Quintus matched his step, leading the pair away from prying ears and eyes. [i]“I was unsure you would come, Quintus.”[/i] Quintus looked the man over. He certainly wasn’t as foreboding as he remembered. He almost looked normal without the blood of his soldiers drenching his armour. He simply looked past him out to the street as he walked with him [i]“I wasn’t sure myself Vetericus. I’m surprised I didn’t turn up to see you surrounded by your soldiers. You must be serious about this.”[/i] [i]“Baltia is to be freed of the Tautan mockery that resides within that city, Quintus. You know them to be the festering rot plaguing it as well as I. I remember what you said a year ago. The means are within your grasp.”[/i] Vetericus kept his voice low, speaking as if Quintus was simply a friend he had stumbled across in the night. Quintus slowly came to a halt on the outskirts of the village, looking across the farmland that he perhaps in the past fought over, back towards Tautom city itself in the distance. He toyed with the sword under his cloak, frowning as he recalled what they had spoken about barely a year ago. [i]“And I remember what you said.”[/i] He furrowed his brow as finally he turned to Vetericus, releasing the blade under his cloak. [i]“What did you have in mind..?”[/i] What followed was a hushed exchange of words, a plan forming between the two. Both remained alert to their surroundings, careful to not allow any passerbys to overhear, not that there should be any real fear of that in the now Chlotar-held territory. As time wound on an agreement was reached. [i]“We will meet you then. Soon, Quintus.”[/i] Quintus smirked [i]“Soon. Don’t forget your wedding gift, aye?”.[/i] With a concealed grin Vetericus departed, heading back towards the tavern, leaving Quintus to return to his duties.