Lieutenant Karras

The Lieutenant's glare only deepened. The exaggerated way the man spoke and saluted almost seemed mocking, though it could simply be him desperately trying to compensate for his previous actions. "Permission denied." He said at once, before his voice lowered - enough for those nearby to hear him clearly, but not the entire Bandon. "Should I catch you issuing an unwarranted punishment in the future, you will be expected to bear the punishment yourself." He paused, before adding: "And it is pronounced 'sir.' After all your years in the army you should know that." With that, he turned his attention back to training the Bandon.

Again, Milos was not soft in his training. He worked the men hard, and should one of them fail or do something punishable, he would not hesitate to punish or discipline them as required. But when it came to random or unwarranted punishment, he drew the line - it was neither just nor fair nor lawful to punish a man who had not committed any sort of offense, and in the long run would only turn the men against him.

As for Ioannis, if the corporal acted up again, Milos would stay true to his pledge. The Lieutenant also kept a closer eye on the man, having lost a great deal of trust and respect for him. Milos might still be open to his advice, but his actions and words were definitely under increased scrutiny.

Cornet Von Nyon

The Cornet had caught the dislike and skepticism in the captain's tone, not all the words he understood but the fact that it was a recap was clear. He would have attempted to make him self better in the Captain's eyes but the words weren't there. Instead he just nodded, gave one last parade ground salute spun and departed to find his accommodations.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Von Nyon was embarrassed by what was said about his country, but he didn't show it. To say something with his thick German accent would just give another thing to point out. Instead he glared back at the NCO, straightened his back amd stood to his impressive height. Still at attention he listened to the Lieutenant reprimand the NCO. Johann was thankful he didn't understand all the words as he was still learning the language but the point was clear. At that moment Johann promised to watch Karras' back. Relief briefly shone in the Cornet's eyes, to be replaced by a thankful look. This quick flash of emotion was only seen by the Lieutenant.

Johann put him self hard to work during the training, to prove to himself, his father, and his men that he would lead by example, and that he wasn't afraid to get dirty. Maybe that was discouraged by his superiors. But Johann figured that he wouldn't be fighting along side the Lieutenant, but instead his men. He planned that when possible he would meet his men and get their loyalty, and earn their trust. But Johann still kept the line that separates the average grunt from the officer clear. A couple of times the Cornet came close to breaking but he didn't let it show, what use is an officer who can't keep himself together. After the first day of training Von Nyon seeked out the Lieutenant to introduce himself.

At night after the trainings Von Nyon focused on learning the language, and so he read and talked. The Cornet rarely left the building, except when it was required.

Cornet Leventis

The pressure to perform nearly overwhelmed him. The men among him would no doubt look to him to set the example as their newly appointed leader. But a dilemma quickly presented itself. He found much of this training to be magnificently difficult. The earlier excitement to put his father's gift to use was now overshadowed by the looming obstacle of learning new applications for his skills. He was an outdoorsman by nature, yet he'd never had to examine his surroundings to gain a tactical combat advantage. His marksmanship was unparalleled, but what use would he have had in his past life for using a musket to strike rather than shoot? Even as a skilled horseman, never before was he challenged to remain in formation as he rode, nor had he ever been in need of attacking or defending himself from horseback. He'd led an active life, but nothing would have prepared him for the rigor of this demanding routine.

Each day he pushed himself to the very precipice of his breaking point and he returned each night more sore than the last, face caked in sweat and dirt. Yet, still he persevered. Some part of him wanted so terribly to make a show of his dominant skills so as to prove himself capable — he could place a shot in an orange from a distance unimaginable to most under the best of circumstances — but he recognized that it would do little more than yield a short term boon in the eyes of the men present. His priority, instead, ought to be developing the skills in which he wasn't yet proficient and creating a bond with the men under his command. That would reflect overwhelmingly positively on him in the long run and place them all in good stead to boot.

Unfortunately for him, Herakles was not a naturally quick learner. He learned through application and repetition, but it would be an arduous undertaking if he were to learn the skills required of him to his satisfaction. He could settle for nothing short of excellence. No one would be able to cite his lack of pedigree as a shortcoming in the face of all he would achieve. And besides, how could he help guide his men if he himself knew little to nothing about what he asked of them? Throughout the weeks, his free time in the evenings was consumed being squirreled away in the citadel's library poring over books on geography, history, tactics, and the various manuals on drill. Otherwise he would return to the hippodrome long after the day's training was concluded slowly, carefully delivering practice strokes with a saber to become more familiar with its technique. It was some time before he felt himself confident enough to competently lead others in such activities, but the moment he did, he assumed a much more active leadership role with his Omadan's training.

His squad was invited to join him in his evening studies should they choose, but he took the initiative to pioneer a mandatory supplemental training program for 2nd Omadan. He presented his plan to Lieutenant Karras: two additional hours a day he'd require of his men's time, 4 days out of the week. In that time they would practice additional drill for a half hour, spend an additional half hour atop their saddles, and requisition an hour of training time within the firing range for Herakles himself to teach the men more about the art of marksmanship. Independent training led at the squad level, he would argue, would help to further bolster the unit cohesion within his own Omadan and prove to be a demonstrable asset in their overall preparedness. Moreover, the additional time spent with the troops would help him to get to better know exactly what drives and motivates them. He knew from his time in the family business that there were some men who were self-starters; intrinsically motivated and driven to accomplish whatever they set their mind to. And then there were those whose motives were sourced externally: money, advancement, recognition. The sooner he was able to identify which was which and among whom, the better equipped he'd be to lead.

The next few weeks pass by in a blur of steel, horseflesh and powder smoke. The standards for a cavalry regiment in the Imperial Tagmata are exceptionally high, and thus the drilling is relentless. Day in and day out you practice sabrework both ahorse and afoot according to the Equites Decreti, the Imperial manual of arms for cavalrymen. You spend hours practicing dozens of different sabre strokes, sparring with your fellow Dragoons, and imitating the correct forms for modern swordsmanship.

Sabrework is only one of the skills you are expected to be competent at, and you spend just as much time in the saddle drilling the rudimentary cavalry maneuvers expected of one in service to the Empire. The Equites Decreti is thorough, too; not only do you train in basic horsemanship, but in the actions of mounting and dismounting, as well as lessons in the proper care for your steed. Additionally, you are introduced to the standard carbine of the Dragoons, and subsequently trained in its use. Loading, presenting, firing, cleaning — all become second nature to you, both on foot and in the saddle.

The daily, relentless drilling is exhaustive work that swiftly becomes routine. You learn to recognize the clipped commands of your superior officers and NCO's, and gradually you familiarize yourself with the other members of your Bandon. It is an eclectic group, to be sure; but then, the Empire is a diverse nation, and its history is rife with peoples of all sorts.

It is sometime in the middle of the sixth week when the day's regimen is cancelled by Captain Philolakes. Rumors immediately abound, and it is not until the afternoon of the same day that you receive an explanation.

The Holy Roman Empire has declared war, and with them are nearly all the powers of Europe.

You are to deploy immediately.


The port town of Tomis is rather underwhelming, being nearly identical to the dozens of other ports found scattered throughout Imperial territory. Just south of it, in fact, is the smaller port of Istrus, which is admittedly more fort than town but shares Tomis' typical red-tiled arches, vaults, and domes which characterize Byzantine architecture.

