Wayril
2011-07-03, 02:33 PM
4 October 172 AD (925 AUC)
06:00
You are awaken from your sleep by the Cornicen. Rumors have been circulating camp for nearly a week that the Marcomanni are in control of a missing Roman eagle. Suspicions arose that it is the third missing aquila lost at the massacre of Teutoburg Forest. Princeps Prior of the 3rd Cohort Quintus Calvisius Albanus, a tall man by Roman standards comparable in physique to a gallic warrior announces the march to your century (group of 80 men) following breakfast. An expeditionary force comprised of the 2nd and 3rd Cohort along with 1500 auxilia are to march on the small village of Holzstadt to investigate a likely fabricated story of the missing eagle.
The glory of Rome, after all, is worth more than a thousand pointless marches into the marshes and mires of Germania Magna. Excitement ripples through the forces. Here is the opportunity to add your name to the glorious history of Rome. Germanicus proved that the savage barbarians are nothing in comparison to the power and will of the Roman army. Here was the opportunity to finally put the battle at Teutoburg permanently into the past.
Scouts report that the path to the village is mostly clear. The majority of Marcomannic forces lie far to the west more than a 8 days march from Carnuntum. They located elements of a Iazygi force along the journey but estimate them to be no more than 1000 in number, and easy target for even a single cohort. Besides, the Iazyges were bold but still more cowardly than many of the other Germanic tribes.
Two cohorts (cohort II and III) of the XIV Legion are sent out with more than 1200 auxilia. The journey would be 11 days due to difficult terrain. Packing up your bags slightly lighter than usual you head out from Carnuntum after being addressed by the no one less than the Emperor Marcus Aurelius himself.
13:00
The sky has darkened and it appears as though rain is about to pour down from the heavens. The heat of the day begins to subside. It has been uncharacteristically warm for a German fall, so the sudden chill is certainly welcome. A few flashes of lightning and the crackling of thunder rip through the quite air. You’re no augur, but this must Jupiter making his presence known like this has to be a good sign. Surely the Rumors must be true. A short halt is taken, probably for some religious rite. The brief halt gives you a chance to don your sagnum to keep the rain and cool air off.
Unfortunately rain sure knows how to dampen a good mood just like everything else. The march resumes and after only a few hours the chaffing becomes nearly unbearable. Several of the new recruits begin complaining probably out of boredom from the monotonous marching, but truthfully even they have been through far worse and the future holds plenty more.
13 October 925 AUC
18:00
Mostly silence as camp is set up on a steppe along paths cut out but not yet laid with roads. Were the rest of the legion with you the trip certainly would have taken twice as long laying bricks down for future use. Mountains after mountains appear just past the campsite. Normally you would have made camp further into the mountains, but it was getting cold and the earlier sunset, a sure sign of the coming Germanic winter, made even the toughest men a little bit sluggish.
Fortunately you are no longer in the forest. Here the ground is a little softer and a good nights sleep is certainly a possibility. Scouts have been sent into the mountains to chart out the beginning of the next day’s journey. Several men had ventured south into the forest you had just passed through to gather firewood and resources to leave behind for the return journey. Complaints about how slow the foragers are begin to circulate. The tents have already been set up and you would like to start eating. Albanus gives strict orders otherwise.
You know what makes a Roman legion stronger than the savage Marcomanni? …Is it bravery? Perhaps… Is it desire to win? Possibly… Nay men. You all know. You have been told from birth. You have proven it in battle. Unity. Organization. You are not individuals. You are an army. If half of your century does not eat, than neither shall you.
Half an hour passes and the previously calmed restlessness begins to surface again. Clearly something is amiss. Even the ever-stoic Albanus looks impatient. A few optios from other centuries approach Albanus and begin conversing. Although their voices are too quite to distinguish the words it seems clear that none of the other foraging parties have returned. Albanus pulls a few men aside quickly. A few moments later they emerge from their tent fully armed and move toward the forest in what could certainly not be described as battle-ready order.
A few meters from the forest one of the men turns around suddenly to look back at the camp. It’s hard to tell but that’s probably Miles Gaius. You know, the short guy. Very dark brown hair. Patchy beard that he likes to pretend will grow in, but... hey he’s just a kid. Maybe after a battle or two. No sooner has he turned around than he falls over sideways with some stick protruding from the from of his right thigh. Quickly the group puts up their shield and tightens formation. A raiding party of course. They must have been following for days.
