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Chapter 11: Roman the Woods
🕑 Added 2024-12-31 17:00:06 +0000 UTCChapter 11: Roman the Woods
Quintus ordered his small group of men forward. With practiced motions, they enclosed the last snarling panther in a tight formation, its two compatriots bleeding out where they lay still on the forest floor.
He and four of his men formed a shield wall, their scutums locking together, and banged their gladiuses against them as loudly as they could. The panther bared its teeth, flattening its ears against its head. The edges of its inky black form seemed to meld into the shadows of the forest. While the beast’s attention was held, the other four flanked the panther in pairs, watching each other's backs—this wouldn’t be the first time these panthers had worked together to come at them from blind spots.
Together, they slowly backed the last panther away from the trees so it was forced into the clearing. The same clearing, in fact, that it and its now-dead companions had used to ambush them.
It didn't take long before they had it surrounded. The panther crouched low, its belly pressed to the ground, as faint tendrils of dark smoke rose from its sun-dappled hide. Its purple eyes searched for an escape route. But when it realized how trapped it was, it desperately launched itself at the shield wall with a roar.
The shield wall braced for the impact. Even as the panther bit at the top of their shields and clawed to climb over them, the other Legionnaires struck. Four sets of blades stabbed into its sides and spine, slipping between its ribs and puncturing the organs inside. After all, despite all appearances, the panther was not truly made of pure shadow.
It let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the clearing. The beast writhed in pain, lashing out in futile rage one final time before a blow to the back of its neck ended its cries. Its heavy body fell to the ground, twitching.
Quintus scanned the surrounding area as his men did the same. Three panthers was the most they'd ever been attacked by at once. But that didn't mean that a fourth wasn't still out there, sneaking around and waiting for an opening.
“All clear,” Quintus called once he was certain no more attacks were forthcoming. “Status report.”
"No injuries, sir. Barely even damage to our scutums." Brutus said from the center as he wiped his blade clean. "The [Shield Wall] appears to be performing well. When I was locked in, I didn't feel nearly as much force as I'd expect from a beast that size. I was able to stand my ground with no problem."
The other men murmured in agreement as Quintus nodded. At the behest of Gaius, they had been testing many of the so-called "skills" that all of the Legionnaires now had access to. In particular, their contubernium of ten men focused on combat-related skills. So far, the results had been quite promising. There would be a lot more experimenting to go, but he was already impressed with how much more effective his men could become with such minimal investment.
Quintus also found himself reaping personal benefits from the System. His [Voice of Command] skill was proving invaluable on the battlefield. It allowed him to convey even complex orders with more clarity and precision than ever before. His words flowed out faster, and he had an innate sense that his voice would carry over the din of battle even better than before. The skill's benefits only improved further as it leveled, something which it was doing quite quickly. Perhaps it was just catching up to his existing experience in giving commands.
"Good," Quintus said, his voice calling the men's attention back. He sheathed his sword and slung his shield over his shoulder. Having the large rectangle of wood and leather braced against his back had done wonders to prevent ambush predators from getting at them. "Septus, Aulus, check the surroundings. Everyone else, get our kills processed, but quickly. We have about fifteen minutes before I want to head out. We've been handling ourselves well, but I want us to return before the sun sets."
The men busied themselves about their tasks, some pulling out waterskins and food as others dragged the panthers over to get started on them. One pulled out a skinning knife and approached the first corpse as one of the burlier Legionnaires sidled up next to him.
"Brutus," The Primus Pilus's eyes narrowed, a note of warning entering his tone.
The burly man froze for a moment before looking up, suddenly sheepish. "Sir?"
"I don't want to see you holding that knife, Brutus," Quintus said sternly. "Not after last time. If you really want to help with the skinning, you can hold the panthers up."
One of the other men called over. "It'll be fine, sir. He's getting better. He only nicked himself twice this last time!"
Quintus shook his head as the men chuckled. "Be that as it may, I won't take chances. He can practice when we're closer to camp, not out here. I won't have one of our best fighters down a thumb because he doesn't know how to handle a blade smaller than his gladius."
"Perhaps that's why his women always have such sour looks about them," one of the men muttered quietly.
