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Pain.

That was his reality at the moment. Lucius knew nothing but pain. The endless beatings for the day, the torture, it added up. He was sure most of his body was broken, his spirit shattered. This small group of good Roman men had done what an army of rebels could not. They defeated him personally. Even in this though, Lucius was proud, because he had met them, he had made them pay in blood, even after they had him here. He had attempted to break free three times, and each time they responded with a beating. Clubs bearing down on him, breaking over him, breaking his bones. It made him proud that they needed to beat a bound man, revealing how threatened he made them feel.

But the pride could not hide the pain. The agony his body was left in. Broken, battered. He was sure death would come no matter what, with the amount of blood the torture had cost him. The torture itself, he was sure, would cause terminal infection. Death would come. But it came to all men in time. Then again, Lucius knew his would come at nightfall. He had heard them talking, they would be back at nightfall to end it. But the sun yet hung in the sky by the light sneaking under the door.

He laid on the floor, a puddle of his own blood surrounding him from the last beating they had laid on him after the torture. They wouldn't stop. But his body could take no more. He was as good as dead as he laid there. And slipped into unconsciousness.

No sooner had his eyes closed then he was awoken, a soft hand on his shoulder. His eyes snapped open though he couldn't move. Somehow he was unbound, though that hadn't woken him, yet he was still in agony and broken from the countless beatings. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but the other, bloodied, looked around. It wasn't the farmhouse, had they taken him somewhere to kill him? How had they moved him without waking him, was he that close to death already? The thoughts rambled through his mind. All he knew, was the place was dark, except for grass on the ground, everything faded to darkness. He struggled to look over his shoulder, at who had touched his shoulder, but no one was there.

He fell still again, falling onto his back as he laid there, alone. Maybe they had decided to dump him. It didn't matter, death would come.

"I am ashamed of you Lucius." a voice spoke in the darkness, not in latin, but in gothic.

"Fuck off and let me die." he replied, his voice was barely a whisper in his well practiced gothic.

"And that my son is why I am ashamed." the voice replied to him, a figure moving to Lucius's side, drawing his attention. Lucius turned to face the voice, studying the figure with his one good eye. Gothic was clear, tall, pale skinned, fair haired. A long beard fell down his chest, with piercing blue eyes. But such descriptions were applicable for all goths. The man was geared for war, a sword strapped to his back, a round wooden shield strapped over it.

Lucius stared at him in silence, unable to identify him. Lucius's own father was Etruscan, not gothic.

"Be kind to him Tyr. Look what he has endured. The strength that has let him endure and has carried him this far," a female voice said from Lucius's other side. It too spoke in gothic, and as Lucius looked to it, he found a true beauty before him. Tall, yet still somehow petite of frame, she looked truely delicate, with porcelain skin to accent the blue eyes and hair so golden it almost appeared white in the darkness.

The one named Tyr spoke from behind Lucius as he continued to look to the woman. "If he is strong, then let him prove it Eir. Let him rise up. Let him never give up. Let him show me the ferocity of the north he so loves."

The woman, Eir, moved to kneel before Lucius. Her hand reached down to caress Lucius's face. Her skin was cooling, soothing to Lucius's broken and bloodied skin, yet she didn't shy from him. She whispered softly "Be strong Lucius. For your family. For Aurinia, your princess. For your boy Iovinianus. For your men. Too many need you still. Be strong for them."

Her words wounded Lucius. The pain had made him forget them. Had made him forget a world beyond the room of his suffering existed. He had become self focused, self centered in his pain. And as she reminded him that suffering existed beyond him, he was hurt for it. Then a whisper from her again broke him from his thoughts. "They yet live. Your family. He said they were killed, that they would have lived if it weren't for you. But he bluffed. You know he did. They lived in hiding in the other insulae that they never found. You saw to their safety. You misdirected the attackers. You yet live, and to live, is to be victorious."

Tyr spoke, his voice closer to Lucius, no longer so accusatory in tone but supportive. "Why would you die warrior? Because you hurt? Because your body is weaker than your will? You have family. You have men who still need you. Are you weak?"

