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The Rise of Arx Bellum (LangschwertxWingshadow)

Langschwert

Planetoid
Joined
Jan 23, 2013
"Stay together lads, stay together!" Michael cried as he and the remainder of his men, the Band of the Black Hand, waited in a ha-ha a hundred yards from the wall, crouched beneath the four foot wall as the trebuchets launch missile after missile into the wall. From four, five hundred yards away, he could still hear their practiced loading...the sound of the crank drawing down the beam, the three hundred pound stone rolled into place in the sling, then the shout of clear!. A pin was pulled, and with a long creak the basket fell, flinging the stone into the air and then out to smack into the curtain wall of Hartwell with a boom just before them. Stone shattered, crunching, and the top of the wall began to shift uneasily beneath the feet of men as it readied to give way.

The Band of the Black Hand were far from the only men that were taking cover behind the ha-ha, waiting for the wall to come down. The Red Suns were a little further on, and the White Trees just a little further down. All were dressed in regulation armor, modified Lorica Segmantata that provided far superior protection when compared to the boiled steer hide that the men of Harwell wore. Their helmets were stolen from the Japanese, Samurai helmets wrought of steel, with long guards that covered their necks and emotionless masks that made them all the more terrifying in battle. They carried large, square shields with plumbata holders on the back, most of which are empty now, and had started the battle with pilum, of which only a handful remain, most of their missiles spent at the top of the twenty foot wall, keeping men from bringing up boiling oil to throw at them. One thing that every man had was a short, thrusting sword at his hip and a dagger at the back of his belt as a backup weapon.

What made the difference between the Band and the others, though, was the fact that they were a professional company. The Rangers of the city, men and women who projected the power of Arx Bellum throughout the area, were drawn largely from their ranks and the ranks of companies like them, with other men standing watch on the wall of Arx Bellum in peacetime. Not so for the Red Suns, nor the White Trees. They were militia, drawn up in time of great need to protect the city and punish wrongdoers.

Another stone sailed overhead, as large as a man, and with a crack embedded itself deeply in the base of the wall. An ominous creak and crack was heard from within the wall, and quite suddenly, in a roar of falling masonry, a section of the wall fell. At first, it was quite narrow...only ten or so feet wide, but by some miracle of chance another two stones flew by overhead, striking twenty feet to either side of the first hit within a heartbeat of each other. The wall was weak already, and with their force as well the wall fell inward in a fifty foot length. The screams of men both atop the wall and those that were behind it waiting to repulse attackers was staggering, and cut off when the stones fell. Dust rose from the shattered wall, and for the moment all stood still.

Michael glanced back toward the siege engines, nodding to himself as he saw two red flags waving back and forth. It was a signal, pre-arranged, that said the attack would cease so as to not crush their men beneath the flying stones. Already the trebuchets were being wheeled to one side, to attack a different section of wall. One man started to climb over the edge, and Michael rounded on him. "Stay down, you damn fool. We'll get our chance to give 'em hell, just..."

He got no chance to finish. Behind him, there was a great TUUNNNG! as the ballista released their cargoes. Normally, they were loaded with great darts as tall as a man that could pierce three men like a kebab at a street market vendor, but this time they were loaded with something different. Glass balls, the size of a man's head, flew over their heads to crash into the neat formation waiting for them behind the wall, those men who had not been crushed quickly reforming, knowing that they still outnumbered their attackers by a good margin. Alone, they would not do much damage, but their contents were what was truly dangerous. Gasoline, mixed with benzene and soap flakes made a good, home made napalm, and they had plenty of it on hand from various small gas stations around the city proper. Small, trailing fuses followed the balls into battle, some snuffed by wind, but enough still lit to suddenly engulf a good third of the waiting men in fire.

Screaming shapes that might have once been men ran from within the fire as a second and third volley of hell fire lashed the waiting men, and it was at this point that Michael stood, drawing his sword and pointing it toward the city in a dramatic gesture, his voice ringing out over the battlefield. "Attack!" he cried, suiting his words with action as he crawled over the top of the Ha-ha, sprinting toward the city. He did not look back, knowing that his men were behind him. He dashed through the fire, jumping a puddle of burning fluid and emerging to face the front ranks of the defenders. His great shield's boss took one man in the nose, shattering it, even as his short stabbing sword came up to gut another man, sharp steel piercing the boiled leather breastplate he wore as if it were not there. He would have been overrun, though, had it not been for his men arriving.

Within five seconds of that first attack, with the discipline of men long accustomed to it, the band of the Black Hand was lined up on either side of him, shields locked together with a three inch gap between them, their swords plying in the gap. Thighs, stomach, and head were their target, the three targets taught in the close in formation sword fighting. Here and there, a defender fell with a plumbata dart through the throat, or pierced by a pilum, but by and large they died to the sword, their bodies falling beneath the hobnailed boots of the men of Arx Bellum.

Further and further the Band pushed, with the Red Suns and the White Trees falling out to either flank, preventing them from being attacked by stragglers coming from the wall or the perimeter of the city. The defenders fought and died, but mostly they just died, their crude blades unable to dent the armor of the warriors that faced them, and their wicker shields offering no protection at all. Michael sensed them wavering, and in that moment, he cried out, a wordless roar. His men took him up, their steps double timing as they struck into the heart of the enemy formation. The defenders had seen too much...the invincible city wall falling, their brothers buried, engulfed in fire, knifed down by the relentless shield wall, and split, spattering like water on a hot skillet into the city.

