darkwolf687

Fallout: Into the Storm

Double post.

Fallout: Into the Storm

Servius Curius Proculus Vespillo

Servius glanced over the skeleton a single time as he passed, sparing it no further looks. He had seen worse things. They trudged along and halted at a Kiosk, where the Brotherhood Pladain Khaliya stopped to access one of those terminal things. She did it swiftly and simply, and Servius could not help but nod approvingly. It was good to know somebody in the group knew how to break the security on these things, for he certainly did not.

A fortified location to rest sounded good, given the breakdown one of them had earlier and how shaken up some of them had been, rest might be good for them.

"Then let us find our way to this bank." Servius replied simply. Getting out of this fragile hazmat suit was very, very desirable. He felt too vulnerable in this damn thing, a single nick could expose him to an invisible, undefeatable enemy. He didn't like it.

Bailey began to access the terminals and ordered the others to check; she seemed like the soldier kind, especially from that song earlier. He approved. Yet only the detective yet took her up on the offer.

"Devon, take over rear guard." Servius said as he broke off and moved into the Kiosk, holding his rifle in one hand and attempting to access one of the terminals with the other.

Immediately it became apparent to him that he shouldn't have. He fumbled around with the buttons to turn the damn thing on, it took him a good 10 seconds to find it. Thankfully this one didn't require a password - but that didn't make it much better, as he hot buttons slowly and with all the clarity of a mole rat.

"What's this... 'Read Me.' Hmpf." Servius muttered to himself as he skipped over the terminals read me. What stupid raider tried to set a trap up using that? Like anyone would be stupid enough to fall for that, you may as well make a button with 'Press me' attached to it. No doubt if he pressed it, it would trigger a bomb or set off an alarm or something. Nice try but I'm just a bit too smart for you, Servius thought in blissful ignorance...

And then came a yell, a heavily accented yell- Servius couldn't help but look, and Short Fuse went bounding out from the group and up ahead, vanishing up a darkened staircase until he was completely out of sight. Nobody from the group seemed to particularly care any, in fact one of them, the detective John, offered a small bet that he'd die while Bailey suggested they leave them to their fate. Charming.

But this man, though he might be an apparent fool in the art of war, was part of the group. And so, Servius thought with a quiet sigh, it fell to him to protect this man. There were no gunshots... Yet. Perhaps that meant it was clear... Or perhaps it indicated their foe had melee weapons, or else still lay in wait. Who knew yet.

Well, they'd lost the element of surprise thanks to him bolting hp there yelling. It would be best for them to move forward quickly to help their comrade then. Heavily armoured up front so that they'd be the first into the fray being more likely to soak up damage. Then everyone else could in from behind them, using them as a screen to get out of the choke point of the stairs in case there were any hostiles who would otherwise mow them down. Then they could fan out and find cover on the surface. Yes, that sounded like a plan.

"Oh, irrumatio... We must move up and make sure he doesn't get himself killed. Those with power armour, take point and be ready for the worst, everyone else form up behi-" Servius started but then stopped himself short. He wasn't in command here, it wasn't his place to give orders. This wasn't what he was used to anymore, but the BoS Paladin had seemed to take the role of decanus. And so again, he deferred and turned his attention towards Khaliya "Mea Culpa. I await orders."

Fallout: Into the Storm

Servius Curius Proculus Vespillo

Servius watched the two Paladins curiously for a moment, his eyes lingering on the male paladin. Insubordination. Between two of the same, none the less. This was perhaps a bad omen for them and this mission. Perhaps this was how the brotherhood types operated.

The male paladin wanted to kill it, he longed to slaughter it. This made Servius grim indeed; he recalled in great detail the lesson he had been told of the Lone Ranger, the many soldiers lost to the haste and fury of a foolish Decanus. And here another soldier was making such a mistake, blinded by hatred and pride and fury. The sight of the red mist and the willingness to act with insubordinance was not good for any warrior, but he was surprised to see it afflicting one from the Brotherhood. From his experience fighting the Midwestern Brotherhood, he had judged the knights of the brotherhood disciplined from their training, yet perhaps the chapter of the brotherhood these two belonged to suffered from the lack of self-discipline that afflicted the profligate troopers of the bear. Perhaps this Paladin Bertrand would benefit from such a story, and a firm scalding. As Khaliya rightly pointed out, any attempt to take the fight to the enemy here rather than lure it out was suicidal at best. Still, he seemed willing to throw himself into such a hopeless fray. At least he was brave. A fool perhaps, but a brave fool.

Whatever the case, it was not his place to speak on the matter (and indeed, they had invited no speech by switching to a private channel), and thus he kept his thoughts entirely to himself, turning his attention back to the tunnel and maintaining his vigil.

Emil was right. This being had not come after them. It was entirely possible that it held no malicious intent towards them - in which case blowing up the tunnel in an attempt to kill it was a surefire way to change that, for naught was a better way to anger something than to try, and fail, to kill it. That said, calling it an insult to life was harsh. That ghoul had survival - its mental faculties apparently intact - for a reason, whatever that reason was; whether it was strength or guile or sheer dumb luck, it had endured in this dangerous place and that was admirable. It would make a powerful warrior, doubtlessly. Whether they were it's enemy or not, who was Emil to judge its very existence insulting? Mars could claim right to such an opinion, but no living man bore such a privilege.