It takes little time at all for the Imperial frigate which has served as your moira's transport to navigate into the inlet that Tomis' harbor is situated in. It takes significantly more time to unload the hundred-and-twenty-five man detachment of Dragoons, their horses, and all their luggage. Your bandon is the last to depart the ship, and unlike Nikomedia you do not have to fight your way through crowds of people to make it to the small citadel sitting on a small rise next to the harbor.

Captain Philolakes has already requisitioned a large part of the citadel to serve as the Dragoon's main base in the town, and it is only an hour after your arrival there that orders for your bandon come down.

Tomis is a highly strategic town, unremarkable though it may seem. It serves as the largest settlement in the Empire's province of Scythia, the only area outside of Carpathia that is not bordered by the Danube river — north of which lies the enemy kingdom of Galicia. It is expected by the strategos of the Empire that a large enemy force will attempt to seize Tomis and use it as a forward outpost of sorts, in order to set up raids deeper into the Imperial heartlands of Thraecia.

Thus your small detachment of one moira was sent in order to prepare the ground for a larger expedition out of Constantinople. And Captain Philolakes plans to do just that, by sending you and nearly every other Dragoon under his command in broad scouting missions across the area.

Of singular import to the Captain are enemy troop movements, followed by a thorough mapping of any potential outpost locations and possible supply routes. His orders are very specific concerning these three items, and he has assigned your bandon a large swath of land which would take nearly two weeks to comb through if travelled as a full unit — evidently the Captain expects your bandon to be divided even further into its component parts of omadons.

You are to depart at dawn of the next day.

Lieutenant Karras

Training Continues

Lieutenant Karras had been somewhat caught off guard when one of the Cornets approached him so readily with his own suggestions for training. Then again, such a thing was to be expected, he supposed - he hadn't been too different when he first purchased a commission. He wondered what the Cornet's motivation was - an attempt to impress his superiors? A genuine desire to improve his men and get to know them better? Then he remembered this was the same man who wasn't even of noble blood - Milos didn't hold that against him, but others certainly would. It might not hurt to give him a chance to prove himself...

Leventis would have almost been able to see the gears turning in Karras's head as he internally debated the merits of his fresh-faced subordinate's suggestion. The arguments in favor of it were sound, and he did not want to discourage his subordinates from showing initiative. On the flip side however, training the men independently could hinder the Bandon's cohesion should they ever need to go into battle as a full unit.

Finally, Milos nodded. "So long as these two hour sessions do not interfere with your training alongside the rest of the Bandon. I shall also have the other Omadons do the same. And I will observe from time to time to see how your unit is progressing." He paused, considering his next words. "It is rare to see such initiative from a junior cornet. Good work."

Off To War

Milos thought the training had been progressing well. The men of his Bandon were still far from an elite unit, but they were much better off than they had originally been when they first signed on. At the very least, they had now gotten used to military discipline, the chain of command, and the rigorous schedule. So naturally, when training was cancelled, Milos was puzzled. And then the news hit.

They were at war.

He should not be surprised, he had told himself. The Empire had been at war countless times before, and had only been expanding its influence since then. To think that the other great powers of Europe would not notice and would not do anything about it was complete and utter foolishness. Still, expecting to go war and actually going to war were two entirely different things. His thoughts drifted to his brothers in their own regiments, and how they were taking the news.

But no matter what challenges laid in wait, Milos would not waver. He would see to his duty, and he would do so to the best of the ability. For himself, for his nation, and for his House.

Staff Meeting

Their orders were clear, but also quite demanding. He wondered if any of his men or officers had been expecting something more exciting. For Milos himself, if he could spend a year and a half at a remote outpost without complaint then a quiet port town was nothing. As a result, neither the difficulty nor tedium of their new assignment had hindered his ability to formulate a plan.

He invited his Cornets and senior NCO into his office, where Milos was standing over his desk with a map already laid out. He wasted no time with pleasantries, before he explained the situation. They had to scout everything west of the northern river, and in order to cover the most ground in the quickest amount of time he had decided to split the Bandon up.

"Cornet Leventis." He began, looking at the gunmaker's son. "Your patrol route is to the northeast. You and your Omadon are to follow the river. You will record every potential ford or crossing point, no matter how hidden or how narrow. If it can be crossed, I want its exact position marked down. Then I want you to follow that road north to see where it ends. After that, you are to turn back and follow the road south and report your findings to me."

He paused for the briefest of seconds, allowing that information to sink in, before moving on. "Cornet Konyk." He said, turning to the bright magic-user in his Bandon. "You and Cornet Bardas shall take 1st and 4th Omadons northwest to investigate this bridge..." He pointed to the crossing in the northwestern reaches of the map. "I'm placing you in command until you reach your destination. When you arrive at the bridge, you are to split up. Cornet Bardas will take his Omadon to the northeast, while you take your Omadon south, both following the river. Again, I want you both to mark down every potential crossing, and you are to return to the bridge once you reach the forest and mountains respectively, and share your findings with each other. Bardas, you will remain to set up camp and watch over the bridge, so make sure you bring plenty of rations. If you spot the enemy, ride back here with all haste and inform us. Konyk, you will return to Tomis to make your report - on your way back I would also like you to scout those two side roads. Understood?"

Barely giving any time to respond, he then turned to Von Nyon. "Cornet Von Nyon. You and Cornet Nizar shall take your Omadons directly directly west, with you in command and Corporal Ioannis to advise you. Your destination is this bridge here." He pointed to the westernmost bridge. "Nizar, you have the same orders as Bardas - set up camp and keep watch for the enemy, and the same orders apply if they make an appearance. Von Nyon, you will take Ioannis and follow the river north through the forest. In addition to identifying potential fords, you are also to take note of the forest's density, and estimate how difficult it would be for a large group of men to move through there. Stay alongside the river - we will do a more in-depth sweep of the forest at a later date. Once you reach Cornet Bardas's camp, you are to follow the road south back to the town with your report. If you happen to link up with Cornet Konyk at any point, you are to aid him in scouting those two side roads on the way back."

His plan and the various routes laid out, he then addressed the table as a whole. "And do be sure to keep an eye out for any defensible buildings or potential camping sites that can be converted into outposts. The captain wants us to make note of those as well, and they will aid us in the defense when the main army arrives. You depart tomorrow at dawn. Those are your orders, gentlemen. Any questions or objections?"

If there were any doubts, confusion, or criticism towards the plan, now would be the time to have them cleared up.

Cornet Von Nyon

"There iz Von zing zir" Von Nyon said in his thick accent. "Vhat should Ve do if Ve take contact, and loose a mann, Do we hurry back or take him?... Zir"

---

Von Nyon returned to his Omadon and Told them all that he was told. No point in hiding any information. To LCpl Sveinaldsson he said grab our best rider and scout ahead, return every hour to give a report. Also a strict order to Immediately return at any sign of danger. In the mean time the other 3 men plus Von Nyon will follow the path more carefully and methodically search for these crossings, buildings and inspect the forest. Before they depart Nyon put the men into groups of 2 to watch each other's backs.

---

Once the Omadon reached the bridge and Nizar split off Nyon kicked his horse into a trot and continued down the road. While traveling Von Nyon took mental notes on what he sees down to the ditches by the side of the path. As Nyon passed houses he checked for signs of life to note if there is occupants of the possible "strong holds" When Nyon reached the forest he followed his NCO's idea and dismounted for that portion of the route.

---

Nyon finally got where the two patrol paths intersect but did not see Konyk. The horses did require a rest and so Nyon had his Omadon dismount, seek cover under a tree and stay in a half alert posture.(one man rests while the other watches) Nyon waited till the horses were fresh, then took off at a higher tempo than before to make up for lost time.

