Stratos Caelus (
auspex_caelo) wrote2018-11-24 02:12 pm
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Batons Given
The wilds of Skyrim were bleak and dangerous places, even on the Imperial roads. Stray from those into the windswept foothills and shadowed tree-lines, and one found biting frosts and treacherous stones, hungry beasts without fear of people. And worse things, even on the roads. War left broken men and women with swords in their hands; fattened monsters on forgotten corpses and lost refugees. War cast shadows, and those shadows always had fangs. But the Legion knew that, and the Legion had taken notice. Too many vanished citizens, too many bloodied patrols, too many bodies never found and laid to rest. They had one reply for that.
Their raid began swift and silently, in full daylight when the vampires were getting dull and drowsy. The sentry thralls sitting outside the main cave entrance fell with hardly a sound, arrows through the eye or throat. Two dozen knights and as many legionnaires appeared from the undergrowth and took each entrance in small groups. They moved fast, the tiniest clanks of their gold and green armor muffled to near silence.
A fledgling screamed, briefly. The blood-stained gloom came alive with claws and glowing eyes. An elder vampire cast a stream of sickly red light at the lead knight in the main group, the magic seeking to drain the life out of her blood. For an instant the red glow illuminated Sir Yolande’s razor smile beneath her angled helm. Then it vanished harmlessly around her, the magicka absorbed into her empty reserves. Lightning flashed out from behind her in turn, striking the vampire’s chest, and leaping to the gaggle of followers behind. They reeled, smoking, magic drained. Yolande was upon them, longsword flashing.
Soldiers and knights fought through the tunnels, magic and blades in hand. They ducked crude traps, stunned axe-swinging thralls where they could. Claws of bone and ice raked at them as they cut down the rest. The tribune’s team came upon the master – several masters, in fact – in the innermost chambers. Stratos sensed the cloaked presences the moment he followed Yolande in. Before they closed in to strike he hit out: a wave of flame ripped out around him. Where the air caught fire and shrieked mage and knights alike reached out, yanking the masks away.
The monsters fought, but they died – permanently this time. In the end Stratos counted no serious casualties on his own side. He ordered a search of the caverns while Celann was overseeing the collection of bodies and ashes. This wasn’t one more nest. This was the biggest yet, the one they’d been planning to move against for months. Stratos wanted to know who else they might have communicated with.
By nightfall, there was one less threat in Hjaalmarch.
“…No reports of vanished soldiers for the last two weeks,” Tullius was saying. “Incidents in the villages have decreased steadily, according to Rikke.” The general’s natural disposition was best described as ‘dour’, but he seemed downright pleased with the reports piled before him. “At this rate our losses to hostile magic will be next to nothing – if those damned dragons stay up on their mountains. It’s not close to my biggest problem; it’s not even the biggest problem I’ve got you working on, but if I can go a month without farmers running to us about strange lights or scouts turning up bloodless, I’ll owe you a bottle of Balmora Blue for the new year.”
“It’s a pleasure to get the job done, sir. Especially if it means eradicating such monsters.” It might be gruesome work in its own right, and Stratos had no love for Stormcloaks, but he’d rather turn his attention on magical monsters than on treasonous former citizens.
“I’ll be recommending you to General Decianus when you return to your legion, tribune. Your prospects are very good, I can promise you. But that won’t be any time soon. I still have plenty of work here for you in Skyrim. Including helping to recruit a new cohors adepta for each of my legions. The Tenth lost most of its experienced mages retaking the Imperial City, and Legate Fasendil tells me recruiting mages up here is like pulling teeth from a troll. The Eleventh doesn’t have a legatus adeptus to its name, and Fasendil has… other concerns. I want you to make damn sure we have some decent wizardry at our backs moving forward.”
“I appreciate the challenge, sir.” He meant it. That kind of trust – and the power in oversight of recruitment for a full pair of legions… he couldn’t have earned that for himself in High Rock with its bristling complement of mages. “Ah… but before I get too firm a grip on it, I must respectfully make a request…”
His uncle had his arms full of blankets when Stratos came in the back door of their family home.
“You’re lucky I’ve stopped being shocked by that,” he said, as Stratos hung up his cloak. Terentius didn’t drop the furs immediately: he was used enough to the sudden ease of their visits appearances that he didn’t rush to embrace his nephews every time they stopped by. The basement level of their house was always well-lit by the lanterns and the occasional tiny windows. As Stratos let his eyes adjust to the shift in light he realized why his uncle was burning so much oil. There was a pile of dust swept up neatly in a corner; the woodwork looked freshly scoured. A glance through the open door into the hall showed more cloth and furs neatly stacked by a cupboard.