Once Khaliya switched back to the public channel and relayed their instructions, Servius nodded. It was time to move again and continue with their task, and he was glad of it. They has already lingered in this place too long, they needed to keep moving before something worse found them.

"Audio." He replied in acknowledgement, having realised that through the hazmat suit a nod was almost impossible to detect. He would be glad once they could remove these suits, he felt too fragile in it; and tear or damage might expose him, it was not like armour wherein one might shrug off many blows. Certainly, he didn't want to get a fight whole dressed in it.

Servius waited for the rest of the group to fall in after the paladin and took up a rear guard position at the back, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign they were being followed by their mutated host. It was time to ascend from darkness and into the streets of Necropolis, where fouler things than Ghouls might lurk, gnawing upon the carcass of this concrete jungle...

Fallout: Into the Storm

Servius Curius Proculus Vespillo

When the scouts returned from their mission in a rush and panic, Servius was well aware that something was wrong without a word needing to said. Whatever had been on his mind in that moment, both the girl and her outburst and the information he had just received on the USSR, was pushed from his mind as the situation changed. He shifted into combat mode, as it were; he unsung Requis and checked it as loaded, nodding to Emil and taking a step in advance towards the tunnel and peering into it for a moment as he raised his rifle and took aim into the darkness. So far, he saw nothing following them. With his steps careful and steady as to not throw of his aim should the beast emerge, he drifted off towards the side and knelt down behind some fallen debris that covered up to about his ribcage after he knelt down, providing decent cover. By the time Khaliya had finished ordering them to firing positions, Servius was ready to blast whatever might emerge from the darkness to challenge the party - or die trying.

"Let us split the tin man open. If anyone has explosives, be ready to use them. Its maile will not break easily." Servius said. It's cadence was almost as though that of an order, although he certainly had no authority to give it. Force of habit, perhaps, had stopped him phrasing it as a suggestion in the heat of the moment.

Power armour. He'd killed men (and women) wearing it before, brotherhood knights and paladins from both the midwest and on the west coast chapters, experienced fighters with the equipment and technology to back up their abilities. He had fired the shots that had brought down several of their number and had even killed one in melee combat, for which he'd received quite the praise and honours from the Centurion. They were never easy fights; he had seen their armour deflect bullets and attacks that would have ripped an unarmoured man in half as if they were nothing. They had been far, far greater threats than even the most ardent of the NCRs troopers. Still, Servius expected that by now he had at least some idea on where to shoot to bring this abomination down, he would see whether what he had learned fighting the brotherhood would also apply to whatever this was. And so he waited, weapon at the ready for the target.

And he waited.

And waited.

And... nothing. Not even a shifting shadow nor a footstep to mark the passing of something else. No sound at all save for the creaking of centuries old concrete and girder, and the occasional echo of a distant drip of dew that had perhaps fallen in with the rain and seeped down into the underground. There was nothing but the sounds that one would expect from an abandoned underground tunnel. Perhaps whatever this beast they had encountered was, it was not as hostile as they had initially believed or at the very least, it was not aggressive enough to waste its time chasing them down the tunnel. Else perhaps it had been either unable or unwilling to chase them through the tunnel. Hmph.

He stood up slowly from the ground and still, although it now seemed that nothing was following, Servius didn't drop his guard; he was well aware it could be a ruse and kept his weapon focused on the gap. It could easily be looking for an alternative path as well, perhaps it realised that this choke point would be a disaster and had instead sought another route or otherwise was now lying in wait further along the tunnel, ready to destroy them the moment they dared venture into the darkness.

Hearing Khaliya again and then Marvin, Servius spoke in response. He was rather surprised that the group had nothing more to offer than a 10mm pistol, he had expected from the look of everyone that they had more equipment than that. Apparently this was not the case and that was perhaps cause for concern given the place they were entering. Perhaps he would ask if they could take inventory later so they knew what the unit had to work with. Still, what was done was done.

"Not a rifle, but I've got a 12.7 submachine gun. Stay on overwatch and cover me, I'm moving over." He reported as he quickly and softly slipped across the room, keeping an eye on the tunnel at all times. He kept each step as light and quiet as he can, not wanting to give away anything to the creature should it have been listening for them or trying to observe them before it struck. As he reached Devon, he took note of how she seemed to be at least on the surface calmer and more composed about this than Emil was; he seemed on edge and jumpy, having fallen over once they had escaped the tunnel, and from the rapid description he was giving them it had clearly shaken him up. While her heavy breathing and the speed with which she had exited the tunnel clearly betrayed that she had seemed something, it seemed not to have shaken her as deeply as it had shaken him. He gave her a quick nod and, letting his rifle temporarily fall to his sling, he took the 12.7mm SMG and an extra magazine of ammunition from his side, handing it over to Devon - or perhaps more accurately described as practically thrusting it into her hands. Khaliya was right about this, if this power armoured thing came barging into the room, knives were not going to cut it. She needed a gun and a 12.7mm had a far better chance of piercing this beings armour than her knives did; An extra gun firing was an extra chance of someone getting lucky.

