Alaricus Rex Animi
Players Name: Mick
Race: Human Class: Psion Penetrating slate eyes peer forth from a pale face. My head has a full length of hair. Ink-dyed black and tied in a ponytail exposing my high forehead. A simple grey pallium provides covering while the extremities of a tunica and breeches are just visible underneath. I have the look of a scholar about me. Left handed. Light moustache hanging down either side of mouth. No beard. Though often unshaven. Square-tipped fingers. Concentration wrinkles. Slight dimple at the bottom of my chin. |
Biography
It was cold when I was born. It regularly snows in these lands north of the wall, often causing the community of Kor’elia (which my Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grandfather on my mother’s side founded) to become impractical to live in. During the winter we, as a community, hibernate. Having had stockpiled during the warmer months we always have enough to survive the colder.
My father Tiberius Suetonius Suavis was an ex-roman soldier while my mother, a Pictish woman from even further north of the Wall, was named Étaín inghean Chonchobuir. She was taken in a raid north apparently where she was brought south to Kor’elia and pressed into abusive slavery by her captor. Witnessing a particularly violent and life threatening exchange, my father slew her captor and took pity on my mother and tended her injuries. When she awoke, and being a Pict, she would have none of his pity and cut my father a good one across his cheek before he disarmed her. He then freed her but offered to feed her. Stubborn to the last she lasted three days before she took his food. Let alone take his name. It took a long time for them to become friends and even longer for anything romantic to develop but once it did it was as immutable and stolid as a glacier.
She bore him many sons; of which I am one, and two daughters. I was named Alaricus Rex Animi on a crisp shivering winter night amidst a snowstorm in the Highlands far to the north of Fort Vitellus.
During one particularly bitter blizzard the previously neutral orcs and goblins in the regions attacked Re’akina, our subterranean refuge for the winter. They hadn’t prepared for the winter and, with the chill drawing near, were becoming desperate. Thus, Re’akina was attacked. Most family members are versed in basics of using clubs, spears and knives in self-defence and defence of the family home stemming from life in the Highlands but unfortunately the Orcs and Goblins were too numerous. During the battle many families were slain including my Grandfather on my mother’s side. He bade us all flee while he held them off. Though I was only two years of age I vividly remember him falling, fatally wounded, to the icy snow as Orcs and Goblins overran our home. Tearfully, we fled.
Having had our home destroyed meant we had a new agenda; to seek warmth. Which we did. Barely. Four toes of my father’s right foot had succumbed to frostbite as did the middle two fingers and the tip of the last finger of my mother’s right hand. We found a mountain lion’s den, the occupants of which had died of the cold. Indeed they were still in residence, albeit a tad stiff. Throughout the blizzard outside we lay huddled, clinging to each for warmth. When the snow eventually stopped we slowly and tiredly climbed out. By this stage my father’s entire right foot and right hand had been overtaken by frostbite. My mother’s very limited sorcerous arts aided her in stemming the frostbite on her hands. She did, however, eventually lose the two fingers.
Having nowhere else to go my family ventured south, becoming nomadic, always seeking the warmer climes. For about a year and a half we lived like this, always heading south to the warmer lowlands. Few communities did we see as we travelled, the terrain being rather inhospitable. During these travels, my younger brother, Gaius Sulpicius Panthera, was born. Weary though we were with this continuous travel we continued until, four years later, we encountered a small frontier community. We discovered that it was part of a nation called Eboracum and that the city was Fort Vitellus. After discussing it at some length it was decided by my parents that we would move to the Fort and try to make a new life. Two months later we arrived at Fort Vitellus, and four months after that I had my eighth NameDay.
As frostbite had taken my father’s mode of income, namely the use of his leg and right hand, a career change was called for. Though an altruistic priest he met shortly after entering the city and the use of the local library, he quickly learnt to read and write the local language. While he was studying the local currency he soon discovered he had a gift for numbers and business. He obtained spasmodic work with a local fisherman while he was studying.