---

Nyon returned, saw to it that his men and horses were taken care of and set off to the small citadel. Along the way Nyon found himself hungry so he stopped into a small market place and was amazed by the vivid colors, the alien smells, and the noise. The small mountain side town market was bland, and boring compared to this. Nyon went to the fist stand with food he could find and ordered some form of bread. Continuing his walk he ate half of the load, wrapped the other half into a cloth and met the lieutenant.

---

After the common curtesy of saluting and standing to attention, Nyon offered the other half to Karras, "For you Zir, In thanks for helping me at ze training vith ze NZO." Then Nyon continued with a surprisingly in depth report. Add a Suggestion that any house we garrison with a family, we should offer compensation and tell the men not to ruin any unnecessary property. "Hearts und minds ja?" He ended with.

The clatter of hooves was a blessedly welcome sound to Francisco's ears as he disembarked in Tomis. He had never been a great fan of sea travel and somehow, after six weeks of training, he did not feel at all prepared for what was to come. He knew his way around a carbine and a horse well enough but the sabre was something new. He would never forget Loannis, the half-mad training instructor, when he had first presented the heavy blade to Francisco. It was actually one of the few times that Francisco had not been screamed at by the man.

"Remember, Iberian, an axe can be used to cut wood and a musket to hunt animals. The sword is the one weapon that is made solely to kill man. Never forget that."

In that instant Francisco found himself take the step from being a civilian to be being a solider. Until that moment he had been scared, out of his depth in most things, but the basics had come easily enough to him with repetition. The sabre was a beautiful and deadly weapon and despite his physical physique he had found the weapon difficult to handle. Muscles that he had never known existed burned as he trained with the blade and he was still in danger of chopping his own horses ear off on most practice charges. He hardly felt ready to ride into battle. Even less so to kill a man. This was something he had never done.

Now, as he led his horse off the Frigate and into the streets of Tomis, Francisco felt the first flutter of fear. He was on an adventure, as he had always wanted, but the epic bustle of Nicomedia was gone, replaced with the very purposeful movement of troops. Even the townsfolk here were very different. They eyed the cavalry with expressions ranging from awe to fear and very few waved, a far cry from the jubilant throngs who had cheered them off to sea. He supposed that the war would be far more real for these people, they were much closer to the enemy after all.

He swung into his saddle, nodding to the overly religious Theodoros. The man's piety was disturbing but he didn't bother Francisco much which was just fine with him. If a man wanted to bow and scrape to God, that was his choice. Francisco shifted in his saddle, hearing it creak beneath him as his horse, a big solid roan named Nubarrón, stomped his front hoof impatiently on the cobblestone. They had been on that ship for almost four days and the horses were not happy about it, secured as they had been in narrow wooden stalls below decks.

Francisco double checked his gear where it hung from his saddle. The Officers had drilled home to him that a Dragoon, often far ahead of the main army, would carry almost everything with him on his horse. His metal helmet flashed in the sun, the cloth cover for it tucked into his saddle bags along with three days rations, some basic horse care products, some clean clothes, and, carefully packed, his guitar. He had seen curious glances from other Troopers when he first arrived but after a few nights of listening to him play they had all agreed it was worth having along, though he would not take it into battle. His bedroll, great coat, and forage net were all rolled up across the back of the saddle. On him he carried his carbine, holstered by his knee, sabre on his left hip, forty rounds of ammunition and cartridges on his belt, and a short handled bayonet. He hoped he would never be that close to another human being.

They had ridden up to the Citadel where they were to find their beds for the night, though Francisco could not sleep, and even if he had wanted to, he was to scared to sleep. Training in Nicomedia had been one thing but as evening fell and he stared over the landscape slowly turning black with night be could not help but begin to imagine every flickering light that appeared as an enemy fire. Normally he sought the company of the other soldiers, his songs and music welcome no matter where we went but not tonight. Tonight he sat on the high wall and stared into the distance where the Mountains glowed briefly with the final rays of sunlight before also falling into deep shadow. There was no moon that night.

For hours he sat, fingers twisting and un-twisting the horse hair plume of his helmet, the feel rough and tangible, a reminder that everything was real. When he got bored of the helmet plume he drew his long sabre and began to obsessively sharpen the blade with long strokes of a sharpening stone. The "shhhk shhhk shhhk" sound soon drew aa alert sentry to his side, an officer who sat beside him without an invite in the darkness. He could see nothing of the man but his cocked hat and heavy moustache.

"Nervous?" The man asked and Francisco paused for a moment in his sharpening. He wanted to say no, to laugh or chuckle but he couldn't.

"Yes." He finally said. A simple word but it seemed to help a bit. The man next to him didn't chuckle or laugh. Instead he lit a cigar and in that momentary light Francisco saw the lined and weather beaten face of a veteran soldier.

"Then you might live. Any man who is fearless charges headlong into danger. He gets himself or his friends killed." The Officer said after a moment. His accented Latin was easy enough for Francisco to follow.

"I have not been in fight before." Francisco said at length. His own Latin was provincial at best but the Officer didn't seem to care. He blew on the tip of his cigar and it flared again. The tip of his nose was missing.

"We all start somewhere." Replied the Officer. Several more puffs on the cigar and the weathered face turned toward Francisco and he could see a weariness in the mans face, an exhaustion that he had not expected. "And some day, it will end for us somewhere. We hope in our bed with a good woman, but in all likely hood it will end with a Roman lance in the gut. Stay safe out there Trooper." He stood, tossed his cigar over the battlements and vanished into the darkness, leaving Francisco alone with his thoughts.

He was still sitting there some hours later when the sun touched the horizon again and the trumpet called him to reveille. He was achingly tired as he returned to the stables, something made all the more obvious by the eagerness of Nubarrón who had clearly had a full nights rest. The two, man and horse, appeared on the parade ground last of all and managed to trot into formation in front of Cornet Koynk as he spared them a brief glare for their tardy arrival.

Francisco listened keenly as their mission was laid out for them. It was a simple scouting mission. They had practiced several dozen during their training. Though this time, the enemy would not be shooting blanks at them. That made his gut go cold again and he could feel the knot tightening inside of him. He was terrified.

Herakles Leventis

He watched closely as Karras deliberated in his mind the pros and cons of his proposal. He had prepared himself to witness the lieutenant balk at the audacity of this uppity, low born git; to hear the storm of laughter erupt from his commanding officer, interrupted only by snorts and guffaws. He knew not to expect such outspoken derision, but the thought loomed to the forefront of his mind as he stood before the lieutenant's desk. With every passing moment he felt increasingly tense, yet he mustered a look of unwavering resolution as he dared to look the man across from him in the eyes. He searched them, seeking the betrayal he found in the eyes of Philolakes, but found no such thing. Karras was genuinely taking the plan's merit into consideration. The man's countenance was a difficult thing to untangle, but, admittedly, Herakles and his training program had made it further than the skeptic in him had foreseen. What felt like an eternity stretched in relative silence before the next words were uttered, but Herakles stood a slight bit taller as he watched the lieutenant nod. He listened intently, a rush of relief and even encouragement surging through him as he heard the conditions. Nary a mention was made of his lineage or its supposedly inherent shortcomings. Instead he was praised for exhibiting traits above his station. After the hours he'd put in these past two and a half weeks to make himself ready to lead his men, he was confident he wouldn't fail. In fact, he welcomed the lieutenant's observation. For all the toughness the man exuded, there was a pattern of purposefulness apparent in his every decision. Herakles looked on in muted admiration. This was a man from whom he could learn much.

