Headed by a Snake

Chapter 707 Prologue (Part One): First Warrior

?Brotherhood. Loyalty. Justice.

The runes were carved not just upon Growling Bear's flesh, but upon his heart... upon his warrior's soul.

Originally, those gifts were bestowed to his ancestors... granted by a Chieftain from the oldest of the tribes' old tales.

The Chieftain's name... lost to the ages.

Their deeds, forever immortalized in song.

As Growling Bear held onto his horse's harness, he felt the comfortable weight of his wargear, strapped to his waist.

He carried an animal totem, lovingly carved by his sister in the likeness of his namesake... It gave him the strength and the courage to carry on.

He carried his twin hatchets, newly crafted for their most recent endeavor. With their blades, he'd slit the throats of the enemy. With their spiked backs, he'd pierce their hearts through their metal skins.

He carried his black-painted war mask. Once donned, he would be without fear... without compassion.

Once the battle joined in earnest, he and twenty-nine of his brothers and sisters would act as one.

Thus masked, there would be no parley. There would be no mercy.

It was one of many reasons why the Ebon Masks were respected.

It was one of many reasons why the Ebon Masks were feared.

His tribe was smaller than most... comprising not even ten families.

The silent-footed Springleafs, the crafty and clever Moonwells-- even the haughtiest of the Highblades paid their respects.

With respect... the tribes lived in harmony.

It was in good faith that the Whisperwinds met with Chieftain Meets-the-Enemy, asking for her counsel.

Wrongs had been committed against one of our fellow tribesmen.

There was only one acceptable course of action.

The Ebon Masks would seek retribution.

The Whisperwinds knew this. The Highblades and the Springleafs, they knew this. The Moonwells... they would understand.

And so the thirty Masked Ones rode.

Their bows were strung, quivers full. Their blades were sharpened, their blood running hot.

They followed the sound of their Chieftain's enchanted song... a song of brotherhood... of loyalty and justice.

There was magic in his sister's voice... enchanting their travel.

The humans and their deaf ears would scarcely hear the thudding of hooves. With their blind eyes, they would scarcely see through the shroud of grey mist.

When the sun set below the horizon, thirty Masked Ones would arrive undetected.

Then... the humans would be slaughtered.

The blood debt would be repaid by blood.

...

"I've NO idea what the Centurion is thinking!" Ollus kicked his Decanus helmet in anger. The glow of the watchfire lit its travel, rolling along the sand and clanking against a rock.

The barrel-chested Munifex, Appa, silently watched it roll, making no movement to stop it.

"Real professional, Decanus," Claudia rolled her eyes as she leaned over to pick it up.

"FIame take me," Ollus muttered... "I haven't had a decent night's rest in four suns. And then the Centurion decides to *triple* the night watch... I swear that the wolf bastard has it out for me."

"Us, Decanus," Appa added... "has it out for *us.*"

"The Centurion has it out for everyone, the two-faced criminal," Claudia shrugged. "He treats us all like shite-- but talks to the Immunes and civilians like he wants to suck their cocks."

"The civilians?" Ollus scratched at his head, "Bah. You mean that xeno we picked up a few suns back? We should've just left the witch for the vultures."

"Heretic filth..." Munifex Appa nodded in agreement.

"Mehhh," Claudia sighed through closed teeth, "Come on, Ollus. You're a Decanus. Shouldn't you be used to night watch? Catch."

She tossed back the helmet, which Ollus caught with both hands.

Ollus glared at the scrawny Munifex, barely an adult... It made him realize that he wasn't acting his rank...

He'd belonged to the military and para-military organizations for six years. Night watch wasn't something new to him.

Complaining about night watch wasn't something new, either.

There was... something different about that night, though.

Something... bothered him.

It was... a sense of dread... a gnawing hole in the pit of his stomach.

It made him want to empty his bowels. It made him want to kneel in the sand and force himself to vomit. It made him want to crawl into his cot and sleep until morning.

Back when Guild Metal Wolf was in Ezyria, he had the same... premonition.

Because of it, he didn't take a single step into the Halls of the Dead Serpent. It was as if he was glued to a bucket, pissing and shitting himself into dehydration and fever.