After completing his studies he began to branch out into accounting. As he was self-taught a lot of his ideas were unconventional. They were, however, effective. Within two short years he had a position at the Fort as an accountant. He has been working his way up the career ladder ever since. He is now Procurator. He is developing a reputation as a shrewd accountant and one not to be trifled with in matters of business, logistics and economics.
My mother in the meantime had taken up Healing work at the local infirmary as an assistant. One day she was attending a wounded Sorcerer who was rapidly slipping away. The problem was an arrow that could not be dislodged from his right femur. Any movement was causing it to shred the artery it was abutting. This was the first serious patient she was attending alone due to the fact that Goblins and Orcs were raiding outlying frontier settlements and the wounded were being shipped to the city for emergency treatment. Thus, short-staffed, it was sink or swim. Nervous and tearful she grasped the arrow shaft and focussed her limited sorcerous ability. The arrow phased through the flesh and was freed. The sorcerer apparently knew it was permanently lodged, and after inspecting the arrow one morning, knew something sorcerous had happened and was instantly curious. She initially evaded questions of sorcery but due to his dogged persistence finally divulged the truth of her Pictish heritage and shamanistic upbringing. He persuaded her to join the Sorcerous Arts and has since been there first learning the new methods the regional sorcerers used while teaching those of her own culture.
She is currently apprenticed to that Sorceror, one Virtus Pythonissam. She is well regarded by her peers due to her ideas of cross-cultural exchanges in the Sorcerous Arts. Having come from refugee status to a respectable amount of wealth and status, all members of my family take pride in her accomplishments and are well regarded by the very small local community.
My younger brother, Gaius Sulpicius Panthera, as I said, was born amidst the travelling and was four and half years old when we arrived in Fort Vitellus. I think it is from this influence that he developed a wanderlust. He loves the wilderness and all things natural. Indeed it has been his interest from the time he could stand. Recently he has begun training in the ways of nature under the formidable man Do’rali auc’Sinarr. An Elven trained Ranger. As there are no remaining members of our family that we know of, we honour their memory by remaining true to the system of Elders that was traditional in our original community. Being of a more practical mindset we have no particular religious orientation.
From the time we entered Fort Vitellus I had taken to observing my father in his business dealings and his studies and discovered I was possessed of my father’s talent for numbers. From him, I think, I have developed an avid interest in business and finance. For the last three years my father has been teaching me the more complex arts of mathematics and the running of a successful business. He backs this knowledge up with the intrinsically important skill of accounting. Sitting at my desk one bright morning late last year I was interrupted by a call at the door.
It was a messenger for my father. Listening in on their conversation I discovered that my father had a meeting with a very important client that afternoon. Knowing my father would not yet allow me to attend such an important meeting I secretly followed him to his meeting. Disguising myself as one of the servants of the Lord’s manor I had the opportunity to eavesdrop on the entire conversation. It was through this meeting that I had an epiphany. Even though this man, my father, was as far from being of noble blood as could be, due to money and intelligence he was able to talk to the Lord of the Manor in a manner befitting equals. It was from that day, I think, that I set my goals upon becoming as successful in business as my father had.
That meeting also boded ill for the future as the ‘important man’ led over two score of men to reinforce the Fort. Apparently relatives on my mother’s side had come south a-visiting. With the influx of the new men my father had little time for anything besides tending their needs and organising logistical re-supply. After a few weeks things settled down and they became part of the community. There were louts amongst them but by and large they were good men and we honoured them for protecting us.
Then the invaders came and it was all washed away in blood.
