(no subject)

[auspex_caelo]

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.

Comments

[zealots]

[Orcs don't exist in the world that Bennet calls home, so when he leaps down from the rocks and finds himself faced with one, he's taken aback for the briefest of moments. But then the grey-skinned creature is swinging its greataxe at him and discipline takes over as the knight dodges back and circles around the hulking chieftain, aiming to take advantage of his greater speed and the slower swing of his enemy's weapon. This orc is chief here for a reason, though, and for the first time Bennet finds himself faced with an opponent equal to his own ability. He feels the now-familiar tingle of Stratos drawing on his magic, but preoccupied as he is there's no opportunity for him to see what the mage is doing. Metal screams on metal as the finely-wrought Damascus steel of Bennet's sword lands a quick thrust, punching just through the Orsimer armor but failing to penetrate through to the flesh beneath.]

[This won't be a battle he will win easily. Knowing he doesn't have the strength to meet that greataxe in direct combat, Bennet takes to circling his foe, stabbing at any gaps in the armor that he can see, then darting back to avoid the greataxe's swing, forcing the orcish chieftain to keep turning and turning just to keep him in his sights. Back and forth they go and Bennet senses that it is working, the orc seems to be moving a little slower and his greataxe isn't rising quite so high when he raises it to swing. But their clash has more than attracted the rest of the camp's attention by now, and while no arrows seem to be flying his way he can hear the sound of boots on dirt as the bandits not otherwise distracted rush to help their leader.]

[Bennet grimaces, breath hissing between his teeth. Against the chieftain alone he could have kept this up but if he remains locked in this combat he will be a dead man. Against his warrior's urge to see the chieftain on his back he forces himself to break away, just in time to meet one, then two of the bandit reinforcements, greasy humans each armed with iron maces. They swing at him, hoping to trap him between them, but as with their chieftain he dodges their blows, moving to the right so that the sun is at his back and swinging his blade sideways to take off top of the closer bandit's head, splattering the other bandit and Bennet himself in a splatter of blood and brains.]

[Three bandits are now two, but the dead one bought his chieftain time to recover, and Bennet can hear still more coming. Skilled though he is, he might not survive this without some assistance from the unseen Stratos.]

[auspex_caelo]

[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.]

I’m not interrupting, am I…?