"12.7mm sub machine gun. Powerful and rapid, reliable and short ranged. Perfect for these close tunnels. Watch the kick. Take it. Debate not until later, once we are certain that everyone's safe. For now, be armed and alert." Servius said matter of factly, releasing the weapon into her possession and then taking Requis with both hands again, taking aim at the tunnel as he slipped back across the room towards some cover and kneeling down, making sure there were a couple of meters between him and any other member of the group.

Re-assuming his firing stance, the Legionary waited for instructions to fall back. Khaliya had apparently assuming something of the role of Decanus and so Servius would follow her authority; at the very least she seemed to be the one who was most aware of what was going on and certainly seemed to be very experienced. From his timing fighting the Brotherhood, he knew they were not a force to be underestimated and was certain that she was thus one of the best of the group to lead. His mind dwelt on what Emil had said about the thing they faced; it had spoke which could be either a good sign or a bad sign. Perhaps it was not as aggressive as they had first expected - or perhaps it was simply too smart to charge them and would instead stalk them and wait for an opening. The latter was a very grim proposition, to his mind. Still, if it had bullet holes and had sustained a large amount of damage to its armour to the point that its ribs were visible, its armoured shell was already compromised and thus they would have a far easier time penetrating it. On the other hand, if the helmet had fused to its skull as he had suggested - that could be either very good for them by compromising the protection it provided, or very very bad. It would be hard to tell which until he had tried to shoot it in the head...

An E surrounded by stars. That founded painfully familiar by now, as Servius had come to grow far more familiar with the symbology of the Enclave as of late. Servius grimaced a little and kept his eyes peering into the dark through the visor of his hazmat suit. So, the Enclave had sent people in here... how long ago had that been, he wondered? He pushed the question from his mind for now; he could not afford for his concentration to be compromised. Instead he went back quickly to thinking over the description he had been given and focusing on the darkness, ready to take aim at anything which might try to emerge after them...

Fallout: Into the Storm

Servius Curius Proculus Vespillo

Servius had lingered towards the rear of the group, listening to their conversations where possible while acting as a rear guard. It seemed as though removing the more overtly legion symbology had worked - or they just hadn't noticed before he'd put on the hazmat suit. Either way, it was not a moment too soon either, as some of them seemed more than hostile; He had half wanted to defend the legion against the allegations it had simply collapsed into small tribes... The truth was a tad more complex than that. Civil wars often were. Still, he managed to hold his tongue as they pressed on. Others had seperate rivalries that seemed to burn almost as deep, and there was something of a lack of confidence in their leader due to her connections to the BoS. This seemed much too fractious to work together for long, nobody seemed to trust each other...

Hazmat suits. Not exactly the most comfortable things on the planet. He exhales heavily as he geared up, thinking about their task. Descending into some pre-war building sounded like an excellent way to encounter some of those damnable machines or ghouls. He dwelt on the thought of the Pariah for a moment, puzzling something out in his head before moving on. This whole thing was sitting more uncomfortably with him as he got closer...

Rebuilding American under a single flag. He couldn't really comprehend the idea, to tell the truth. No legion, no NCR, no brotherhood. After an entire life spent in that dichotomy, the idea that it would be different just seemed too foreign. And the promise too much like Caesar's own pipe dream of taking New Vegas. Perhaps it was possible to finally bring some peace and safety across the continent... But people would resist. The NCR wasn't about to quietly submit to a New America, that much he could be certain. He'd spent his entire life bringing order, safety and civilisation across the wastes and rarely had it been embraced quickly and willingly.

***

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here

Servius laughed a little at that one. "Here be deathclaws, per chance?" He murmured darkly, checking his rifle quickly. As the scouts went ahead, Servius tried to make out each member of the group. He hated this damn hazmat suit, but from the sounds of the clicking he'd be dead already without it.

Above ground didn't sound too bad to him right now, provided it wasn't radioactive sludge. He wanted to feel the air, he wasn't exactly comfortable down here. Still, he could see the tactical value in it and was glad to see two of the others volunteer. He thought of it himself, but two seemed the best fit, else they may as well all just walk in anyway.

Mars guard them, he silently prayed

He checked his weapons quickly, so that if they were caught out by something he'd be ready for the fight. All seemed loaded and good to go, which eased him slightly but didn't vanquish the concern. There was no life here, at all. Not even a creature. Everything was way too quiet-

Spoke too soon, evidently!

A loud shout drew his attention go the side and he brought his rifle up, ready to fire at whatever the threat was- yet he couldn't see anyone or anything. He cautiously lower it slightly and advanced a few paces, shining his flashlight over. Although he couldn't make out any features, the voice and the latin led him to the conclusion that if was that former slave girl... Yet he couldn't see any threats to her.