"No." came the only whispered reply Lucius could muster.

"Then prove it." came Tyr’s reply.

"Then show us." came Eir's.

Lucius rolled to his back. How would he do anything? He was beaten. Broken. He was near death. Did that mean he had to give up though? "How?" he whispered.

Tyrs only response was a laugh, booming into the darkness.

Eir as always was more supportive. "Be strong. Be the warrior you have proven to be. Wodan does not want you sitting in the hall of warriors yet. A place waits for you, but not yet. It is next to Vallentinus. But if you give up, where is the honor in that? You will have no place in the hall of warriors then."

Somehow, thoughts of who these two were did not enter Lucius's mind. As weak and near dead as he was, consorting with gods only seemed natural to him. He nodded. What he must do was clear. "I will not give up." he croaked.

"Shaddup over there." came the barked order in Latin, intruding on Lucius's mind. He snapped back to reality, the figures of Tyr and Eir disappearing, the grass fading to the wooden floor of the barn room. He was in his own puddle of blood again, the table between him and the only guard in the room he leaned near the door, undoubtedly waiting for the execution.

Lucius groaned, shifting slightly. He would not give up.

The thug walked over. "I said shut up. Just die already." he grunted out as he raised the club. Another beating was obvious. But Lucius would not give up. That thought raced through his mind. He didn't dwell on it. The thought was there as naturally now as breathing. What he focused on, was his leg shooting out from his crumpled form. He felt the broken bone in it grinding together, agony shooting through him, yet enough force was given to force the attacking mercenary to lose his balance and fall.

Lucius was on him instantly. An animal fighting for his survival, savage and brutal. As the attacker went down on his back, Lucius lept from the ground. His left arm shot to the mans throat, clenching it in his hand though as Lucius's weight fell on it, he felt his broken arm grinding, separating. The hand held tight, but the arm would not support the weight, and he collapsed onto the man. His other hand shot for the mans face to catch himself before he fell, supporting his weight with index finger and middle finger in each of the mans eyes. Lucius pushed himself up on this hand, which only forced his fingers deeper into the mans eyes, blood welling up as the scream he tried to let lose was stifled by the hand around his throat and Lucius's own body over him.

Lucius held there, stunned. He had never expected such a turn of events. One man dead, likely from suffocation from Lucius's grab of his throat more than Lucius's gouging out his eyes, and from all acounts, fourteen more on the farm. He grabbed the thug’s club, and using it like a crutch and putting his weight on the table, he got up slowly. He took quick stock of his own injuries. His right leg was clearly broken, both the knee and the shin, and as well his left forearm was shattered. He assumed the bone around his left eye was broken, as try as he might he could not get the eye to open. Breathing was painful, each breath sent a new spark of agony through him; the implication clear, broken ribs, likely several. He didn't spare a thought for what the torture had down to his anus, as much pain as that caused, it wasn't an interference to battle. A man would lay down and die with wounds such as these. But Lucius no longer felt like a man. He was a beast. A northern boar, fighting for survival.

He looked around the room. He needed a plan. Now that he had a moments advantage, he needed to press it, and carrying on from here would NOT be as simple as the blind luck of taking down the one man so far. To say Lucius was at a disadvantage was an understatement. But Lucius was used to disadvantages. Yes he had lost six of his seven legions at Antioch. But he had destroyed more than he lost, taking eight of the nine rebel legions in turn. And he had still walked away alive. Lucius would not die to fourteen men. He would not give up.

He moved slowly, shambling really as he couldn't support his weight on his right leg, and moved into position just next to the door. He waited silently. Another guard would enter soon, and Lucius would strike.

The minutes wore on, but barely any time really passed in the mind of Lucius, before the door opened. A man entered. "Hey Willem, where the hell are you?" the guard said in latin as he entered, though for some reason, Lucius couldn't understand him, his mind not able to, at least for the moment, comprehend latin. Before the door could close behind him, or the mans eyes could fall on Lucius, he moved. Club in his right hand he swung with all his strength, aiming to crack the club over the mans jaw. Caught unaware, the thug could do nothing to save himself. The blow from a man with less strength than Lucius would have knocked the guard out cold. But Lucius was in a berzerk rage as befitted a true goth, and the mans jaw was rammed back and up, instantly killing him. His body crumpled in the spot, and Lucius moved to make sure no other guards were following.

