>
>
> 4rthLegion*
>
> (Abbreviated | IV LEGIO, Brazen Fourth, IV-LG)
>
> Dictum: Triumph beats Infamy
>
> Solem Rubrum Mons | Bronze and gold sign representing a red sun emerging behind a black peak (Comparable emblem to the City of Demames, but for the coloring)
>
>
>
>
>
> Organizational chart
>
> -Summer 192NC, at the start of Maiden’s War, final iteration-
>
> Overall strength ~3560*
>
> (Legio general staff not included)
>
> -2800 legionnaires,
>
> ~760 other units
>
>
>
>
>
> Legatus Legionis | Nonus Sula (Demames – His father was second cousin to Duke Sula of Demames)
>
> First Prefect | Declan Valens (Cartagen -Second son of the Grand Baron of Cartaport Sir Montague Valens, cousin to the Mayor of Cartagen Frederick Valens)
>
> Prefect | Harrison Jacobred (First non-Lorian senior officer, his family a cadet branch of the Redmonds’ of Kadrek, founded by the Duke’s younger second cousin Jacob. A political appointment.)
>
> Optio | Rufius Valens (Prefect Declan’s younger brother. Rufius had sailed for Kadrek immediately upon receiving word from his brother. The Baron was ‘unaware’ of his offspring whereabouts, the appointments revealed later due to the distance involved and the Fourth’s participation in a different theater in the war.)
>
> LID officer | Hugh Bolton. (Kadrek- Late Rolo’s cousin.)
>
> Aide de Legatus | Pete Dumont (Demames)
>
> Quartermaster | Sulpicius Scrofa (also Keeper of the purse)
>
> Solem Rubrum Mons Signifer | Duc Gratian (Centurion Quintus’ second cousin)
>
>
>
> First Cohort
>
> (ICH-IVLG)
>
> (Moniker the laconic ‘Triumph’)
>
> Strength 850 legionnaires*
>
>
>
>
>
> First Century
>
> (ICN-ICH-IVLG)
>
> Gold Standard
>
> (Monikers ‘Them Crimson Banners’, Sula’s Guards)
>
> 400 Legionnaires (The vast majority of the century were awarded the golden Phalera after their heroics at Stad River, 2/5 of them posthumous. The unit doubled its size with the addition of Anorum’s cohort in early summer 192NC)
>
> Centurion (Primus Pilus) Paulus Didicus
>
> Decanus Derio Papus (First Maniple)
>
> Decanus Baro (2nd Maniple)
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> Decanus Trebius (3rd Maniple)
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> Decanus Avienus (4rth Maniple)
>
>
>
> Second Century
>
> (IICN-ICH-IVLG)
>
> 150 Legionnaires
>
> Centurion Lar Montaus
>
> Decanus Badi Littera
>
>
>
> Third Century
>
> (IIICN-ICH-IVLG)
>
> 150 Legionnaires
>
> Centurion Sisena Draco
>
> Decanus Varo Bellator
>
>
>
> Fourth Century
>
> (IVCN-ICH-IVLG)
>
> 150 Legionnaires
>
> Centurion Publius Surinas
>
> Decanus Vala
>
>
>
> Second Cohort
>
> (IICH-IVLG)
>
> Strength 650
>
>
>
> First Century
>
> 200 legionnaires
>
> Centurion | Opiter Carbo (Demames)
>
> Second Century
>
> 150 legionnaires
>
> Centurion | Glean Lale (Kas)
>
> Third Century
>
> Centurion | Winston Levy (Kas)
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> Fourth Century
>
> Centurion | Gavin Page (Kas)
>
>
>
> Third Cohort
>
> (Halfostad, ‘Cultured’)
>
> (IIICH-IVLG)
>
> Strength 650
>
>
>
> First Century
>
> Centurion | Luke Whitt (Halfostad)
>
> Second Century
>
> Centurion | Jim Chad (Halfostad)
>
> Third Century
>
> Centurion | Cornelius Cropp (Unknown, probably Halfostad)
>
> Fourth Century
>
> Centurion | Willie Page – Gavin’s twin brother (Kas)
>
>
>
> Fourth Cohort
>
> (Anorum, 'The Missing', ‘Instructors’, highest ratio of minor officers elevated from a unit after 193NC)