"Is everything okay over there?" Servius called across, his hands tightly wrapped around his gun. Maybe something had just startled her, a rad roach or rat or something - though why shout in Latin, that didn't make sense. Deep inside, he wanted it to be a creature of some kind; even in the Mojave, there was life around. Here there was just... Death.

But she was just huddled up as though a primal animal cowering before a monster, as a slave before a wrathful legionary or as a wastelander before a deathclaw. He remained motionless for a few moments, unsure on what ezactly to do - and then she unfurled and appeared to be quietly mumbling to herself.

As she stood up and headed back over to the formation, Servius tracked her with his gaze. He dared to take another step in advance so he was some 10 feet from where she had been slumped , and leant to the side to peer around... No, there wasn't anything there at all. Just dust.

With a light grunt, Servius turned his back on the corner and headed back over to the group. He couldn't see her face, but from the way she was avoiding looking towards anyone he guessed she was a bit shaken up still. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, thinking better of pressing her on the matter; that would only make it worse, and the group needed to be able to rely on her.

Servius could see some of the others looking at her, including the grizzled detective and the younger medic (at least, he thought that was them. It was difficult to tell with the suits on) Probably the last thing she wanted right now. He grimaced beneath the visor of his hazmat suit, he knew that feeling and it wasn't pretty for ones mental state or morale.

Maybe he could help ensure her a reprieve by stimulating a different conversation. He jumped straight into asking about the consulate, even though he wasn't particularly knowledgeable on the matter. The USSR, were they the Chinese or the Russians? Why was old world politics so damn obscure.

"So, what do you all think we'll find in this consulate? USSR - those were one of America's rivals, weren't they? I don't think they would leave any vital data or blueprints of their own in enemy territory so what do you think they had hiding down there that the Pariah wants? They got some documents through espionage maybe? Stolen prototypes?" He finished, looking around the group quizzically. He'd rarely have asked questions like this - it wasn't in the legions nature to dwell on what they were ordered to do, only to do it. Obviously whatever it was would be important, along with everything else in this city; nobody in their right mind would have assembled such a diverse group if not, it was doubtlessly a large investment to have tracked everyone down and brought them together here.

Fallout: Into the Storm

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Fallout: Into the Storm

Servius

Servius Curius Proculus

_{{ "Let us offer prayers to Mars for victory. And then let us arm ourselves to the teeth, just in case the gods aren't listening." }}

- General Characteristics -

| Full Name |

Servius Curius Proculus

| Nickname/Callsign |

Agnomen: Vespillo

| Age |

33.

| Gender|

Male

| {Face Claim} |

Who are you using to portray your character?

| {Dialogue Color} |

Red

| Appearance |

A short and stout man with a powerfully built body covered in a thin layer of fat. His face is clean shaven and his golden hair is cut short. He has a prominent nose, keen grey eyes and a sharp angular chin. At his side hangs his gladius and 12.7 mm Sub Machine Gun, surprisingly well maintained despite his long trek across the continent. His armour is still constructed in the style of Caesars Legion, but much scavenged pieces of armour has been added to it over his time both with the legion and after it; metal plates have replaced the padding, hammered into shape with some difficulty. Part of a suit of brotherhood power armour has been scavenged, and he wears the pauldrons of one and the forearm of one on his left wrist.

---

- Psychological Profile -

| {Personality} |
_{{ "Domitus, he lied to us and made us into monsters. Perhaps he was right that the world needs monsters to protect people- but the monsters should have someone better than them holding their chain, keeping everything together. That why we have to do this." }}

Service to the legion doesn't do well for ones personality and social skills. Being raised in it even less so. The boy grew to be diligent and brave, pushing through fear and pain like it was nothing as his physical and emotional scars hardened. Trust doesn't come easy, archaic beliefs are hard to weed out and morality is effectively whatever the superior officer says. It has left him with a confused and schizophrenic moral code, zigzagging across the spectrum.

For a time he was a model legionary, and he filled that role well; his bravery is noteworthy, having performed such zealous feats as fighting a deathclaw to rescue the contubernia's Vexillarius, barely escaping with their lives. His loyalty to those he considers his friends and brothers is unshakeable, and he frequently put his life at risk to save those of others - both legionary and dissolute - when another legionary might have left them for dead.

He ultimately just wants to do what's 'best for humanity', but that isn't always so clear and certainly doesn't make him easy to be around; the authoritarian viewpoint of Caesar's Legion still flows through his thinking there, and what is best for humanity is rarely pretty for individuals. Perhaps you can't make something without bashing some heads in; if so, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. The law must be sacrosanct and enforced harshly; crucifixion, decapitation and sacking are all legitimate tools of the law and he is absolutely merciless and unforgiving when dealing with his enemies. Still, he isn't personally sadistic; violence and brutality are tools used for the greater good, not personal pleasure - and some things can't ever be justified.

The legion falling apart naturally shook him deeply; already growing increasingly disillusioned, the failure of Caesar to build a state that survived his death drove the final nail in the coffin of the ideological attachment to Caesars way. Clearly, what Caesar had worked on some level - but it couldn't survive his death and couldn't ensure long term stability. It needed to be replaced.