Again, luck was on his side. No guards followed the dead one into the room. Lucius knelt, searching. He discarded the few coins he found, a note in latin which for some reason, seemed like nonsensical scribbles to Lucius's mind.
He stopped searching when he found it. The holy grail in his mind right now, a dagger.

He was naked, bloody, broken, but he had a dagger. He moved out from the room, a barn he found out as he stepped outside. He looked around the farm yard, keeping to the side of the building as he moved out of sight around the side. He spotted the farm house, and the sound of several men coming from inside. Likely celebrating their pay. He had heard the amount transfered. Lucius was worth a million. To whoever wanted him dead. But to him, there was no price on them. When he found out, he would see to them personally.

He moved behind the barn, but came apon a man back there urinating. "FUCK." the man cried in latin, or the equivalent histric phrase. Not even replacing his clothing, he drew his dagger and lunged for Lucius.

Injured like he was, Lucius could do little to avoid the attack. The thugs knife came at Lucius's face, tearing into the eye that refused to open and claimed it fully. Lucius never needed to worry about opening that eye again, and the agony of it only seemed to fuel Lucius's anger. His own right arm lashed out and up, the knife flying down towards the side of the thugs neck. He missed the spine. But he hadn't wanted to give the man a clean, honorable death. He tore the knife through the thugs neck and throat, shredding vocal cords and left the man to bleed out.

He tore the mans shirt, using it to wrap around his head over his shredded eye socket. Blood quickly soaked the makeshift bandage, but it stopped him from bleeding out. He took the man’s pants as well, filthy, covered in blood, but better than being naked.

Lucius moved on, circling the low buildings towards the farmhouse. He wanted to look for two men. Clarus and Dido. He didn't know them, though both had been named infront of him. But they knew who wanted him dead, and he didn't know if they were on the farm still or gone. He moved, avoiding sight carefully.

He moved carefully, peaking in the back window. There were six men in the room, they looked drunk. But none appeared to be the two he looked for. He quickly did some math in his head. Fifteen men. Three dead. Six here. That left six more unaccounted for and no sign of Clarus or Dido. They struck him as men above guard duty, so if they weren't here carousing, it meant they were likely gone already. Which would work in his favor. They would report that he was dead.

He shambled behind the buildings, moving under the windows slowly, heading towards the stables. He paused at the edge of the building, glancing around the small enclosure of the farmstead. He made sure each window able to see him was empty, each doorway closed. No one in the open, and then moved towards the open door of the stable.

Entering quickly, he nearly tripped. This meant he didn't see the guard at the back, who had just arrived from patrol. The man responded quicker than Lucius, shouting out as he ran for Lucius, raising a club. Turning his head and shoulder, he took the crack over his left shoulder, feeling the bones crack under the force, but he didn't have time to pause. Even as the pain washed over him, his right arm, the dagger held in the hand lashed forward, stabbing into the mans stomach.

The thug grunted, but smirked. The blow wasnt lethal at all, such a small weapon, such a non lethal area. But when Lucius jerked upwards, tearing from belly button to solar plexus open, the guard paused, his confidence fading. He was a mercenary, a thug, but he was no soldier, and a momentary shift in his confidence was all Lucius needed. Pressing his weight towards the man, Lucius continued to jerk the knife up, between the meeting ribs. Lucius split the mans ribcage in two.

Leaving him for dead, Lucius made to the still saddled horse the guard had just rode in on. He mounted, slowly. He was certain his right leg was fucked, the grinding bones sounded as if every step only ruined the break more. He climbed on though, sheer willpower and strength dragging him up. He moved the horse to the entrance of the stable and looked out.

