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[i]"When in Rome, do as the Romans do..."[/i]
[color=darkgray]—Ancient Roman idiom, attributed to St. Ambrose[/color]
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The harbor of Nikomedia bustles with activity as you step off the gangway of the Imperial frigate and onto the crowded pier. All the sights and sounds of Byzantine port civilization greet you: hawkers of every ethnicity shouting in a variety of languages; a procession of Diakons with a Holy Cross twice the size of a man held aloft; merchants sequestering all manner of exotic spices, furs, and barrels of liquor onto heavy-set cargo ships; and throughout, a seemingly endless tide of people travelling to and fro in a chaotic mess of humanity. You are pressed into the mob almost against your will, and once inside, it is most reluctant to let you go. You desperately clutch the sheaf of papers you carry to your chest, as written on the yellowed sheets is the only proof you possess on who you are.

An Imperial Dragoon, in service to the Duke Andreas Alcaeus of Optimates — whose provincial capital you have just arrived in.

As you move into the upper-quarters of the city, you nervously check the documents for the umpteenth time to confirm this fact. Along with the detailed bureaucratical nonsense placing you in service to the Duke lies an order to report to your Moira commanding officer, one Captain Michael Philolakes, at the Duke's citadel upon your arrival. With this order yet again confirmed, you shield your eyes from the sun's glare as you follow the paved road leading to the imposing structure of gleaming white granite sitting atop the city's crest.

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Sometime later, you find yourself inside the cool interior of the newly-renovated citadel. Functionaries wearing the Duke's colors rush about, disappearing inside the labyrinthine passages of the massive fortification, while nearby a group of officers in the blue & gold of the Imperial Dragoons mingle smoking potent cigars. Some of the officers seem old enough to be your father, while others look barely a day past eighteen.

The threat of war with most of the Catholic world has drawn anyone with a commission or the funds to purchase one to regimental headquarters across the Empire. The Imperial Dragoons are evidently no exception; the promise of fame and glory attracts many, and those not consumed by these gentlemanly ideals are instead drawn to the ranks by the steady pay and the privileged postings inherent of cavalrymen in the Empire. You've even heard tell of some of the more famed cavalry regiments refusing to sell commissions, having become inundated with new officers. The entire Imperial tagmata seems to be readying itself for a war the likes of which has not been seen since the great religious conflicts that consumed Europe a century past. A war that some in the Empire fear it cannot possibly win.

Shaking such dark thoughts out of your head, you consider your options. The office of Captain Philolakes is on the opposite side of the Citadel, and with so many new recruits it likely will be a long wait before you have the chance to report in. You could head over anyway, but the good Captain would likely not be [i]too[/i] averse if you did a bit of exploring beforehand. Perhaps you'd like to mingle with your fellow soldiers, or visit the enormous hippodrome which serves as the training grounds for the regiment. Whatever you decide, the Captain likely expects you in his offices within an hour, and any truly egregious tardiness will not be looked upon favorably. After all, your illustrious career in the Imperial Dragoons officially starts, as is typical for many things throughout the Empire, with paperwork. Paperwork which is naturally filled out by your commanding officer.