Despite all that he has been through and seen, and despite his service in the legion, he is not particularly cold in conversation. While certainly awkward, he is curious and although somewhat guarded, willing to engage with others even if he is always somewhat paranoid of their true intentions. Often times he is surprisingly charitable and amicable even to strangers, a rare trait for someone who was raised in such a tight knit 'us vs them' group mentality. It is partly a pragmatic concern but also partly a moral one; he holds quite fervently to an ideal that was drilled into him from an earlier age; cooperation and aspiration to the higher purpose of putting the group - and by extension others - before oneself. He was more than willing to shoulder additional burdens himself rather than allow them to fall to his underlings, offering them the use of medical supplies and food before himself whenever such had become a concern. Such an ideal drives him to swiftly put aside any personal animosity or desires when it comes to working within the unit; his opinions become relevant only so far as they are useful to the group.

He was also deceptively intelligent with an excellent memory and sound logical ability - uneducated in many areas, certainly, but very intelligent all the same. Quick to learn and possessed of a thirst for knowledge, the only thing that would drive the zealous Servius to break the rules of the legion was his pursuit of knowledge - and such a rule was paramount in the legion. To paraphrase the words of the philosophers of old, the legion was his ally - but truth is a better one. Conversing with slaves, prisoners and even dissolute allowed Servius to slowly educate himself on the world.

To his mind, the Pariah having contacted Servius gave him the potential to fix everything that went wrong. To do his duty; whether its from what he finds in Necropolis or from whatever payment the Pariah will give, that is how he is going to stop the war. Perhaps a pretty jarring indication that after all this time he still thinks he 'lives to serve the greater good', itself a sign that he can't fully detach himself from his roots. What else is there if the legion is gone forever?

| {Fears/Limitations} |

Failure: As ever for a legionary, his biggest fear is failing. Death itself is less of a fearful thing than failure, and since doing something well is now all he has left perhaps this has only become more prevalent in his mind rather than less so. He was raised only to be the best fighter and warrior he could be, and without that he's not left with much purpose.

Trust: After years of abuse in a life built on a lie, its no wonder he doesn't really come to trust other people so easily. The only allies he thought he had all started killing each and the world went crazy, it is hard to blame him for thinking that people are inherently deceptive and dangerous creatures.

Is there anything left to save?: Even a zealots devotion is not limitless. With his hopes for reforming the Legion lands dashed, and the legion tearing itself apart in civil war, undoing all the order and stability... It can be hard to see the point of fighting. And that niggling thought in his head is that maybe he lied to himself about why he came. Did he really do it to take the payment back and hire mercenaries? Or did he just want to run away, and this gave him as good an excuse as any? The question eats away his confidence and sense of purpose slowly... And without that, what is he left with?

| Place of Origin |

Flagstaff, Caesar's Legion Territory (Born Legionary)

| Background |

_{{ "Actus me invito factus non est meus actus. " }}

Mater

"Mater!" The little boy cried out as the legionary kept a third grasp on his hand "I don't want to go away!"

"Be brave, Servius. This is what you were born to do." His mother said to him, giving him a rare smile. Why was she smiling? Was this a good thing? She had said he would go to the legion. But now it was here...

"Mater, mater! Please Mater." The seven year old begged through tears.

"Stop it. I taught you not to cry." His mother said in a sterner tone. She had. She'd told him never to cry. It was weak. He wasn't allowed to be weak. Yet right now, he could see tears welling in his mothers eyes too. He was confused. So confused.

"Mater..." He gasped.

"Stop it!" His mother said again, her tone more severe. And with a sniff, Servius fell silent and nodded.

"Come on, Marcus, move him quickly. Vale, Aelia." Servius was pulled away by the two legionaries again, lut through the door and onto the street in spite of his pleas.

Queen of the Night

Servius fiddled with the device in his lap, eyes narrowing as he tried to get it to work. He grunted in frustration as he hit the button on it - the tray burst open, revealing a chunk of orange plastic within. Servius' eyes widened and he recoiled in worry. Had he broken it?
"Bring it here." A voice came from his side. It was soft and feminine. Servius turned cautiously to see a slave girl sitting by the fire. She must have been just past twenty, messy black hair and slate gray eyes. She smiled at him weakly but warmly - Servius inched closer to her cautiously, then offered the machine to her. She pushed the tray back down and pointed to one of the buttons atop the device. "You want it to play, yeah? Here, it's this one."

There was a whirl of machinery before the holotape began to play; beautiful music rang forth from within the device, a woman singing in some language he couldn't understand. It sounded to be some bastard tribal language perhaps, but the composition and power with which it was delivered was beyond any tribal . It was powerful and beautiful.

"Its beautiful." Servius said, half to himself, with a smile growing across his lips. The Slave nodded

"Mozart's Magic Flute: The Queen of the Night Aria." She replied as she listened to it with him "The Queen is--she's furious. She wants Serasto, her rival, killed and puts her daughter up to it."

"Not quite so beautiful, perhaps."

"No, indeed. What's your name? And where did you get this?"

"Servius. The Instructor took us out alongside the Third Contubernia to give us some proper experience. We came upon the raiders to the North East and killed them. I found this tucked away with their loot."