The guards shout had roused the six in the farmhouse. But they couldn't see into the stable, and were making their way to the barn where Lucius had been held. This was bad, he knew it. A shout came from the barn. They knew he had escaped, and killed two at least. He had killed two more than they knew. He wasn't giving up yet.

One turned to the stables, spotting Lucius on the horse and charged. And so did Lucius. Horse charged man wielding a dagger, who obviously had not thought things through. The horse met the mans body, trampling him. Lucius didn't stop. He didn't look down as one of the horses hooves stomped on the mans chest, or one of the back hooves stomping on his skull. He wouldn't survive the several hundred pound horse. And Lucius rode on as the shouts of the five remaining thugs chased him.

A rider appeared to his left, riding hard to catch Lucius. He rode hard for the road, looking to put distance between himself and his pursuer, but the angles were in the thug’s favor. He closed on Lucius as they both made the road and rode hard. Nearing as close as the horses would go, he swung his dagger, lunging almost. He tore into the back of Lucius’s ribcage, the knife scraping bone and evicting a snarl of pain from Lucius.

Glancing over his shoulder for only a moment, unwilling to take his eyes from the road, Lucius knew he couldn't reach the man. So instead, his knife flashed for the one thing he could reach. The other mans horse. He stabbled it into the horses throat, but it was torn from his hand as the horse went down, dead, and the man was crushed under the tumbling beast. Lucius rode on hard, leaving them in the dust.

He rode hard and fast. He knew the horse wouldn't survive the ride. But tonight was a night of death. The sun set as he rode, the light behind him as he approached the gates of Rome. Thoughts and memories tumbled through his head. Dido, identified as Fulvio's man. He didn't know either, but they were puzzle pieces. Clarus revealed too much. The two things he had said to Lucius were all that were needed. As Lucius was beaten, Clarus gloated, “Truly all of this could have been avoided. You’d be in Rome, your family would be alive and you’d be going about your business. But you had to meddle in ours; you just couldn’t leave well enough alone could you.” danced in Lucius's mind. Who’s business had he meddled in? Lucius did nothing in Rome. Except speak in the senate and the forum. On behalf of the provinces. And against rebels. Had the rebels done this? Then the second thing Clarus said, as he leaned down to whisper to Lucius's one good eye after the beating but before the torture. “You really should watch who you talk about.” The words were burned into his mind. The mans face. But over all of them was burned one overwhelming idea. Lucius would not give up.

The horse tried to slow as he neared Rome. He could feel the beast’s sweat, the laboured breaths. He wouldn't let it slow. He rode it full speed towards the gates. He could see the Urban Cohort guards there already growing uneasy at his rapid approach at such a late hour, especialy with the sun behind him.

Finaly as he neared, he reigned the horse in, but no sooner had it stopped, than it collapsed under him, exhausted beyond the beasts ability to cope with. This was why messengers swapped horses at regular intervals, to prevent any one beast from being over exerted. Lucius collapsed off the horse as it fell, and laid in a crumpled heap. With the bandage around his head, the pants ill fitting as his only coverings, both blood soaked, as was he. He was broken, battered, bruised, his right leg, left arm, ribcage were obviously broken and deformed. Yet still he struggled to his feet even as the Urban Cohort guards approached, drawing swords.

"Identify yourself." one ordered. Still, the latin words escaped Lucius. His mind wasn't fathoming the language of his birth and he didn't understand why he couldn't understand them.

As near to death as he was, he didn't have time to think about why he couldn't understand them. He just replied, in the only language his mind could comprehend at the moment. Gothic. "I am Lucius Carus. Abducted late last night from my home. Let me pass."

All the men heard and understood was Lucius Carus. They looked to each other, and one leaned over to whisper to the other quietly.

"Lucius Carus is the senator that Severus killed the would be assassin of. Didn't work though, we found the senator’s place trashed, dead bodies everywhere, but the senator was gone," he whispered and looked back to Lucius. "This one is likely fleeing the mans wrath at being captured. Lets take him to the Praefectus."