There was a muffled guffaw from some of the men. Quintus, for his part, continued staring at Brutus expectantly. The man agreed with a "yes, sir" that couldn't quite hide his disappointment completely, then began helping the other man skin the beasts however he could. The Primus Pilus watched them for a few moments before checking in with the rest of his men.
"I don't know why you two even bother," called one of the ones resting under a tree. The man had removed his helmet, running a hand through his short hair. "It's not like the pelts are useful. We can't even get them back to camp."
It was true. While the meat, teeth, and bones of the creatures were as good as any they'd ever seen, the hides had a habit of falling apart when exposed to the light. It was something that the hunters among them had discovered very quickly and with no small amount of frustration. Because of that, the Legion had seen fit to store the things at the edge of the forest until someone figured out a use for them.
But despite the lack of immediate utility, Quintus didn't mind letting them skin the beasts. The pelts were extremely light and didn't slow them down, plus it gave the men a chance to keep their skills sharp. But the bones… that was another matter.
"You're one to talk, Claudius," he said, turning his gaze on the man who had spoken. He raised a single finger. "You are allowed one bone to take back. One. It can be a skull, a femur, or a tooth if you want to be reasonable for once. But you are not bringing back an entire skeleton again. Even if you can carry it."
The man grimaced, but didn't argue. "Yes, sir. Er… does that extend to the others, as well?"
"Hey, don't look at me!" Another man raised his hands defensively. "The meat is heavy enough. I'll be damned if I start adding your strange trophies on top of that."
The other men piled on, ribbing Claudius mercilessly about his odd hobby of reassembling animal skeletons. Quintus suppressed a small smile at their camaraderie. He did his best not to lay into any one of them too hard—keeping morale high was one of his primary missions, after all. But he ensured that it didn't interfere with their duties.
Soon, the salvageable parts of the shadow panthers were loaded up and split among the men so no one was carrying too much. Most of their haul consisted of meat, which had proved to be the most useful part of the beasts so far. It was safe to eat, if a bit gamey, which was more than could be said of the small, rat-like creatures that some of the hunting parties encountered. The first few brave souls to try those became "mission incapable" after eating them for several days. They'd had to dig the latrines farther out from camp after that incident.
Still, they didn't take as much meat as they could have. The Primus Pilus and his men were acting as an expeditionary party, meant to scout out the deeper parts of the forest rather than clear out the creatures near camp. Because of that, they were far enough away that preserving the meat properly would be a problem, as they didn't have much time to clean it. Still, they did the best they could, unwilling to waste what they'd managed to gather. This land was still too unfamiliar to afford such luxuries.
As they moved out, their two scouts ranged farther ahead, continuing on the arc of their patrol. The men worked their way from tree to tree, making barely a sound as they moved. It didn't take long before they'd faded from sight entirely.
Quintus shook his head at the display. Their scouts had always been capable, but now they were able to accomplish seemingly inhuman feats. Something about the magic of this world's skills made them able to blend into the forest and dive into dappled shadows with newfound ease. It was an even more impressive accomplishment given the gear they wore, which wasn't particularly well-suited for sneaking about in this environment. Still, they'd managed to avoid getting ambushed so far. Quintus would have to report whatever skills they were using as effective.
The group pressed onward, and it wasn't long before one of the scouts reappeared at his side. The man clasped a fist to his chest in salute. "Sir," the scout began, "There's evidence of a struggle up ahead. One involving humans."
Quintus nodded. "Understood. We'll investigate."
He ordered the men forward, tightening up their formation as they went into high alert. When they reached the clearing, it was just as the scout had reported. Large furrows gouged in the earth and ripped grass indicated clear signs of a struggle—a deadly one, judging by the patches of earth soaked with blood. Broken arrow shafts made it clear that this fight hadn't simply been between animals, either. Quintus wasn't much of a tracker, but even he could see that.
The scouts, however, could read the ground as if it were a map. One of them knelt over a patch of darkened earth. "There were people, all right. Three, if my count is right. It seems as though their bodies were dragged away recently, within the last day. There are other, smaller drag marks too."
"Are they alive?" Quintus asked.
The scout shrugged. "Hard to tell. The blood's not theirs, though. It likely belongs to whatever those smaller creatures were."
"Agreed. It smells sour," the other scout offered. "I'd wager it was some of those blasted rats."