My family remained safe but a great proportion of the townspeople were slaughtered in the surprise raid that night. My mother had had a Telling and, knowing her mind, my father acted immediately sequestering us within a cave my father had found on his many fishing expeditions in the years previous. I remember very little from that night aside from the dreadful cold and the running. We eventually made it to the cave and hid there for a week. My father ventured forth then to get a lay of the land so to speak. Thinking it safe, we ventured out. On our way back to the garrison to pick up what was left of our lives we came across a small group of hobgoblins. Both parties were surprised but they acted first. The first one, I’ll never forget it’s face, raised the crooked spear in its hand and threw it. I remember thinking how smooth it sailed for such an ungainly projectile. It hit Gaius at the base of his throat, spewing all his redness onto the snow. He, and it, fell back, impaling itself in the hard cold ground behind him. I will always remember him sliding sickly down the spear to rest, bloody and with terrible gurgling noises, in an awkward heap.
In his death throes a strange thing happened. I was staring at him staring at the sky and it was suddenly like I could feel him dying. I could feel his terrified mind cry out as it faded away. I could also feel the boundless hate in it for the animal mind that threw the spear. That hate became contagious as my mind absorbed the last moments of Gaius’ life and I became insane with rage.
Through my tears I saw a flash of a dim luminescent blue light and suddenly noticed that their heads and bodies were almost insubstantial. All their details were there; I could still read the menace on their faces and the taunts and cruelness in their eyes but something dark seemed to be pulsing within their heads. Insane with rage, I charged towards them, or thought I did. I did actually charge but it was not any of my physicality. It was with my mind. I slammed it into theirs with the full force of my rage and grief. They both screamed and jerked spastically like energised puppets and then lay still.
After a shocked stillness we went to bury poor Gaius and, as an after-thought examined the hobgoblins. They lay, still twitching but very very dead. A look of the most terrible horror on their faces. My mother also had a look upon a face. A very worried one and I was sure I caught the quiet, halting words, “That was.. … not sorcery…”
When we got back we were in a daze. I could barely see and my limbs did not do what they were told. My mother later said it was like I was catatonic. When I recovered they told me what they found when we returned.
The entire garrison had been wiped out and it seemed some had been captured. Rumours speak of a warband of Picts and Hobgoblins. There was also talk of a Witch in the area and all talk seems to point to the hills.
I had instantly had our family’s revenge for the death of Gaius but that single event changed everything for me. No longer did I focus on the calculations with as much interest as I once had. I set about discovering what it was within my mind that I could do what I did. My mother was kind and helpful but it was too alien to her way to be of any real use as what she does involves channelling natural energy of the world. My strength, especially in that instant, came purely from the rage of my mind. And that, I think, frightened her a little.
My family misses Gaius incredible but they are strong and they honour him by being strong. I began thinking of Gaius more and more and it seemed to me that with that mental interchange an aspect of him was passed over to me. His wanderlust. I never understood it before but since that day, and perhaps in honour of him, have never been able to sit as still as I used to. I have taken to wandering out near the cave and all the surrounds. And to go and visit Gaius to tell him of all the events since his passing. It is the only place I can be still.
Recent History:
Riders approach from the deep south. Reinforcements from Eboracum we think. They will be here today and I wonder what news they bring. Perhaps I can join them and leave this place for a time. My interests, it seems, used to lie in the area of stealth and finance. Now they lie in gaining an understanding of the strength in my mind. And to gain that understanding I must take a leaf out of Gaius’ book and engage in a little wanderlust.
12 May
I encountered the lastest group of southerners and I observed them while myself and my father fixed the main gate. They seemed an amiable bunch so I decided to accompany them north to determine the source of the latest scourge upon us. During periods of tactical inactivity we resumed working on shoring up any defences we had left.
While waiting for the detachment that went to the Wayhouse (two Legionaries) to return (expected late on the 13th at the earliest), the Legionaries at Fort Vitellus busied themselves repairing the damaged door while relays of Legionary Archers (5 per shift) manned the Fort's walls and kept watch.
