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<span class="mu-i">You’ve been too slow, ‘Nira – it’s already starting! RUN!</span> Νίκων thunders in your ear.
You repeat his advice to your troupe and set off in an ungainly sprint yourself – the carts are simply too heavy to push through the fields, so you resolve to simply power them along the dirt path itself, and hope for the best. It’s not long before squadrons of hurried guardsmen, running in packs of fifty and having been roused from their camps dotting the Damachidean Estates, sprint past your group along the path. They call out to you, without stopping:
“What is happening in the Palace? Speak, speak woman!” In each case, Myrethuia responds on your behalf – “Pyraechmides has escaped! Damachides calls for aid!” None of the squadrons stop to investigate you or your group further, hearing this – they only sprint faster. In the distance, you begin to hear the unmistakable sounds of battle – men screaming and wailing, the shrieking of dying horses – the crash of bronze against bronze.
Against all odds, you make good time down the pathway - the carts are thankfully in excellent condition, and their heavy weight is to your benefit - you are traveling downslope at a gentle grade. Endless numbers of spearmen stream past you and your troupe, although they look increasingly fatigued and winded as time goes on - sentries from the very edges of the estate returning after long minutes of running. After an hour – the trickle of armed men slows, and your limbs burn with fatigue. Behind you, the bonfire has dwindled to a candleflame atop the shadowed palace – the sounds of battle having faded, there is still the occasional shout or wail every few minutes.
>Okay, /qst/ - I need another dice+1d20 from the players for a spin on my Homeric Happenings table...