Since that meeting a month had come and gone, and with it the aches and pains of his adjustment to military life. The habit of rising and readying himself earlier than the others was now thoroughly cemented in Herakles' routine. His demanding schedule felt increasingly less so as he settled into an easy rhythm. Even his time in the library grew to be less daunting as the collection of detailed notes he'd begun to compile grew to a respectable size. It seemed that things were falling into place exactly as they should. Until, that is, the rhythm was interrupted abruptly by the Captain's announcement. A declaration of war had been made and they were to deploy posthaste. The reception of this news was a mixture of apprehension and excitement throughout the Bandon. For most the premature call to arms was a complete surprise, but for Herakles the impending war's arrival was already a foregone conclusion. He had seen the steady increase in demand for munitions coming into his father's workshops and known it was only a matter of time before those arms were put to use. Still, he couldn't help but wish for another few long weeks of training. Both he and his men had come quite a long way, but were they indeed ready to assume the weight of this duty?

Time would tell.

In the span of a week doubt was forced aside by the organized bustle of deployment. It wasn't long before Herakles found himself in the Lochagos' office, pen and paper in hand, as he took note of his assignment. He listened carefully to the other squads' designations, as well, as he rendered a crude sketch of the map laid out before them. All said, the assignment was rather straightforward and should prove a simple, if not time consuming, task. With no questions, he pocketed his notebook, drew himself to attention, and delivered a sharp salute before departing to his men to inform them of their mission.

The next day his men were assembled a half hour early, ready for inspection. As he examined each man closely he could see their nerves, but he could also see that they had the presence of mind to check their arms without reminder. In fact, he didn't have a correction to make. Since he'd met them the men before him had become sharp-eyed and well organized; well on their way to becoming marksmen in their own right. These men truly were not the same wide-eyed recruits to whom he'd been introduced nearly two months ago. And, likewise, he, too, was a different man. Whatever awaited them on the road ahead, they would be ready for it.

As the early morning light crept onto the men's faces Herakles saw what he imagined was the same pride he felt reflected on their faces. "Fellows, the task before us is one for which we are more than prepared, but do not allow that thought to make you complacent. We will make all necessary preparations as we embark, knowing that our primary objective is to protect any forces whose duty it is to travel our route from the surprise of an enemy attack. In this we will be thorough, for a success here, when it is simple, will guarantee further success further afield." He looked to Danius, whose age and maturity had allowed him to take on more responsibility quite easily, and Hero, a young man from the capital city whose bright mind had surprised Herakles. "Danius, Hero, you two will ride ahead, staying vigilant for enemy presence and report back every hour on the hour. Take note of defensible positions and keep a wary eye out for secure hiding places. Should you encounter opposing forces, report back immediately for reinforcement. Be sure not to venture too far, either. It wouldn't do to have your warning arrive too late." He watched as they nodded, their mission clear. "Speros, you will be with me. Our task will require an attention to detail that I have found you to exhibit most intuitively. We must follow the river, documenting potential crossing points, no matter how unlikely, before reporting back to the commander." Next he turned to Barsenis and Costas, easily the best shots among his men. "Costas, Barsenis, you will bring up the rear. While the whole of our attention," he gestured to himself and Speros, "is occupied by our reconnaissance, you two will have the duty of securing our immediate area and our flanks. There will be little but open and hilly field between the river and the road. Keep an open eye, all the same."

Their mounts brayed impatiently as they watched Danius and Hero take off. The painstakingly slow pace that awaited the remainder of the group was one they would simply have to accept. The rest of the day would involve dismounting, wading into the river to test soil composition for stability and measure the slope of the bank, all the while noting any obstacles that might make crossing difficult or impossible. As he tracked the flow's speed and notated the width, he remembered accounts of battles lost and won thanks to thorough groundwork. That, alone, was enough to fuel him to continue onward. Every detail was included in the Cornet's notebook, which snapped shut and returned to his pack after they'd made their fourth stop.

"Speros, I must say, I admire your spirit. You seem to have an understanding that the soul must discipline the body and not the other way around. If a man is to find a firm resolve and a steady hand, he must first find that calm within." He remarked gently as he returned to his horse, wringing the water from his trousers.

Pride was something Theodoros felt all too unnoticeably from his commanding officers. It was a feeling that was swelling in his chest and allowed himself to hold his head high. Where many of the men had failed or been exhausted, Theodoros had endured. He could feel his muscles boasting with contentment as they flexed against the reigns of his horse, high from the ground and just as determined in spirit. His knuckles gripped the ropes and the steady movements of his horse, Manga, glided through the terrain.

There was a calmness between the two creatures, and Theodoros thought it was of utmost importance to remind himself of gratefulness to Cornet Leventis, his superior in the hierarchy of his current path. He had no hope of ascending the ladder without reverencing respect and obedience to the man, and the Greek found it hard not to avowal towards the man, steady and level headed as he was. Lieutenant Karas was a completely different beast. Such so that beast was not used lightly. However, it would be a lie to say that some of the men, swine perhaps more than sheep, needed more of a birch.

His two brothers might have been uneasy with Theodoros’ head, thinking so deeply of himself. Thoughts scoffed at the imaginary scolds of his older, more pious-seeming brothers. He had patriotic redemption in the Imperial Lagoons. Their journey of littanies through repetitious training had made them who they were today. Besides, Theodoros could feel, even hidden for keepsake in his pocket, the darkest wool braided and knotted for perfection, praising the tagmata for their accomplishments and commitment. It was now that their confidence should not be scoured. The young man was not going to let his nerves bite away at his thoughts. This was not a time for being jumpy and insecure.

“Under your guidance, I 'been able to see an' hear more clearly than before, Cornet Leventis,” Theodoros tried to speak boldly but humbly. His tongue as unable to chant the way he wanted his words to sound, and for several seconds between his unfinished words his mind pondered in paranoia -- deeper than his usual nervousness (having tried to forcefully suppress it only to see it overcome him in a surprising instant) -- the way in which his vocals resounded towards his triptych when he made his daily prayers. Unfortunately, Theodoros was unable to finish his statement. His inner calm having been so disturbed by the slightest of conversation, had been weak and trembling (at least, for a soldier) and the Cornet had already withdrew himself from the conversation.

His eyes cast onward, unwilling to admit physical defeat by declining his neck or eyes. He was but a crumb on the Diskos, and as small as his duty was, it was an important one. Slowly the grain of sand would travel along the riverside -- and with all the insight he could muster through the knowledge of his physicality, his heart was still in want for taming the madness that flickered so weighted inside his chest. Theodoros’ knuckles tightened again and turned Manga’s attention towards the Cornet. His heels bode in heavy against the steed’s hide as he let a prayer whisper through his heart, and despite how peaceful he willed the prayer to be, the anger was still fluent in knowing his flaws and how to battle triumphantly against his Angel.

"Yes Sah, it's an accent Sah!" Was the reply of the Dragoon to his commanding officer before being dismissed. From then on he'd proceed with training as before but much more "lousily" if one were to put a fine finger on it. There was one thing John didn't understand however. When did he punish anyone? He had only done what was needed to get everyone fit for war as far as he saw it. Theotok knew his last commanding officer did worse. Old Commander Anios with his mustache a foot across yes.... Ioannis wasn't going to reminisce on the good old days because they were not good and poorly remembered, but nevertheless he thought it was important for him to remember.