“I came to let you know my leave has been approved,” he said, breathing in the scent of ash soap. “ Not effective for another four weeks, of course, but I might be able to meet Father when he gets here. You’re cleaning out the house?”
“About time,I’d say. We’re going to have guests for once – and a new member of the family.” Terentius flashed a grin. “This family hasn’t had a big celebration to throw since before the war.”
Stratos nodded. There’d been Felix’s birth, but he wasn’t going to contradict the point. Things had been different then. He have his uncle a smile. “Well, since I’m here, where would you like me to start? Not the chimneys, I hope.”
His uncle grinned. “You’re lucky, tribune. I found a cache of old Caelus papers hidden in one of the rooms. Behind some wobbly skirting, if you’ll believe it. You’re the best man to sort through them, so I put them on your desk.”
“Wait, hidden? Which room was it?”
“I’m not sure.” Terentius hesitated. “It belonged to either Arvenna or Hesperus. I never asked your father whose I had.”
His father’s sister and brother, both dead in the Great War. One cut down amid the fire and smoke of a doomed defense; one drained and broken in the blinding heat of the Alik’r. Stratos remembered them only dimly, but his mouth was open before he strode off to his old room. There were the twin stacks of parchment and paper on the desk he’d had since childhood. He picked up the first sheaf and flipped through it, vaguely aware of his uncle in the doorway.
“I think these were Arvenna’s notes,” he said. The handwriting was familiar. “She must have hidden all this here when she left for the garrison.” And never came back. “I can imagine why Father would never have thought to look for them.” Their rooms had been clared, of course – Terentius had one – but Stratos wasn’t even sure if his father had ever gone through their effects in any detail.
“I only met her a few times,” said Terentius gently. “At your parents’ wedding, after your birth… She was a gracious woman, very calm and reserved. And an impressive mage, even if I’m no great judge of wizardry. You’d have had much in common. Whatever is in those papers, well, I suppose that’s her gift to you now.” He moved over, the limp to his stride making the motion careful, and patted his nephew’s shoulder with a rough hand. “I’ll leave you to it. I don’t have anything for supper, so tell me when you’re hungry and I’ll get us something from the inn.
“Thank you, uncle.” …Thank you, aunt.
Stratos pulled out the carved chair at his desk, and settled down for an afternoon of reading.
Their raid began swift and silently, in full daylight when the vampires were getting dull and drowsy. The sentry thralls sitting outside the main cave entrance fell with hardly a sound, arrows through the eye or throat. Two dozen knights and as many legionnaires appeared from the undergrowth and took each entrance in small groups. They moved fast, the tiniest clanks of their gold and green armor muffled to near silence.
A fledgling screamed, briefly. The blood-stained gloom came alive with claws and glowing eyes. An elder vampire cast a stream of sickly red light at the lead knight in the main group, the magic seeking to drain the life out of her blood. For an instant the red glow illuminated Sir Yolande’s razor smile beneath her angled helm. Then it vanished harmlessly around her, the magicka absorbed into her empty reserves. Lightning flashed out from behind her in turn, striking the vampire’s chest, and leaping to the gaggle of followers behind. They reeled, smoking, magic drained. Yolande was upon them, longsword flashing.
Soldiers and knights fought through the tunnels, magic and blades in hand. They ducked crude traps, stunned axe-swinging thralls where they could. Claws of bone and ice raked at them as they cut down the rest. The tribune’s team came upon the master – several masters, in fact – in the innermost chambers. Stratos sensed the cloaked presences the moment he followed Yolande in. Before they closed in to strike he hit out: a wave of flame ripped out around him. Where the air caught fire and shrieked mage and knights alike reached out, yanking the masks away.
The monsters fought, but they died – permanently this time. In the end Stratos counted no serious casualties on his own side. He ordered a search of the caverns while Celann was overseeing the collection of bodies and ashes. This wasn’t one more nest. This was the biggest yet, the one they’d been planning to move against for months. Stratos wanted to know who else they might have communicated with.
By nightfall, there was one less threat in Hjaalmarch.
