I gotta remember that this isn’t a deadline kind of situation. I can do some, put it down, finish it at a rate comfortable for me. It’s surprisingly hard to remember.
In retrospect, getting into the Carnivores’ small encampment among the legions should have seemed too easy. The first checkpoint, she barely had to slow down. Liz’a just said “Here to get a prisoner” and the two sentries waved her right through. One even pointed her to the right tent to go to next.
There, she actually had to spin her tale. Liz’a did not consider herself a fool, although certainly trying to bluff her way into a secret policeman’s camp might argue otherwise. She haD settled on a simple story; one that might pass muster if only out of laziness on the guards’ part. She was just there to pick up the prisoner. The Imperial Court wants him for something. No, I didn’t ask why: would you? Exactly. Hey, want to take him over yourself? No? Okay, where do I make my mark to sign for him? Thanks. Let’s go, human prisoner.
With the right standard-issue armor and a cloak, Liz’a figured it should work. Or at least it wasn’t suicide. She wasn’t trying to die; she just knew that the stakes were death and the dice were loaded the other way. But choosing not to do anything was also a choice, and Liz’a had enough bad choices on her conscience to endure another one.
And it seemed to be working here, at least so far. There was a bad spot where the clerk in the tent asked “Your name, Legionary?” and she blinked, because Liz’a had completely forgotten to come up with a false one. But she recovered and barked out “It’s Decanus. Decanus Barb Eyegnawer Spumator” quickly enough to cover for the pause.
It might end up being bad luck for an actual Eyegnawer, of course, but Liz’a was reasonably sure that nobody from that gens was in the part of the army that she cared about. And if one was? Well. ‘Skullcrusher’ may have been an easy enough nomen to honorably live with — but many Eyegnawers didn’t even try.