Behind enemy lines

[Eyvind Redbeard]

35th Brightening of the Fourth Cycle of the Month of Cryxatum in the season of Summer; Era II of the Celestine Mandate, Era XIV Post Fractum.

At dawn, North of Taralon.

A man stood over a hill watching the river flowing in the direction of the ocean. The slow and calm water running made him remember the rivers of his land and the mighty river Ioannes near Aelyria Prime and the small boats waiting for him nearby resembled the Longships of his beloved people. For his surprise he recognized the boatmen who would help them going up the stream as Vagarans, when he had requested boats and men to carry them to the mountains he never imagined to find members of his people, not so south of the Hinterlands nor in so great number. About ten men waited for him and one even waved when saw the seven feet tall red haired Vagaran looking down at them from over the hill.

Eyvind had taken the lead of their calm walk from Taralon to this place and his companions arrived shortly after. The Daekin pointed down and waved to his companions telling them this was the place. Some minutes later he was near the boats with the men who would help them go up the stream.

"Serale, I am Alfgeir and I am the one in charge of the boats here."

A blonde and bearded man said to him with a smile.

"Serale, Eyvind "Redbeard" Avornmagor, Daekin of the 9th Legion."

"Avornmagor? The Avornmagor?"

The man's voice changed slightly and the others whispered when they heard the name.

"Yes, the same...but let us not talk about it in front of my men shall we?"

"Certainly sire."

The man said respectfully. It seemed not all had forgot about the defeat of Antediluvian at the hands of Aeric and at least this small group remembered the name of Avornmagor, not that they could do anything about it. Respect was the only thing they could and would give. The Vagarans weren't bounded to oaths such as the one they had been in the past and they wouldn't mindlessly follow one just for carrying the name of some lost hero of the past.

"What can you tell me about the river, Alfgeir?"

"It is calm in this section but I can't promise about the others, the river is tricky and its flow grows and dwindles as if it had a will of his own."

Eyvind nodded and looked to the distant mountains, then to the hill behind him from the top of which he had just spotted the first of his men showing up. He waved again to them and waited for them to arrive to the shoreline of the river.

"It is time for us to enter these boats and depart, our plan is simple. Go up the river and split in two teams. Sword Daekin Cyrus will lead one team to the mountains and try to find a way across to the Orc city of Ire. I will lead the other team and find a route to Narim Castellum and then another to Ire from there. Spear Daekin Teig will follow with Sword Daekin Cyrus, so will Shield Daekin Durin Temira and Senior Legionnaire Erik Hammerhand."

Pointed to the human, to the shapeshifter Dracon and then to the massive Vagaran.

"Shield Daekin Morin Temira will come with me. The Mage Corps were gentle to allow two mages to come with us, Swirth and Kirthin. Swirth will come with me and Kirthin will follow Sword Daekin Cyrus."

He paused for a moment and then continued.

"Gentlemen this mission is of top priority, I don't want to see any mistakes or aside of endangering your companions you will ruin the whole war effort. The Legion is counting on you. Sheria is counting on you. The Empire is counting on you."

With this he reach for a boat and with a nod to Alfgeir pushed it to the water.

"Let's move!"

The mission had began, men being sent to where they didn't belong, danger awaited but they were Legionnaires, forged for this.

[Cyrus Marius]

The young legionnaire reached up and adjusted the straps that rested on his left shoulder, shifting them into a more comfortable position as he walked towards the boats. On his back hung a small rucksack with rations taken from Darkblade Fortress, spare and lean sustinence but enough to last him the journey, as experiance had taught him. Also inside the bag rested several tools and pieces of equipment he had appropriated from the Imperial storerooms, tools that would aid in his ascent up the rocky terrain of the Khardran Mountains. Over this all rested the legionnaire's Black Shield, a moderate sized steel round shield enamled black as night, and Cyrus wore it on his back with the strap across his chest. The added weight of his travelling supplies and shield meant that he couldn't cross the terrain quite as quickly as he had in his previous journey, however he would now be in mountains instead of rolling, open plains, and the need for haste would be replaced with the need for preperation and planning.