"Whatever it was, it looks as though the bodies were moved further in," the first scout continued, pointing through the trees. "By what, I'm not sure."
Quintus nodded. "Does your [Tracking] skill yield any more information?"
The scout blinked. "Ah! Right. Apologies, sir. I'm still getting used to these things…"
The man went silent for a moment, scanning the clearing again with a critical eye. His gaze darted between the blood, the gouges, and the disturbed foliage that littered the clearing. After a minute or so of silent concentration, the scout nodded.
"Hmmm. Best I can manage is a few more details about the three humans. One appeared to be a ranger of some sort—obviously," he motioned to the broken arrows. "The depth and shape of some of these gouges suggests that the second was a warrior of some kind, though not a particularly competent one. The last… well, I can tell she was a female, but not much past that. Didn't seem like she had an obvious weapon."
Assessing the situation, Quintus drummed his fingers against the pommel of his gladius. Despite the strangeness of their findings, they didn't have nearly enough information to justify returning to camp quite yet. Perhaps if they found what had taken these people or where…
"We continue on," he commanded. "Stay alert. The last thing we want is to end up like these fellows."
The group moved forward with extra caution. With an unknown threat lurking about, Quintus kept the scouts closer to the formation rather than letting them range too far ahead. Behind them, the soldiers marched in a double column, eyes peeled and ready to raise their shields at any moment.
As they ventured deeper into the forest, the shadows grew thicker, taking on a strange, almost tangible quality. Darkness pressed against Quintus's eyes like a weight, and even with the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, his vision seemed to dim with every step. Even the clanking and shifting of their armor began to sound muted, though it still remained uncomfortably loud in the quiet surrounding them.
A curse rang out from the front of the column, causing everyone to freeze. Hands darted for weapons and shields as Brutus waved his arms around in front of his face.
Quintus frowned. "What are you doing?"
"Blasted—I think I walked through a spiderweb." The man slapped at the back of his neck, spinning around to inspect himself. "Is it on me?"
The other men relaxed, allowing themselves low chuckles as Cletus checked him over carefully. "Don't see anything, though it's hard to see in this light. Here."
Cletus reached forward to pluck a strand of webbing off of Brutus, then frowned. "Gods, this is sticky."
"You're telling me," Brutus grunted as he struggled to peel webs from his face. "What in the—"
They worked together to free the Legionnaire's head from the veil enveloping it. The webs took far more force than the should have to snap, but eventually, Brutus was freed enough to see once again. He used his gladius to scrape the remaining strands off his chest plate, muttering darkly as he did.
After the interruption, they continued their advance. As the webs grew thicker, many of the Legionnaires drew their swords, using the blades to cut through the webs instead of walking face-first into them. Sticky, gossamer threads clung stubbornly to their weapons as they hacked through the increasingly dense strands.
"I feel like we're being watched," someone muttered from the middle of the formation.
Quintus halted the group. It was clear that they all felt uneasy, though he kept his own discomfort to himself. Regardless of whether the comment was a product of imagined threats or real ones, it would be prudent to be cautious here. "Group up. Keep your eyes on the trees."
The men readied their shields and weapons, tensing once more. The scouts had fully rejoined the formation, having found nothing in their advance patrols. Quintus much preferred having their improved eyesight with him at the moment, especially given the oppressive darkness. As they scanned their surroundings, one let out a shout of warning.
"Above!"
As Quintus's head whipped upward, a thick, white string shot down from the branches above, slapping into his raised shield and sticking fast. It went taut, pulling his shield and arm both toward the foliage above with shocking force. Only his [Steady Stance] skill kept him from being yanked off his feet entirely.
The sticky thread stretched as he pulled back against it. Gritting his teeth, he hacked at the strands with his gladius, but they were tougher than they looked. His blade sliced partially through the sticky fibers, but they didn't sever cleanly, stretching like some kind of horrid sap.
The rest of his men leapt into action, raising their shields and blades. Something moved deeper within the foliage—something large and dark descending from the branches. Before Quintus could even shout a command or warning, a spider the size of a large dog launched itself from the treetops, hurtling straight at his face.
Comments
Moses Lambert
"Roman the Woods"??? ARRRGHHH...