"How... Old are you?" The Slave asked as she examined the boy curiously.

"13." Servius responded idly, still focused primarily on the music flowing from the device in his hands.

"Did you kill one?" The girls voice darkened. Servius looked up the her for a moment and nodded. "At thirteen?"

"She was a profligate who needed to die- and she was a women. Women are weak warriors. I had no trouble." Servius responded simply. The words were half forced out, in truth, to hide the tremor in his voice- he wasn't sure how he had felt when his blade and buried itself in her neck, when the horrible gurgling sound of the woman choking on her own blood filled the air. But- she would have shot Tullius. He had to do it. He had to.

"Weak warriors?" The slave replied with a cocked brow, then let out a sigh and shook her head.

"Yeah. They're stupid too." Servius murmured half heartedly as he listened to the music reach its peak, awed by it.

"Then how come you needed a woman to make your little toy there work?" Servius looked to the woman beside him as she gave him an accusatory look, but then he looked down to the device. He didn't really have an answer and wasn't about to make himself look foolish by presenting one, so deflected away instead.

"So who are you?"

"Me? I'm Erika. I'm -" The woman began to reply to him, but was cut off.

"Proculus! What are you doing with that slave?" The Instructors gruff voice came echoing towards him. Servius dashed to his feet and stopped the music playing with a click, sliding the device away into his pocket.

"Nothing, instructor."

"Ita? Then make yourself busy. You're not a legionary yet."

Iron Discipline

The boys muscles ached as he scrambled to his feet from the dirt. He raised his head to look up, the rain washed over the 13 year old face, freezing his shivering skin cold. The figure which stood over him was a hulking monster of a man, a former veteran legionary turned instructor. Servius had snuck some of his own food to a slave girl after having been forbidden to do so. This was the price.

He felt another sharp stab of pain as the instructor struck him again, sending him back down to the floor. Again, he pulled himself up from the mud.

"Disobey my order again, and I'll have you strapped to a cross." The instructor barked at him, shoving him back into the dirt and launching a kick into the boys side.

Everything hurt. His entire body bruised and battered. And after that kick- it hurt to breath, a horrible, stabbing awful pain. He couldn't summon the will to stand again.

That made it worse. The instructor kicked him again, this time in the gut. He kicked and kicked and kicked - each blow caused the pain to flare up. When Servius finally forced himself to his feet to escape it, the Instructor finally relented in his attacks.

Servius laughed now, thinking back to it. It had hurt to breath for weeks after--the daily exercise had become a quagmire of pain and misery, and he would have swore it the worst pain possible at the time. How little he had known!

Et tu, Brutus? Warning: Although no details are portrayed, this section pertains to the sexual assault of a minor.

Servius landed on the hard, dusty ground of the tent with a thud. He spat out blood onto the floor and started to push himself up - only to collapse in pain again as a foot smashed into his side.

"Legionaries! What is the meaning of this!" A gruffer voice called out, and Servius heard the feet around him rush into formation. Decanus Brutus Aurelius. His Contubernia's Decanus. He wasn't anything like Tullius was, Brutus was a monster. Plain and simple. The rumours which went around about him told Servius enough, and Servius had taken precaution to never be alone with the man before.

"Servius cost us again, Decanus!" Varus spat, kicking the 14 year old Servius in the gut again. "Decanus Aetius saw him talking to that slave girl again. He cut our rations for the week!"

There was a few moments of silence, and he heard heavy footsteps coming towards him. He bought his gaze up slightly to see the Decanii's boots stomping towards him.

"Varus, Albus; fetch her. Bring her here." Decanus Brutus ordered, and the two recruit legionaries scurried off. Servius dared to look up to Brutus, and could see the darkness in his eyes. "You want the slave girls, Servius? You have to earn them."

"Decanus-" Servius began, only to be cut off by a fist to the face, sending him sprawling onto his back. He quickly rolled over and brought himself up to his knees again.

"Speak only when spoken to, degenerate." Brutus snarled. Servius spat out blood again and looked to his brothers in arms; The other recruits of the contubernia were conflicted and one went to leave, only for Brutus hard grip to stop him.

"You're going no where, Paulus. You won't want to." As he said that, Varus and Aetius dragged Erika into the tent, black hair falling over her face as she breathed heavily, glancing up to them all defiantly - then looking to Servius with confusion and concern; the two had spoken very frequently, and Servius bad learnt much from her. In exchange, he snuck her food and protected her as best a lowly recruit could from the worst the legionaries had to give.

"Its a simple choice Servius. You take her. Or I take you." Brutus chuckled darkly after saying that, although if were somehow funny. Servius heart skipped a beat as he heard that, leaping up into his throat and his gut twisting. He shook his head repeatedly, involuntarily. Take? Did he mean? He couldn't. Servius looked towards the slave girl in shock; Erika's eyes widened with horror and she struggled with her captors, but was quickly subdued again. "She is a pretty one, and strong too. I may as well be rewarding you with this..."

He did mean...