Aside from this, the soldier was garbed in two layers of the Legion's drab-gray, woolen labor clothing. The sleeves reached to his black-gloved hands, and the leggings were tucked into the tops of his thick, wool lined black boots. The emblem of the Imperial Legions was emblazoned over the heart of his tunic, but there would already be no mistaking the ten man team's affiliation or purpose in the mountains, so there was no need to sacrifice the warmth and protection of the thick shirt to hide the crest. No cloak hung from Cyrus' shoulders, for it would only hinder him in the windy heights of the mountains, but a black leather sword belt hung with comfortable and practiced ease around the young legionnaire's hips. On it, at his left hip, hung his eldritch longsword, Karvaaka, and at his right hip he wore a plain, non-discript dagger also taken from the Imperial stores. His mass of golden hair had been drawn tightly back and woven into a single braid that hung beneath his tunic.

As always, Pandora strode as silently as a shadow by her bondmate's side. Many of the men cast glances out of the corner of their eyes at the ferocious wolf beast, russet fur turning the color of blood in the rays of the rising suns, but none would question Cyrus on the beast's presence. There was something about watching the young legionnaire with his wolf that spoke of the close bond between the two, and though none knew why, none need question either.

To a man, his team of soldiers was dressed and armed much as Cyrus himself was. They had each benefited from the experiance the young legionnaire brought back with him from his prior adventure, and it would prove invaluable in the comming mission. The men each had only enough supplies to sustain their physical needs on the journey there and back, as well as the climbing tools they would need and clothing sufficient for the elements they would experiance in the foothills and mountains. They did not wear any cloaks or carry any superfluous gear aside from their longswords, and they did not wear their shields either, for that was for Cyrus alone. The young officer had spent many darkenings training with and talking with the men, his close ties with his infantry roots endearing him to the soldiers, and he had learned which among them was best suited to the mission ahead. Some had come from mountain regions and knew what to expect from the land, others had the skills and experiance gained through the violent history of the province, and had simply become very accustomed to watching the horizan for the hated Orcs. All had been chosen because of their skill and promise, but two in particular were very important to the mission.

Durin Temira, the Dracon shapeshifter, and the magi called Kirthin. As Cyrus strode up to where Eyvind stood with the Vagaran boatmen and directed the mage over his way, the young legionnaire immediately began to appraise the spellcaster. Kirthin was an Esh'lahier elf, and he appeared to be a relatively young adult, though it was often difficult to determine with the long-lived race. He was entirely bald, bereft even of eyebrows, and his elongated ears stuck up noticably on either side of his lean, drawn face. His expression was severe and his gaze held the intense, unshakable focus of the insatiable scholar, the man who was as fierce in his library as Cyrus was on his battlefield. He held tight to an ebony staff in his delicate fist, decorated with feathered charms and talismans, and topped with a crystal bauble clutched in a feminine hand. He wore thick, voluminous robes of black and purple, chastened with silver runes at the cuffs and borders, and an ornate, golden-hilted dagger was thrust through the silken cord around his waist that bound his robes together. On the whole, he was entirely unlike what one would expect of a magi in the service of the Imperial Mage Corps, and Cyrus made a mental note to question the spellcaster later in the journey.

To his amazement, Kirthin's bald head turned towards him and his amethyst-colored eyes locked onto Cyrus' single orb.

"Do not worry, Cyrus Marius. I will tell you all you wish to know."

For a moment, the young legionnaire only stared in surprise and suspicion at the magi, however a smile soon grew across his features and he nodded once in appreciation.

"My thanks, Kirthin. It is good to have you with us."

The elf mage nodded, then gathered together his robes and gingerly stepped into the waiting boat and took a seat near the back, glancing towards the grim and determined soldiers that filed in after him and took their own seats beside the Vagarans that would be navigating the river. Before climbing into the boat himself, Cyrus walked up to the Vagaran sailors in charge of each boat, and he handed each of them a copy of a map drawn the previous evening; a copy of the records kept by Ehrin Talinnar on their last journey. He then moved them all over to where Eyvind stood in his boat, and he addressed all three Vagarans at once.

"Here," he said to them all, "is a record of the Dark River, it's turns and bends, where it grows wide and narrow and where the current is strongest, and here is where we decided would be best for our teams to seperate." He concluded, pointing a long finger at the section of the Khardran foothills he and his companions had turned back from. "Up to this point, there is very little cover, so haste will have to be our priority to avoid detection. The Orcs have cut down the forests and the trees, so their scouts and riders will have ample opportunity to see us if we linger exposed. From this point Eyvind, your team can head south along the foothills or through the Great Wood, and come at the Castellum from the north or the east. My team will continue into the mountains, and we will find access to the western range. No matter what else, we must get our information back to our forces in Taralon."