The shield wall broke at that moment, men haring off after individuals. One thing that you learned in this brutal, hand to hand fighting, was that you couldn't run and defend yourself, but you could certainly chase someone and kill them. Relatively few men reached the defenses of the city alleyways, but it wouldn't matter now. More companies were entering the city, quickly starting to establish a secure perimeter within the city. As Michael looked around, he saw a man on horseback approaching them, and was shocked to see one of his fellow founders, and current Macto, Justin, riding it. He nodded to the man, and spoke. "I think we've broken them, here at least. My men need rest, and a chance to poke around."

The older man, the macto, nodded as he heard Michael. He was dressed in a lightweight version of their armor, but his blue eyes still held the fire that Michael had seen four years ago when they had first joined forces with the other ten men to found the city. Justin had been leading the largest band, and the one who by and large introduced the Roman method of fighting to the men as a winning strategy. He deferred to the man as a war leader, but they largely saw themselves as equals. "As you wish. We're still pushing forward here...I'd very much like to reach the senate district before nightfall, and put this damnable abomination of a city to the torch shortly after that." Suddenly, the old man grinned, visible by a crinkling of the corner of his eyes. "Don't let a girl stab you, Michael. We will need you after all this is done." Without a further word, the Macto turned, and started after the main thrust of the army, his bodyguard trailing behind, also mounted.

Michael laughed as he heard him, and shook his head as he watched the man go. Rape and Rapine were expected pleasures of the men in the army, now, with the pay adequate but minimal, differences made up for by ready loot when they attacked a city such as this. He turned to his men. "Alright, gentlemen, split up into groups of five and we'll do a bit of exploring, eh? Don't go anywhere alone, and remember to bring back your loot to the tents so we can distribute it evenly at the Hailing." The men saluted him, fist to chest, and then split into their pre-arranged half squads, disappearing into the city. Michael turned toward his, the newest men of the Band, and spoke with a grin. "Well, gentlemen, shall we?"

He did not wait for an answer, disappearing into the labyrinth of rich city streets in search of treasure. There were a few brief scuffles, men attacking them from ambush, but the heavy armor and excellent training of the men meant that they just left a trail of bodies behind them. Most of the houses they broke into were empty, though, people long ago left them. Any men they found who were older than twelve, the age at which men began to train to fight in Hartwell, were killed out of hand, but women were told to wait just outside the city for their fates to be decided, or they would perish within the walls as the city was set to the torch. At least, the ones who were not so pretty were told that. The prettier ones were taken into other rooms by this man or that, and used to celebrate the fact that they had survived the attack. Typically, they stumbled out naked and dazed, a firm slap on their ass used to send them toward the waiting group outside. Some were given tokens of the man who took them, giving them his protection against further attacks and giving him first rights to them when all was said and done. Michael did not partake, watching to make sure none of the men were ambushed during their little escapades.

By the time they finished with the first street, they had loaded up two wheelbarrows of gold ingots, silverware, and various bits of jewelry. They were, after all, among the richest section of town, and the haul the Band brought in would make all of them quite wealthy. Michael glanced at the house on the end of the street, a large, fortress like mansion with one sally door left open, and sent a grin toward his men. "One last one, gentlemen, and then we'll be on our way." He said, leaving one man outside to guard their loot as he led the other four within, little expecting what he would find...
 
RE: The Rise of Arx Bellum

The house belonged to a certain blind seer of the City of Lavonia, Cassia, who was known for her skills in soothsaying and prediction in both large and small-scale matters. Although her father was originally not of noble birth or significance, when the potential of his daughter surfaced, he quickly rose in both prestige and wealth alongside the rest of his family. Looked upon as a person of great wisdom and foresight, she was consulted by anyone wealthy enough to afford her services. Her father and older brother joined the other soldiers of the city, dying alongside their kinsmen shortly after the Arx Bellum soldiers broke through the lines. When the City fell to the might of Arx Bellum, the thoughts of the survivors turned to saving their own skins rather than speaking to a seer, so Cassia was left with only herself and the few remaining men left to safeguard the fortress-like house.

When he peered inside the door, he was met with the thick scent of incense which wafted through the main entry way. The thick stone walls were adorned with elegant murals, while the floors were decorated with fine rugs of needlework and colored beads. Majestic purple and red curtains hung across the entryways while light streamed in through the narrow windows along the exterior walls. Whoever lived in this place had to be someone important, wealthy, or both, that much was certain, to be able to afford such a decadent house. When the men entered the main hall, however, four armed men clad in light armor filed out of the side passages, standing firmly between them and the inner room where the master or mistress of the house resided. They did not have long to wonder who this might be, however, as she stepped out from behind the curtain at the far side of the hallway, her form somewhat shrouded.