>
> (IVCH-IVLG)
>
> Strength 650
>
> Former training cohort of Anorum, classes of 190-192 NC
>
>
>
> First Century
>
> Centurion | Quintus Gratian (Anorum, the Signifer’s cousin)
>
> Second Century
>
> Centurion | Sextus Mellitus (Asturia)
>
> Third Century
>
> Centurion | Mael Prisca (Asturia)
>
> Fourth Century
>
> Centurion | Tarsus Zeno (Anorum)
>
>
>
> (Transferred from III Legio)
>
> Legion Slingers
>
> 200 Slingers (numbers vary due to severe casualties, 100 well-trained slingers were added in Anorum)
>
> Centurion | Joe Fallon (Nord, Maza Burg)
>
> Decanus | Drusus Thrasea (Anorum)
>
>
>
> (Transferred from III Legio)
>
> Scouts Legio
>
> ~180 Ranger-type units (A mix of mounted archers and light warriors)
>
> Under
>
> Centurion | Gerard ‘Half-Ear’ Pike
>
> ~70 Rangers + 50 scouts (A mix of Nords, Lorians and Half-breeds)
>
> + 50 Nord warriors, ‘Marlene’s Brutes’ (lightly armoured with axes and swords)
>
> Under ‘Ugly’ Marlene Lake (only unit led by a female, mostly former Gerard’s Raiders)
>
>
>
>
>
> Legio Cavalry
>
> Around 250 horsemen (overwhelming majority from Sovya, mainly Halfostad)
>
> -150 Medium Cavalry under
>
> Decurion | Roger Bailey (Halfostad)
>
> -50 Heavy Cavalry & 50 mounted Karls under
>
> Sir (later Baron) Norman Gatrell (Yepehir)
>
> The Yepehir nobleman served as Lady (later Duchess) Martha Redmond’s honor guard. Probably another political appointment.
>
>
>
> Legio Engineers
>
> (Isaak’s Aprons)
>
> 100 apprentices (The IV engineer unit was built from scratch)
>
> Centurion (of engineers) Isaak Boston (Lesia – transferred from the Third)
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Legio Medics
>
> Centurion surgeon | Dottore Borealis (credentials disputed, out of the medical academy of Novesium?)
>
> Medic Dorothea
>
> + 30 other nurses and medics
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> *Around two thousand five hundred civilians, merchants, medics, carpenters and smiths, following in the supply train. Six Scorpios, later twelve - plus a prototype 'Deliverer' after 193, the classified weapon probably a copy of the archaic pre-Reinut Issir design. The IV Legio had almost five hundred horses and various mounts, due to its larger than usual cavalry element, mostly drawn from Duke Redmond’s troops. The IV Legio spent almost half of 192 NC split into two large groups afore Sula resumed command during the summer.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
-
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Legatus Nonus Sula
The Maiden’s Wedding
Part I
-A matter of orders-
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[https://i.postimg.cc/htRC4SS8/Pascor-v2.jpg]
The smell of manure was overwhelming and as annoying as the flies following the herd of bovines –mostly cattle- slowly moving down the path towards the fields and away from the river, spreading their odorous ‘fertilizer’ as much on the rough cobblestone road leading to the bridge as over its sides.
“I’m dying,” a flushed and sweaty Martha groaned from the separate inner part of his tent, the heavy leather and fabric over them offering little relief from the heavy sun of the plains. “Everything smells like rot? Like more than yesterday?”
“It’s just fresh cow shit and mud,” Sula elucidated, using a towel to clean his face and stared at a stoic Dumont standing near the opening. “The summer has been pretty mild all things considering.”