Back then, Guild Metal Wolf-- Flame take him, the whole Brazen Guard Collective almost got wiped out.

It made him thankful that the fates were looking out for him... which was criminally useless in his current situation.

After the several fold decimation at the Halls, Guild Metal Wolf had begun campaigning for the Adventuring Guilds in the Eastern States.

The Centurion had good reason for it.

At the time, every adventurer in Tyrion thought that the guilds in the Brazen Guard Collective were either heretics. If they weren't... then, they were too weak to handle the club-wielding, half-naked, savages of the Snake Cult.

If Ollus hadn't personally witnessed the strength of their Gold-Ranks... Bannok of Kasydon and his two pet elves, he'd have thought just the same.

Anyroad, the guild taking contracts in other nations became far more lucrative than remaining in their homeland.

The Eastern States had monsters to be subjugated. Their people had the coin to pay for an adventuring company's services. And most importantly, no one there knew about Guild Metal Wolf's failure.

However... it was also far, far away from the safe, civilized lands of the Holy Country.

It meant that as shite as Ollus was feeling, he couldn't ask for a sun off. He couldn't ask for personal time off to go home. He couldn't just... wait it out.

He couldn't truly do what he wished... which was to close his eyes and... sleep.

If he woke up dead-- well, he'd deal with it then.

It was an unrealistic wish... like a big-breasted girlfriend with a penchant for black, fishnet stockings, and gladiatrix piercings.

The smartest thing for Ollus to do was to keep awake... to keep vigilant...

...and perhaps to run and hide, if he found the opportunity.

He took a breath to calm his nerves as he dusted the sand out of his helmet's crest.

"I should have just renewed my contract with the standing army," Ollus muttered. "Being a Decanus there more or less exempted me from night watch..."

"Maybe you can run off and be a deserter?" Claudia offered.

...The woman's words made Ollus consider bashing the woman's brain out with his helmet-- but the reaming he'd get from the Centurion was not worth the momentary satisfaction.

"Any other mushroom-brained ideas, Munifex?" He glared, "Spit them out now so I don't have to hear it the rest of the night."

Munifex Claudia shut her eyes and laid with her back against a red-rock boulder.

"If anything, perhaps you can complain a little quieter, Decanus... I'd like to get a little bit of sleep, thanks."

Ollus rolled his eyes back and groaned, "I have *zero* interest in being crucified for desertion, you... Or for allowing the Munifices under my command to fall asleep during watch."

He turned to Appa with a mocking sneer, "That includes you, you savage brute."

The massive Legionnaire snorted in displeasure, turning away as an act of silent rebellion.

"Oh, and by the way," Ollus snorted, "First thing, tomorrow sun, you're getting a haircut."

"How about we all just re~laaax a little bit, Decanus?" Claudia smirked. "We're almost at Whitehearth. Once we arrive, you can purchase a nice, complacent whore-- get all your pent-up frustrations taken care of. How does that sound?"

...It sounded good. Just a tiny bit.

Ollus cleared his throat, "I don't suppose..."

"Not interested."

Fair enough.

Ollus rotated his metal helmet in hand... "Eternal Flame, it's ridiculous. We're on a Flame-taken hill. AND we have Hagrid already on watch."

"The hill, I'll agree with, Decanus," Claudia grimaced, "but if you're talking about Hagrid-- I wouldn't trust that whore further than I can throw her."

Ollus groaned and rolled his eyes, "She has eyes to see-- when coyotes try to steal our supplies. She has a voice to shout for help if she pisses herself."

Claudia narrowed her eyes... and she placed her palm to the dirt. It was odd... the woman never hesitated to voice her thoughts-- especially concerning Immunes Hagrid.

"Are you listening to me, Claudia?" Ollus raised an eyebrow.

"D'you feel that?" The girl whispered, "Appa? Ollus?"

Appa stood up, silently scanning the surroundings... shield in arm.

Ollus spun around, pain churling in his gut...

Nothing. Flame-taken nothing.

Nothing moved in the dark, illuminated by the tall bonfire... Nothing could be heard, save the crackling of wood.

Not until a voice cut clear through the darkness of night.

And it wasn't the common tongue, he heard.

It was... Elven.