She wore a gold embroidered robe fastened with a belt around her middle, while her silky black hair flowed down her back and across her shoulders. Her petite frame was somewhat masked by her flowing robe. Her eyes remained gently shut, as they were of no use to her, but even so she seemed to meet her attacker's eyes as they stood before her across the hall. Her men drew their swords, two on her right and two on her left, and widened their stances, holding their hardened leather shields before them, and prepared to die alongside their mistress. Considering the circumstances, it was unlikely that any of them would see another day. The seer herself stepped forward in time with her men's footsteps, drawing out a simple gladius from the scabbard hidden in her robe. Apparently she intended to fight alongside her men in their effort to stage a last-ditch effort to protect themselves.

The men on the right rushed in first. The first man swung his sword toward Michael, aiming for his neck while his companion stepped in behind him, blocking his back in case any of his men decided to surround him and finish him with a swift thrust to his side. The seer stepped forward as well, behind the first two men, while the two on her left followed up after her.

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RE: The Rise of Arx Bellum

The choking scent of incense filled his lungs as he pushed open the door, causing him to cough violently. This nearly cost him his life as his watering eyes lifted into the gloom, his first sight being a shadowy figure. Years of fighting had honed his instincts, and that alone saved his life as he leaped to one side. Her guard's blade struck his armor with an unmusical screech, leaving a brilliant steel line in the red enamel, and staggering him momentarily.

"Ware!" He cried, even as he gathered himself, just in time to bring his square shield up against another attack. He thrust that shield forward with a *hunh!* of effort, aided by a firm step that opened up just enough room behind him for more of his men to plunge into the room. One, two, three, four, they filed into either side of him, imitating the shield wall that was so effective outside of the city, slightly modified. Indeed, Michael stood as the point of a chevron shaped formation that filled the entryway and gave his men a moment to orient themselves in the darkness.

"Deuce, Hangman, ready lawn darts!" He cried, even as the two men on the outer ranks set their shields before them, taking one knee to more effectively hide behind the shields and detach the small, lead weighted darts from behind their shields. Originally designed from the roman Plumbata, small darts designed to be thrown just before the fight closed to melee range, but excellent for use in this kind of close in fighting. Though they were unlikely to pierce the leather shields that her men used, they were still a deadly distraction.

Michael struck forward again with his shield, in unison with his two men yet standing beside him, and drove back the defenders another step, only to withdraw himself, leaving a long step between the two groups of men...and one woman. He slowly lowered his shield, ready to snatch it back up at an instant's notice, and spoke over the rim to the men. "You are dead thrice over. Once when you chose to join with the cities that make a mockery of their title, the free cities. Once when you chose not to flee in the face of the armies of Arx Bellum, and once when you stood firm in the face of the Band of the Black Hand. I give you one chance to kneel, and accept the death that you have twice delayed. The reaper comes for you, and the only choice yet given to you is if you wish to die quickly or slowly."

There was no gloating in his words, no overt malice. What he said was simply the truth in his mind. Soon enough, their intentions would be revealed.
 
RE: The Rise of Arx Bellum

"We die today as men of our word, for we would rather die by our own hands than submit to being butchered like dogs!" one of the men shouted in reply to Michael's speech.

The men before him did not hesitate for even a moment as they rushed toward the opposing group of men, equal in number but unequal in terms of training and equipment. They knew well the fate that awaited them, but they charged toward it with steeled resolve. They had sworn their lives and honor upon defending that house, and the seer which resided within. With single cry they rushed forward, attempting to close the distance between them as they held their leather shields in front of their bodies, a temporary barrier between them and their impending doom. The woman as well followed after her men, her body shielded by their bodies as two more men took up guard positions by her side as they advanced. Their hands gripped their swords firmly, the resolve of their bodies matching their minds. The men swore within themselves to not live to see the seer raped, and the seer swore not to let herself be raped without putting up a struggle.

To her eyes, Michael was but an ominous shadow, his face veiled by darkness but his spoken words resounding clearly in her attuned ears. She could see each movement of her men as they made it. A step here, and swing there, as the five of them marched toward their opponents. They were outmatched, that much she knew without having to peer into the future. She held a brief glimmer of hope, however, that she might be able to break through these men, but the city was filled with the dead and dying, the army of the enemy looting, raping, and pillaging as they pleased. There was no happy resolve to this entanglement, nor would she be delivered by some stroke of luck or miracle. Instead, she looked with her other eyes toward the man who stood in command of the men at her front door, the man shrouded in darkness and ambiguity.

The first two men approached Michael's, swords at the ready to stab and slash at any opening they afforded. They had already witnessed first-hand what the sharp darts the enemy had used to disrupt the ranks of the defenders, and how both deadly and effective they would be if their shields did not hold against them.
 
RE: The Rise of Arx Bellum

"So be it."

He half turned away for a moment, his eyes scanning his men, before turning back to observe the men approaching. Closing his eyes ever so briefly, he spoke. "We are the point..."

The words seemed like a talisman to the men, who joined with his words as he continued to speak, their voices joining into a chorus of shouts that gradually increased in volume. "...We are the edge! We are the wolves that Hectate fed!" By the time the last word emerged from them they were darting forward, their hobnailed boots finding more than adequate footing in the rugs beneath them. The three men who charged spread out as they approached the two men who had been sent to meet them. They did not attack these men with their swords unless the men left themselves wide open, instead buffeting them with their heavy shields, fist one way and then another, simply to get them from their way. Before the men could recover their wits, the attackers were past them, and charging on the secondary line of defenders.