“…No reports of vanished soldiers for the last two weeks,” Tullius was saying. “Incidents in the villages have decreased steadily, according to Rikke.” The general’s natural disposition was best described as ‘dour’, but he seemed downright pleased with the reports piled before him. “At this rate our losses to hostile magic will be next to nothing – if those damned dragons stay up on their mountains. It’s not close to my biggest problem; it’s not even the biggest problem I’ve got you working on, but if I can go a month without farmers running to us about strange lights or scouts turning up bloodless, I’ll owe you a bottle of Balmora Blue for the new year.”
“It’s a pleasure to get the job done, sir. Especially if it means eradicating such monsters.” It might be gruesome work in its own right, and Stratos had no love for Stormcloaks, but he’d rather turn his attention on magical monsters than on treasonous former citizens.
“I’ll be recommending you to General Decianus when you return to your legion, tribune. Your prospects are very good, I can promise you. But that won’t be any time soon. I still have plenty of work here for you in Skyrim. Including helping to recruit a new cohors adepta for each of my legions. The Tenth lost most of its experienced mages retaking the Imperial City, and Legate Fasendil tells me recruiting mages up here is like pulling teeth from a troll. The Eleventh doesn’t have a legatus adeptus to its name, and Fasendil has… other concerns. I want you to make damn sure we have some decent wizardry at our backs moving forward.”
“I appreciate the challenge, sir.” He meant it. That kind of trust – and the power in oversight of recruitment for a full pair of legions… he couldn’t have earned that for himself in High Rock with its bristling complement of mages. “Ah… but before I get too firm a grip on it, I must respectfully make a request…”
His uncle had his arms full of blankets when Stratos came in the back door of their family home.
“You’re lucky I’ve stopped being shocked by that,” he said, as Stratos hung up his cloak. Terentius didn’t drop the furs immediately: he was used enough to the sudden ease of their visits appearances that he didn’t rush to embrace his nephews every time they stopped by. The basement level of their house was always well-lit by the lanterns and the occasional tiny windows. As Stratos let his eyes adjust to the shift in light he realized why his uncle was burning so much oil. There was a pile of dust swept up neatly in a corner; the woodwork looked freshly scoured. A glance through the open door into the hall showed more cloth and furs neatly stacked by a cupboard.
“I came to let you know my leave has been approved,” he said, breathing in the scent of ash soap. “ Not effective for another four weeks, of course, but I might be able to meet Father when he gets here. You’re cleaning out the house?”
“About time,I’d say. We’re going to have guests for once – and a new member of the family.” Terentius flashed a grin. “This family hasn’t had a big celebration to throw since before the war.”
Stratos nodded. There’d been Felix’s birth, but he wasn’t going to contradict the point. Things had been different then. He have his uncle a smile. “Well, since I’m here, where would you like me to start? Not the chimneys, I hope.”
His uncle grinned. “You’re lucky, tribune. I found a cache of old Caelus papers hidden in one of the rooms. Behind some wobbly skirting, if you’ll believe it. You’re the best man to sort through them, so I put them on your desk.”
“Wait, hidden? Which room was it?”
“I’m not sure.” Terentius hesitated. “It belonged to either Arvenna or Hesperus. I never asked your father whose I had.”
His father’s sister and brother, both dead in the Great War. One cut down amid the fire and smoke of a doomed defense; one drained and broken in the blinding heat of the Alik’r. Stratos remembered them only dimly, but his mouth was open before he strode off to his old room. There were the twin stacks of parchment and paper on the desk he’d had since childhood. He picked up the first sheaf and flipped through it, vaguely aware of his uncle in the doorway.
“I think these were Arvenna’s notes,” he said. The handwriting was familiar. “She must have hidden all this here when she left for the garrison.” And never came back. “I can imagine why Father would never have thought to look for them.” Their rooms had been clared, of course – Terentius had one – but Stratos wasn’t even sure if his father had ever gone through their effects in any detail.
“I only met her a few times,” said Terentius gently. “At your parents’ wedding, after your birth… She was a gracious woman, very calm and reserved. And an impressive mage, even if I’m no great judge of wizardry. You’d have had much in common. Whatever is in those papers, well, I suppose that’s her gift to you now.” He moved over, the limp to his stride making the motion careful, and patted his nephew’s shoulder with a rough hand. “I’ll leave you to it. I don’t have anything for supper, so tell me when you’re hungry and I’ll get us something from the inn.
“Thank you, uncle.” …Thank you, aunt.
Stratos pulled out the carved chair at his desk, and settled down for an afternoon of reading.