A raspy horn sounds from the forest. Not a Cornecin. That’s for sure. The forest suddenly echoes with blood curdling screams which bounce back of the mountains to the rear and seem to be coming from all directions. The floodgates have opened and men mostly armed with long spears clubs and a few Roman spathae pour out from every side. This is not just a raiding party.
The next few chaotic minutes are hard to recall. Soldiers hurry to their tents in a mad stampede, while the cowards flee to the hills without even a taste of battle. Some confused auxilia, coming from Germanic tribes no doubt, turn sides and begin tearing through the camp. What kind of idiotic bureaucrat thought it was a good idea to pit German tribes against themselves. Roman senators were clearly too detached from the frontier to have any idea what they were doing. At least Marcus Aurelius was present in Carnuntum. How had he not expected this?
In a few short moments everything ends with hardly a recollection of the fight within the camp.
17 October 925 AUC
17:00
The chains you have been wearing the past few days are becoming uncomfortable. Manipled near to you is Quintus Albanus. His nose appears to be broken by a club and his eyes are swollen nearly shut. You are not in much better condition. Surprisingly though these Germanic barbarian have been feeding you well and not treating you nearly as badly as you had anticipated. The day is nearly done as you arrive in somewhat ironically Holzstadt. Needless to say you are not impressed with the layout of this supposedly town. A few timber buildings scatter the land, but nothing comparable to even the smallest Roman settlement. Farmlands are abounding, but no stone buildings or structures that look like they intended to be permanent. Cheering citizens welcome the returning warriors; only a small amount of what attacked you a few days earlier. The other members probably returned to their own respective villages.
A feast is clearly being readied as some odd druid walks among the prisoners amounting to perhaps 25 legionnaires, sniffing each of you like a dog. The man is short and old. Older than anyone you’ve ever seen that is. For a man who seems to be a leader of this community he sure seems malnourished. 15 of the seemingly stronger men are pulled aside and tied to posts where it appears they will be burnt alive.
Albanus likewise is separated from you, but he is simply unchained and not tied to a post. The entire village gathers around as a large gallic man who looks like a descendent of Hercules himself enters into a circle with a longer spear than you’ve ever seen and a massive shield. Cheering abounds as the shaman walks around chanting nonsense. The circle is surrounded by the stakes holding the 15 men who have been pulled aside. Albanus is given his armor and weapons back. Surprisingly they let him rearm himself and he prepares for single combat with this gigantic man. After the shaman sprinkles water upon both combatants they begin to fight. It seems clear that the warrior has the upper hand. Albus can bearly reach the man and every attempt to close in is fended off with a well place thrust of the spear.
The two men appear to be tiring. This is the part of the battle where the legionnaire shines and Albanus of all people certainly knew that. Dodging a spear thrust Albus hooked his shield with the other warrior’s shield and pulled exposing the left side to a sharp thrust of the spatha. The warrior grunted in pain. And using his shield threw Albanus to the ground before retreating to a distance he could strike from with his lance. As Albanus rose from the ground the warrior hurled his lance at him narrowly missing, but pinning one of the surrounding legionnaires, who was about to be burned alive anyway, through his chest to the post to which he was tied. Seeing the unarmed warrior Albanus made his move leaping forward, but the unarmed Warrior delived a powerful blow to the shield of Albanus which struck Albanus in the head and knocking him flat on his back, knocked out cold.
By this time you and the rest of the prisoners were dragged too far away to see the rest and dumped into a hole in the ground about 7 feet deep. Metal bars were lowered ontop of it and sealed down. The pit is recognizable as a grain storage pit, not yet in use, although that time of year was rapidly approaching. The walls are rocky and you are devoid of all you equipment except a rope belt and a red cloth tunic which you wear underneath your armor. 3 other men, apparently Germans are in the pit with you. These men are heavily bearded and quite savage looking.