The first line was now left in a bad position...attack the armored backs of the attackers, and face relentless, deadly hail from behind that would not be stopped by their light armor, or charge the two kneeling men and abandon their charge. They would not have much time to make up their mind, as the first of the lawn darts flew as soon as they were buffeted to the wall, thrown with accuracy that befitted the elite rangers carrying them. A far cry in terms of power from their more usual long bows, but powerful enough to pummel household guards. With any luck, their end would come before they could even recover.

The three men that had bulled their way through were not idle in the exchange either. Indeed, their bullish rush carried them straight into the second line of defenders, with a quick rush meant to disorient the men. The Seeress was ignored for the briefest first moment of the assault, Michael's two men's shields striking her men's shields and driving them back even as Michael thrusts ahead and to his right, aiming for the gut of the man to his right while he was distracted by the man before him. Only after that first deceptive attack would he turn his attention toward the Seeress, his lip quirking up slightly as he saw her. "Put down the blade. I don't wish to hurt you."
 
RE: The Rise of Arx Bellum

The two men in front where knocked back with the force of their shield-strikes, their sweat wetting their foreheads as they were swept aside from the raw strength and force of the men before them. Their sandal-shod feet stumbled backward as they were slammed and hammered, trying in vein to hold their footing against the superior form, training, and discipline that these men afforded over their own. Even if they could break through and force an opening past their broad, thick shields, their armor was just as impermeable to their attacks. The neck was an obvious weak point that they could exploit if given the opportunity, but they had a more immediate threat to consider as the sharp barbs hurled at them pierced through their shields, pinning them to the wall like insects. They cried out with pain and dismay as their blood gushed out of the harsh wound, their lives slowly fading as they sunk to their knees, the crimson fluid poured out like spilled wine.

When Michael stabbed at the defender to the Seeress's side, her sword flashed swiftly and deflected the blow, knocking his sword away before it could pierce his lightly-armed torso. Her attention locked on the man before her fully, her blade held up high by her head as she gripped the handle with one hand, while the other she held by her side for balance. "I will not submit myself to you willingly," she said simply, "And I have no such qualm against harming you." She dove forward, aiming a forceful stab toward his neck, blade held sideways to maximize the cutting potential of the strike, while her men continued to press against his, holding them back for now against giving their leader and commander any assistance in disarming her. If he wished to claim her for his own, he would have to fight her first. Given that she lacked a shield with which to block blows, she had to rely on her foresight and speed to land any significant blow. She also had to be quick about it, as two of her men had already fallen and the last two showed little capacity to hold off the attackers for long.
 
RE: The Rise of Arx Bellum

He laughed as she drove him back, stepping back and allowing her to follow him. His men, though, were not idle. The two men that had knelt, Deuce and Hangman, were standing, lifting poles from their backs. One was made of soft iron, pointed with a prominent, rear facing spiked hook perhaps six inches back from the blade, and the other was heavy wood. The two pieces were fitted together in a matter of seconds and pre-change bolts and wing nuts quickly fastened them together, forming the throwing spears that the legionnaires favored. They advanced on the fights already happening in the far corners of the entryway, thrusting over the shoulders of their comrades toward her remaining men. Though a killing stab would be quicker for her men, their true purpose was to suddenly withdraw the spear, driving the spiked hook into the heavy leather of their shields. Once the spear was firmly embedded, it was a simple matter to wrench it to one side, giving the swordsmen time to deliver killing thrusts to the suddenly unprotected men.

Michael had been trained in several forms of fighting pre-change. He had been an expert shot with a bow, a killer on the dojo floor with his bare hands and feet, as well as an expert shot. The skill that won him the most accolades, however, was his skill with a sword. Mockingly, he smiled to the blind Seeress and tossed his shield toward her feet, trying to trip her up. His sword slashed wide even as his shield flew, attempting to strike her sword wide and follow up with a shoulder to her chest to knock her down and ease her capture.
 
RE: The Rise of Arx Bellum

The two remaining guards had little recourse as they watched in awe and horror as the enemy soldiers swiftly and effectively unsettled their footing and exposed them to their stabbing blades. One was caught in the side, piercing his lung like an overfilled balloon and leaving him to die a slow and painful death by drowning in his own blood. The other was stabbed in the lower abdomen, the tip of the blade sinking deep into his gut as he let out a cry of anguish and pain. He could feel the cold steel lodged within him, cutting at his vital organs without remorse. His fellow spat up blood, his eyes slowly shutting as his life was snuffed out. Neither of them felt guilt... Only sorrow that they could not afford a more resilient defense for her.

The Seeress had not been idle in the intervening moments, as she jumped to the side, avoiding both his thrown shield and shoulder charge, swinging her sword toward his back purely out of desperation. The sharp blade met the impermeable surface of his back armor, the sword resounding with a loud clang as it vibrated within her hand. She could feel her entire body shaking, her visions growing dim as she was filled with a sudden panic upon hearing the death cries of her men. She couldn't fight five men by herself! She swung her sword at the man before him, in a futile attempt to inflict some form of injury on him as she stumbled backward, her hand searching for something to anchor herself to, something to guide her as she was suddenly left in the dark. She had to calm down, think of something other than her impending capture...
 
