Day 1 - March ? - The Delta
Ship destroyed upon anunknown uncharted delta. Few survivors and even fewer supplies. Headcount gives of 34 military regulars, thre four men of noble houses, including myself, and one village chieftain. The regulars, all strangers to me, are keeping themselves in high spirits with fantasies of a bloody, violent homecoming.
I admit the same dreams, but the noblemen and chieftain (my elders by many years) have persuaded us of the importance of Survival. In the same vein, they elected the youngest and most easily manipulated man of noble birth (myself) to lead (take the blame for) our endeavors until we return to the motherland.
The troops openly derided the decision, but also fell into line more or less obediently. I tried a firm, inspiring acceptance speech lifted directly from my studies before we were beset by the Legion, "We march upriver: where there is fresh water, there will be people. And with people we will find a means to our end. And our end is the butchering of the Legion!"
With that, onlythe one soldier left in disgust, "That lady-handed, over-educated prick doesn't know a damn thing!"
Day 2 - March ? - Upriver
After a day of marching we established camp near a village. The stench of death is in the air,and the result of the shallow or and open graves. are found At dawn I'm again elected, this time by way of my studies of the Southern Kingdoms, to meet the people of the village, alone.
Not one soul in the village seems well, in body or mind. There arebodies corpses. One man calls for my attention in a foreign tongue. We exchange as much information as we can: the village is called Epeshe, but his name remains unpronounceable. He seems to hold the whole village under his sway; I convince him to trade food for the blade of our late naval captain. The foreign emblems on the blade make him uneasy, or maybe my insistence on writing a running log, but the trade is ultimately acceptable.
Another peasant (his son?) carries out the exchange. The youth clearly has no coordination of the limbs. His awkward handling of the blade and rucksacks invites a lengthy apology from his elder, but also another proposition of trade. The village elder mistakes my military uniform for training in the martial arts, but offers more supplies to train his son.
I begged my leave as gracefully as I could with the language barrier; the soldiers will be eager to hear of an opportunity for food.
Days 2-4 - March - Epeshe
Training. It goes smoothly enough for the village master's son.that Others soon request training from myself and some of the more willing soldiers. Though segregated, our warband has nearly doubled the size of this small village. A pidgin language is already arising to fill the gaps between our distantly related languages. The soldiers fight constantly over the meanings of new words. The training leaves me with bruises and humiliations, reminding me of my disproportionately academic strengths.
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They belong to the Kingdom of Rhodoks! Most of the men are staying quarantined from the deathly ill peasants. But a certain few are helping bridge the communication gap.
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Bad news. The troops remembered it was payday andg it seems we've come up short. They accepted half-pay given the "extenuating circumstances." Over-educated pricks!
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More bad news: we seem to have accepted an extended defense contract with the village. One of the noblesAdr has renamed himself Eshe. He's unsure whether the contract is indefinite or in perpetuity...
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Worst news of all: We agreed to train and defend the peasants and a blubbering farm hand has just returned carrying something bloody. I've called soldiers to make ready. They seem eager, but we don't know what we face.
Bandits! I called the men and the militia to formation. I marched a staggered firing line from our camp along the main road while bandits took strong positions in the village center.
I held the infantry line back while the archers weakened the bandits' positions on the hill.
I'm told that I then led the charge and cut down two bandits from horseback. I have no recollection of the actions of myself or my men from the melee. However, my flesh wound, the arrow in my shield, and the blood staining my weapon corroborate the story.
Ship destroyed upon an
I admit the same dreams, but the noblemen and chieftain (my elders by many years) have persuaded us of the importance of Survival. In the same vein, they elected the youngest and most easily manipulated man of noble birth (myself) to lead (take the blame for) our endeavors until we return to the motherland.
The troops openly derided the decision, but also fell into line more or less obediently. I tried a firm, inspiring acceptance speech lifted directly from my studies before we were beset by the Legion, "We march upriver: where there is fresh water, there will be people. And with people we will find a means to our end. And our end is the butchering of the Legion!"
With that, only
Day 2 - March ? - Upriver
After a day of marching we established camp near a village. The stench of death is in the air,
Not one soul in the village seems well, in body or mind. There are
Another peasant (his son?) carries out the exchange. The youth clearly has no coordination of the limbs. His awkward handling of the blade and rucksacks invites a lengthy apology from his elder, but also another proposition of trade. The village elder mistakes my military uniform for training in the martial arts, but offers more supplies to train his son.
I begged my leave as gracefully as I could with the language barrier; the soldiers will be eager to hear of an opportunity for food.
Days 2-4 - March - Epeshe
Training. It goes smoothly enough for the village master's son.
---
They belong to the Kingdom of Rhodoks! Most of the men are staying quarantined from the deathly ill peasants. But a certain few are helping bridge the communication gap.
---
Bad news. The troops remembered it was payday and
---
More bad news: we seem to have accepted an extended defense contract with the village. One of the nobles
---
Worst news of all: We agreed to train and defend the peasants and a blubbering farm hand has just returned carrying something bloody. I've called soldiers to make ready. They seem eager, but we don't know what we face.
Bandits! I called the men and the militia to formation. I marched a staggered firing line from our camp along the main road while bandits took strong positions in the village center.
I held the infantry line back while the archers weakened the bandits' positions on the hill.
I'm told that I then led the charge and cut down two bandits from horseback. I have no recollection of the actions of myself or my men from the melee. However, my flesh wound, the arrow in my shield, and the blood staining my weapon corroborate the story.