Servius remained motionless and silent for a few seconds, only breathing heavily as he stared on in shock and terror. Finally, he twisted his head and spat out the blood that was welling in his mouth again and looked up to Brutus defiantly

"I'm not touching her." He forced the words out of his mouth. It took all the courage and strength in his being to even speak, and the words came out weaker and shakier than he had intended. Brutus glared at him and spat in the recruits face, before giving him a sudden kick and sending him splaying back onto the ground again. He started to turn over but another kick sent him down into the ground.

"Legionarii, take the slave out. Lash her to a cross. Me and Servius are going to have some fun." And with that, Brutus laughed.

He laughed.

---

Brutus forced him out of the tent; blood was running from Servius mouth and ever step sent pain shooting through his body. He moaned and groaned, but in truth he barely comprehended what was happening. He was scared and confused, and wished Brutus had simply killed him and been done with it.

He could barely see through his teary vision, but he could make out the figure of other legionaries looking his way. He lowered his head in shame, biting his lip hard to prevent himself sobbing.

But then his head was jarred back by Brutus to look up at Erika in the cross, causing a wave of pain to shoot through his body. She looked to have been badly beaten, she'd clearly tried to put up a fight before being subdued.

"She won't last more than a few days... It will be slow, agonosing..." Brutus hissed quietly in his ear. Servius tried to look down again, but Brutus grip was like that of a vice. "Do it to her... And I'll let her live."

Pater

Servius felt a sudden force jerk him up to his feet, back into reality. He looked towards the angry face of Instructor Tullius

"I said, on your feet legionary! Are you going deaf on me, boy?!" Tullius screamed at him. Servius stared back for a moment and then burst out a whimpering sob.

"Minime - poenitet me -" Servius began, shaking his head to dispel his intrusive thoughts and biting down onto his lip, fighting back his tears.

"Stop babbling! You're not a child anymore. Children cry, not men! Not legionaries!" Tullius pulled Servius off to the side, dragging him behind the tents and the boy flinched, expecting to be brutalised for his weakness. But instead, his instructors voice lowered to a quiet and calm one, almost reassuring. He felt the instructors hand touch one of his many bruises and winced in pain. "Proculus- by Mars, what happened?"

Servius looked up towards his instructor, partly in confusion and partly grateful. He opened his mouth to speak but then shut it again; would Tullius even believe it? And even if he did, would he mock him for being weak? Tell everyone? Punish him for it?

And then if Tullius learnt that-

He pushed that out of his head as quickly as he could. And this was nothing. He was being weak. He was always weak and pathetic.

Servius shook his head violently, sniffing ans putting on a stoney poker face once again, as best he could "Mi- Minime, Instructor. Nothing. I'm fine. It just... Something has gotten into my eye. Hard training."

Vespillo

"Retribution!" Servius cried as he leapt up atop the wooden cart of the barricade, blade in hand - his eyes widened as he saw the rifle pointed towards him. These tribesmen weren't supposed to have guns -

His shoulder exploded into pain and the world went black as he fell off the barricade and into the dirt, rolling down the slope. Each moment felt like a lifetime, each breath was agony. And then he saw a light, and through the light a towering figure clad in golden armour. Ivory pillars arose all around them, and row after row of legionaries clad in shining armour stood behind this figure.

"Mars..." Servius murmured, gasping for breath. He reached a hand up towards the god of war, but Mars shook his head and pointed down towards him. Suddenly, with the sensation of falling, Servius was ripped away and back into the blackness, crying in confusion - but then he awoke. He turned his head slowly, in intense pain, to see some of his contubernia cowering behind the nearby rocks, under fire from the tribesmen who were now nearer to him, their backs to him.

Servius grunted and rolled over, pushing himself up to his knee and then stumbling to his feet. He looked towards the backs of the nearby tribesmen and gripped his machete tight. He stumbled a step forwards, and then broke into a run, screaming at the top of his lungs even though each word was agony

"Come with me, Amicii, for I cannot die! They tried to shoot me then but it did not do it!" He screamed as he hacked the machete into the neck of the tribesmen in front of him, yanking it out and splattering blood over the ground and rocks with a roar. The next one turned to face him, and Servius instantly recognised the young man who had shot him. The tribal dropped his rifle to the floor in sheer terror of the seemingly resurrected man, who came at him then before the third tribesmen could intervene. Yet even in this panic, the tribal swung up his leg and kicked Servius machete out of his hand, sending it flying into the distance...

The two through punches back and forth, Servius trying desperately to take down the man but being easily fended off with his only one good arm. Realising what was going on, Servius instead moved to draw out the fight and keep the man between him and the other tribals so they could not safely shoot him.

"Come Amicii! Retribution!" Another voice cried, with the remnants of Servius' contubernia closing to close combat quickly and fighting with the other tribals in the chaos.

After that battle, the Medicus has seen to his wound. He decreed it a miracle that Servius had survived, let alone stood up to keep fighting. From that day onwards, other Legionaries dubbed him with the agnomen "Vespillo".