“I dreamed of a sea, I’ll settle with that darn lake if that’s the best you could do, yet we get to slowly roast in the open plains,” Martha complained in a bad mood. “What is happening Nonus?”
“It’s a river. You’ll get used to it.”
“Ugh? Seriously, what in witch’s unplucked brows are we doing here? Do something!”
Eh.
“Think of snow it might help dear,” Sula replied wearily and turned his attention on his aide.
“What did you say?” Martha screamed.
“Here they come sir,” Dumont informed him peeking outside the tent. “The mayor and them other two.”
“Sir Dolf?” Sula queried.
“Ayup, with that son of a bitch Aad Menneken.”
For some reason Dumont disliked the Captain the most.
“Nonus!” Martha shouted irate from her consealed spot. “What the actual fuck?”
“Martha I need five quiet minutes,” Sula replied with a grimace and stood up to greet his visitors. “We have guests.”
That silenced the pregnant noblewoman.
Martha was a trooper deep inside.
“No need to trouble her,” Sir Dolf a skinny Issir of medium height said with a disconcerting smile. He wore mostly leather armour despite being a knight, not much different than his aide Captain Menneken. The also armed Issir, heavily built and with his white hair fully shaven. The Mayor of Bisonville, Floris Van Dam was a man that liked his meat and fish equally, as he’d told them many a times in the weeks they had stalled by the bridge waiting for a decision from Pascor.
Variety is important, Van Dam preached, despite his rounded body offering little of that. Had he not have meaty limbs and a large protruding head, the mayor could have easily rolled down the sloped street and into the river. Cow dung be damned.
“The plains summer is difficult for a northern lass in her condition,” Sula replied and offered them the field chairs in front of his lacquered and sturdy small oaken table.
“The lake is worse,” Sir Dolf assured him taking his seat. “Humidity penetrates yer bones. Your wife I assume?”
“Uhm,” Sula murmured not wanting to talk about his private life with him. He could barely stomach Dolf Van Calcar’s presence and didn’t trust a word coming out of his mouth.
“I’ve brought beef ribs,” the mayor intervened, sweating so much that the front of his loose shirt hang heavy. “Left the fat on them. All you have—”
“Let us return to the matter at hand,” Sir Dolf interrupted him.
“You have word from Pascor?” Sula grunted, sweating as much as the mayor almost and he was wearing armour which didn’t help at all.
“Even better,” Dolf said and stared at Menneken for support. The man nodded afore adding with a dispassionate, even gloomy voice.
“Very… pleasing news.”
For a moment Sula thought he’d announced an outbreak of the plague, his tone out of place.
“The Legion can cross this side of Picker’s River?” It was what he thought the more likely answer from Lord Ton would be.
“The one in Brownfort?” Dolf asked.
“It’s the same plaguing Legion,” Sula grunted.
“No.”
“We get to cross and join with them?”
“Yes.”
Sula sighed. Dolf could turn to a man of few words at the snap of one’s fingers. “So Lord Ton decided we can remain in his lands?”
Dolf pushed back on his chair thinking about it.
“Is it too difficult a query?” Sula taunted his patience running thin.
“Well, perhaps you should read his words for yourself dear Legatus,” Dolf finally answered and offered him a neatly furled scroll, nice flat golden cord tied on it.
“Avoid using endearments Sir Dolf. We’re in the army,” Sula cautioned him and tried to untie the knot, but his fingers were too thick so Dumont gave it a try next without any success.
“May I suggest cutting it?” Dolf offered with a smirk. “We are friendly people around here, even passionate, so I shall ask for your patience to our native verbiage.”
Eat a plate of cack.
Dumont had used his dagger in the meantime to cut the cord and Sula grabbed the fancy scroll to read it without answering the Issir knight. He smacked his lips after he did thoroughly confused. They had received a missive from Lucius that very morning with a very peculiar wording after they decoded it.
