The long march began with some chit here and some chat there, just a little banter to pass the time. Duran, on the other hand, didn’t really make a conversation with anybody, preferring the company of Goma at his side, who seemed to keep looking up at him for recognition which she received as a pat on the head. Her tail wagged, and they continued on their way, Duran keeping his head low and in the hood of his cloak.
As it began to rain, Duran finally moved his head to feel the drops hit him in the face. It was refreshing to feel the cool, pure water on his skin. He smiled inwardly, as Goma let out a grunt of frustration. She had never liked rain.
As they continued to walk, the rain began to really soak in to Duran’s cloak, though the inner layer was still dry thanks to a thin leather interior. Goma let out occasional grunts to proclaim her great displeasure at being soaked. Duran savored this weather, and thought about how great nature was as his feet stomped from dirt into mud. He wiggled his toes, savoring the feeling of wet grit between them. He had some very curious interests, to say the least, though it was not completely unnatural for a druid to fully enjoy every aspect of nature.
As the grass on the side of the road grew to waist height, Duran immediately began thinking about what it could conceal. There were wolves, of course; there were also tigers, panthers, cougars, lions, any number of other predatory cats, snakes, birds, insects, and people. Specifically, people who wanted to cause him and his fellow legionnaires harm. He tapped Goma on the nose as he walked, a signal to keep a nose out while Duran used his eyes.
As the legion reached the edge of the forest, Duran’s tense nature seemed to unwind slightly as he laid eyes on the trees before him. It might as well have been home for him. Suddenly, he saw something in the woods. He wasn’t sure exactly what he saw, but his eyes rarely deceived him. He grew up in the forest. He knew when something was out of place. On Commander Wrath’s command, he drew in close with the rest of his squad for the orders, as Grimsmirk and her squad disappeared into the tall grass.
"Heavy armor in front, light in the middle, medium in back." Wrath said.
It made sense. Spellcasters wouldn’t survive more than a few seconds if they were ambushed from the grass. Duran took the back of the group, confidant in his abilities to at least hold off any attacker until Grimsmirk’s squad lent ranged support, or his own squad was able to turn around and deal with them face to face.
Duran turned around just in time to catch a group of Children charge out of the forest at Commander Wrath, Iriana, and a few orcs that he didn’t recognize. They seemed to be holding their own quite effectively, as a Minotaur’s head flopped off its shoulders and fell to the ground. Duran found it difficult to peel his eyes away from the frontlines, though he did just in time to miss a volunteer Legionnaire get a blade to the throat.
As Duran turned around, he heard a loud scream of some kind coming from the grass. He had the general idea of where it was coming from. He grabbed the wooden shield and shortspear from his back and waved them around in gestures of magic.
“How could you Children expect to have an advantage of terrain when nature is always on my side?”
Duran slammed the dull end of his shortspear into the ground, as his spell began to take effect on the grasses lining the road. Enemies who had the misfortune of entering the area would find that the very grass they were hiding in would attempt to entangle and wrap around them, immobilizing them, or at the very least impeding their advance.
Duran held his spear up, ready to strike the first enemy to charge from the now enchanted grasses, while Goma bared fang in a manner more ferocious than any of the orcs on the frontline.
As it began to rain, Duran finally moved his head to feel the drops hit him in the face. It was refreshing to feel the cool, pure water on his skin. He smiled inwardly, as Goma let out a grunt of frustration. She had never liked rain.
As they continued to walk, the rain began to really soak in to Duran’s cloak, though the inner layer was still dry thanks to a thin leather interior. Goma let out occasional grunts to proclaim her great displeasure at being soaked. Duran savored this weather, and thought about how great nature was as his feet stomped from dirt into mud. He wiggled his toes, savoring the feeling of wet grit between them. He had some very curious interests, to say the least, though it was not completely unnatural for a druid to fully enjoy every aspect of nature.
As the grass on the side of the road grew to waist height, Duran immediately began thinking about what it could conceal. There were wolves, of course; there were also tigers, panthers, cougars, lions, any number of other predatory cats, snakes, birds, insects, and people. Specifically, people who wanted to cause him and his fellow legionnaires harm. He tapped Goma on the nose as he walked, a signal to keep a nose out while Duran used his eyes.
As the legion reached the edge of the forest, Duran’s tense nature seemed to unwind slightly as he laid eyes on the trees before him. It might as well have been home for him. Suddenly, he saw something in the woods. He wasn’t sure exactly what he saw, but his eyes rarely deceived him. He grew up in the forest. He knew when something was out of place. On Commander Wrath’s command, he drew in close with the rest of his squad for the orders, as Grimsmirk and her squad disappeared into the tall grass.
"Heavy armor in front, light in the middle, medium in back." Wrath said.
It made sense. Spellcasters wouldn’t survive more than a few seconds if they were ambushed from the grass. Duran took the back of the group, confidant in his abilities to at least hold off any attacker until Grimsmirk’s squad lent ranged support, or his own squad was able to turn around and deal with them face to face.
Duran turned around just in time to catch a group of Children charge out of the forest at Commander Wrath, Iriana, and a few orcs that he didn’t recognize. They seemed to be holding their own quite effectively, as a Minotaur’s head flopped off its shoulders and fell to the ground. Duran found it difficult to peel his eyes away from the frontlines, though he did just in time to miss a volunteer Legionnaire get a blade to the throat.
As Duran turned around, he heard a loud scream of some kind coming from the grass. He had the general idea of where it was coming from. He grabbed the wooden shield and shortspear from his back and waved them around in gestures of magic.
“How could you Children expect to have an advantage of terrain when nature is always on my side?”
Duran slammed the dull end of his shortspear into the ground, as his spell began to take effect on the grasses lining the road. Enemies who had the misfortune of entering the area would find that the very grass they were hiding in would attempt to entangle and wrap around them, immobilizing them, or at the very least impeding their advance.
Duran held his spear up, ready to strike the first enemy to charge from the now enchanted grasses, while Goma bared fang in a manner more ferocious than any of the orcs on the frontline.