At night the Ranger accompanied by the Spirit Shaman and a crystal creature summoned by the Telepath (Indago) explored the stony 200' high hill (Hill One) one mile to the north of the Fort. Indago heard something booted moving away from the hill top as the Ranger neared the summit. The Ranger, displaying formidable scouting skills, tripped over a clay pot containing lukewarm mutton stew. While licking his fingers he noticed a hill about two miles away (80' high - Hill Two) with a three storey roofed tower sitting on top with flickering lights emanating from it. The Ranger bravely fell back leaving Indago on watch. Meanwhile the Spirit Shaman conducted a noisy reconnaissance around the west edge of Hill One and also saw the three storey tower.
Night of 12-13 May
While the Wizard was on watch (around 0400) Indago sent a telepathic message to his host informing him that an armoured humanoid has arrived at the top of Hill One and proceeded to watch Fort Vitellus.
13 May
The party enjoyed a hearty breakfast while debating what to do. At 1000 Indago reported that another humanoid had arrived at the top of Hill One. It spoke to the other humanoid in Hobgoblin and the conversation covered the subject of whether the hostages were dead? yet (probably not), had the Ogre recovered from his hangover? (sort of though he was hurling and in a foul mood) and discussed the handover of watch duties. The current sentry handed over a horn to the newcomer then left.
Electrified by this development the brave adventurers mounted up and, in an arrow formation, galloped purposefully towards Hill One. While riding forth Indago reported that the hilltop humanoid (assumed to be a Hobgoblin) had produced a scrap of parchment from under its cloak and appeared to be reading off distances as the party approached. When about 50' from Hill One the Hobgoblin blew five short and one long blast from the horn and then ran towards Hill Two.
The party charged after him. The Ranger and Spirit Shaman dismounted to use their bows. The Spirit Shaman startled a passing Gannet with a wide shot but the Ranger sent a shaft from his longbow thudding into the base of the fleeing Hobgoblin's skull and dropped him.
The party then approached the tower upon which two figures could be seen as well as a large black banner. Getting a good look at the tower the party decided it had been built as a Roman military base at the time the Antonine Wall had been erected but had since been abandoned. It was now known as "Guilod's Tower" Guilod being a notorious witch. The tower was rumoured to be the home of an evil spellcaster though whether this referred to Guilod or not was not clear.
Eventually the party (leaving the Ranger in reserve) aprroached to within 80' of the tower. The figures on the tower proved to be Hobgoblins and the banner turned out to be a banner displaying a sickly green skull (similar to but different from the sigil found at the farmhouse) which was identified as the symbol of a sizeable Witches' Coven that covers northern Britain.
The Telepath asked the Hobgoblins if the party could talk to Guilod (who turned out to be not there) so the party asked to see Atlidoc.
A little while later a surly human with tangled black hair and a heavily tattooed face (sworls) asked rather brusquely what the party wanted. The party demanded the release of the hostages (Palcentius - commander of Fort Vitellus, Probus - a priest of Mithras from the fort and two Legionary red shirts) and Atlidoc complied by having four rotting heads in a fetching shade of green thrown over the wall. He then made a number of rude comments to the party and departed.
Meanwhile the bold Indago did a circuit of the upper level of the tower. It (he?) discovered that two Hobgoblins were on duty on the tower top. It also looked through an arrow slit into the second storey and saw a room with 11 (empty) bunks plus a sealed interior room. The tower also posseses shuttered windows (all closed).
The party contemplated burning down the tower's front door (seasoned wood bound in thick metal - not of Roman make) but as the door was under observation through murder holes and the available incendiary materials were on the pathetic side, it was decided this might be a tad unwise.
Having completed the mission of discovering the fate of the missing garrison of Fort Vitellus, the party decided to head back to the Fort. Before doing that the Spirit Shaman (displaying an impressive knowledge of underground watercourses and vegetation) discovered a noticeably verdant path of vegetation (about 20-30' wide) leading from the tower in a westerly direction. There was no water visible but this ancestor of David Attenbororough deduced that this unusual growth probably indicated a sizeable source of underground water nearby.