When offer arrives. Agree and keep them busy.
At first Sula feared a mix-up with the birds, someone using two parts of different messages to create one. Things like that happen in the army. There’s a fuckup lurking behind every corner.
Sir Dolf was grimacing excited looking at him.
“Your brother is getting married,” Sula murmured and scratched his forehead with two fingers.
“Very… pleasing—” Menneken droned, but Sula cut him off with an impatient gesture.
“I get it,” he grunted in frustration.
“Legatus this is the best possible outcome!” Dolf said enthusiastically.
“I can’t leave the legion and travel to Pascor Sir Dolf!”
“Why, the legion can come as well,” he assured him. “See the city, eh… not much to see really, but there’s the Fenlands at the near… ye might not enjoy that as well, but you can gaze at the Serene River, which is… a river, then make the trip to Wolffish Isles uhm…” Dolf paused trying to think of something else. “Rejoice at the wedding of course, I mean… that’s a lot,” he finished, brushing the sweat off of his upper lip with a finger.
Sula smacked his lips a second time and glared at him.
“Fine,” he finally said.
“Fine?” Dolf retorted.
“Dumont am I speaking in Cofol?” Sula queried.
“Negative sir,” Dumont replied readily. “I hear Common. Perhaps it is the accent?”
“I do too,” Dolf assured them and got up. “Legatus, ahm… we shall see each other in Pascor, I reckon,” he added a little awkwardly.
Apparently the meeting was over.
Right.
“You won’t travel with us?” Sula probed a little confused.
Dolf shrugged his shoulders. “I have a ship waiting across Bisonville,” he explained. “I hate riding in this heat. Now walking, is for braver men than myself.”
Make that a cauldron of cack, Sula thought and watched Dumont ushering them outside. Dottore Borealis pausing to let his visitors leave the tent.
“Is the suffering madam inside?” Borealis queried from outside the opening.
“No she’s bathing in the blasted river!” Sula barked, the shifty Dottore nodding unperturbed afore replying didactically.
“It is good to stretch out her limbs Legatus. Nothing healthier than a dip in cold waters in the nude to liven the skin. I shall take her myself next time, but rest assured I’ll stay close, so nothing untoward befalls her.”
It was as if he had it prepared.
You son of a goat.
“Get inside you cretin!” Sula grunted irate.
The smartly dressed Borealis blinked at the term.
“There’s no need for coarse language, or unfortunate epithets Legatus. A simple hand signal would have sufficed,” the Dottore reproached him walking past Sula and into Martha’s quarters behind the Legatus’ desk.
Huh?
“Leave the drapes open,” Sula warned him turning his head around, dagger in hand and eyes ogling menacingly. That would be the same dagger Dumont had used to open Lord Ton’s invitation. “Else you’ll never signal anything again and walk on blasted stubs!”
> That busy summer, the year of the new calendar one and ninety two, Praised be the Five, the Issir Duke Ton Van Calcar, one of two most important Lakerlords of the great Canlita Sea, upon being informed that the partially rebuilt First Foot had camped near Crabville and the Lord of Tollor’s army had crept up even closer to Hoff’s Tower, decided to attempt a diplomatic solution of sorts. He sent word to the elderly Grand Duke of Riverdor and Van Durren patriarch Lord Albert that he wanted Aafke’s hand in marriage for ‘those blinded by passion must be allowed a chance at redemption in Uher’s eyes’. The teenage girl had been living with him for well over a year. It was a fanciful tale about the desperately in love girl finding her way to his lands and his person, no one really believed, but moved the almost senile by this point Lord Albert to tears.
>
> It wasn’t well received neither by Baron Janos of Badum, nor Lord Hoff who had recently made a marriage pact of their own and had planned to carve out most of Van Calcar’s lands. Lord Ton’s plea for them to bury the hatch and not allow a ‘foolish misunderstanding’ to divert them from the bigger problems of the Realm, left the possibility for an agreement on the disputed lands. It was a vague promise, shrouded in fanciful words and a wedding invitation for the bride’s family to attend to, difficult to refuse.