18 October 925 AUC
8:00
Food is dropped in through the bars. A loquacious German with a thick red beard, who shortly identifies himself as Albrecht, takes the untouched food of some of the legionnaires who won’t eat their food out of protest as well as an Optio who hung himself last night after everyone else finally fell asleep. Albrecht fills you in on the details that you are captured by Sarmatians closely related to the Iazyges. He has been imprisoned for gambling his freedom away to the tribal chieftain’s son, Gregor. The chieftain, Hermann decided to discourage his son’s gambling by seizing all the slaves his son had won for himself to sell or work his own farms. In a few days traders would be in Holzstadt to possibly purchase slaves.
20:00
Seven of you are now alive. The other two germans were removed and after being inspected by what appears to be a trader. The 5 of you as well as well as two men, Faustus and Tiberius who were part of you century (the 3rd) of the 3rd cohort, and Albrecht remain alive in the grain pit. Nighttime falls and Albrecht pulls a dagger out which he slipped off the trader when the men came to extract the two other Germans to be traded as slaves.
If you keep quite and help me wedge these bars this way we can get this thing open and we’ll be out of the city by sunrise. That’s a figure of speech of course. I don’t think it’ll take more than 20 minutes, but the guards may be a bit of a challenge to deal with, and if you want your stuff back we’ll have to take a minor detour...also did I mention that my cousin Carracht owes...
After a few minutes you are out and in the center of what seems to be a mostly sleeping village. Nearby there is farmland stretching northward for miles. The mountains to the south are more heavily guarded, but that is the passage back to the camp. Houses scatter the country and a small armory, which has guards stationed at the front doors, which is located near a guard tower is identified by Albrecht, who says he will meet you back at the pit in 30 minutes if you still want his help. If the guards are alerted however he will not be sticking around. The hall of the chieftain is located at the opposite end of the village (north of the gate and armory) but small slave-owned farmhouses surround it to the north. A hall for traveling merchants to sleep in is slightly west of the center of town where the fight and ritual had been held. The pit, which you were in, is located near this merchant’s hall. Also on the west side of town, but a little north of the merchant’s hall, there is a strange building painted with odd shapes and colored runes which seem to be the druid’s quarters.
(If you want more information either ask Albrecht before he heads to the chieftain’s hall or make a spot or knowledge local check.)
06:00
You are awaken from your sleep by the Cornicen. Rumors have been circulating camp for nearly a week that the Marcomanni are in control of a missing Roman eagle. Suspicions arose that it is the third missing aquila lost at the massacre of Teutoburg Forest. Princeps Prior of the 3rd Cohort Quintus Calvisius Albanus, a tall man by Roman standards comparable in physique to a gallic warrior announces the march to your century (group of 80 men) following breakfast. An expeditionary force comprised of the 2nd and 3rd Cohort along with 1500 auxilia are to march on the small village of Holzstadt to investigate a likely fabricated story of the missing eagle.
The glory of Rome, after all, is worth more than a thousand pointless marches into the marshes and mires of Germania Magna. Excitement ripples through the forces. Here is the opportunity to add your name to the glorious history of Rome. Germanicus proved that the savage barbarians are nothing in comparison to the power and will of the Roman army. Here was the opportunity to finally put the battle at Teutoburg permanently into the past.
Scouts report that the path to the village is mostly clear. The majority of Marcomannic forces lie far to the west more than a 8 days march from Carnuntum. They located elements of a Iazygi force along the journey but estimate them to be no more than 1000 in number, and easy target for even a single cohort. Besides, the Iazyges were bold but still more cowardly than many of the other Germanic tribes.
Two cohorts (cohort II and III) of the XIV Legion are sent out with more than 1200 auxilia. The journey would be 11 days due to difficult terrain. Packing up your bags slightly lighter than usual you head out from Carnuntum after being addressed by the no one less than the Emperor Marcus Aurelius himself.
13:00
The sky has darkened and it appears as though rain is about to pour down from the heavens. The heat of the day begins to subside. It has been uncharacteristically warm for a German fall, so the sudden chill is certainly welcome. A few flashes of lightning and the crackling of thunder rip through the quite air. You’re no augur, but this must Jupiter making his presence known like this has to be a good sign. Surely the Rumors must be true. A short halt is taken, probably for some religious rite. The brief halt gives you a chance to don your sagnum to keep the rain and cool air off.
