dear_mun | (no subject)

[From this height, they have a fairly good view of the ridges and surrounding hillsides. Considering the view, Bennet lets his hand drop from the hilt of his sword.]

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.

Hm. You don't let any foe pass you by.

[ 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.

[To that he gives the mage a sidelong look.]

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.

I'm not readily ambushed, when allowed to work.

[ 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.

Oh? [Dark eyebrows rise in polite surprise.] You do have some proper field experience then?

[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.

[ Well, he needn't say it like that. Stratos gives him a faintly puzzled look that says he's not sure Bennet wants to know but has learned better than to say so. ]

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. ]

[Folding his arms, Bennet turns around to give Stratos his full attention. His expression remains coolly neutral throughout, save for that mention for 'tracking down and eliminating magical threats', which earns a definite lift of the eyebrows.]

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.

As you say.

[ 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.

And the promise was made under duress. None among your people would fault you for breaking it.

[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.

[ Stratos makes a note: the man's more self-aware than he may sometimes seem. ]

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. ]

[They move on that way for a time, the mage finding his footing carefully and Bennet pressing on ahead, swift and sure-footed as a mountain goat. The ground is steep and uncertain, 'tis true, but no more so than the Alps he spent much of his youth cutting his feet upon. They go forth in silence, Bennet clearly being of the sort of temperament that does not require constant conversation, until--]

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.]

[ Stratos halts promptly, knowing better than to add any noise. Instead he looks to Bennet, follows the direction of his gaze. Since he's not permitted the means to alter his sight or senses there's little he can do, but he stills, listens and breathes deeper, in case the wind carries a telling trace of smoke. ]

[Bennet is still, perhaps more still than he has ever been since Stratos has meet him, staring ahead intently. His eyes sweep over the desolate landscape, searching for any trace of movement.]

[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.]

[ He's starting to wonder if Bennet's mistaken when the voices become audible. Being questioned, Stratos shifts his crouch enough to snatch a look at the men. One glimpse tells him they're not wearing Stormcloak blue. He answers softly. ]

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. ]

Hn. [The terse grunt is all the answer Bennet is willing to give, as his present concern is less for the identity of the newcomers and more for their fighting prowess. For all their lack of uniforms, none of them appears to be a novice.]

[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.]

[ The trouble with this wretched province, he thinks, is that half the citizens look like bandits. This time it's close to call, but Stratos notes their gear and grizzled look and judges these to be no youthful warriors trying their hands as sellswords, nor legitimate professionals.

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.

[Was that the response Bennet was hoping for? Certainly not. If he smiles, and it may not be distinctly a nice smile, why, that's just because it confirms what he already suspected is all. And if he's quick to draw his sword, why, it's simply to be quicker on the draw than the cutthroats on the other side of this rock, that's all.]

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.]

[ Rather than dwell on the death that follows his word, Stratos takes the chance to properly examine his bonds. If his estimation of Bennet is right, this skirmish may not keep the knight's attention long enough to free himself, but at the very least he's figuring out whether he can flex enough to burn the ropes.

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. ]

[Bennet didn't just leave it to his word to be sure Stratos would think running a poor idea; he's bound the man's hands expertly, being sure to tighten the ropes just enough so that his captive would have very little in the way of wiggle room without causing him permanent damage. This was not his first time taking a mage prisoner, after all, even if it is the first time he does not intend to put said mage to the sword.]

[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.]

[ Times like this wearing plain old steel pays off. Stratos shuffles his crouch as if cowering, waits a beat, then lunges for his surprised assailant. He's trusting to surprise and his armour to deflect the knife. He can't hope for a disarm with his hands bound, but it's easy enough to grasp at the man- that's enough.

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. ]

[Even from his currently-very-preoccupied position, Bennet can feel it when Stratos pulls that power into himself, though he can't spare the time for anything more than a scowl before he's back to meeting steel with steel, having traded two opponents for five (effectively four, with one literally disarmed now.]

[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.]

Edited 2015-03-31 05:11 (UTC)

[ Stratos's smile sharpens even as that thump from behind pointedly reminds him of his peril. It occurs to him that there aren't nearly as many panicked voices in the air now. His momentary friend isn't wrong.

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. ]

[Bennet, meanwhile, is finishing off the last bandits quickly, no longer willing to waste time on them. All in all, they've been disappointing foes, not even equal to the Moors from his own world. It seems to him they are used to preying on unarmed or inexperienced travelers, and have little skill when it comes to fighting trained opponents.]

Tch. You're no more than common scavengers, aren't you?

[He directs this at the last two bandits to fire them up. Chasing them down if they ran would be quite the chore.]

[And speaking of chores...]

[A cry from behind the rock where he left Stratos, all too quickly silenced, encourages him to redouble his efforts, and in a couple more bloody seconds it is finished. One of the two bandits lies in a puddle of his own blood, head hanging limply from a half-severed neck, while the other is swiftly collapsing, wasting his last moments of life trying to gather his spilled entrails back into himself. Irrationally, Bennet has the thought that he the bandit should have the decency to at least wash them first, it is so unsanitary otherwise.]

[Then he shakes it off and comes back around to see what has become of his prisoner.]

[He is not entirely surprised to find Stratos both free and waiting for him, his exposed flesh now bearing the cast and pallor of granite. He lifts his eyebrows, seemingly oblivious to the sight he must look right now, armour splattered with blood and sword dripping red rivulets into the dirt.]

You were attacked. [His demeanor, at least, is back to its usual laconic manner.] Why did you not try to run?

It seemed short-sighted. [ He leans back against the boulder, practically conversational despite the green-blue glimmer overlaying his skin. He hasn't raised his hood, and the bandit's weapons lie discarded with their owner. He wanted protection, not escalation.

After all, he did suspect Bennet would notice his work. Stratos in turn notes his restrained reaction. He takes in the knight's condition with outward dispassion: berserker would be about the right word, if Bennet only fought with fury instead of joy. Certainly the mage has seen too much to be confident about dueling him. He just might not have a choice.

He'd feel much better if he were sure illusions would hold him. As it is the risk he's about to take sets his nerves on edge, the lingering charge in the air a promise of lightning. ]

And I thought this a good moment to repair our position.

Did you. [He asks, taking a step forward, and then another, dark eyes flickering quickly from that bandit lying facedown in the dirt at Stratos's feet to the mage himself. Even if this is to escalate, to come to blows, he will not act rashly. Duelling a mage is quite a different affair from duelling a band of ragtags outlaws.]

[He stops a few feet away from Stratos, just outside of his blade's distance, and sizes the man up. The enchantment seems to be maintaining, for the moment, but Bennet knows he can't keep it up forever, whatever it is. A spell of protection, most like. Even without ever having seen it before, the way it has altered the mage's skin makes its intended purpose easy enough to guess.]

[What now? If attacking had been the man's aim, he would have done so already. He holds his blade at the ready, not poised as a hunter over prey, but ready just the same. Better than most men, he knows how quickly one must move to beat a mage to the draw.]

And how do you intend to do that? [Perhaps it's worse that he asks the question so calmly, as cool and dispassionate as he had been when Stratos was safely bound, despite having fought with such exultation just moments before.]