Fatigued after their heroic exertions the party returned to the Fort, closely watched by the Hobgoblins.
I have to say, new as I am to this adventuring life, I expected my new companions to have more direction than they have currently shown.
Session Ends at 1800 on 13 May 409 AD
It was cold when I was born. It regularly snows in these lands north of the wall, often causing the community of Kor’elia (which my Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grandfather on my mother’s side founded) to become impractical to live in. During the winter we, as a community, hibernate. Having had stockpiled during the warmer months we always have enough to survive the colder.
My father Tiberius Suetonius Suavis was an ex-roman soldier while my mother, a Pictish woman from even further north of the Wall, was named Étaín inghean Chonchobuir. She was taken in a raid north apparently where she was brought south to Kor’elia and pressed into abusive slavery by her captor. Witnessing a particularly violent and life threatening exchange, my father slew her captor and took pity on my mother and tended her injuries. When she awoke, and being a Pict, she would have none of his pity and cut my father a good one across his cheek before he disarmed her. He then freed her but offered to feed her. Stubborn to the last she lasted three days before she took his food. Let alone take his name. It took a long time for them to become friends and even longer for anything romantic to develop but once it did it was as immutable and stolid as a glacier.
She bore him many sons; of which I am one, and two daughters. I was named Alaricus Rex Animi on a crisp shivering winter night amidst a snowstorm in the Highlands far to the north of Fort Vitellus.
During one particularly bitter blizzard the previously neutral orcs and goblins in the regions attacked Re’akina, our subterranean refuge for the winter. They hadn’t prepared for the winter and, with the chill drawing near, were becoming desperate. Thus, Re’akina was attacked. Most family members are versed in basics of using clubs, spears and knives in self-defence and defence of the family home stemming from life in the Highlands but unfortunately the Orcs and Goblins were too numerous. During the battle many families were slain including my Grandfather on my mother’s side. He bade us all flee while he held them off. Though I was only two years of age I vividly remember him falling, fatally wounded, to the icy snow as Orcs and Goblins overran our home. Tearfully, we fled.
Having had our home destroyed meant we had a new agenda; to seek warmth. Which we did. Barely. Four toes of my father’s right foot had succumbed to frostbite as did the middle two fingers and the tip of the last finger of my mother’s right hand. We found a mountain lion’s den, the occupants of which had died of the cold. Indeed they were still in residence, albeit a tad stiff. Throughout the blizzard outside we lay huddled, clinging to each for warmth. When the snow eventually stopped we slowly and tiredly climbed out. By this stage my father’s entire right foot and right hand had been overtaken by frostbite. My mother’s very limited sorcerous arts aided her in stemming the frostbite on her hands. She did, however, eventually lose the two fingers.
Having nowhere else to go my family ventured south, becoming nomadic, always seeking the warmer climes. For about a year and a half we lived like this, always heading south to the warmer lowlands. Few communities did we see as we travelled, the terrain being rather inhospitable. During these travels, my younger brother, Gaius Sulpicius Panthera, was born. Weary though we were with this continuous travel we continued until, four years later, we encountered a small frontier community. We discovered that it was part of a nation called Eboracum and that the city was Fort Vitellus. After discussing it at some length it was decided by my parents that we would move to the Fort and try to make a new life. Two months later we arrived at Fort Vitellus, and four months after that I had my eighth NameDay.
As frostbite had taken my father’s mode of income, namely the use of his leg and right hand, a career change was called for. Though an altruistic priest he met shortly after entering the city and the use of the local library, he quickly learnt to read and write the local language. While he was studying the local currency he soon discovered he had a gift for numbers and business. He obtained spasmodic work with a local fisherman while he was studying.
After completing his studies he began to branch out into accounting. As he was self-taught a lot of his ideas were unconventional. They were, however, effective. Within two short years he had a position at the Fort as an accountant. He has been working his way up the career ladder ever since. He is now Procurator. He is developing a reputation as a shrewd accountant and one not to be trifled with in matters of business, logistics and economics.
