[PRP] Never give up, never surrender....
 

Marcus Naevius Celsus Who Stands Up Straight was not living up fully to all of his names as he crept through the underbrush, searching for footprints or any signs of someone having passed through. It was early morning, and the sun was casting light up to reflect off the clouds, though it had not yet quite risen, and the low light was not making things easy. And Marcus, hardly a trained tracker, had a vague feeling that he was missing things anyway.

Behind him a few dozen yards, the legion's camp was in disarray as soldiers hurried about and shouted to each other. They had been attacked in the night by a band of skirmishers who had vanished like ghosts into the woods before the soldiers had really gotten the chance to get awake and organized. Fortunately only a few men had been killed. A few of the raiders had made off with some of the equipment from the camp, though, which, unfortunately for Marcus, had included his standard.

It was not an official standard - more like a patchwork of rags hung up on a spear - but as part of his training, he had been charged with holding onto it and protecting it. After all, if somehow, someday, he rose to the rank of Imaginifer or something and allowed the image of the Emperor to fall into enemy hands, it would be a serious blow to morale. Not to mention he was likely looking at more than a few lashes' punishment. Worst of all, his superiors might reconsider selecting the sturdy man for the position of standard-bearer, and he would have to go back to counting on his fingers how he would have to raise a family of three with a common soldier's pay.

So while a part of Marcus felt absolutely stupid mucking about in the woods for what was essentially an old ration-sack on a stick, the better part of the man was quite worried about the whole dilemma. Perhaps he should have been a bit more careful, too; on the best of days, "stealthy" was not exactly a word to describe Marcus Naevius, and the sun rising on toppled Roman tents and a few dead bodies, it was not likely to be even a moderately good day today.[

His eyes slowly opened as the sun shone it's first rays across his face. He was nestled at the base of a great tree, a fur wrapped around him for warmth. He was a ways away from his homeland..well more then that. More like a month's walking. He had come in search of one of his brothers who had not returned with the rest of their troops. They were fighting the Romans just a few miles off his location. Though the battle had ended quite a while ago he held hope that his knothead brother had just gotten lost...again.

He slowly stood and stretched letting the fur drop from his body. He wasn't wearing his usual garb...today he had a pair of baggy breeches and a knee length top made of a red and brown tartan pattern. His breeches were a plain tan. He was short. Only Five two. And he hated it. His brothers always looked down at him. But despite his tiny body, he was well built and able to fight..somewhat. He also bore interesting powers being a druid and all. Powers he displayed at this moment. He raised his arm in the air and spoke a few words. A fruit dropped from the tree he stood under. He whispered a quiet thanks to the tree for his gift, picked up the fur blanket and went to proceed--

He heard something, something was creeping through the forest. Perhaps it would be his foolish bonehead of a brother crawling back to him and boating about hoe it wasn't his fault he was lost. He followed the noise and immediately ducked behind a tree. It wasn't his brother.

Something that was not Marcus made a sound nearby, and the soldier stood upright, immediately stopping his own rustling around as he strained to hear any other noises. Though he had left his shield behind, along with his javelins and helm, he was thankful he had thought to put the rest of his armor on. Not all of it was fully fastened, because he had desired some mobility while poking about in the underbrush, but a half-fastened curiass was better than none at all.

In a flash, the Roman drew his sword and held it low and ready as he crept foward slowly, looking around for any signs of movement. He considered raising an alarm now, but then decided against it - no use getting the whole legion in a panic and crashing into the woods with weapons ready if it had only been a squirrel, or one of his tentmates going to the toilet in the bushes.

... Yeah, maybe it was one of his friends.

"Hello?" he called out, audibly but not loudly enough to carry far. "Identify yourself."

Keeland peeked out from behind the tree. His messy red hair seemed all the brighter in the fresh sunlight. Still tired and not really considering his foolish actions he stepped right out in open sight. He looked right at the man and squinted his eyes just as this newcomer spoke to nothingness. He instantly regretted leaving his weapon behind. Getting defensive Keeland jumped back. "Who are YOU?" he said back in a harsh and defensive voice. He bore a thick accent revealing he wasn't local.

(Blah, short. x.x)

The soldier tensed as a person stepped out from behind one of the nearby trees; the stranger's garb was definitely not Roman, and the accent only confirmed it. Was this ... somewhat small-statured young man one of the raiders from earlier?

"Identify yourself!" Marcus repeated, his tone now leaving no question that he expected a response. "Or you will have a legion bearing down upon you in a heartbeat!" His gaze flicked to the side for a moment as he suddenly desired to know just how far away his fellow soliders were at this point, but he quickly returned his attention to the stranger before him.

Carefully, the sturdy man slid forward, keeping his sword brandished. If this fellow was one of the raiders, then perhaps it was fortune that had taken away the makeshift banner in the night; Marcus may have single-handedly prevented a second ambush. He was also hesitant to make the choice to kill or not for himself, though - the guy did look kind of tired to be staging an ambush right now. And, as Marcus scrutinized him, he was not sure he saw the stranger carrying a weapon of any sort....