>
> Lord Albert made the trip to Tollor for the wedding intending to convince the other lords to opt for common ground between fellow Issirs, the old Shield also forced to action probably under heavy pressure from High Regent Anker, of Midlanor. The latter was livid that the lords of Kaltha were quarreling for ‘petty bullshit’ whilst the engaged in multiple wars torn kingdom was ‘neck deep in real shite’.
>
> Lord Janos Van Durren of Badum begrudgingly agreed, since he owed the old Duke patriarch his position and brought his very young, but already pregnant wife Lady Lauke Hoff with him. The ever-cautious lord of Tollor was less willing to make the trip either by foot or ship and send Lord Morit Hoff Baron of Edgefort, a first cousin, along his first son Sir Daan Hoff in his stead. He did travel to Crabville though where the army still resided, while the Lords made the journey by sea. There he found Sir Henk Van Durren, Lord Albert’s first son and Commander of the First Foot.
>
> The young nobleman for whatever reason opted to march his large force to Hoff’s Tower near Sir Maas Hoff’s Tollor’s regulars. The two forces numbering between five to just over seven thousand soldiers, the discrepancy not in Tollor’s two thousand five-hundred soldiers, but in First Foot’s incomplete records. A part of the force was in Riverdor after all under young and just knighted Sir Charles Van Durren, Lord Albert’s youngest son. Was it half? (About 2500 soldiers). Two thirds? It is difficult to gauge the truth now so long after the event.
>
> The impromptu Maiden’s Wedding was to host a number of very prominent Issir, Lorian and even Nord Lords and Dames.
>
> The still comatose High King’s old Shield, Albert Van Durren, Duke of Riverdor. His younger step-brother and right hand man Baron Mikel of Riverdor Castle. High Baron Janos Van Durren of Badum and his wife Lady Lauke Hoff of Tollor. Lord Morit Hoff of Edgefort. Sir Daan Hoff the second, commander of Tollor’s fleet and marines. Lord Ton Van Calcar of Pascor. His wife to be Aafke Van Durren of Badum. His brother Sir Dolf Van Calcar. Baron Dilan Darvot of Brownfort. Legatus Nonus Sula of the Fourth Legion, Prefect Declan Valens (High Baron of Cartaport’s second son), Sir Norman Gatrell (Later Baron of Yepehir), Lady Martha Redmond (Duke of Kadrek’s only surviving daughter), Sir Roger Blenk, Lord Ton’s loyal Shield and his wife Lady Thea Van Calcar, the latter a disputed fact.
>
> The typically brief Issir nuptials focused on the feast more than the ceremony set to occur in the old mouldy halls of the half sunken Grime Citadel, a leaking stone-bricks castle at the edges of the mist-covered gloomy city of Pascor, built to guard the bordering land-bridge towards the Fenlands.
>
> Two weeks later the reunited Fourth Legion camped for the last time ten kilometers from Pascor, building its massive Castrum as far away from the lakes shores as it was possible. They had met near the junction of the river port across Bisonville, the rich city extending on both banks of Picker’s River. Along Lucius forces traveled their old acquaintance Baron Darvot of Brownfort, who was heading himself to Pascor for the wedding without his spirited but bedridden wife, Lady Tinneke Van Calcar. The well-traveled Baron had spent the previous year in Kas negotiating on behalf of Lord Ton.
Sula walked to the Castrum gates four-meter tall wooden guardtower and climbed the narrow ladder, his boots covered in the lake’s mud. No rains had plagued their summer and fast march, but close to this side of Canlita the ground never really dried up fully.