My mother in the meantime had taken up Healing work at the local infirmary as an assistant. One day she was attending a wounded Sorcerer who was rapidly slipping away. The problem was an arrow that could not be dislodged from his right femur. Any movement was causing it to shred the artery it was abutting. This was the first serious patient she was attending alone due to the fact that Goblins and Orcs were raiding outlying frontier settlements and the wounded were being shipped to the city for emergency treatment. Thus, short-staffed, it was sink or swim. Nervous and tearful she grasped the arrow shaft and focussed her limited sorcerous ability. The arrow phased through the flesh and was freed. The sorcerer apparently knew it was permanently lodged, and after inspecting the arrow one morning, knew something sorcerous had happened and was instantly curious. She initially evaded questions of sorcery but due to his dogged persistence finally divulged the truth of her Pictish heritage and shamanistic upbringing. He persuaded her to join the Sorcerous Arts and has since been there first learning the new methods the regional sorcerers used while teaching those of her own culture.
She is currently apprenticed to that Sorceror, one Virtus Pythonissam. She is well regarded by her peers due to her ideas of cross-cultural exchanges in the Sorcerous Arts. Having come from refugee status to a respectable amount of wealth and status, all members of my family take pride in her accomplishments and are well regarded by the very small local community.
My younger brother, Gaius Sulpicius Panthera, as I said, was born amidst the travelling and was four and half years old when we arrived in Fort Vitellus. I think it is from this influence that he developed a wanderlust. He loves the wilderness and all things natural. Indeed it has been his interest from the time he could stand. Recently he has begun training in the ways of nature under the formidable man Do’rali auc’Sinarr. An Elven trained Ranger. As there are no remaining members of our family that we know of, we honour their memory by remaining true to the system of Elders that was traditional in our original community. Being of a more practical mindset we have no particular religious orientation.
From the time we entered Fort Vitellus I had taken to observing my father in his business dealings and his studies and discovered I was possessed of my father’s talent for numbers. From him, I think, I have developed an avid interest in business and finance. For the last three years my father has been teaching me the more complex arts of mathematics and the running of a successful business. He backs this knowledge up with the intrinsically important skill of accounting. Sitting at my desk one bright morning late last year I was interrupted by a call at the door.
It was a messenger for my father. Listening in on their conversation I discovered that my father had a meeting with a very important client that afternoon. Knowing my father would not yet allow me to attend such an important meeting I secretly followed him to his meeting. Disguising myself as one of the servants of the Lord’s manor I had the opportunity to eavesdrop on the entire conversation. It was through this meeting that I had an epiphany. Even though this man, my father, was as far from being of noble blood as could be, due to money and intelligence he was able to talk to the Lord of the Manor in a manner befitting equals. It was from that day, I think, that I set my goals upon becoming as successful in business as my father had.
That meeting also boded ill for the future as the ‘important man’ led over two score of men to reinforce the Fort. Apparently relatives on my mother’s side had come south a-visiting. With the influx of the new men my father had little time for anything besides tending their needs and organising logistical re-supply. After a few weeks things settled down and they became part of the community. There were louts amongst them but by and large they were good men and we honoured them for protecting us.
Then the invaders came and it was all washed away in blood.
My family remained safe but a great proportion of the townspeople were slaughtered in the surprise raid that night. My mother had had a Telling and, knowing her mind, my father acted immediately sequestering us within a cave my father had found on his many fishing expeditions in the years previous. I remember very little from that night aside from the dreadful cold and the running. We eventually made it to the cave and hid there for a week. My father ventured forth then to get a lay of the land so to speak. Thinking it safe, we ventured out. On our way back to the garrison to pick up what was left of our lives we came across a small group of hobgoblins. Both parties were surprised but they acted first. The first one, I’ll never forget it’s face, raised the crooked spear in its hand and threw it. I remember thinking how smooth it sailed for such an ungainly projectile. It hit Gaius at the base of his throat, spewing all his redness onto the snow. He, and it, fell back, impaling itself in the hard cold ground behind him. I will always remember him sliding sickly down the spear to rest, bloody and with terrible gurgling noises, in an awkward heap.
