Stratos Caelus (
auspex_caelo) wrote in
dear_mun2015-03-24 11:38 pm
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Any attempt to find a face for me was destined to be futile. I confess that your struggle has amused me: after all, appearance will always be malleable. It’s enough not to look like a child or a knight.
But since we are here at last, I trust you will confine yourself to worthwhile interruptions of my duties. Should you feel the need to waste anyone’s time, you have our mutual friend to call upon. When you find means to further the Empire’s interests, I will be waiting eagerly.
But since we are here at last, I trust you will confine yourself to worthwhile interruptions of my duties. Should you feel the need to waste anyone’s time, you have our mutual friend to call upon. When you find means to further the Empire’s interests, I will be waiting eagerly.
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[ If he glances at Bennet, it's only to note the odd ritual gesture. ]
You needn't tell an Imperial about diplomacy. [ It's murmured, hard to tell if his tone is wry or weary. His mouth does quirk at the next part, though. ]
Ah. Perhaps I should mention the risk of encountering rebel forces.
[ And bandits. And saber cats. And dragons. Maybe even Forsworn venturing northward. ]
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[He reaches the top of the hill and stops, waiting for Stratos to catch up.]
Thus far I have only encountered threat from the local wildlife. A great cat of some sort attempted to ambush me upon my first nightfall, but I drove it off.
[He smiles wistfully.] A shame I had not managed to cripple or slay it; a beast that large could have us both well.
[The mention of 'rebel forces' seems to make him antsy. The fingers of his sword hand tap his thigh impatiently.]
These rebels you speak of; how numerous are they? Are they well-armed?
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[ Stratos glances at him and nods a little in acknowledgment. Perhaps it's a blessing the only one with a sword is well able to use it. A mixed blessing, to be sure...
As promised, he doesn't struggle to find his footing, though he keeps his eyes on the ground as he makes it up the hill. At the top he stops to scan the view while he answers. ]
This far west they shouldn't be too numerous. Small scouting camps, at most. Their swords and axes are good Nord steel, however - and they know very well how to use them.
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Know you where they might be like to set up such camps? If you can instruct me on how to spot them, it would be child's play to infiltrate one under the cover of night and kill the party within before they had sufficient time to ready themselves.
[He speaks with the easy confidence of a man who has done precisely that before.]
I can outfight any vagabond in single combat. It is only their numbers that we need fear.
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[ He studies the way ahead. ] They'll seek sheltered ground, though not overhung or closed in. Better to scatter in this terrain than to let themselves be bottled. I'd expect them to keep their backs to a ridge, preferably on a slope with good cover.
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Would you prefer to be ambushed and slain instead?
[Listening carefully, he lifts a hand to his chin and smiles.]
Ah, they do not think so differently from the English then. 'Tis a strategy I am more used to having used by friends than foes, but I know it well. And they are used to looking out for the threat of your Legionnaires, aye? A single man they would not expect, for they would themselves consider such suicide.
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[ There really isn't much to choose from between Bennet and the Stormcloaks. ]
They'd consider it an excellent death. [ A slight smile, at that, before he concedes. ] But you may be right. Of all the threats they'll watch for, that one is unlikely.
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[That is... not entirely unexpected, given how sure-footed his captive has been thus far, but still interesting to have confirmed.]
Tell me of it.
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Four years as an auxiliary in Cyrodiil; six hunting bandits and a few would-be warlords in the kingdoms of High Rock. The last two, working with a mounted unit to track down and eliminate magical threats.
[ The irony doesn't escape him. He keeps an eye on the knight's expression as he goes on. The way he reacted to simple spells, Stratos isn't sure of the reaction this will receive. ]
I have enchanted weapons, cleared rockfalls, healed wounds and lit signal fires. I've warded arrows from my comrades, stood night watch; fought rebels, common thugs and rogue mages. Primarily, of course, I've cleaned armour.
[ There are curses that cannot be escaped, no matter your rank or specialisation. ]
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If I am to believe this, Stratos Caelus, then it seems you have a fair bit of field experience indeed. And if so, then you would be far more able to assist me were I to free you.