---

War was declared. This was no surprise in hindsight, things were brewing quite fast and it was silly for Ioannis to think he'd get away with just being a garrison for the next... however long he'd live. On the journey to Tomis he'd be pretty reclusive, but whenever he'd see anyone he'd simply snigger a little to himself, shaking his head. However, the closer they got to the theoretical battlefield the laughter would have longer and longer
intervals, as would his appearances.

As they landed, the first thing he did was to once again kneel no matter what happened around him and to pray. Back from the pagan days of the Varangian guard the adoration of one's ancestors was passed down to now and while he was quite far from them, Ioannis thought now - with death looming ahead - was a good time to remember them. On Viking raids, to foreign lands, went men of Northern bloods. he muttered under his breath after making standing up and acquainting himself with the situation.
From the initial reports the arrivals received it seemed Ioannis was temporarily where his veterancy would stand out. An area with much rugged land and possible insurgency to counter, or even create. Yes, this would do just right.

Standing to perfect attention he waited until receiving an assignment. It seemed they were to patrol a forest. He was going to raise the concern of going on horses through a forest being frankly rather stupid, but it was adressed.

However, time would quickly show that there were already flaws in the current arrangement. When Ioannis had the chance in the patrol he'd turn to his officer and ride a little closer to him. After a quick salute combining the maximum formality with quickest time he could he'd ask for permission to speak and after hopefully being granted it, would go on. After swallowing he'd start to speak rather quickly but not fumble any words in the haste for working under pressure was now something he was used to. "Sir I'll make it quick. Our current arrangement is contrary to what experience I many other veterans have from the Mamluk insurgency." Of course they weren't going to speak up about it. Perhaps laziness, or fear, or thinking it was futile they didn't approach the officers despite Ioannis hearing grumbling from them akin to that of his own. "We shouldn't just have patrols. We should emphasize our versatility, act like light infantry. Some men should take some extra carbines and pistols - two or even three of each per man - and have bayonets affixed and swords drawn when we arrive in the forest to stay for a while. If enemies come in between our patrols they will be able to set up an ambush and take out the patrols one by one. If we set up a few semi-permanent check-points we shall be able to make sure this doesnt happen; one or two along the roads and one or two hidden in the woodland. They'll complement the patrols and be able to get first blood upon the enemy, while also being able to flee shortly after to report back." Motionless and looking a centimetre above his officer's nose bridge he'd await a reply.

Francisco's patrol rode out just as the sun began to spread warm tendrils of light across the landscape. The darkness that had so fed his nightmares was vanishing to be replaced by the genuine pleasure of a ride in the country. He had taken the time to pull the helmet cover into place so that no light would flash from its burnished surface, double and triple checked his carbine was loaded, and ensured more times then he could count that his sword moved freely in its scabbard.

As they moved out into the countryside Francisco found himself enjoying the ride. They passed first through the town and, once, under the foreboding gateway and past the earthworks, they entered into neatly kept farming country. The locals watched them warily but a few waved and a couple of pretty girls paused in their chores to blow him a kiss as he rode by. He winked back and was rewarded with a flurry of giggles as they rode through, their horses raising small puffs of dust beneath their hooves.

Their ride took them into the interior of the landscape, the high mountain peaks visible above the trees as they rode. The majority of the land about them was turning into open grazing, vast fields of it that rolled up to the edge of the forest to the North, and down to the ocean in the South. Francisco had worried aloud that an enemy might ambush them from the tree-line but one of the Cornets had scoffed at the concern. Only the British used proper rifles and they were far away. No musket fired from the distant tree-line was going to kill a man. What they were really looking for were other enemy cavalry, sent out to screen the advance of an army. No army could move without roads, the heavy supply wagons and guns would require the easy route or they would have to be abandoned.

Despite the sun and the assurances from the Cornet, Francisco was slowly loosing his good mood again. The fear was back as he looked about him. They were at war. Eventually they would run into an enemy and then what? Would he be killed? Could he kill another person? He doubted his six weeks of training really made him a soldier and it seemed all the more obvious he was not as the experienced men in the bandon acted as if they hadn't a care in the world.

Francisco had no way of knowing that they were as nervous as he, their experience simply allowed them to hide it more effectively. His own fears made him feel cold despite the sun and he almost wished he had never left his family farm. At least, despite the off highway man, he had never been in any danger. The thought occurred to him that he would probably also be a father by now and he shuddered at the thought. Fatherhood was not high on his priority list.

The path they were riding led to a distant bridge that they caught a glimpse of briefly from a high hilltop. For a brief moment Francisco thought he saw a dark shape moving against a distant green hillside. He opened his mouth to report it, looked again and found the thing gone. Maybe he had imagined it? He couldn't say for certain and did not want to make himself look a fool for reporting vague shapes. He kept his mouth shut.

LEVENTIS & SPEROS

The beginning of the patrol is characterized by its tense atmosphere. The forest, surely once a peaceful and soothing sight, now appears all at once menacing, the sharp angles of shadows revealing a malevolent aspect to the dense trees and vegetation. Some of the more skittish of your companions seem particularly bothered, shown in their near-constant wary glances around them and their unconscious fidgeting. Even the horses seem to sense the mood, snorting nervously and twitching their ears.

By midday the oppressive atmosphere has dissipated somewhat, with the patrol settling into boring routine. The tedium is twice broken by false alarms, and these events are enough to keep everyone moderately on edge. Danius and Hero's hourly reports are much the same — descriptions of the terrain and complete lack of enemy movement — and their dependable return does much to improve spirits. Your party finds three possible fords, with one particularly large one appearing halfway up the length of the river, as it bends inward between the two forests.

You are nearly to the mountains, halfway to dismounting to once again test the river, when the cry of a sentry snaps your attention to your left. Just then, Hero bursts from the trees, his horse in a mad gallop and a figure slumped limply over the front of his saddle. He reins in near you, his eyes wild, and cries out around a sob. "Enemies in the woods! They shot Danius, I-I...couldn't stop the bleeding..." He swallows hard, his eyes finally turning to his superior officer, and belatedly remembers to salute. "S-sir! At least ten men. I'm sure they followed me."

DELGADO

The attentions of the locals do much to raise your party's spirits, and the trek through the wide open flatlands relaxes some of their initial wariness. But you hold onto your worries despite the Cornet's assurances, and your mind attempts to once again grasp the reality that you are a soldier at war. It is a curious albeit old revelation, and as you glance around at your companions you fail to recognize the carefully hidden nervousness that they too feel, perhaps as keenly as yourself.

Your arrival to the bridge passes unhindered, and Cornet Konyk orders a brief rest before continuing on. Bardas and his men begin setting up camp, and a few of the fellows from your omadon set aside their carbines to help. Others seem to heed natures call, and drift off into the woods to relieve themselves. Konyk approaches you and, almost apologetically, requests you to mount back up and scout the road ahead a bit with two others.

You are perhaps a bare ten minutes down the road when you hear the unmistakable crack of musket fire, and see one of your companions tumble from his saddle. You hear a musketball whistle over your head, and all at once the realization hits you.

You are being ambushed.

KARRAS

You are going about your duties when a messenger boy comes running up to you and hands you a folded note. Inside is a written order from the Captain requesting your immediate presence in his headquarters.

Upon arrival, the Captain hands you a glass of brandy and gestures you towards a large map tacked to his desk. "Welcome Lieutenant. I have a task for you — apologies for the short notice, but we are rather understaffed, as you know." He wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead, downs his own brandy, and taps a location on the map.