RE: The Rise of Arx Bellum

He merely chuckled at her ineffective strikes, the four men, free of their former foes, turning almost as one to watch the spectacle. Michael did not allow her the freedom to catch her breath, gathering himself in a leonine leap in an attempt to drag her to the ground for one final time, before he called on his men to assist him. There was something odd about this one, and he had no intention of letting her slip through his fingers, no matter what blade she might swing about.

Were he successful in pouncing upon her, there was little doubt he could disarm her in a heartbeat and pin her wrists to the ground, using his superior strength and leverage. Were she to somehow evade his pounce, his men would crowd forward with shields on his command, hedging her back into a corner until Michael could recover his feet and pin her down while she had no options to dodge.

Regardless, the effects were the same. She would quickly find herself on the floor, a length of rope binding her wrists to the opposite elbows behind her back. This had the triple benefit of making her feel helpless, preventing her from reaching the knot that bound her, making escape harder, and forcing her to thrust her chest out to gain any kind of comfort for her shoulder blades in the uncomfortable position. Only once she was bound and disarmed did Michael stand himself, drawing her to her feet before him. "Your name, girl. Now."
 
The other men turned, with full discipline and order, with one accord and purpose as their feet stood firmly the one beside the other. Not one of them had suffered casualty nor even a minor strain or scrape from her own men. No, they were both deadly and effective in their disposal of them, with little doubt left in her mind as to her own fate had they wished for her demise. They were as of yet unseen by the Seeress, for she had more pressing matters to attend to as Michael leaped forward, grasping her wrists and slamming her down against the ground with force and purpose. He struck her wrist, the sharp blow causing her to drop her sword which clattered and resounded against the hard stone floor, bringing with it any hope of putting up any significant resistance to his purposes that he already devised within his mind.

With little room to struggle or protest, she could only strike her knees against his lower chest armor in a desperate yet ultimately futile attempt to dissuade him from binding her. She could feel the rough rope slide across her soft skin, biting into her like hundreds of tiny teeth lined up to devour her. He bound her swiftly despite her struggling, wrist to elbow, her back arching forward as the tightness of the rope demanded some form of escape from the sharp pain of the tight knot. She managed to ease herself up into a seated position on the floor, both to reduce the strain on her arms and to properly reply to the man that had bested her, her legs folded below the edge of her robe skirt in an effort to retain at least a semblance of modesty.

When the man stood, however, he pulled her to her feet before him, demanding that she give him her name. With her arms restrained and chest thrust forward, the humiliation and distaste of her condition began to fully set in as her brow furrowed with unspoken defiance, "I am Cassia, a seer."

Even as she stood, she tried to pull away from him, unwilling to simply resign herself to becoming this man's war trophy. Although he had triumphed over her strength, her heart and mind remained far from him, locked away within the fortified recesses of her consciousness. This shrouded, unnamed man was doubtless someone of importance, a man whose favor was desired from those who followed him, and whose disdain was feared by many. Even as she stared at him with her unseen eyes, she could not break through the darkness that surrounded him to study his features... This was not the first time this had occurred, but it was certainly the most frustrating as it denied her the opportunity to glean any sort of hint as to his purpose concerning her. Instead, all she could do was return his unseen gaze with one of her own.
 
"A Seer, hmm?" He said, pausing for just a moment to take this in. In the world since the event, it was well known that some...magic had returned to the world. Nothing overt, nothing that was flashy or exploding, but minor feats that were often more useful than anticipated when they first exposed themselves. Yes, she was more valuable than he had at first thought. His lip curled up in a small smile as he spoke. "Very well then, Cassia, I offer you a choice. You are now my property, but how you leave the city is entirely up to you. My men and I are looking for loot...gold, silver, precious gems, objects of art. If you are willing to help us locate them, and give your word on your powers not to run from me, I will allow you to keep your modesty and at least some of your dignity. If, however, you choose not to aid me, or, choose to try to foil my attempts, I will strip you and march you bound as you are past the army for every victorious man to see your defeat."

Judging by the hoots of his men, it was clear that they preferred the second option, but Michael had often found a simple threat like the one he had used, one that he could follow through on, produced incredible results. His hand came up, cupping her chin with sword calloused fingers as he spoke. "Well, M'lady, which shall it be?"
 
"To run from you would be to simply throw myself into the arms of danger itself... It it neither advisable nor wise to oppose the might and wit of one stronger than yourself. If I give you my word, then it would be done without trickery or falsehood, for a seer's honor is more valuable than her dignity or modesty... That being said, willingly giving myself to your service after you have led your men into this city, slaughtered both my father and brother as you broke through the wall, I find no reason to do such a thing, such an overt betrayal of the people of this city who provided me shelter in my time of need," Cassia replied calmly, "I am blind and of no great stature, so I am of little use for labor, toil, or household tasks... My only means of sight is through my foresight. But even with the gifts that I have been bestowed upon me, I refuse to aid those who would take me captive and lead me through the streets like a prostitute."

