[With a moment spared to take in the sounds of battle, it dawns on Stratos how many voices he hears shouting between himself and Bennet. How many bandits the other must be facing now. Two are dead at Bennet’s hand and two at his, and the archers are occupied for a spell- but that still leaves five, one of whom must be the chief. Bennet is frighteningly skilled with that sword, but still…]
[It’s true there is a temptation to abandon him. It would be easy for the tribune, his steps already silenced, to cloak himself again, slip away and leave the knight to his fate.. Whether Bennet escapes or not, the survivors would likely be in no state to pursue – or to face an uninjured and prepared battlemage if they should find him. Moreover, his comrades must be aware that he’s unaccounted for now; he knows they must be out there searching. The option is there, and he knows it. Except that for better or for worse, that is not the man Stratos Caelus was raised to be.]
[He glances back over the low wall of his post, and still hears the bloodthirsty cries of the frenzied archer attacking his comrades. They could yet spot him when he drops back down into the camp. He’ll have to risk their arrows. Stratos grabs the rough ladder and all but slides straight down it, armor rattling soundlessly about him as he runs to get a better sight of Bennet’s duel.]
[He may be just in time: the pack of reinforcements are advancing with rusty weapons held high. No chance for clever strategizing: Stratos gathers the evocation swift as a drawn breath and slings a ball of fire into them before they can fan out properly. One flinches away through pure luck, no more than singed; but the searing magefire catches one full in the back and splashes his neighbor as it bursts. The sudden screams don’t elicit so much as blink from him. The lesser bandits scatter in alarm, one beating unnecessarily at his blackened furs. It gives Stratos a moment to halt and ready his stance; beneath his hood the tribune’s eyes dart over the opposition and Bennet, blood-drenched but standing, before the survivors can refocus their ire on the wretched mage.]
no subject
[It’s true there is a temptation to abandon him. It would be easy for the tribune, his steps already silenced, to cloak himself again, slip away and leave the knight to his fate.. Whether Bennet escapes or not, the survivors would likely be in no state to pursue – or to face an uninjured and prepared battlemage if they should find him. Moreover, his comrades must be aware that he’s unaccounted for now; he knows they must be out there searching. The option is there, and he knows it. Except that for better or for worse, that is not the man Stratos Caelus was raised to be.]
[He glances back over the low wall of his post, and still hears the bloodthirsty cries of the frenzied archer attacking his comrades. They could yet spot him when he drops back down into the camp. He’ll have to risk their arrows. Stratos grabs the rough ladder and all but slides straight down it, armor rattling soundlessly about him as he runs to get a better sight of Bennet’s duel.]
[He may be just in time: the pack of reinforcements are advancing with rusty weapons held high. No chance for clever strategizing: Stratos gathers the evocation swift as a drawn breath and slings a ball of fire into them before they can fan out properly. One flinches away through pure luck, no more than singed; but the searing magefire catches one full in the back and splashes his neighbor as it bursts. The sudden screams don’t elicit so much as blink from him. The lesser bandits scatter in alarm, one beating unnecessarily at his blackened furs. It gives Stratos a moment to halt and ready his stance; beneath his hood the tribune’s eyes dart over the opposition and Bennet, blood-drenched but standing, before the survivors can refocus their ire on the wretched mage.]
I’m not interrupting, am I…?