"Istrus. The town-fort south of here. I've received reports from their head of militia, a Lieutenant Maniakes, that they have seen evidence of enemy presence in the area. I have nearly every damn one of my officers away on scouting missions at the moment, so I want you to take the garrison detachment of two omadon and confirm these reports. If you find the enemy, do your best to not engage and return here. I expect it to be a two day trip, and your command isn't set to return for roughly the same amount of time, yes?" The Captain straightens and looks at you. "Any questions?"

Lieutenant Karras

Milos had not delayed when he received the order to report in. Upon being offered a glass of brandy, he politely turned it down. He had never been one for alcohol, disliking the taste and never wishing to have his judgement clouded. Water had always been his preference.

When the captain had finished outlining the situation, the lieutenant nodded in understanding. Milos briefly wondered if he himself had been unwise in dividing his own unit to such an extent. He also wondered if he had been wise to send his senior NCO off with one of the Cornets. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it now, and besides, if the enemy had been spotted in the south then the Cornets were perhaps less likely to run into trouble up north, though that was not speculation he would stake his life on.

"Yes sir." The lieutenant said, after a few moments of consideration. "Though I do have one question. This enemy force - is there any rough estimation as to its size?" For all he knew, it could be anything from a scouting party to a vanguard of the main assault.

---

After his question was answered, he saluted and immediately departed to the garrison, in order to introduce himself to his new subordinates and give them their orders.

The crack of the musket seemed so loud and unexpected that all Francisco could do as his companion tumbled into the roadway was stare in surprise. A second musket ball whipped through the air inches from his face and that drove some awareness home to him and, even as he looked toward the distant trees, he saw smoke drifting across a small ridgeline much closer to him, his horse already turning in response to the pressure of its riders knees.

"Cavalry!" The shout came from the third man of the patrol, Beppe Renzi, who was dragging his carbine free of its holster and pointing back the way they had come. A small squadron of lancers, their weapons glittering threateningly in the sun, were trotting out of the low ground that had been hidden them from Francisco. Five lancers, and an unknown number of persons firing muskets. Ten seconds had passed and Francisco was already trying to decide which way to run.

"Romans!" He managed to croak out, recognizing the white jackets worn by the infantry. The lancers wore the same white but with blue facings denoting their regiment. Fifteen seconds and Francisco's horse had finished its turn, he was now aiming directly for the lancers.

Another pair of musket balls slapped the air near him but, in that moment, he realized that the infantry were to far to be any real threat, the first shot had been a lucky one. He leaned across the dead mans mount and drew the carbine from its holster. Now he had two shots. The terror he had felt so keenly seemed to cool as he measured the distance between him and Lancers and his training began to take over.

The lancers had spread out and were trotting easily down the roadway toward them. To the West a small infantry squad had sprung to their feet and was quickly retreating away, their hands and backs heavy with gods knows what. A forage party! Francisco twisted his gaze back to the Lancers who were closing quickly now so that he could make out individual moustached faces beneath their glittering helmets, teeth bared in savage snarls.

"Wait, wait until they charge!" Francisco called as Beppe raised his carbine. The Lancers were still out of accurate range for the carbines and if they wasted their shots, they were be dead men. They had one chance, and only once chance. The two Byzantines began to walk their own horses forward and, just as the Lancers touched back their spurs to charge, the two fired. Francisco's target gave a scream and dropped his lance, clutching at his shoulder and wheeling away. Beppe's target jerked back in his saddle, sagged, and then collapsed sideways so that his body remained upright in the saddle, jerking like some gruesome marionette doll with every motion of his horse. Francisco threw down the carbine and the Dragoons kicked their horses into a gallop.

The three remaining Lancers checked for a moment at the sudden loss of two of their number, long enough for Fransisco to draw his sword. Then the Lancers were on them, the long blades reaching for his chest. He did as the drill instructor had told him to, barely managing to brush the lance point away so that it tore his uniform sleeve and he hissed in pain as it cut his arm. Then he was past the point and swung his heavy sword backwards with a scream that seemed to release all the terror he had been harbouring. The blade, new and as sharp as he could make, and driven by the strength of an Iberian farm boy, smashed into the Lancers back and cut through the wool uniform, severing skin, and tendon until it grated on bone. The Lancer gave a high pitched scream and arched his back until he fell from the saddle and crashed into the hard packed roadway.

Francisco screamed in triumph. He had killed. He had become a soldier! He sawed at his reins, savagely forcing his horses head around as he turned to see the other two Lancers trying to turn their mounts as well. Beppe was down, he had been taken clean out of his saddle by one of the Lancers, the wicked point tearing into his waist and out the other side. He lay on the roadway near the Lancer Fransisco had killed, hands clutching at his side where his intestine was trying to escape the savage wound that began in his belly.

The Lancers managed to turn to face Francisco and then one screamed as a Francisco shot him with the second carbine he had not yet fired. The bullet, fired in a hurry, struck the Lancer in the neck and blood fountained across the white mane of his horse. The Lancer clapped a hand to the wound and wheeled out of the fight, dropping his lance and spurring off the roadway. That left one Lancer, his long moustache marking him as a veteran horseman.

Fransisco threw down the carbine, he would never have time to reload it, and took a grip on his sword, reassured by the weight of the steel. The two men were sitting at a standstill now and both looked about them at the carnage on the roadway. Beppe and one of the Lancers still moaned piteously in the dust. A bloodied blue jacket showed where Francisco's other comrade lay, his head tucked beneath his body at an impossible angle. The Lancer Beppe had shot was still hanging in his saddle, his horse, no longer interested in the fight, was eating grass some hundred yards away, the body hanging comically askew, still trapped in the saddle. The man Francisco had shot in the shoulder was watching the two from distance away, his face twisted in pain, his good hand holding a bundled spare shirt to his bloodied shoulder.

A small wind blew from the ocean across the two remaining combatants, gently brushing at the manes of their horses and pushing the carbine smoke away. Both men flinched as a crash announced the collapse of the man Fransisco had shot in the neck. Blood had soaked the white tunic and the Lancer, unable to remain erect in the saddle, had finally collapsed into the ditch beside the road. His fingers still attempted to slow the flow of blood but the movement slowly weakened and Francisco watched with a detached curiosity as the man gave a hiccuping gasp, his body twisting for a moment as if he was trying to stand, and then sagging into the ditch, his blood pooling beneath him.

The small movement of the remaining Lancers hooves brought Fransisco's head back up and he watched as the Lancer measure the distance between the two of them. He was shocked to see fear mirroring his own in the hard eyes that stared at him. Moments ago he the two men would have been trying to kill each other but the killing mood had come and gone. Almost hesitantly, Fransisco raised his bloodied sword in a salute. To his amazement a small smile broke out on the Roman's face and returned the salute with his own curved blade.

"Well fought! May we never meet again!" The Lancer called out in Latin and Francisco found himself also smiling despite the situation though he did not reply as the Lancer turned his horse and spurred back down the road, his wounded comrade hurrying after him. Fransisco watched them until they passed over a small rise and he was alone, the master of his little battlefield.

For a long minute he sat still in his saddle, bloodied blade resting on the pommel of his saddle. The smell of gun smoke was still strong and the scent of fresh blood crisp to his senses. Beppe's moans had died away and Fransisco looked down to realize that the man was dead, his guts slowly sliding out of his stomach and onto the roadway.

Nothing else moved around him. The wind picked up enough that the horse hair plume of his helmet began to tickle his face and his horse moved beneath him, one of his hooves making a "tocK' sound as it struck a rock. He was alive. He had done it. He had killed, he had become a soldier.