She turned her face away from him, as if she wished to prevent her delicate skin from being stained by the mere touch of his rough, battle-stained hands. Her resolve remained firm even in the face of his threat. She knew he could follow through with it, and that he probably would in light of her reply... The public shame of being stripped and led through the streets before the victorious armies of the enemy was a steep price to pay for her refusal, but what other course did she have available? Could she betray the very people she had lived among and sheltered her for so many years? Could she jump into the arms of the invaders who had slain her family, forcing upon her destitution and bindings? Surely he valued her as a tool, a means to his own purposes, but if she refused to act as a seer for him, he would doubtless find other ways to satisfy himself.
 
"As you wish then, Lady Seer. Know then, as you listen to what is about to happen, that I gave you the chance to prevent it." He said, his head bowing just a bit in mocking salute. From his side, a short, single bladed knife was drawn, and the front of her robe grasped. First her belt was cut, opening the front of the robe, before he stepped behind her. Carefully, he worked the dull back edge of the knife beneath the robe, using the razor edge to open up the sleeves of her robe, absurdly glad that he had remembered to bind her on bare skin instead of binding her through the robe. Once the sleeves were open, he grasped the back of the robe sharply and tugged it away, tossing it to the floor as he started to work on any remaining covering she might possess. He allowed her only to wear her shoes, knowing that there would be rough terrain as they left the city.

He then set about binding her further. Ankle to ankle, with perhaps a two foot length of slack between them. Enough for her to walk with a shortened stride, but never able to kick or run. The last binding that was placed on her was a lead rope, tied around her waist and his with a six foot slack, so that she could not slip away in the confusion. He intended to see this young woman his, no matter what the cost.

His men hooted amusedly as she was stripped, but soon enough fell to their more common ways and began stripping the house. While she was being bound, they were breaking into likely chests, searching for gold, silver, and other valuable trinkets. Her house got a more thorough going over than most, because of her status as a seer and the obvious wealth that went along with it, but it was over soon enough.

In little over ten minutes, they were leaving the house with her trussed up like a slave for market, unable to cover herself or preserve the least scrap of modesty with her hands bound as they were. The treasures of her house were laden on the wagon, filling it the remainder of the way, and he spoke to the men under his command after a few moments of surveying the wagon. "Well, boys, I think it is about time we leave and head back to camp....we've had our share, eh?" He said with a grin, even as he turned toward her. "You have been given the freedom to walk for yourself, and I heartily recommend you use it. Otherwise I will be forced to carry you, and I assure you more will see a struggling wench than a compliant one."
 
Her lips curved into a sour yet reserved scowl as he stripped her, the sharp edge of his knife making short work of the fine linens that she wore, exposing her alabaster white skin to the men in the room. Under the robe she wore but a simple set of white undergarments, which were likewise cut away to reveal herself to them fully. Her cheeks reddened with shame and discomfort as she felt the cool breeze on her naked skin, the immediate reaction of her body being to attempt to cover herself, to withhold the pleasure of seeing her body from the prying eyes of the unseen men who cheered and applauded. She held her legs close together, although this made it hard for her to walk or move as he finished binding her ankles together like a common slave, with a lead rope to prevent her making a subtle escape or against another man claiming her as a war prize.

The taste of disgust and disdain filled her mouth, but she restrained herself as the men ran about the house, breaking open chests and wardrobes, looting her family's possessions without remorse or hesitation. There was little doubt that this was one of the more wealthy households in the city, and as such they had their fill of precious gems, gold ornaments, and fine silk and linen cloth along with any work of art they could pry from the walls or carry away in their hands. They led her away from the house, the cool breeze even more uncomfortable on her skin than it had been in her house, as the man who claimed her spoke to her.

"I'll walk on my own," she said simply in reply, her head slightly tipped forward in shame for her current state rather than in deference or respect to him.

She could hear the sound of violence fading in the distance, along with the creaking of heavily-laden wagons as they made their way through the blood-stained streets. She had never seen destruction on such a wide scale with her own eyes, as she had become blind early on in her life, but she could clearly imagine within her own mind the desolation that lay around her. Doubtless they would soon set light to the wooden rafters of the houses, watching the city from a distance as all that the flames touched turned into ash and smoke. After they had put the men to the sword and carried the women away captive as war prizes, the city would be left empty and bare, devoid of occupants as the raven and the vulture took their pick from the carcasses that lay dead in the streets. Their sufferings had come to and end, whereas hers were only beginning.
 
"Good." He said, with a laugh, as she gave into his desire for her to walk. "You'll learn soon enough it's generally better for you to do as I wish, instead of being obstinate. It hurts less in the end, winds up giving you a better life. I'll chain you to a wall in the darkest dungeon if I have to, but your talents mean you're worth more than that to me, also." He turned his attention back to the road, his eyes sweeping over the city. Little bands much like his own swept through the area, some in the colors of the Band of the Black Hand, others in the colors of other regiments. They invaded house after house, repeating ad nauseum what had happened in hers.

The only difference, of course, was that not all women were merely stripped. She could no doubt hear the screams of her countrywomen as they walked through the city, as the men had their sport. Most were allowed to leave in small groups under the watchful eye of the men of Arx Bellum, some clothed, some not. His men, at least, had a bit more discipline than that, though there were a few good natured cat calls when it was seen she was tailing him so closely.