Unfortunately rain sure knows how to dampen a good mood just like everything else. The march resumes and after only a few hours the chaffing becomes nearly unbearable. Several of the new recruits begin complaining probably out of boredom from the monotonous marching, but truthfully even they have been through far worse and the future holds plenty more.
13 October 925 AUC
18:00
Mostly silence as camp is set up on a steppe along paths cut out but not yet laid with roads. Were the rest of the legion with you the trip certainly would have taken twice as long laying bricks down for future use. Mountains after mountains appear just past the campsite. Normally you would have made camp further into the mountains, but it was getting cold and the earlier sunset, a sure sign of the coming Germanic winter, made even the toughest men a little bit sluggish.
Fortunately you are no longer in the forest. Here the ground is a little softer and a good nights sleep is certainly a possibility. Scouts have been sent into the mountains to chart out the beginning of the next day’s journey. Several men had ventured south into the forest you had just passed through to gather firewood and resources to leave behind for the return journey. Complaints about how slow the foragers are begin to circulate. The tents have already been set up and you would like to start eating. Albanus gives strict orders otherwise.
You know what makes a Roman legion stronger than the savage Marcomanni? …Is it bravery? Perhaps… Is it desire to win? Possibly… Nay men. You all know. You have been told from birth. You have proven it in battle. Unity. Organization. You are not individuals. You are an army. If half of your century does not eat, than neither shall you.
Half an hour passes and the previously calmed restlessness begins to surface again. Clearly something is amiss. Even the ever-stoic Albanus looks impatient. A few optios from other centuries approach Albanus and begin conversing. Although their voices are too quite to distinguish the words it seems clear that none of the other foraging parties have returned. Albanus pulls a few men aside quickly. A few moments later they emerge from their tent fully armed and move toward the forest in what could certainly not be described as battle-ready order.
A few meters from the forest one of the men turns around suddenly to look back at the camp. It’s hard to tell but that’s probably Miles Gaius. You know, the short guy. Very dark brown hair. Patchy beard that he likes to pretend will grow in, but... hey he’s just a kid. Maybe after a battle or two. No sooner has he turned around than he falls over sideways with some stick protruding from the from of his right thigh. Quickly the group puts up their shield and tightens formation. A raiding party of course. They must have been following for days.
A raspy horn sounds from the forest. Not a Cornecin. That’s for sure. The forest suddenly echoes with blood curdling screams which bounce back of the mountains to the rear and seem to be coming from all directions. The floodgates have opened and men mostly armed with long spears clubs and a few Roman spathae pour out from every side. This is not just a raiding party.
The next few chaotic minutes are hard to recall. Soldiers hurry to their tents in a mad stampede, while the cowards flee to the hills without even a taste of battle. Some confused auxilia, coming from Germanic tribes no doubt, turn sides and begin tearing through the camp. What kind of idiotic bureaucrat thought it was a good idea to pit German tribes against themselves. Roman senators were clearly too detached from the frontier to have any idea what they were doing. At least Marcus Aurelius was present in Carnuntum. How had he not expected this?
In a few short moments everything ends with hardly a recollection of the fight within the camp.
17 October 925 AUC
17:00
The chains you have been wearing the past few days are becoming uncomfortable. Manipled near to you is Quintus Albanus. His nose appears to be broken by a club and his eyes are swollen nearly shut. You are not in much better condition. Surprisingly though these Germanic barbarian have been feeding you well and not treating you nearly as badly as you had anticipated. The day is nearly done as you arrive in somewhat ironically Holzstadt. Needless to say you are not impressed with the layout of this supposedly town. A few timber buildings scatter the land, but nothing comparable to even the smallest Roman settlement. Farmlands are abounding, but no stone buildings or structures that look like they intended to be permanent. Cheering citizens welcome the returning warriors; only a small amount of what attacked you a few days earlier. The other members probably returned to their own respective villages.
A feast is clearly being readied as some odd druid walks among the prisoners amounting to perhaps 25 legionnaires, sniffing each of you like a dog. The man is short and old. Older than anyone you’ve ever seen that is. For a man who seems to be a leader of this community he sure seems malnourished. 15 of the seemingly stronger men are pulled aside and tied to posts where it appears they will be burnt alive.