He kicked his foot free and dropped from the saddle to retrieve his carbine which he reloaded and slid back into the holster. He went to the downed men and, remembering the advice from his instructors, went through their pockets and purloined any valuables he could find. This was his battlefield and he would take what he could from it.

It took him considerably longer to round up the dead mens horses but he managed, his time on the farm certainly useful enough at that moment. The one with the dead Lancer still in the saddle evaded him and galloped after the two Lancers who had ridden away. As the horse topped the same small rise the body finally came free and vanished into the long grass. Fransisco was not going to go looking for that one and he was certainly not going to wait around for the enemy to come back in strength.

The enemy dead remained where they fell; Fransisco taking the time to drag his two dead comrades into the ditch and hastily pile rocks and dirt over them. It was hardly a grave and scavengers, already circling above, would be at the flesh before he was out of sight. He pulled himself into his saddle and took a last look around. He was still very much alone in the wide open space. Incredibly, for the first time since he had joined the Dragoons, he did not feel afraid.

He turned his horse and, with his fallen comrades mounts and two captured Roman horses in tow, he rode back toward the bridge.

Herakles Leventis

Herakles tried to listen intently as he scanned the treeline, its depths looking ever more treacherous, but his thoughts were a mad jumble. Sweat gathered on his brow, threatening to sting at his eyes as it inched its way downward. The warm summer sun blazed, glistening off of the pooling blood already matting the steed's maple coat. He couldn't believe how much there was. Try as he might to look away, his eyes were fixed on the motionless form slumped before him. How foolish he was to have allowed himself to be lulled into this false sense of security. And his foolishness had now cost a man his life.

The sounds of the river's splashing just behind him drew his focus away for but a moment. His eyes flitted from forest to river and back again as realization struck him like a runaway cart. Should they remain where they were, they'd be pinned without cover against a body of moving water that likely wasn't even passable. Yet he was sure a fate left to the coursing river was a better prospect than being gunned down in the open. No. That would not and could not happen. He wouldn't have another man die here on his account. There wasn't a moment to spare. They would need to act and act fast. Yet even as he tried to move, his feet stood frozen in place. Anxious thoughts plagued his mind as he fought to regain control over himself. How close was the enemy? Were they on horseback? Could the horses make it all the way back to town without first tiring? Would the enemy have thought to cut off their return, hoping instead to catch them beleaguered and fatigued on the road? This far from command, he had no one to ask for leadership. His word would be the final call. Yet even as he went to speak, fear caught his words as they tried to find flight and pulled them back into his gut. The words sat like a pile of stones in the pit of his stomach, heavy and laden with guilt. He could hear the pounding of his own heart, now racing faster than his flurrying thoughts.

"Sir!" He finally heard the man, voice at a shout, yet it sounded distant. Hero had called him now for the third time as the other men looked on wide-eyed and mouths agape. All of them stood, shocked into silence, as pressure to do something —anything— grew all the more pressing. Morale was flagging drastically. His men were relying on him and he was failing them. Failing to think. Failing to speak. Failing to move.... Failing to do. The stakes in this moment were too high. Failure was not an option. It was either do or die for these daring dragoons. Slowly, but surely he felt his wits coming back to him. His breath began to steady, his legs to cooperate. Precious moments had already been wasted with inaction and the time to respond to the unfolding events was quickly ebbing away. He hazarded another glance at the thicket menacing before them, then turned to address his men, voice faltering slightly.

"You're right, Hero.. There's little time. On me!" He shouted, a lump in his throat. "We're moving down the road back towards the garrison, but the moment you see me veer towards the forest, be quick to do the same. We'll dismount, tie up our horses, and lay in wait for our pursuers." His face was set in a steel-hard grimace, jaw clenched, trembling, eyes cast ahead. To stand and fight with the odds so thoroughly stacked against them would be utter madness. Yet it would hardly be less crazy to attempt to ride all the way back praying to go unmolested. No, they would have to take the fight back to the enemy in a show of force they couldn't possibly expect. He swallowed hard, spurring his ride into a gallop.

Low to the ground, preying at the edge of the forest, and concealed behind shrubbery Herakles waited patiently. His eyes were peeled for the slightest movement, diligently glued to the roadway. He had two shots ready in his double-barreled carbine and his pistol drawn beside him. His men knelt in preparation, Costas and Barsenis just beside him, while Speros and Hero watched the forest behind them for a sign. The death of Danius weighed heavily on each man present, but some combination of a drive for revenge and —the stronger one still— to survive kept the men alert. There would be blood spilt for the blood lost, but more than that none among them wanted to find themself buried alongside him in the morrow.

His eyes were set on Cornet Levitus’ commands, and as always, the Cornet was causing Theodoros to question his own actions. The closest Theodoros ever got to death was with that of his father. His father’s passing had not affected Theodoros very much. There had been a sadness, but father had lasted longer than expected, having been older in his years when all of his children were born. Both of his brothers had felt a familiar sadness alongside him. His sister had not taken the passing well. She was the fainter hearted of the four Speros children. Despite living as a farm girl, Anekah was born with a staunch feminine charm and touch, unlike their mother. It was not something deemed efficient many of times with her frailty, but she married well and has since proven to be a dutiful and well-pleasing wife.

Theodoros had experienced other prospects of death aside from that of his beloved father. However, he could not help but feel a similar callousness towards Danius’ death. It had been a surprise, but the stoicism he was trying to uphold seemed to have not been swept away by the redemption towards a fallen comrade. If anything, he felt an uneasiness towards his lack of regard for his brother. His mind was pulling on thoughts and tying them into prayers. He counted each prayer like every four steps that Manga made. He was feeling something for the recently reposed, but the feeling was not quite accurate.

He could say that his happiness was based solely on that of the Lord, but even in such a case, there should have been some respect due. The tears that had poured from Hero as he expressed concern had caused Theodoros to reach from his reigns and towards his saber -- not his prayer rope, still tucked in its usual spot. Theodoros knew he was being ridiculous, contemplating where his heart lie in the midst of a battle about to ensue. Quickly, he pegged the animosity of soul on his own fear of death. It is best to turn it into bravery then foolish doubt, he inquired within himself.

The bellow of the Cornet tightened the reign of command over the men, and Theodoros was immediately pulled from his selfish delusion. Without Danius, they were a man short. All of the likelihood that had stood upon and within Danius had departed this world. The tragedy of his loss was written and would not be read in vain. In an instance of realization, the struggle broke the barriers of what he was supposed to feel; and the blessings of the gallop allowed the emotions weighing in Theodoros to run freely through the muscles of his horse; and in the moment, where Theodoros lay lowly next to Hero, the fumes of anticipation hung in the greenery. His mind was still running forwards. The maze of the battlefield was igniting smells and sounds that were new to Theodoros this time around, and he could not help but believe in his current position that he was making some sort of prostration to the death about to come.

Paulus Ordo

It was as though Paulus had swallowed a firecracker. His stomach seemed fit to burst and the resolve had built over the weeks seemed to fizzle away in a miraculous show of sound and sparks. It was actually happening. He was going to war. The parade ground seemed to disappear. Hours seemed to past by as he absorbed the notion. In reality this was only a matter of second, and he regained awareness as orders began to be barked about preparations to be made.