In his death throes a strange thing happened. I was staring at him staring at the sky and it was suddenly like I could feel him dying. I could feel his terrified mind cry out as it faded away. I could also feel the boundless hate in it for the animal mind that threw the spear. That hate became contagious as my mind absorbed the last moments of Gaius’ life and I became insane with rage.
Through my tears I saw a flash of a dim luminescent blue light and suddenly noticed that their heads and bodies were almost insubstantial. All their details were there; I could still read the menace on their faces and the taunts and cruelness in their eyes but something dark seemed to be pulsing within their heads. Insane with rage, I charged towards them, or thought I did. I did actually charge but it was not any of my physicality. It was with my mind. I slammed it into theirs with the full force of my rage and grief. They both screamed and jerked spastically like energised puppets and then lay still.
After a shocked stillness we went to bury poor Gaius and, as an after-thought examined the hobgoblins. They lay, still twitching but very very dead. A look of the most terrible horror on their faces. My mother also had a look upon a face. A very worried one and I was sure I caught the quiet, halting words, “That was.. … not sorcery…”
When we got back we were in a daze. I could barely see and my limbs did not do what they were told. My mother later said it was like I was catatonic. When I recovered they told me what they found when we returned.
The entire garrison had been wiped out and it seemed some had been captured. Rumours speak of a warband of Picts and Hobgoblins. There was also talk of a Witch in the area and all talk seems to point to the hills.
I had instantly had our family’s revenge for the death of Gaius but that single event changed everything for me. No longer did I focus on the calculations with as much interest as I once had. I set about discovering what it was within my mind that I could do what I did. My mother was kind and helpful but it was too alien to her way to be of any real use as what she does involves channelling natural energy of the world. My strength, especially in that instant, came purely from the rage of my mind. And that, I think, frightened her a little.
My family misses Gaius incredible but they are strong and they honour him by being strong. I began thinking of Gaius more and more and it seemed to me that with that mental interchange an aspect of him was passed over to me. His wanderlust. I never understood it before but since that day, and perhaps in honour of him, have never been able to sit as still as I used to. I have taken to wandering out near the cave and all the surrounds. And to go and visit Gaius to tell him of all the events since his passing. It is the only place I can be still.
Recent History:
Riders approach from the deep south. Reinforcements from Eboracum we think. They will be here today and I wonder what news they bring. Perhaps I can join them and leave this place for a time. My interests, it seems, used to lie in the area of stealth and finance. Now they lie in gaining an understanding of the strength in my mind. And to gain that understanding I must take a leaf out of Gaius’ book and engage in a little wanderlust.
12 May
I encountered the lastest group of southerners and I observed them while myself and my father fixed the main gate. They seemed an amiable bunch so I decided to accompany them north to determine the source of the latest scourge upon us. During periods of tactical inactivity we resumed working on shoring up any defences we had left.
While waiting for the detachment that went to the Wayhouse (two Legionaries) to return (expected late on the 13th at the earliest), the Legionaries at Fort Vitellus busied themselves repairing the damaged door while relays of Legionary Archers (5 per shift) manned the Fort's walls and kept watch.
At night the Ranger accompanied by the Spirit Shaman and a crystal creature summoned by the Telepath (Indago) explored the stony 200' high hill (Hill One) one mile to the north of the Fort. Indago heard something booted moving away from the hill top as the Ranger neared the summit. The Ranger, displaying formidable scouting skills, tripped over a clay pot containing lukewarm mutton stew. While licking his fingers he noticed a hill about two miles away (80' high - Hill Two) with a three storey roofed tower sitting on top with flickering lights emanating from it. The Ranger bravely fell back leaving Indago on watch. Meanwhile the Spirit Shaman conducted a noisy reconnaissance around the west edge of Hill One and also saw the three storey tower.