Keeland backed up until he was back against a tree; in truth more of a defensive stance then offensive. He held up his hands and curled them into fists. He was ready to defend himself if he need be. Maybe he was getting close to a clue about his brother, another battle still going on. "Keeland." He spat, unmoving from where he stood. The wind blew at his loose clothing and unkempt hair.

He knew not to trust this man. He heard many stories about men in armor such as that from his brothers and elders.

"Keeland?" The bannerman in training repeated, a faint derisive smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "What gens? What's your full name?" He knew full well the foreigner would inevitably not have one, or at least not a Roman one. "And what are you doing here?"

As the barbarian held up fists, Marcus sheathed his sword and shifted his stance to a brawling one, clenching his own big hands into fists. If this fellow wished to fight, he felt better engaging him this way anyway. With the size difference between the two boosting his confidence, the Roman took another step closer, still remaining ready. Maybe he could try to take this one alive for questioning.

Keeland kept his eyes on the man and never tore them away. If anything that his brothers taught him was important it wasn't to let his guard down. He knew very well that he was outmatched, and his fighting abilities using nature weren't fully developed. He now realized how completely stupid it was that he had not brought his weapon...and there was no time to make one unless he was determined to wield a stick.

"Gens? Full? That is my name." Keeland growled in a low voice. His eyes darted to a stick on the ground then back at the man. Even when strengthened with Keelands magic the stick was still too puny. But he really had no choice either way. What had he gotten himself into? The small one ran at the larger man and aimed to leap upon him to get a few good punches to his head. He realised too late that that may have been a mistake.

When the smaller man came barreling at him, Marcus crouched to help maintain his balance for when his opponent jumped him. It was still difficult to remain completely still, though, with someone leaping on him, and he staggered back a step as he brought his arms up to help defend against the blows to his head. The barbarian's knuckles hurt, and the soldier inhaled sharply through his teeth as the first punch connected.

Pain was no real problem, though, especially once the adreneline hit. Marcus dropped to one knee, figuring that, if he was going to end up on the ground, it would be on his own terms. And then, giving up on blocking Keeland's punches, he instead put his energy towards grabbing the other man around the waist. The soldier figured he would not have too much trouble pulling the smaller-framed man off; maybe he could even throw him. ... Except the latter might allow him opportunity to escape.

Keeland was surprised that he was able to even get a hold of the man long enough to get the first punch to connect. But he had forgotten one thing: Defense. Before he could think twice about it the other man had him around the waist. He swore in his native language going down. He felt the hard ground underneath him. Letting out a growl he tried to wiggle away to retreat back to the spot in front of the tree.

Marcus clamored after him, leaves and twigs catching on his armor and pulling free. "Hold still, you little-!!" he growled as he glared down his big Roman nose at Keeland.

He lunged for his adversary, aiming to pin him down, once he thought himself close enough. "What do you know about the ambush last night? Is it your rabble that attacked us?!"

Keeland was almost to the tree when he felt somethin heavy coming down on him. He let out a little yelp and tried ot pull free. He couldn't. Curse his small body. Curse his own stupidity. He looked up the best he could in his current position at the bigger man. "What? I was never near your camp!" Perhaps he was being mistaken for his brother? Nah. His brother was older and looked completely different.

"Do you know who was then?" Marcus Naevius demanded as he struggled to pin the little barbarian to keep him from struggling. "How many of your kind are in the area? And where are the rest of you now?" Interrogation was hardly his specialty, but the soldier was of course well aware that his size helped in getting what he wanted. "Where did you come from, too?"

Keeland growled and struggled. "No. I saqw nobody else. I haven't for several moons!" hed spat and made another failed attempt to get away. "I'm the only one here except-" He cut off. If his brother was close by hed rather not expose him. "No, hes not around here. He sighed, completely avoiding the last question. If the Roman didn't already recognise him as being of a rival country hes rather not expose that.

"Except who?" the Roman pressed, leaning closer. "Who isn't around here?"

He found it difficult to believe that the little barbarian had not seen anyone for so long. This place was sparsely populated, but legions passed through often enough, and if they were getting attacked, then there were obviously tribes as well. Of course, Marcus lacked the knowledge of how to tell the various tribes apart, but then to him, a barbarian was a barbarian, so why did it matter? This guy had to know something.

Keeland blinked. Not enough time to think. He was stuck out here with this soldier that had a good foot and a halfs height on him and probabally close to twice his strength. What to do? He really really didn't want to blow the fact that his brother was out there nor did he want to possibly be killed at the hands of this big man. He chose the non-selfish route and stuck to his original story.

"Noone, I'm the only one." He hissed through clenched teeth and made another effort to wiggle away from him, but the Roman was too heavy. He took his second instinctive route. His next getaway attempt, rather childish but the first that popped into his mind..to try and bite him hard on the forearm. He made the attempt..memories of him and his brothers little practice fights when they were small and how this was his number 1 plan b lingered in the back of his mind.

