[b]Eporedia[/b] "PIGS! PIGS! PIGS!" The men of Legion VIII chanted loudly as they marched towards the enemy. They wore black warpaint across their face to appear like demons. Each man had on their face the crimson hand print of their commander. The Bastard of Rome himself rode close behind his marching legion, his face painted the red of Mars. He and only a select few lieutenants rode horses, the rest of the mounted units converted to infantry for the assault. The Bastards rattled their short swords and shields loudly when the enemy came in sight. "PIGS! PIGS! PIGS!" ----- [b]Six Hours Earlier[/b] "Death." The Bastard rode down the line to speak to his men while they dressed and prepared for battle. "This is what awaits us on the battlefield. Death will be our constant companion from here on out. If all goes well, I imagine half of you will die today. If all goes wrong, we shall all die. The treaty breakers of Carthage have invaded our lands. Feel shamed by that fact. Rome, the mighty invader now faces invasion. Feel angered by that fact. The Africans seek to take your land, kill your sons, rape your women, and enslave your daughters. Feel enraged by that fact. We are the front lines of the assault. Feel elated by that fact. The honor of drawing first blood falls to us, men. Feel delighted in that fact. The Consuls and the Senate have recognized something we have long known to be true: when you want something done right, send a Bastard. Feel proud of that fact. In just a few hours we will be engaged with the enemy in a life or death struggle for the safety of our homes and families. Do not feel burdened by that fact. Feel chosen and feel honored that you will be present at this great victory for Rome. Those of you who die today will die having achieved glory. Those of you who run today will be personally slaughtered by me. I said it in Sardinia and I will say it now: I have no intention of stopping my advance until I have personally slit the throat of that Africa treaty breaker Hannibal! Eat hearty and prepare yourselves for battle, Bastards. Today we do butcher's work and the Carthaginians are the pigs." The Bastards let out a loud roar as Cursor galloped away on his horse. The chant started somewhere in the middle of the legion and spread through the ranks. "PIGS! PIGS! PIGS!" ----- [b]Now[/b] Butcher's work was the appropriate word. Both sides stood at stalemate, the raging Bastards striking down as many of the heavy infantry as possible while taking heavy casualties themselves. Plenty of the Iberians had ran shortly after engaging the painted up mad dogs of the VIII. Those that stood tall were falling at a steady rate until the Roman advance broke against the tougher infantry behind the Iberian soldiers. From his horse Cursor shouted obscenities to his men and to the enemy, encouraging one while cursing the other. He directed the first line to yield to the second and third wave. Cursor's hastati were still green, but his more veteran soldiers were among the best of any legion. They were all men who were too rough for any other work but war, men who were not desirable in other legions for various reasons. They were the dregs of Rome and unwanted by nearly everyone. In short they were just like Cursor. These men had been personally whipped into shape by the Bastard himself. The principes and triarri stepped up to the task well. They fought and rotated out with each other while the hastati caught their breath towards the back. The heavy losses were beginning to level out to become even between the two sides. Before long the heavy infantry began to give ground as the rotating veterans pushed ahead. Cursor laughed maniacally from the rear and cheered his men on. "KEEP GOING, YOU BASTARDS!"