The Vexillum

You stumble through the thick spring mud, your path lit by a white pinprick of sunlight wheeling across the red-brown scab of twilight. Your pack weighs heavy on your back and every step draws your boots into the reeking black earth. You hear the slurping sound behind you, the low call of the worm eaters. They will catch you sooner or later. [[Push on]] [[Drop your pack]]

You trudge on, remembering that the Vexillum will need the stolen salt you carry. Even in summer, the army can't survive on fresh hunt and forage alone. This salt will keep up the stores of meat while you make your way North. You keep walking, for endless red hours until the sky begins to turn pinkish gold. Back when the sun still set, they called this dawn. The worm eaters have kept their distance, likely waiting for you to rest. Or to collapse from exhaustion, which could be soon. You are unbearably thirsty. [[Look for water]] [[Chew a strap of leather and try to ignore it]]

You drop your pack and scan the horizon. The hill south of you is dotted with hunched, hairless figures. You see the sunlight glinting off rows of ragged teeth. The worm eaters don't eat men, but they take them. Some say they bury children alive. To the North, across the black expanse that was once Northern Italia, you see the forested mountains of the Burgundians. You could run for it, but there must be other members of your centurae that survived the Frankish attack. It would better to travel in force. [[Head North]] [[Take cover and wait for others.]]

You head North until the sky begins to turn pinkish gold. When the sun used to set, they called this dawn. The worm eaters have kept their distance, likely waiting for you to rest. Or to collapse from exhaustion. They are out of sight now. As you reach the line of dense gray trees, needles brown for lack of light, you see torches dancing in the shadows. If these are Franks, they'll kill you on sight. [[Advance]] [[Head West, to the sea]]

You find an outcropping of mossy stone and take cover beneath it. You set yourself down on the moist earth and close your eyes. [[Sleep comes quickly]]

The only water is that pooling in the mud by your feet. Your take off your cloth tunic and submerge it in the mud. When it is good and sodden, you wring the filthy water out into your mouth. You see pale white larva wriggling in the folds of your tunic, and hope you didn't swallow any. You press on, your pack slowing your every step. When you reach the forests edge, you hear the hooves of horses to your left. Towering figures in thick furs sit atop a row of shaggy garrons. You hear more hooves behind you. Yet more from within the wood. They have you surrounded. You try to think, but your vision is blurred. You are collapsing from exhaustion, and facing a Frankish ambush. [[Run]]

You pull a thin piece of leather from your belt and begin to chew. Your saliva at least distracts you from your terrible thirst. You press on, your pack slowing your every step. Near the forest edge, you trip on a stone and collapse into the stinking mud at your feet. You are too weak to pull yourself up. [[Sleep comes quickly]]

[[''The Vexillum'' ->Start]] A story of Fallen Empires //by Michael Dunn-O'Connor// //art by Dominik Mayer//

You scream and scream until you are weak. But eventually you wear yourself out. It feels as if you were always on your way here, without ever having known it. A gaunt man, covered heaad to toe in dust, comes to place a comforting hand upon your shoulder. You look up and his face and sees his mouth is sewn shut with thick black wire. [[You awaken]]

You slap yourself and tear at your hair until you are weak. But eventually you wear yourself out. It feels as if you were always on your way here, without ever having known it. A gaunt man, covered heaad to toe in dust, comes to place a comforting hand upon your shoulder. You look up at his face and sees his mouth is sewn shut with thick black wire. [[You awaken]]

You died a legionary, Marcus Signus. The Vexillum lives on.

You keep walking, for endless red hours until the sky begins to turn pinkish gold. Back when the sun still set, they called this dawn. The worm eaters have kept their distance, likely waiting for you to rest. Or to collapse from exhaustion, which could be soon. You are unbearably thirsty. [[Look for water -> water2]] [[Chew a strap of leather and try to ignore it -> leather2]]

You walk for the sea, but hours of walking seem to bring it no closer. You see the steaming green waters from afar, and the bleached bones of great fish scatter the shore. But you will need to rest before you get there. You find an outcropping of gray stone and take cover beneath it. You set yourself down on the moist earth and close your eyes. [[Sleep comes quickly]]

When you reach the forests edge, you hear the hooves of horses to your left. Towering figures in thick furs sit atop a row of shaggy garrons. You hear more hooves behind you. Yet more from within the wood. They have you surrounded. You try to think, but your vision is blurred. You are collapsing for lack of water, and facing a Frankish ambush. [[Run]]

You throw your hands to the red sky, and throw yourself into the mud. You pray that you will live to see your Vexillum again, those who still march beneath the banner of Rome. The riders send a patrol out in to the surrounding marsh, to be sure you are not baiting a trap. If only it were so. Eventually, a small party approaches. You look up, through a haze, at the leader above you. Not Frankish, it seems. He is a huge man, with a curly red beard. The hair on his head is braided, and glistening with lard. He reeks of garlic and elk. A Burgundian. [[You wonder if they will spare you]]

They cut you down within minutes. The blood seeps from wide wounds on your back, into the mud below. You look up, through a haze, at the leader above you. Not Frankish, it seems. He is a huge man, with a curly red beard. The hair on his head is braided, and glistening with lard. He reeks of garlic and elk. A Burgundian. Your last thoughts are of your of the Vexillum, those who still march beneath the banner of Rome. [[You should have died among them -> End]]

But this cannot be known, for the fate of this Burgundian warband is not yet decided.

You force open your eyes and struggle to reorient yourself. But it is too late. You are in a shallow grave, pinned down by heavy stones upon your chest. The worm eaters have found you in your sleep. They are burying you here. Everything goes dark as they finish poring handfuls of dirt over your face, slurping quietly. Your last thoughts are of your of the Vexillum, those who still march beneath the banner of Rome. [[You should have died among them -> End]]

When you wake you are in a cold, dusty city. White stone walls tower over you on all sides. Then you hear it, like a rusted iron hinge turning over and over, shaking your skull and bringing tears to your eyes. You must still be asleep, and the Maelstrom has found you. [[Cry out]] [[Slap yourself]]