"By the gods, fine, you are alone if you put it that way!"

Thoughts of unpleasant deaths from rabies shot through the Roman's mind as he reeled back a little, no longer pinning the smaller man to the ground. Marcus looked mildly horrified as he alternated for a few moments between holding the bitten arm as far from himself as he could manage, and scrutinizing the wound to see if the little bastard's teeth had broken the skin.

Either way, there was still spit on him.

"There are several legions of us," he added after a moment, figuring he could return the information in kind. Made for a good threat, at least. "Not allowed to tell you how many. But a lot. And we will be looking for the ones who attacked us last night, so you had better be careful."

He looked down at the barbarian again ... and then lunged at him, attempting to wipe the spit off on the offender's own cloak.

Making a small laugh keeland jumped up as the Roman got off of him to inspect the fresh bite wound. No, Keeland didn't break the skin he just wanted the large man off of him. He thought of running but the idea left him as he mentioned legions. Legions...great. he grumbled no realizing he had gotten himself into a war. But really he didn't care about the legions, he hoped to be out of this land and off on his travels soon anyway...well at least untill the roman jumped at him again.

Keeland turned as he came at him and swung his fist toward the mans face. Aiming to wipe spit or not he didn't like being jumped at. "Leave me to my business!"

Marcus blinked as Keeland's fist connected with his skull, and shook his head a little as he momentarily saw spots. Then, spit forgotten, he made a clumsy lunge, aiming to grab a fistful of the barbarian's clothes in order to drag him closer once more.

"You leave me to mine, then. I got other barbarians to find here, and I don't need you bugging me unless you can offer some hint which way they went." The Roman's ferocious expression faltered for a moment and he added more quietly, "Gotta find them before my comrades do."

Keeland didn't get away fast enough and was grabbed, he just stared back, his eyebrow twitching slightly in anger. He crossed his arms, truly annoyed now It must be his brothers work here. If there were some in the area..he was sure of this but if so he needed to find him before this..or the other romans he mentioned found him.

"So I guess your looking for my brother then after all." He grumbled and jerked out of his grip. Maybe he could get the roman to take him with them...then when he gets to his fellow people turn on the man and flee with who could possibly be his brother..and if not at least assist some of his people.

Marcus scoffed. "I'm not looking for your brother, why would I be looking for-" He stopped suddenly as his mind actually processed what the smaller man had said, his mouth hanging open momentarily before his brows drew down in a frown and he leaned down to growl in the barbarian's face: "I thought you said you were alone!"

Then he twisted out of the Roman's grasp, and Marcus strode after him, not wanting to allow this one to get away. "Your brother would not be the banner-snatching sort, would he?" If nothing else, the Romans knew that the barbarian tribes had better command of the forests here, and Marcus wonder if perhaps this little one could be ... convinced to put his tracking skills to good use for the Empire. Or at least for saving Marcus's butt in retrieving the makeshift banner.

Keeland laughed, because hey, he had never lied. "I am alone, why I LOOK for my brother. I never said anyone was with me." He smirked and began to back away as the Roman came after him again. He didn't know anything his brother ever did other then bash heads with an axe and bring home tales of battle when he did come home. But hey if his brother was anything like his friends he would steal something from the enemy in order to piss them off.

He backed up untill his back connected with a tree and he turned. "Hmmm.." He started up the tree, not the best climber though and wasn't too fast.

The Roman let the other fellow start up the tree, but stood immediately below it, arms crossed as he watched the barbarian. Then he glanced back into the clearing where the legion was shuffling about its morning business, and then, with narrowed eyes, Marcus Naevius scrutinized the surrounding woods once more for any visible signs of the tribe from the previous night.

After a few moments of silence, he stepped back and peered up at the barbarian again and asked, "What's your brother look like?"

Keeland climbed up and sat on a sturdy bough and looked down at the man. He wasn't too high up but was out of reach and of course had the protection of nature by his side now. He leaned against the trunk and smiled a bit. "And you expect me to tell you this?" He wasn't going to just give up anything to get his dear brother caught by a legion. He put a hand to his mouth and acted as if he were surprised by this.

And Marcus abruptly realized that he had just allowed the little guy get out of his grasp. He took a moment to ready himself to jump up and try to grab one of the barbarian's dangling legs, but decided that he would not be able to reach even by jumping. With a huff, he crossed his arms and frowned.

"Well," he said after a stretch of silence. "I have things to do and banners to find, so good luck finding your brother. And when you do see him, tell him that Marcus Naevius Celsus thinks he should avoid the legions. If he's really done nothing like you say, there's nothing to worry about, but I can't promise the others won't go stabbing his liver out if they find him just because he's not a Roman." He grinned and tapped the side of his head with one finger. "We're not terribly smart. Hard to tell the difference between you all. Especially when the whole camp is looking for the ones who took stuff from us, in order to take it back."

... Marcus thought it sounded very profound. And if the barbarian and his brother did not listen, then he could always finish them off the next time they met.