Cyrus' sapphire eye rose to Eyvind's face, memories of their blood-drenched mission in Old Prime flashing across the young legionnaire's mind. The red-haired Vagaran had remained true to his principles of never leaving a man behind and had gone after the body of a slain Shield Daekin, however it had been at an increased risk to the mission, and had even almost cost their ally Kella Greeran her leg.

"No matter what, Eyvind, we must get our forces the intelligence they need to win this war. No matter what."

Cyrus knew he could trust the Vagaran however, the Daekin had always proven himself a stalwart and courageous soldier and his valor was beyond reproach. The young legionnaire softened his statement with a small, friendly smile, and he clasped Eyvind on his shoulder warmly.

"I'll see you up river, my friend."

The young soldier then turned and strode back to the boat that held his team, the Dracon Durin, and the elf mage Kirthin. He stepped lightly onto the shifting wooden planks and took a seat by the bald magi. Hopefully the details of the River that he had provided the navigators with would aid them in reaching their destination swiftly and safely, but Cyrus was ready for anything the future held in store for him and his men.

[Kella Greeran]

The woman barely stood out amidst the bodies gathered, choosing anonymity over recognition for her rank. It would be shown only by the scarlet trim to the longsword slung across her light pack. Even still her sword was hidden under a standard green cloak.
She wore an approximation of general attire in a nondescript gray covering Elven mail, with an Elven dagger sheathed in a band about her thigh.
A matching band around her other leg bore several throwing daggers as did a hidden sheath in her pliable black boots. Generally, the woman traveled light, intending to use speed and agility over brute force.

The blonde Vagaran was on loan to the group from the 4th Covil of the 26th Imperial Legion and felt any authority she could wield would be entirely unwelcome and presumptuous. She had arrived only the day before, and had kept to herself, save a visit to Eyvind's office. Even now she shaded her face with the cowl of her cloak and said very little.

Rank, Covil, proper assignment, it was all arbitrary anyway, Kella realized. Her Covil was a fiction and she had no brothers in arms save those she had made in her early months in the Legion, and maybe the quartermaster. She spent an inordinate amount of time with him keeping up appearances. The Black Bell members were sequestered one from the other in a sort of solitary confinement, consoled by their access to an array of weapons and armor beyond their pay-grade.
If spotted, Kella explained her mail and weapons as presents from a wealthy brother, or part of the privilege of working for the quartermaster. If they wanted to shine boots and sharpen spears for candlemarks on end, she retorted, they too could have access to such goodies.

As she looked at the familiar faces, Kella realized it had been months since she had seen one. Even longer since seeing either in proper battle. Each one, including herself, had a slightly different visage to wear when immersed in the business of combat. Eyvind had a more commanding air, and seemed almost respectable, even a little fierce. Frankly, she'd never get over the man's extraordinary height, she'd have to jump to say something in his ear.
Cyrus was characteristically stoic, but a new creature shadowed him with an eerie loyalty. While he had never been an entirely merry figure something darker trailed him now, and it struck Kella momentarily sad, though she could not articulate why.

Kella's posture of a keen listener waned only as the men began to split, moving towards their boats. In the swiftly passing seconds she pulled back her hood and took in the new formations, wondering where Eyvind had decided to affix her.
Spying Cyrus's boat she gave a brief nod towards it and a quiet benediction.
"Aslan go with us."

[Tarfuss]

Tarfuss joined the group and found Cyrus as soon as he was able. He was burdened by as few supplies as he could be for the journey. Tugging his cloak about him he approached Cyrus. He had known him when Cyrus was still an enlisted man in Prime. He had been in the recruit class following Cyrus'. He gave brief salute. "Sir." By his brevity he meant no disrespect, and he knew that Cyrus knew that as well, there was just no need for parade ground manners in the field. There were other more pressing concerns here. He stood by waiting for further orders.

[Teig O'Maolain]

Teig had been by the docks for some time, even before the rest of the unit had arrived, his new policy since arriving in Taralon was to arrive early and prepare. his training of the Broken Spear had proven even more so that it was necessary. He scouted amongst the docks, letting his presence be known, but not overbearing. When Eyvind did arrive he stood there, silent and stoic, his usual humor and levity gone in the face of a mission. This side of Teig was rarely seen, and the men of the black shields were about to find out why.

He stepped over to Cyrus, his trademark rapier and longsword combo strapped to his waist. he awaited instructions quietly, smiling when Tarfuss joined them. he tossed his old friend a welcome smile, but other than that, business was kept.