They sheathed their swords, their words slowly making sense to Lucius, but still too little to be clear to him. He assumed, as they stepped forward and grabbed him by the upper arms, that they were helping him. Though their lack of concern for his obvious broken left shoulder as they draged him along quickly showed him he was wrong. He spoke, quick, and in gothic. But meeting nothing but silence from them, he slowly realized they couldn't understand him.

He was dragged through the streets towards the Castra Praetoria, and finaly Lucius's mind clicked. He spoke now in Latin to the men. "I AM Lucius Carus, Proconsular Legate, former commander of Rome’s forces in the east against the rebels. I was captured from my home. Please... let me go free." which prompted a response from the men who released him in the street, causing him, unprepared, to fall to his knees and cry out in pain.

They looked to him. "You ARE? But, by the gods man you look like you should be dead? You must meet with the Praefectus for sure, to explain to him all you know. Come with us Senator, please." they asked, showing more sympathy now. Even if they didn’t outright believe him, the sudden shift to Latin piqued their interest.

"I can't. My wife. My child. They think me dead. Allow me to see them. To give me hope and to let their fears rest. Please. Then I will see your Praefectus. And the Emperor. I must see the Emperor, as a military advisor to him that is my right." he nodded, resolute, the relaity of his life returning to him. He struggled with the pain.

The Urban Cohort soldiers looked to each other, debating internally before they whispered to each other. One nodded, and set off at a run. The other looked to Lucius. "Alright. I will escort you to your family. For your safety. Others will join us to ensure your safety, Senator. Then you will be taken to meet with Praefectus Vigilum Arathae Accarus and the Emperor," the man said, a hand down to help Lucius back to his feet.

Lucius was not weak. He was not an invalid. He was not defeated. Yet he accepted the mans hand and rose to his feet slowly, painfully. With the man supporting Lucius's weight off the broken right leg, they made better time walking towards the three insulae Lucius owned. At words from the guard, other Urban Cohorts patrols they passed joined them, Lucius's entourage numbering a dozen men by the time they reached the home.

He raised his left arm and rapped on the door. Not a simple knocking, but a pattern, a signal to anyone inside that it was a friend, someone of Lucius's guard or the remnants of his legion. The act bent his left arm, broken, in places and ways it shouldn't causing one of the guards to turn away, a hand over his mouth. Lucius stood silently, fixing his arm with the loud snapping of bones one would expect as he waited for the door to open. He could feel his teeth crack as he clenched his mouth to stifle the groans of pain.

Finally it did, a crack, light behind preventing Lucius from identifying who it was, untill the figure saw him. A happy shout. "LUCIUS!" from one of his guards, the three who had survived the attack with his wife and child. The door was flung open, revealing that all three guards stood there at the door, two with weapons drawn, the last with the lantern behind them to provide light.

The men quickly sheathed their weapons, moving out to step around Lucius, muttering simultaneously their appraisals of his appearance. "Where is she, Wolfrik?" he asked the one who opened the door.

"Upstairs. She hasn't stopped crying. Neither has Iovinianus. We were set to leave tomorrow morning for home..." he motioned inside, not even looking to the surrounding Urban Cohorts who by now had spread out some, including into the alley ways beyind and around the house. Lucius moved quickly, for a man with a broken leg, into the house and worked to climb the stairs with the help of his three men.

Lucius stepped into the bedroom where his wife and child were huddled. It was just past nightfall, so both were still awake. As Lucius stepped in, looking like he had endured the very hell he had, it took the pair looking to him for a few moments to recognize him. Finaly the child, a two year old boy, Lucius's son Iovinianus, spoke. "Daddy?"

Lucius nodded once. Nothing else. The boy burst from his mothers lap, running to him at full speed and clung to Lucius's broken leg. It was agony, yet the hug was so innocent, so beautiful to Lucius that he endured, reaching down to hug his boy even as his wife ran to him. Burrying her face to his chest, she clung to him, crying but now for relief as she whispered in Breton, her native tongue that their son had yet to learn.

"We heard the fighting. Wolfrik and Valborg said everyone was dead but they couldn't find you. We feared... " she fell silent. Lucius wrapped himself around his wife, knowing her years as a shield maiden left her strong enough to carry his weight, and he needed the help now. An arm around his boy, he whispered still in Breton.

