((I guess we're moving on from the fight! lawl))

Mary's first cut missed, somehow, which pissed her off. He countered with a slash, which she snagged in the angle of her axe, then flicked the blade away. And in the split second he spent watching the sword, she drove the spike into his neck and ripped it away again.

Turning away, leaving him to die alone on the sand, she focused on the conversation. But why were they having a conversation? This guy had killed his brothers, yay, now slice him open before he got over his little crisis.

"They're all slavers, murderers and rapists," the Khan spat, moving to flank Octavius. She had nothing personal against the Legion, and in fact some of the other Khans talked about allying with them to strike back against House and the NCR, but Mary was too well traveled to accept such truck. She knew what the Legion really did.

She was too shallow to spare more than a passing shrug for the grief he felt. If that's how he wanted to be remembered, fine by her.

Octavius wished only the chance to explain. But to women who had been caught in the campaign to subjugate the Mojave, who saw only the brutish soldiers that ploughed through the desert in search of victory, they would not understand. He had seen many great things, and known what it was to be well fed, to not live in fear—his brothers were given the same, and their wives sat proudly at their side. The slaves lived in squalor in the war camps, but house-slaves were plump and content to serve the men of the Legion.

He leered at Mary cautiously, hand on the pommel of his weapon; he was prepared to defend himself, feeling that his strength and stature would lend him the upper hand in their close quarters. Harm was not wished upon any of them, all the same, and Octavius wished to return peacefully to his brothers-at-arms. When the tribal girl, however, mentioned an order directly issued by Caesar—he cocked his head. “I do not know why this would be,” he said, “perhaps it was the Frūmentāriī—indiscriminate murderers, Caesar’s eyes.”

“I will help you find your justice, girl,” he said, “you may enter our camp if you wash the blood from your hands—you can sup with us—not all Legion men are bad.” He then turned his gaze unto Mary crossly, “You cannot be trusted,” he said, icy, stepping further away from her.

“Tomorrow we must report to Balius, you with my blessing too can follow. But we must speak carefully, for what I do is treason and we will be executed for it.”

Silently, Kaw studied Octavius’ face, searching for any minuscule change in expression that could serve as a sign that his offer was actually a trap to enslave her and the Khan. She was reluctant to accept his offer, and although she did not fully trust him, this was her chance to infiltrate the Legion.

She met Mary’s gaze and nodded, “Yes. There is a river nearby.” Still suspicious of Octavius’ motives, she allowed him to take the lead, if only so that she could watch him closely. If they had trekked to the river like she suggested, Kaw would kneel near the water and stare at her reflection for a moment before scrubbing the dirt from her face.

She was silent up until now, “I am Kaw of the Southern Ute tribe.”

Mary didn't recognize that tribe, Kaw must be from somewhere down south. But she didn't look like a Mexicana, so who could say? In the end they were all tribals, one way or another; some tribes liked to play at being Old World, was all.

At the river, the Khan carefully set her weapons down, then shrugged out of her pack and her long duster, letting them drop gently to the shore. The heavy sort of way they fell and lay there indicated there was more than met the eye with those objects. Underneath the coat she wore a sleeveless vest, boots and jeans; she took her boots and socks off and rolled the pants up, then went into the river herself to wash away the blood and grime.

Most of it was on her armored coat, of course. She cleaned her axe off, making sure it was dry so it wouldn't rust, then stepped back out of the water. "We should go back and loot those bodies," she told the other two as she wiped the coat down. "It'd look funny if there's dead guys and their stuff is still on them." She had no use for the armor of a Legion soldier, but their money was good and their weapons were okay.

After drying herself off with a rag from her pack, she pulled her things back on, running a comb through her hair to make sure it wasn't spattered as well. No time to wash it properly, after all. At Octavius' warning, she gave him a brief, icy glare, but then shrugged and looked away again. "I'll keep to myself, if they'll keep their hands off." If he wanted to ask questions, that was fine; she'd answer as she saw fit.

He strode ashore, running his fingers along the leather scabbard of his gladius, inspecting studiously, water would tempt the metal to rust. He would care for it later at camp, but did not have cloth or hide to wipe it like the others did. Gently he adjusted the belt that held his pturges in place, and then looked back toward the direction of the encampment. “Likely they will not find them, and will not suspect us if they do,” he said, wincing at the thought of scavenging off his brothers like a filthy, junkyard dog. “I will do no such thing, but you may,” he said, threatening to leave her behind.

Perhaps it would surprise these women to see the men as they were, behaving normally, joking among themselves or playing games. Exercising when they could, running their morning drills, or cooking. The Mojave had not seen the vast wealth of culture and intelligence the Legion held, where its cities and territories left little room for raiding or crime—where not every woman was a slave, and not every man a soldier. He missed his home, in the heart of the Legion territory, where his trueborn brother and sisters had remained—his brother, a posted veteran of war in the capital, and his sisters were yet to be married to officers of the empire.

“You may lie to me,” he said, expressionless, looking at Kaw. “I understand that this too, one day, will not be possible—that you might wish to kill me, as well,” he said, “I was born to the Legion, this is all I have ever known. We are not often granted the chance to speak freely to outsiders,” Octavius paused, hesitating, “I love Caesar—and my brothers. But there are things that happen, that seem so brash and swift—that Lēgātus would have us do—I do not want to do these things, yet I am not allowed this choice.

“One day you will try to kill me, Kaw of the Southern Utes, but I will not let it be so easy,” he stated sternly, and began to walk toward the camp. “You may bring your amica, I suppose,” he waved carelessly at them, “if she bothers to follow.” He was being snide, in case she decided to go loot the bodies despite his not wanting to.

Once Octavius had met the edge of the camp, he would pause, looking over his shoulder to check for the women, and then continue. He was at ease, greeting the few legionaries that watched from their tents or were kicking at a ball in the small, somewhat flat area they had established themselves. They would not bother too much with the women, their glances were concerned and interested for a moment at best, before they returned to their own things.

Octavius came to the centre of the tiny camp, at the hearth where a small campfire blazed away, some cauldron of stew brewing over it. If the women had been collected and calm enough to follow this far, he would invite them to sit—“I can leave all commands to the other decānus, we can begin this journey before dark sets, and I will take you to see the Centuriōn—but I need food things, and bedding.”

So Octavius was not as foolish as Kaw had originally thought him to be – he knew well that eventually, she would come for his head, because she would not rest peacefully until able to avenge the murder of her clan. An eye for an eye.


A few years had passed since the incident, but she could never forget the horror of returning home to find her people slaughtered like sheep, women and children included. The image of their encampment, bathed in blood, would haunt her forever. It was the cause of many sleepless nights, and of nights when she would wake in a cold sweat, afraid.


Even after Octavius spoke, the tribeswoman did not answer, instead electing to follow him silently into the camp. Kaw did not know what this word amica meant, and she furrowed her brows, exchanging looks with Mary.


She too lost some of her nerve upon entering the Legion campsite, mostly because the men gaped, but soon they returned to business as usual, the women’s presence forgotten. She gave Octavius a hard stare, but nodded. “Do what you need, because I want to meet with the Centurion.”


She hadn’t actually considered what she would do when able to confront him, but that was an issue for a later time. For now, she was focused on making it out of this Legion camp intact.

OOC Please just control these NPCs as you have all done before!

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A lost patrol of NCR soldiers, well-equipped with firearms, move along through the desert. Spying the trio in the distance with binoculars, they begin to close in on them. They set themselves up at a vantage point, hellbent to destroy their Legion nemesis, and the apparent raiders that followed after him.

5msKNVat5-11 soldiers, 1-3 of which are veteran rangers. 4-10·1-3