[Eyvind Redbeard]

The group was gathered, the men were prepared and eager to start this new mission they had been given. Around him, Eyvind could see his ten Black Shields equipped similarly to him. They all carried a leather breastplate and leather bracers made out by the finest leather tanner in Taralon. Their shoulders were covered with short round cloaks that covered both their back and chest and possessing an hood to cover their heads. Dressing in dark brown and dark green, with their swords' scabbards changed to dark leather ones instead of the common yellow and with their backpacks carrying what supplies they needed, the Daekin's group was ready.

With a nod he called for Kella and pointed her the boat she would be travelling on. Saluting to his three companions he prepared to push the boat into the water with Alfgeir's help. But before doing so he turned to Cyrus and with a smile stated.

"Up river and then back in the barracks!"

The Vagaran understood how worried the Sword Daekin was. The Aslanite would always follow his god's Tenets no matter what, but maybe this time he would have to open an exception, or die trying. At least he would be sure the ones he loved would be safe. He sighed when his eyes glanced at Kella and then at the others.

The two boats were ready. Each had five sailors as crew, four in the oars and one as helmsman. The overlaped wooden planks and the almost flat belly of the boats, adding to the wooden heads of mytical creatures in the boats' prows made Eyvind remember the ongships of his people. After all these sailors were Vagaran so it wasn't that surprising to see their culture printed in their doings.

As the boats started to move up the river, first slowly and then gaining some speed, the Daekin reached for the map Cyrus had given him and matched it with the memory of one he had seen in his Office. If the river's stream didn't get too strong they could use it to reach a lake in the mountains just some miles North of Narim Castellum. As for Cyrus he could reach Red Hollow by river too. But it would be up to him.

With a nod to Alfgeir he ordered the boats to move faster. Time was their enemy.

[Steve]

The river was fairly wide and the current was lazy here near the sea. The boats were steady, no pitching or rolling as they progressed upriver. The oarsmen had a relatively easy time of it and the helmsmen simply headed into the downstream current.

Before long, Eyvind noticed a round object directly above that seemed to be at a height of about 300 meters. What seemed to be a similar object was about possibly 500 meters astern. It did not take long for Eyvind to realize that these were balloons like the ones used over Taralon by the Gnomes. Distances and sizes were difficult to judge because there was nothing else up there for comparison. One thing was very apparent, whoever was up there had spotted them and seemed to have an interest in the boats.

[Tarfuss]

Tarfuss watched the boats holding the other team led by Eyvind depart. He was tempted to light a pipe, but there was work to be done. They had their own boat and sailors to take care of the sailing of it, for which he was glad. He knew nothing of boats. Waiting for Cyrus to give further orders he went over his minimal gear one more time. Sword, shield and spear. Rations. Firemaking gear. A bed roll. A Mess kit. His few personal items. He sighed. He was ready to head out. He hated the waiting.

After repacking and securing his gear he looked over to Cyrus and noticed the wolf-beast. The creature had saved him once. It was a beautiful beast, but was somehow eerie as well. There was something absolutely wild in the thing - something that walked near the edges that he couldn't pin down but sensed. He had met several others like it, but they didn't have the same feel as this one. He'd hate to have it mad at him, that much he knew.

Looking up at the sun he wondered how long they'd be on the river.

[Eyvind Redbeard]

Everything was going as planned, the teams were well prepared, the boats were large enough to carry them and their gear, the oarsmen themselves and Alfgeir were eager to help and the progress of their advance seemed steady. Sitting on the front of his boat Eyvind closed his eyes and imagined that this small wooden boat was one of the Longships his people used to cross the seas and oceans of Telath, never fearing, always wandering like the heros of old. The same heros he had wanted to imitate during his childhood. With a smile on his face he opened his eyes to see the river ahead of him, expecting to see the unending blue of the ocean and the stars looking down at him. Instead of that he saw a large stream of water and two ballons. The Daekin blinked to make sure he wasn't seeing things. No, he wasn't, it was real. Those were two ballons flying over them and no one had seem them yet, maybe chaos would be possible to avoid. Turning to his men he called their attention with a low whistle.

"Don't look up, pretend as if this is a normal day. Alfgeir, keep the boat steady."

Cyrus' boat seemed quiet, maybe they hadn't seen the ballons yet like the men from the red-haired man hadn't. Turning to him he whistled, this time a bit louder than before, to call the blonde man to attention. If he would look at him Eyvind would form a "V" with his fingers in front of his eyes and then point up after placing a finger over his lips. He wanted complete silence and distraction from the ballons, maybe this way whoever stood atop of them would think them as miners going up the river to find more ores.