Albanus likewise is separated from you, but he is simply unchained and not tied to a post. The entire village gathers around as a large gallic man who looks like a descendent of Hercules himself enters into a circle with a longer spear than you’ve ever seen and a massive shield. Cheering abounds as the shaman walks around chanting nonsense. The circle is surrounded by the stakes holding the 15 men who have been pulled aside. Albanus is given his armor and weapons back. Surprisingly they let him rearm himself and he prepares for single combat with this gigantic man. After the shaman sprinkles water upon both combatants they begin to fight. It seems clear that the warrior has the upper hand. Albus can bearly reach the man and every attempt to close in is fended off with a well place thrust of the spear.
The two men appear to be tiring. This is the part of the battle where the legionnaire shines and Albanus of all people certainly knew that. Dodging a spear thrust Albus hooked his shield with the other warrior’s shield and pulled exposing the left side to a sharp thrust of the spatha. The warrior grunted in pain. And using his shield threw Albanus to the ground before retreating to a distance he could strike from with his lance. As Albanus rose from the ground the warrior hurled his lance at him narrowly missing, but pinning one of the surrounding legionnaires, who was about to be burned alive anyway, through his chest to the post to which he was tied. Seeing the unarmed warrior Albanus made his move leaping forward, but the unarmed Warrior delived a powerful blow to the shield of Albanus which struck Albanus in the head and knocking him flat on his back, knocked out cold.
By this time you and the rest of the prisoners were dragged too far away to see the rest and dumped into a hole in the ground about 7 feet deep. Metal bars were lowered ontop of it and sealed down. The pit is recognizable as a grain storage pit, not yet in use, although that time of year was rapidly approaching. The walls are rocky and you are devoid of all you equipment except a rope belt and a red cloth tunic which you wear underneath your armor. 3 other men, apparently Germans are in the pit with you. These men are heavily bearded and quite savage looking.
18 October 925 AUC
8:00
Food is dropped in through the bars. A loquacious German with a thick red beard, who shortly identifies himself as Albrecht, takes the untouched food of some of the legionnaires who won’t eat their food out of protest as well as an Optio who hung himself last night after everyone else finally fell asleep. Albrecht fills you in on the details that you are captured by Sarmatians closely related to the Iazyges. He has been imprisoned for gambling his freedom away to the tribal chieftain’s son, Gregor. The chieftain, Hermann decided to discourage his son’s gambling by seizing all the slaves his son had won for himself to sell or work his own farms. In a few days traders would be in Holzstadt to possibly purchase slaves.
20:00
Seven of you are now alive. The other two germans were removed and after being inspected by what appears to be a trader. The 5 of you as well as well as two men, Faustus and Tiberius who were part of you century (the 3rd) of the 3rd cohort, and Albrecht remain alive in the grain pit. Nighttime falls and Albrecht pulls a dagger out which he slipped off the trader when the men came to extract the two other Germans to be traded as slaves.
If you keep quite and help me wedge these bars this way we can get this thing open and we’ll be out of the city by sunrise. That’s a figure of speech of course. I don’t think it’ll take more than 20 minutes, but the guards may be a bit of a challenge to deal with, and if you want your stuff back we’ll have to take a minor detour...also did I mention that my cousin Carracht owes...
After a few minutes you are out and in the center of what seems to be a mostly sleeping village. Nearby there is farmland stretching northward for miles. The mountains to the south are more heavily guarded, but that is the passage back to the camp. Houses scatter the country and a small armory, which has guards stationed at the front doors, which is located near a guard tower is identified by Albrecht, who says he will meet you back at the pit in 30 minutes if you still want his help. If the guards are alerted however he will not be sticking around. The hall of the chieftain is located at the opposite end of the village (north of the gate and armory) but small slave-owned farmhouses surround it to the north. A hall for traveling merchants to sleep in is slightly west of the center of town where the fight and ritual had been held. The pit, which you were in, is located near this merchant’s hall. Also on the west side of town, but a little north of the merchant’s hall, there is a strange building painted with odd shapes and colored runes which seem to be the druid’s quarters.
(If you want more information either ask Albrecht before he heads to the chieftain’s hall or make a spot or knowledge local check.)