"They took me. They were working for the Hispanic rebels here in Rome I assume. Or the eastern ones. Not sure which. I wont die yet Aurinia. I have yet to get everyone home." he whispered, leaning down to kiss her.

She looked up to him, her blue eyes meeting his, begging in silence before he words followed. "Lets leave tonight. Go home."

He shook his head. "I need to meet with the Emperor. And... see physicians. I'm not going home without our men." He called them ours, for many years she had been at his side in armor and in battle, and while the men would not answer to her, they did respect her as a warrior, because that is what she had been in her tribe in Britannia, a shield maiden, daughter of a king, and it was how she had been given to Lucius, a captive after a battle that crushed her tribe.

She nodded, silently. She reached down to pull Iovinianus from Lucius's leg and held the boy in her arms. The child looked like her, fair skin, pale hair, and piercing blue eyes. If the boy had Lucius or Aurinia's ferocity couldn't be identified. Two warriors for parents, the boy was sure to become one in time. She spoke after a moment. "Go then. So you can come home sooner and sleep." She hadn't asked for details. She didn't want them and Lucius could tell. He wouldn't torture her with the details, she just wanted to, and needed to, know that Lucius lived and he gave her that.

"I will be back soon. And I will ensure we have guards until we go north and I can build a new personal guard for us." he nodded before kissing her passionately despite the blood covering him. He pulled back to kiss his boy on the head, and turned to leave.

The three guards moved to follow him out the door but Lucius shook his head. "No. Stay with them. They are all I live for... if harm comes to them, I will have nothing left," he looked, pleadingly to each of the three, who each nodded solemly and moved back inside. Lucius turned to the Urban Cohort nearest and nodded to him before setting off towards the Imperial Palace.

As Lucius marched through the streets, leaning on one of the guards for support, the party was met on the way. Another group of guards escorting the Praefectus Vigilum Arathae Accarus himself, and at least six physicians to see to Lucius's wounds.

"Senator..." the Praefectus began but fell silent, speechless at the wounds that would have killed any lesser man.

Lucius raised his hand limply. "I will give a full accounting... when we are with the Emperor. I want to leave Rome, but the Emperor has something I want with me when I leave. He will need to see why I must leave, and I hope, as a man before all else, that he will agree. I will give you all I have for information... but I know.. little more than you I am afraid."

"You should be laying down, the physicians need to tend to you. Please Senator," he said after Lucius's mini speach. Arathae had hoped the attack was thwarted, but by the mess of man before him it was not. "Your wounds look... grave. For your sake please."

Shaking his head resolutely, Lucius set off towards the Palace. "I am a soldier, Praefectus. We endure. Your physicians can tend my wounds when I choose to sit finally, while my mouth can work telling the details."

The man nodded. There was no reasoning with Lucius, that much was clear, and he wasn't about to put the senator under arrest to tend to his wounds. He followed, as did the physicians, and the guards. Lucius shambled along, limping, supported by a guard, yet his head was held high. He would not surrender. He would never surrender. He wasn't ready to give up. Not yet.

He whispered one thing as he climbed the steps of the Imperial Palace, one agonizing step at a time. "Aper Victrix." though none of the men near him heard it under his breath.

Written By: Tiberius Lucius Carus
Edited By: Ferus Juventas
137 AD

Ah-Mazing.

Great scenario, well written, I hope to turn one out like that myself

Very well written, but I'm confused.

We've got two scenarios telling us two different things-Is he dead or not?

All the previous scenario said was that the men who were supposed to kill Carus told whoever hired them that Carus had been killed- the story never clearly described the death. This follow up scenario clearly describes that the wounds will eventually be fatal.

the man walks on water

JayMichaelBecker wrote:All the previous scenario said was that the men who were supposed to kill Carus told whoever hired them that Carus had been killed- the story never clearly described the death. This follow up scenario clearly describes that the wounds will eventually be fatal.

ok, sounds fair enough to me