[The observation is calm, dispassionate, without trace of apparent suspicion yet save in the slight flicker of his mouth. It is pointed, though, the way he does not refer to the mage's claimed rank.]
Of course, were I to free you, you would also be able to act in other ways. Perhaps to warn these rebels, if they indeed be rebels at all. Or perhaps to run away in the dead of night, or even restrain me as I sleep.
[He taps one finger against the pommel of his sword. Despite his words, his tone remains even-tempered.]
So tell me, Stratos Caelus, why should I free you? Your allegiance is to your Legion. I fault you not for it, but as a stranger in a land not my own and without allies, I must safeguard myself. [Letting out his breath in a soft sigh, he shakes his head regretfully but firmly.] No, your present level of service is enough. I will not require your assistance to overcome these vagabonds of yours, merely to identify them.
Though I will be sure to permit you to clean my armour when the fighting is done.
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[ If the knight thinks he's lying to talk his way out of the bonds, well, Stratos betrays no disappointment at the failure. ]
After all, the only things now compelling me to aid you are my promise to see you returned to your people and, perhaps, my orders.
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[There's no particular hostility for the mage as he says that, Bennet just notes it dispassionately, as a simple statement of fact.]
Come. [Clapping the smaller man on the back, he nudges his captive forward.] If we're to find one of these camps, we'll need to do so before the daylight turns against us.
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Very well. [ He moves on, seeking a downward path that won't trip him too badly. The ground is pocked and unsteady, yes, but at least there's no ice to make the rocks slick, no snow to hide the holes, and he keeps his weight toward the hillside. Better a slide than a tumble.
He's not at all convinced they'll find a camp, but he'll welcome the darkness. ]
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Wait.
[The command comes softly, but he throws out his hand to prevent Stratos from going further, not looking over at him. His eyes are focused ahead, to seemingly nothing but more of the same: rocks, ridges, and barren ground. There are no unusual sounds, no sign that anything at all is amiss, but every nerve in his body has begun tingling on high alert. This is not the first time in his life he has felt this.]
[Should Stratos try to speak, he'll be met only with a palm clapped quickly over his mouth.]
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[And then he hears them. Voices. Distant, so distant as to barely be heard, but they are enough for him to yank Stratos roughly behind the nearest cover, a boulder of sufficient size to hide them both, and for his other hand to go to his sword. The voices become more distinct as their owners grow closer, talking amongst themselves, all male. He holds his breath and waits.]
[Then, finally, they round from behind a ledge and into view. Men. Three of them, each armed, each seemingly without a care in the world. He doesn't recognize their vestments at all, but they don't seem to be uniforms, nor are the men moving with anything approaching the discipline he would expect of a proper fighting unit.]
Those men. Are they the rebels that you spoke of? Bandits? Something else? [His voice is low, almost a whisper, but fiercely insistent.]
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Not rebels. Bandits, possibly - or merely adventurers. [ There's a fine distinction sometimes, but he's not willing to set the knight on a bunch of honest-ish Nords out on a legitimate job.
That in mind he moves to take another look, listening closely. Bandits here have their own peculiar style of fur and cheap leather, based more on bravado than actual protective value. Wise adventurers tend to upgrade once they have any coin. ]
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[They're a grizzled trio, clad in what appears to be a mixture of leathers and secondhand armour. One of them is missing a hand, and another bears gruesome scars across his face, clearly the work of some large animal. Only one carries a shield, a wooden thing; the other two bears arms only. An axe and two maces between them, Bennet counts. They look capable of holding their own in a fight, but he'd trust none of them with his back.]
... so then I says, I says, 'pass me another girl, orc, this one's split!! [This comes from the largest of them, the bearded one with the facial scars, to which his companions laugh heartily and Bennet curls his lip in faint disgust.]
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Stendarr knows he's not prejudiced by any response to their sense of humour. Nor any personal grudge he might bear against outlaws. Not at all.
He settles back, expression cool. ] Bandits.