[Cyrus Marius]

The arrival of the familiar faces from Prime brought a small smile to the young legionnaire's face, and he returned each's motion of greeting with an affectionate nod in return. Their reliable skill and loyalty would be invaluable on the journey ahead, and if nothing else, having such companions along side him would embolden and strengthen the soldier against what obstacles would inevitably lie on the road ahead. Cyrus took his gaze from Tarfuss, Teig and the other soldiers in his charge, and his sapphire eye moved to the river banks and surrounding countryside that they swept passed, looking always for any sign of those who could endanger the mission.

The journey so far was steady, without trouble from the river or the Horde of Orckon. Cyrus and Kirthin exchanged soft conversation at times, mostly the young soldier inquiring as to the Mystic's abilities and temperment and how he intended to aid the group on their mission. The bald elf was honest but spoke little, and he chose not to disclose much of what he intended or what he was capable of. He only assured Cyrus that the legionnaire had little to worry about in regards to him, and that he would be there for them when they needed. Cyrus could only trust in his word, and continue to scan the Sherian countryside that they knifed silently though.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers across from him tapped the legionnaire on his knee, and with a discreet motion of his hand, he subtly directed Cyrus' azure gaze to the two balloons that had come into view. Cyrus frowned as he fixed his stare on the nearest balloon, recognizing it as similar to those produced by the gnomes of Taralon, but feeling a finger of suspicion run down his spine none the less. Stoically, the young soldier dropped his azure gaze from the balloon to the bald magi beside him, and with a swift movement of his blue iris, Cyrus directed Kirthin's attention to the balloons that rested in the sky.

The razor-sharp mind of the Mystic needed no further clarification, and he slowly nodded in response to Cyrus' gesture. Closing his almond-shaped eyes, the Elf began to emmerse himself in the reality of the Astral Plane, gathering it's power to him as he gradually achieved clara. Luckily the smoothness of the river journey aided his concentration, and within moments, the magi's eyes glowed with an incandescent light that spoke of the powers within him. Kirthin turned his dancing gaze back on the nearest balloon, and his lips began moving without sound, commanding the arcane forces at hand to form a journeyman level Awareness spell that would tell him more about what lay beyond the sight of those on the river.

[Steve]

The spell was cast and Kirthin's perception became more acute because he could now be confident that there was no manipulation of reality. What he saw was essentially the same as he had seen before he cast the spell. But an important difference was now he was aware that there were no illusions, nothing appeared that may have been previously invisible. There was no metaphysical or magical occurrence.

What appeared to be a balloon was simply just that, a balloon. Everything else in sight was real.

[Tarfuss]

Tarfuss sat in the boat, not much liking the ride. Boats. He could do without them. Unfortunately the Legion had decided that they were just the thing for this particular mission, and maybe they were, but that didn't make him like it any better. He sighed and scratched his beard while scanning the shores for anything unusual.

He saw another soldier direct Cyrus' attention skyward and frowned. If boats were bad, balloons were worse. Unnatural entirely, even if they were supposedly not mystical. And, from a soldier's point of view, entirely too far seeing. He hoped the Gods would swat it down in their indignation. The gods, however, were most likely laughing at his discomfort, boats, balloons... Tarfuss scowled and spit over the side of the boat. He'd be glad when he was back on land with his sword in hand.

[Steve]

The balloon that was hovering above, moved on in the general direction the boats were moving. The balloon astern maintained its relative position.

Very gradually, the river had been narrowing, thus the current against which they had been rowing was getting stronger. The Oarsmen were able to maintain their pace but it was more tiring. The ground was sloping upward as well.

[Eyvind Redbeard]

The ballon was approaching and there seemed to be no call or greet coming from it, nor from the one further ahead. Silence was the key, abstraction the path and reaching the mountains the victory.

"Alfgeir, we must continue up the river as must as we can. Tell me when your men can't hold more and then reach for the left side of the river while I inform the other boat to stop on the opposite side."

The red-haired Vagaran felt helpless where he was, he didn't know who was in the ballons, if friend or foe. Nevertheless he would be ready, his longbow was at his side and his sword was in his sheath nearby, hanging from the Daekin's belt.

[Steve]

The balloon that went upriver would soon be out of sight. The ballon behind them, continued to hover, maintining its distance. There was no attempt to communicate. There was no indication of activity of any sort in the area.

The boat crews needed rest. The rowing was tiring but with rest they should be able to continue.