Night of 12-13 May
While the Wizard was on watch (around 0400) Indago sent a telepathic message to his host informing him that an armoured humanoid has arrived at the top of Hill One and proceeded to watch Fort Vitellus.
13 May
The party enjoyed a hearty breakfast while debating what to do. At 1000 Indago reported that another humanoid had arrived at the top of Hill One. It spoke to the other humanoid in Hobgoblin and the conversation covered the subject of whether the hostages were dead? yet (probably not), had the Ogre recovered from his hangover? (sort of though he was hurling and in a foul mood) and discussed the handover of watch duties. The current sentry handed over a horn to the newcomer then left.
Electrified by this development the brave adventurers mounted up and, in an arrow formation, galloped purposefully towards Hill One. While riding forth Indago reported that the hilltop humanoid (assumed to be a Hobgoblin) had produced a scrap of parchment from under its cloak and appeared to be reading off distances as the party approached. When about 50' from Hill One the Hobgoblin blew five short and one long blast from the horn and then ran towards Hill Two.
The party charged after him. The Ranger and Spirit Shaman dismounted to use their bows. The Spirit Shaman startled a passing Gannet with a wide shot but the Ranger sent a shaft from his longbow thudding into the base of the fleeing Hobgoblin's skull and dropped him.
The party then approached the tower upon which two figures could be seen as well as a large black banner. Getting a good look at the tower the party decided it had been built as a Roman military base at the time the Antonine Wall had been erected but had since been abandoned. It was now known as "Guilod's Tower" Guilod being a notorious witch. The tower was rumoured to be the home of an evil spellcaster though whether this referred to Guilod or not was not clear.
Eventually the party (leaving the Ranger in reserve) aprroached to within 80' of the tower. The figures on the tower proved to be Hobgoblins and the banner turned out to be a banner displaying a sickly green skull (similar to but different from the sigil found at the farmhouse) which was identified as the symbol of a sizeable Witches' Coven that covers northern Britain.
The Telepath asked the Hobgoblins if the party could talk to Guilod (who turned out to be not there) so the party asked to see Atlidoc.
A little while later a surly human with tangled black hair and a heavily tattooed face (sworls) asked rather brusquely what the party wanted. The party demanded the release of the hostages (Palcentius - commander of Fort Vitellus, Probus - a priest of Mithras from the fort and two Legionary red shirts) and Atlidoc complied by having four rotting heads in a fetching shade of green thrown over the wall. He then made a number of rude comments to the party and departed.
Meanwhile the bold Indago did a circuit of the upper level of the tower. It (he?) discovered that two Hobgoblins were on duty on the tower top. It also looked through an arrow slit into the second storey and saw a room with 11 (empty) bunks plus a sealed interior room. The tower also posseses shuttered windows (all closed).
The party contemplated burning down the tower's front door (seasoned wood bound in thick metal - not of Roman make) but as the door was under observation through murder holes and the available incendiary materials were on the pathetic side, it was decided this might be a tad unwise.
Having completed the mission of discovering the fate of the missing garrison of Fort Vitellus, the party decided to head back to the Fort. Before doing that the Spirit Shaman (displaying an impressive knowledge of underground watercourses and vegetation) discovered a noticeably verdant path of vegetation (about 20-30' wide) leading from the tower in a westerly direction. There was no water visible but this ancestor of David Attenbororough deduced that this unusual growth probably indicated a sizeable source of underground water nearby.
Fatigued after their heroic exertions the party returned to the Fort, closely watched by the Hobgoblins.
I have to say, new as I am to this adventuring life, I expected my new companions to have more direction than they have currently shown.
Session Ends at 1800 on 13 May 409 AD