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Stay here. [He fixes the mage with a glare, just a moment's pause to warn him not to run, and then he's scurrying up the rock, holding his sword in one hand and pulling himself up where needed. He doesn't even look back to be sure that Stratos is doing as he has been bid, instead focusing entirely on the prey before him.]
[And the prey knows a predator is afoot. The moment he drew his sword they stopped, and halfway up the rocks one of them calls out:] 'ey, anybody there? You'd best just come right out, you don't want to-- AH!
[That cry quickly becomes an agonized shriek, almost certainly came because of Bennet's having leapt down from the rock and cutting him open like a kidney pie. The other two bandits aren't dumb enough to waste words; they just draw their steel and charge, yelling.]
[Seeing them coming, Bennet grins. Finally.]
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Then, he shifts again, trying to get a look at how his captor really handles himself. And keep a lookout for any more bandits drawn by those battle cries. If he can't work free he really doesn't want Bennet to fall... though he could still handle one bandit, if they stumble on him. ]
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[He is adeptly handling both the remaining bandits at once now, scarcely even paying any mind to the answering battle cries that have sounded to his left, and he doesn't even just look confident, he looks downright happy, almost seeming to draw energy from each clash of steel against steel. The bandits with their one-handed weapons should have the advantage, but the difference in strength and skill is too great for them to close. The bandit with the short sword grows frantic with his thrusts, clearly not enthused about losing his other hand, but he soon loses more when he oversteps one too many times and Bennet cleaves not just hand but his entire arm clean off... or rather, bloody off, since the wound is anything but clean.]
[And any further observation will have to wait, for now one of the bandits answering the cries of their brothers rounds back around the rock, clearly hoping to hide from Bennet, only to break into a wide, gap-toothed grin at what he finds.] Aaaah, whadda we have here, eh? A little lost legionnaire? You picked a bad time to get lost, friend.
[Anticipating an easy kill while his friends struggle to bring down the big knight, the bandit draws a dagger and advances on Stratos.]
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There's no light-show this time, no sparks or sound. Just the soft swish of power as he grasps the man's mind with his own will and soothes it. From the bandit's perspective, nothing noticeably changes - there's just the sure sense that actually, everything's fine. Sure, it sounds like there's a fight going on nearby - but he's found his buddy right here, hasn't he? There's nothing to worry about!
Stratos gives it a second - until the man babbles about ditching this lousy mess - before stepping away and giving him a smile. In his best Bruma accent: ] Sure. Hey, pal, lend me a hand with that knife of yours...
[ Yes, he's mimicking his little brother. No-one must ever know. ]
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[As for Stratos's bandit, he has neither Bennet's senses nor his acuity, and the moment the mage grasps his neck and skin touches skin, that's it, he's lost. The spell sweeps over his mind without any resistance at all, his leer shifting seamlessly into at first glassy-eyed senselesness and then a determined frown, stepping in front of the man he'd just moments ago been intent on disemboweling.]
C'mon, old buddy, we gotta get outta here, like, yesterday! That guy they're fighting is a berserker, or a monster, or something, lookit what he just did to Eron!
[Stratos's words take a moment for him to process, either because of the spell or just because this fellow's not the brightest star in the night sky, and then he's nodding quickly, eagerly even, leaning in with his knife to cut Stratos loose.]
Right, sure, whatever, let's just move it!
[As if to punctuate the bandit's terror, there's a wet thump from the other side of the rock, as though a body were very violently slammed into it just now. Which is exactly what happened, of course. Three bandits down on Bennet's end, two more for him to go.]
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Which means there isn't much time. He eyes the bandit. ]
You go. [ He presses a hand almost to the man's chest and looses a lightning bolt. It's not the most honourable way, to kill a man under his influence, but it is at least kinder than fire.
No, he's not running. That would make the situation too simple, forcing Bennet to hunt him down among the rocks and hills and feel perfectly justified in defending himself. Once he's dealt with the bandit he'll don a stoneflesh spell as fast as he can, and wait. Bennet's like to find the mage exactly where he was left. ]
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