The smell of smoke was starting to fill the air, from the initial incendiary attack as well as strategic fires set since. The plan for the city of Hartwell, as it had been for all the cities of the Yakima federation, was destruction. There would be no grand conquest, no taking of territory. Not yet, anyway. Eventually settlers would come this way, but for now the changed world needed to know that to strike at Arx Bellum was to quickly invite death.

They passed through the newly opened front gates of the city, toward the palisaded camp set up just outside the city. The men of Arx Bellum, as the Romans that inspired them, were orderly men at camp, with the large white tents spread out in lines laid plum straight. Normally, the tents ten feet by twenty held ten men, each on a narrow cot, but the one she was led to was slightly smaller, ten by ten, and contained only his things. Once within, he turned to her, drawing her a few steps closer with the lead rope. "Now, you are within my camp. If you run, others will find you, and they shall not be so kind as I. I will remove your bindings on your word that you shall not attempt to flee, harm yourself, or harm others. Do you swear on your powers to this?"
 
His laughter and words resounded in her ears, which she interpreted as a mild warning as to what awaited her if she made things difficult for him. She had no intention of simply rolling over and letting him do as he pleased, but there were more effective ways to express resistance and protest against him. She would simply bide her time, waiting for an opportune moment at which to rebel. He walked alongside him, not close enough to be within arm's reach, but not far enough away so as to give a free license to any passer-by to make a pass at her. However much Michael trusted his men, Cassia certainly did not trust them to contain themselves any more than a common soldier when provided such an opportunity.

Her sensitive ears could hear every cry of the townswomen as the conquerors sated themselves with their bodies, unable to block out the empathy she felt toward them. Many of them, doubtless, were widows or left destitute much like herself, without any surviving male family members who were not already fallen under the sword. There was nothing left for them here, only the fading semblance of what once was, and a residual warning to all those who would stand against the might of Arx Bellum.

Cassia kept her sight centered around herself, uninterested in looking over the temporary settlement that they had erected outside the city walls. She could hear the sounds of the men as they returned with their wagons piled high with riches and loot, along with the choice women they had taken as their own. She, of course, was not much better off than they, as he led her toward his personal tent.

Once inside, Cassia turned her face toward him, "There is no purpose for me to flee, for there is no where that I could go to find shelter and sustenance other than what you provide me. Even if, by some stroke of luck, I were to escape your encampment, I would only expose myself to the mercy of the wilderness, to a slow death by exposure or starvation. Likewise, I have no means by which to harm you, myself, or others, or I certainly would have done so by now... If you wish to have my word, then I grant it to you. I hereby swear not to harm you, myself, or anyone else in this encampment, nor do I have any intention of fleeing."

She turned her face away from him, "However, I have no intention of simply becoming your petty plaything, tool, or slave. My body and abilities are for my own use, not yours." Her body shook slightly, mostly from the cold but also from anxiety of how he would treat her now that he had her within his power to do as he wished. However steeled her resolve might have been, there was little she could do against a man whose strength and power alone was more than sufficient to overcome her, especially since she had no means by which to defend or even cover herself.
 
His lip quirked upward, ever so slightly, as he heard her proclamation. So, she would not be easily swayed, would she? Those often made the very best servants, once their wills were broken. They fell into their new roles with abandon, dedicating themselves wholly to it, something that was worth the effort of bringing out. Rather than replying right away, he slowly stood, and approached her with a soft rustling of grass underfoot.

A dagger was drawn from his belt, the cold steel of the blade resting against her cheek for a moment as he considered her. Slowly, he lifted the blade, pressing the keen point against her breastbone and pressing just hard enough to draw a single drop of blood. Once it welled properly, he tilted the blade back, allowing the blood to run down the fuller of the blade as he spoke. "Your oath is recorded in blood. Flee, and with this blood I shall find you. Strike me or another, and with this blood I shall control you. You are bound in blood, bound by honor and bound in body. So mote it be." He murmured, even as he knelt down to carefully slice the bindings on her ankles, tossing them aside.

Religion had been hit hard by the change. Traditional Judeo-Christian religions had, after all, only one person to blame the change on. Many fell out of their faith, and together with the emergence of subtle powers like hers, a crude religion similar to pre-change Wicca was quickly coming out on top of the religious cauldron. If the binding had any effect or not, no one knew, but many believed it did. Michael was somewhat more cynical, but was not adverse to using the religions of others to control them. Most of the devout, he knew, would never care to test a blood binding, and with her abilities it might actually do something.

The last binding fell away under that razor edge, and only then would he sheath the blade, speaking to her as he did so. "Now, so pretty as you are it is cold for you to be walking around in your skin." He turned away, his armor lightly clanking against itself as he knelt to open up a way chest at the base of his cot, pulling out a red tunic. On him, it was a tight fit and terminated just below his waist. On her, it was massive and covered her nearly to her knees because of their size difference. He fitted this around her body, binding it with a loop of the rough cord that had once bound her, before turning away, to an armor tree in one corner of the tent.

"You were a Seer? I'd imagine you knew we were coming long before we arrived then...why did you not flee?" He said, even as he began unlacing the side of the modified Lorica to release it from his frame, glad for the moment to simply be free of the overly hot in the summer and cold in the winter garment.
 