“Legatus!” the sentry saluted banging his fist on his chest and Sula grunted a response, his eyes on the heavy mist surrounding their walls. The lake’s shores half a kilometer away, as they had opted to camp on the north side of the cobblestone road. That is, there were layers of crushed stones under foot, but the engineers had to dig half a meter down to reveal the sturdier surface and allow the heavy-laden wagons to roll down the well-travelled road.
Lord Ton should consider the repaired road his wedding gift, Sula thought.
“The Baron says that once you cut the trees down, the ground gives away to mire,” his aide Dumont commented climbing on the small tower next to him. Sula glared at the guard standing close to them and the nervous legionnaire backed away a couple of feet afore he run out of real-estate on the narrow top and came to a halt again. The planks under their boots half-rotted away, the intact Van Calcar’s forest kilometers away whatever was left of it untouched by decree, Pascor opting to import timber from the North instead. “Half of Ice Troll’s Plateau was brought down to be used as foundation for the city. The lands near Serene and the delta, are even worse than this.”
“Why built there?” Sula asked and smacked a hornet buzzing over his head down. His boot finishing the palm sized insect off with a crunch.
“The last Issirs that crossed over Serene, chased the Nords and Lorians away to Picker’s River. The Lorians stayed on the other side of the lake, but the Northmen just declared the lands near East Nord Road free for raiding. Eaglesnest and the Crulls tried to hold back the tide, but warbands still roamed near the mountains. It seemed the safer spot, near what looked like a sea.”
“Hmm,” Sula murmured his mind on Lucius orders. “Is that Valens? Prefect!” He barked not waiting for Dumont’s reply. “Up here!”
“Legatus,” Valens said in his haughty manner. “That’s quite the crowd you have up there.”
“Join us Prefect,” Sula grunted and waited for the Prefect to climb up the two meters by two wide tower. The legionnaire having to relocate on the back wall, facing inside the Castrum.
“Is this a meeting?” Valens asked, wiping the front of his armour with a cloth. The humidity soaking everything after a while.
“What is the Baron doing?” Sula asked. The Prefect had spent a lot of time in Brownfort and had built a rapport with Darvot and his wife.
“He is excited to reach Pascor and the lake.”
“The lake is right there,” Sula pointed in the mist covered expanse of water. “Nothing exciting about it. I swear it looks different from the other side!”
“Brownfort isn’t exactly a city sir,” Valens replied. “And when that breeze blows down the northern mountains you can shave with your fingers.”
“Dumont was telling me you had some questions,” Sula said, squinting his eyes to look up and down both sides of the road. They had patrols working on covering their rear and the approach to Pascor. The Legatus hoped to catch whiff of their return.
“Well, I fail to see how we are supposed to ‘keep them busy’ sir,” Valens said and eyed disapprovingly the legionnaire pretending he wasn’t listening in. “I understand diplomacy and manners, but the moment the wedding is over, we will have to return.”
“Mmm,” Sula said thoughtfully. “It’s a matter of orders Prefect.”
“Of course.”
“We don’t go about overthinking stuff like that,” Sula continued his eyes returning on the road. A patrol of legionnaires had appeared and was coming towards the gates of the Castrum, a lissome Issir female accompanying them. The dress torn and muddy at places, but of great quality, he noticed eyeing the comely woman approach. The Issir’s long white hair and dark skin rich both in volume and color.
“West patrol, Second Century returning!” the leading legionnaire of the six-man group boomed.
“What’s the password?” The guard asked behind their backs, completely unseen from the men under the walls.
“Legatus?” The patrol soldier queried unsure. “Spotted… eggs sir!” He yelled seeing Sula’s mean glare.
“Dotted… there’s been a revised—” the guard behind him said and Sula grunted in frustration cutting him off midsentence.
“Open the darn gates!”
There were always minor, or even big fuckups in the army. You just had to kick the stuff in place with boot, or hammer sometimes and not always expect things to turn up all pretty ‘n tidy.
“Why,” Valens gasped, sounding upset and not of the same opinion. “That is quite unacceptable! By the gods! Have the officer of the watch report to me soldier! We must get to the bottom of this malarkey!”