A week long voyage was just what Paulus needed. There was something soothing about the ocean, the way it rocked. Almost like cradle. As the ocean air filled his lungs, he would spend time on the deck mentally going over every maneuver, technique, and drill. Slowly, he regained his confidence. He was the son of a soldier going to feel his destiny. This was a time to rejoice, he knew his father was watching him, praying to the saints for his son's safety.

Once on land Paulus was, not unpleasantly, surprised to find he would not be rushing into battle just yet. Of course, his relief did not stem from the fear of battle, but from the reassurance that he would have extra time to train and bond with his fellow Dragoons. At least, that's what he told himself. The scouting work was a nice distraction for Paulus. He was used to monotonous work, and was able to zone out and not worry about his fate. Occasionally he was practice maths in his head, or try to remember the words taught to him of great poets and philosophers. He was sure his accuracy in either subject was lacking. Nevertheless, it aided in calming him. Soon, he was forced to face his fears as he returned to Tomis. He found his bunks and sat there for a moment, his eyes glazed over. His mind was in sort of a zen state, and he did his best to push any thought out of his mind. Eventually fear did creep in, but he found himself more relaxed after that moment of meditation. There was no point in sitting there, though. He might as well combat his fear, and the best way to do that was to train. He left the barracks, and searched the citadel for someone who could show him the way.

KARRAS

The Captain frowns. "No," He admits heavily. "We do not know the exact size of the forces in the area, though Lieutenant Maniakes reports evidence indicating the presence of as many as several bandon worth of troops." He stares you in the eye. "Don't do anything rash, Lieutenant."

//Note: Paulus Ordo is coming with you here as well.

DELGADO

You don't make it very far before encountering Bardas and a handful of enlisteds riding hard down the road towards you — evidently your belated relief force, undoubtedly having heard the musket fire from the bridge. They rein up besides you, Bardas goggling at the sight of your injuries and bloodstained attire. "What in the seven hells happened?" He finally manages to ask, before shaking his head and gesturing for you to disregard the question. "Nevermind — Cornet Konyk will want to hear your report firsthand. Christ Almighty." He blasphemes, crossing himself. Then he turns to his command and barks out orders, and soon you are once again heading back towards the bridge.

Some twenty or so minutes later, you stand at attention in front of the Cornet, having given your full report to him. The Cornet is quite obviously distressed at the news, and the knowledge that there is likely a sizeable enemy force barely a kilometer away. He paces for a long minute before finally turning to you. "It is vital we maintain control of this bridge as per Lieutenant Karras' orders. However, he must be informed of the present state of affairs." He straightens, and stares you in the eyes. "You are to take two horses and return to Tomis immediately."

SPEROS

All is quiet after you tie up your horse and move into position. You crouch behind a stout tree, carbine trained on the pathway you rode across just minutes before. The anticipation mounts as time passes, your heart pounding and your palms becoming sweaty. The fellow across from you fidgets incessantly, and twice he is startled and nearly fires. "Saint Michael preserve me..." You hear him mutter under his breath.

Finally, you see them. A dozen German Hussars, just as Hero said. They pick their way up the trail at a trot, calling out to each other in their barbarian tongue. "Steady...Steady..." You hear Cornet Leventis say quietly.

Then someone fires, knocking a hussar clean from his saddle, and the whole world seems to spring into action.

IOANNIS

The sound of musket fire interrupts whatever response the Cornet had planned to give. The noise is distant, but you quickly ascertain that it is in the direction of the bridge, where Cornet Bardas and Konyk are supposed to be camped.

Cornet Von Nyon is quick to react, and immediately spurs his horse forwards. Perhaps, in hindsight, he is too quick — the horse is spooked, and promptly bucks him from his saddle. Von Nyon lands heavily with a thud. As two of your fellows rush to calm the mare, you run to check on your officer. A quick appraisal reveals that he is out cold, having hit his head somewhere on the way down.

That means you are now in command.

Lieutenant Karras

Milos saluted. "Yes sir." He said again, and with that he walked out of the office. Originally he had intended to go to the garrison straight away, but then a last-minute thought occurred to him. He quickly made his way to his own office - a tiny and cramped thing, as he was after all only a Lieutenant. He pulled a sheet of parchment from one of his drawers, and began to write.

Less than a minute later, there was a message posted to his door, explaining he had been dispatched on a mission, and that should any of his men return before him they should take their reports directly to the Captain.

No sooner had the message been posted than Milos was once again on his way. First he hunted down the two Cornets, which he found at an officer's club - garrison duty had given them a great deal of free time, it would seem, but thankfully neither of them had had their first drink. "Cornets. I am Lieutenant Karras. We have been tasked with a scouting mission. I want your men assembled at the east gate within half an hour, where I will explain the situation in full. Any questions?"

"No, sir." Came the response, somewhat delayed by the surprise of their sudden assignment.

"Very good. Dismissed." And with that, Milos saw to the his own kit.

---

Twenty-five minutes later, Milos's mount stood before the gate, the man himself mounted atop as he awaited the arrival of his new command. His horse was a dark grey, well-muscled and healthy despite the lengthy voyage, which had been named Diligence. He was equipped with a standard issue sabre, finely sharpened and in good condition. A pair of pistols were holstered at his belt, and another two holstered to his boot. There was a nine-inch dagger sheathed at his belt as well.

Though there was still five minutes to go, he hoped the two Cornets were the sort who preferred to arrive early.

The ride to Tomis had been a frantic one. Delgado had managed to stop long enough to have his wound looked at, grab a canteen, a loaf of bread and some cheese, before he swung into the saddle, riding hard for town. The road seemed strangely empty of marching soldiers and it took him some time to remember that his unit had been deployed as scouts, the Byzantine high command had no idea how close the Romans were.

He had galloped hard through the countryside, the sun warm on his face as he cut through fields and even streams to shorten the distance. Twice he had been challenged by Provosts who ranged about the roadway looking for deserters or looters. In both cases they had stopped him long enough to stare at his blood stained uniform and listen to a story that grew shorter with each telling before waving him on his way. As he passed out of sight they had turned to look worriedly to the north as if expecting to see Roman troops swarming over the countryside at any moment.

Delgado had clattered into Tomis exhausted beyond reason. Both his horses were lathered with sweat and once the adrenaline had worn off, he could feel the aches and pains throughout his body. The wound on his arm was aching fiercely and he could feel the muscles in his back screaming from the jarring motion of the saddle. He was to tired to ride properly and his body was making him regret it.

He had been forced to stop once he reached the town to dunk his head in a cold fountain to bring some awareness back. The cool water had felt glorious and he had drank it down as greedily as his mount, the two side by side. The townsfolk had recoiled at the site of the blood on the two and hurried past. Delgado caught sight of his reflection in a window and couldn’t help but stare in shock. The young happy face was blackened with powder smoke, his uniform was torn and bloodied, and blood had coated the neck of his horse. He looked more like a grizzled veteran now than a recruit.

The more exhausted of his mounts he left with the garrison stables, along with the promissory note that proved he had taken enemy mounts and should be paid out for them. Cavalry mounts did not come cheaply and the Emperor was always glad to pay his men for captured enemy horses.

He swung into the saddle and rode out of the stable just in time to see Karras trot into the square on his big dark-grey horse. He steered his own mount toward him and threw a quick salute.

“Sir. Trooper Delgado reporting.” Delgado blinked slowly, the picture of exhaustion. He was cradling his injured arm without even noticing. “With the Cornet’s compliments, my patrol encountered a combined force of Roman Lancers and Infantry. I am the only survivor of my squad, sir. Cornet advises we will need reinforcements to hold the bridge.”