Cassia tucked her hands inside the tunic, rubbing her hands up and down her sides in order to help warm herself up. She turned her face toward Michael, as if to study him despite her blindness. She didn't answer his question immediately, instead sitting down atop one of the folded rugs set down along one side of the tent. She could tell he was removing his armor, as the signature sound of the fastenings unlacing resounded in her ears as distinctly as the shattering of glass or the dull tone of church bells ringing.

"I saw a great lion from the West descend the hills round about the city walls. It had eyes of lightning, a mane of steel, and a heart of raging fire. Its claws where like sharpened blades, and its arms were pillars of stone hewn from the foundations of the mountains," the seer began, her voice resounding with an other-worldly authority and confidence as she sat calmly upon the rug.

She slid her arms out from the tunic, fingers gently folded together, "It roared once, then twice, and all at once it fell upon the city without hesitation or remorse. It pulled down the walls, leaving not a single brick stacked upon the other, and burned its inhabitants with the raging flame that was in its throat. It slashed at the very heavens, rending the clouds and pulling them down from their lofty perches upon the wings of the wind."

"Once it had removed all remnants of the city to a thin dust, it blow upon the ground on which it once stood to clean away every speck. Then it laid itself down on the bare ground, and its feet sank into the earth like roots. Its body changed into that of a tree, which spread out along the face of the earth with its green and goodly branches reaching up toward the sky. It shaded the earth and grew strong, until it could be seen from every corner of the globe," she smiled, pointing toward Michael, "You are that lion that came from the West, and that is the vision that I saw two days ago, before your armies were even to be seen round about the walls. I knew that you would be victorious, and that there would be no escape from the destruction."

Why exactly she smiled as she told him this remained a mystery... Was there more to the vision that she had not told him? For the time being, she simply let him ponder the vision, letting him come to his own conclusions concerning its full meaning and why she had chosen to tell him about it in the first place. She had been so stubborn before.
 
He listened intently to her as he continued to remove his heavy armor. The Lorica coat went across the artificial shoulders of the armor tree, his helmet on the ball atop it. His greaves and bracers went into a chest at the bottom, along with the padded garment he wore underneath it. A small frown lit his face as he heard the description she was giving...Justin, the Macto of the city of Arx Bellum, took the lion as his personal sigil, and the iconography was common in those that he commanded.

"A lion to a tree, eh? I know many in the city would not be overly fond of that." He murmured, matching the upturned corner of her lip as he continued to speak. "I find it odder still, knowing this, that you did not flee. I shall not, however, question my luck in the matter. Ultimately, I find myself well off that you decided to stay."

By the time he had said the last he was standing back beside her, his hand coming down to rest atop her head. He was dressed in a long shirt, untucked, with the sigil of a hand outlined in silver on his left breast, together with trousers of a military cut. He gave her hair a playful mussing before lowering to sit on a cot beside where she sat against the edge of the tent. He leaned back, lounging against the cot as he spoke. "You are, I know, thinking that your world has ended. It has not. Before long you will be thankful that I have captured you instead of some other, if you are not already. Were you not largely unmolested on your way out of the city, failing where you fought me? I am not a cruel man, though I am demanding. Do as I tell you and I shall assure you that your life shall not be without it's comforts. Do not, and I will do whatever is required to bend you to my will."

"In short, my dear, I give you a choice. Lie beneath the tree in comfort, or be beaten with a branch. Your fate is now in your hands."
 
"What I see will surely come to pass... One cannot alter dictations of fate with the might of their own two hands. Even one such as yourself are bound to it, as a slave is bound to the will of his master even so you will be unable to escape the path that you are to take," Cassia replied calmly, her words flowing like water from a clear, fresh brook, "My weakness is in my own curiosity, in wishing to perceive the fulfillment of my vision. Although I assure you that I bear no fondness toward you, I do count myself fortunate that you are the one who took me captive. This way, I'll be able to observe the leader directly, rather than waiting for the time when your fame spreads abroad to all the world."

She turned toward him as he reclined upon his cot, unsure if she was meant to take his words as literal or if he was trying to be clever with his choice of words. She remained seated, with her sightless eyes directed toward her captor, until she stood to step closer to him, the fingertips of her right hand tracing the corners of her face down toward her chin.

"How you treat me is for you to decide... Do not ask me to be anything other than what I am," the seer replied to his demands, "You would comfort me when the blood of my father and brother are yet freshly poured out on your hands? Nay, the blow of a rod is no great comfort either. While I have lain in the bosom of comfort and luxury for several years, I have also known discomfort and want in the years before my gift was known and my family lived in obscurity and poverty."

"If you would win my favor, prove yourself more than the man you are now," she sat down on the edge of the cot upon which he lay, her arms wrapped around her shoulders in a defensive manner rather than from the cold. She knew what the conquest of the lion would entail for her family, but it was too much to ask for her to simply submit herself to the arms of the man who had brought it about.

She would never again feel the affectionate arms of her father, nor the familiar nudge of her brother. They were gone forever from that world, never to be seen or heard of again. She attempted to bury her sorrow deep within her, but the simmering pain still lingered. She could not show weakness in front of this man, especially when he sought to bend her to his will.
 
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