Sula was halfway down the ladder by then and missed the rest of their exchange.
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“Legatus,” the patrol soldier saluted nervously hearing the Prefect yelling up on the guardtower. “We found her by the lake. By herself.”
Sula stared at the woman numbly. “You have a name milady?” he asked, since despite being a bit ruffled up, it was obvious this was a woman of some statue. Walking about an hour afore the sun sets in the middle of nowhere.
The Issir female smiled warmly taking him by surprise, a large commotion heard behind his back coming from the Castrum.
“Which Legatus?” She asked calmly, a tingling running down Sula’s spine for no apparent reason. It wasn’t a surprising query. Perhaps triggered by the fact it was the first query from a lost woman, picked up by a lot of well-armed strange men.
Or good ol’ gut feeling.
“The Fourth,” he grunted, clenching his jaw. “I’m Nonus Sula. What is your name milady?” he asked his voice hardening, Baron Darvot’s shocked voice coming afore the Issir had a chance to reply.
“Praised be the Five!” The Baron gasped in genuine bewilderment. “Lady Thea. You found her Legatus! Haha. Luthos favor upon us!”
“Lady Thea?” Sula repeated, his voice hesitant and the woman made a face as if it wasn’t too big a matter.
“Lord Ton’s sister,” the arriving from inside the Castrum Baron Darvot elucidated smiling. “My dear Lady, we thought you lost. I got the message three weeks ago. Your husband is probably distraught.”
“I went by the lake,” Thea replied indifferently. “Lost track of time. Then I heard the soldiers working and came to see if the famed Legatus was here,” she looked at Sula pleased. “Eh, I guess you’ll have to do. You are far away from God’s Peak Legatus, but tell me this though. Are you here to fight, or hide?”
Tyeus bent out of plaguin’ shape spear!
“I’m here for a wedding,” Sula croaked, glancing at the troubled face of Baron Darvot. “That’s all.”
All Sula needed now was a crazy woman dropping into his lap and creating waves.
Lady Thea stood back with a teasing stare, made a face then sighed and stared at her muddy soft leather shoes hesitantly. The mire drenching her once light-blue summer dress and ankles.
“She’s a little… ehm,” Darvot paused unsure and Thea looked at him with her large pale green eyes. For a moment Sula thought he saw white silver spots in them sparkling. “Challenged by fate,” the Baron added with a grimace.
“The petty Lord-sentry of cattle’s bridge and distant thinning forest, knows a lot about challenges,” Thea mocked him. “Your wife is better this morning Baron. Beaming. It is a pity she didn’t make the journey with you. Hers was a remarkable recovery actually.”
“Lady Thea!” Darvot grunted, face flushed at the insult and whatever his household troubles were, but the weird woman paid him no attention and turned her gaze on the frowning Sula instead.
“Very… pleasing news,” Thea said evoking Menneken’s words half a month back, with the addition of a knowing wink.
Fantastic, Sula thought. Crazy seers, pregnant hornets, foul tasting humid air and vague orders. What could wrong?
“I offer the Legion’s salutations Lady Thea. You are welcomed to our camp,” he grunted with a curt nod of his helmed head and she beamed, not a bad tooth in her well-shaped mouth and countered in fluent Common what was the full version of an archaic greeting a younger Sula had heard in Demames Military School years back. Perhaps the most boring lesson he ever had to endure.
Histories of the Old Realms.
By Old Oak’s famed ancestor.
“All our greetings. Our hearts and songs,” Lady Thea had corrected him and pointed above their heads with a long graceful, but dirty finger. “To the heavens above.”
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read it at Royalroad : https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/46739/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms
& https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/47919/lure-o-war-the-old-realms
Scribblehub https://www.scribblehub.com/series/542002/touch-o-luck-the-old-realms/
& https://www.scribblehub.com/series/547709/the-old-realms/