That very night, the Prime Decanus had come to him and given him a new set of armour. No longer was he a Recruit.

hic sunt dracones

Servius kept his 9mm SMG tight in his right hand, his left hand grasping the blade of his sword. He looked down the roe of legionaries beside him, then across to the others on the far side. He nodded to them and edged closer to the side of the rock, peering down into the road below.

There were perhaps two dozen of them, wearing leather armour and carrying a variety of weapons; smgs, a few combat rifles, a hunting rifle and even a laser pistol. Some seemed to be swaggering along, slightly drunk.

Fury welled within him and his blood ran hot. He brought his SMG to bare and nodded again. It was time to avenge Tullius, and all the other legionaries they had killed; It was time to wipe out these mercenaries once and for all.

"Retribution!" He cried out as the legionaries opened fire on the surprised men below. Many fell in the first volley, and as expected they began to flee towards the cover of the rocks behind them - where they were set upon by the other group of legionaries.

"Glory to the first man to die! Charge!" Servius cried out, quickly reloading his SMG as he clamoured to his feet and charged down the ridge, spraying one of the distracted soldiers down with his smg and slashing into the throat of another while he tried to unjam his weapon, spraying crimson blood over Servius' uniform.

It was a massacre. Having been taken off guard and suffering heavy casualties, the dragons broke ranks. Many tried to flee away, but few made it.

In the thick of the fighting, Servius sighted their leader attempting to climb up the ridge and rush away. Breaking through the fighting surrounding him, he gave speedy pursuit and before long had caught up to the man, tackling him to the ground.

The dragon tried to roll over to fight back, but Servius used his weight to pin the man down and with a swing of his blade hamstrung him.

Before long the battle was over, and Servius dragged the leader of the Dragons out in front of the rest of the legionaries. They let out a cheer, and Servius raised his arm into the air, bringing his blade down and chopping through the mans neck.

_{{ "A Decanus is responsible for what is done by his contubernia. You will adhere to my standards. So I'll have none of this; We are Legionaries, not tribal raiders hammering down on townsfolk. We will act the part." }}

contra bonos mores

A girls scream bought Servius attention away from the recruit legionaries he was lecturing, turning towards the tents near the slave pen. A recruit legionary was dragging a teenage girl across the camp. Servius could tell what was going to happen, and he didn't like it for a moment

Servius turned his back on the recruits, motioning for them to wait a moment while he crossed the dirt of the fort towards the two, summoning a passing legionary to accompany him.

"Vipsanius, what's this?" Servius demanded.

"Spoils of war, Decanus Proculus!" Vipsanius replied with a laugh, pulling the girl closer to him. "This one is quite beautiful."

"Ita? Everything is done then, I take it? Armours repaired, blade sharpened, rifle checked? And the roads finished, Domitus doesn't need any more assistance? The watchtower?" Servius inquired as he peered at the slave girl, who kept her gaze focused on the ground. He looked back up to the recruit legionary who was looking rather exasperated.

"Both are under construction, Decanus." Vipsanius replied cautiously, shifting in place and eyeing up the Decanus.

"I see. Cassus, take this slave down to help with the construction." Servius ordered, motioning to the prime legionary beside him.

"Ita, Decanus" Cassus responded, seizing the arm of the slave girl and pulling her away from Vipsanius towards the gate. Vipsanius glared at Cassus for a moment, scowling at Servius

"Vispanius, fetch the Pontiff. I need him to preach to the new recruits." Servius ordered off handedly, waving dismissively to Vipsanius.

"Decanus I really -" Vipsanius began to object, but was quickly cut off.

"Legionaries do not question orders!" Servius bellowed at the top of his lungs, clenching his fist tightly and advancing a step towards Vipsanius, who quickly backed away

"Ita Decanus, as you will it!" Vipsanius replied quickly, scurrying off like an insect or rat before a terrifying beast. Servius grunted, watching Crassus lead the slave out the gate before heading back fowards his trainees.

He'd include Vipsanius in the patrol he was taking to Denver's Dog town tomorrow.

Ponderings

"What is a Roman?" Servius asked himself again as he climbed up the hill, grunting lightly as the pain that passed through his injuries struck again. The legionary walking beside him cocked a brow.

"Does it matter, Decanus?" He asked with a sigh. Legionaries didn't question their superiors - but Servius had asked this before. Several times. The question had been on his mind since the word had been said to him on the rocks beside the Fort, many miles behind them.

"It does. She said it. I've heard profligates say it- that ghoul said it. Some sort of... Civilisation. Something everyone knows but us. Riddles in the dark." Servius shook his head furiously as of to dispel the notion, starting afresh with the picking if his mind. He had asked the slaves - None of them knew. He had asked the Pontiff. He did not know. He had asked the legionaries, they did not know. He wouldn't ask the Centurion. He valued his head.

"Who are the people who said it?" The exasperated Legionary asked, but the question fell on deaf ears as Servius remained lost in his own forts, clamouring up the road as he led his Contubernia on the march.

"Roman... Roman. Like a word echoing around in my head. The tribals don't know it. The profligates I cannot ask." Servius lulled it over within his mind. Roman. The word felt like something he should know somehow, and what little he heard made them seem so foreign and yet so familiar. Had he but world enough and time...

"Why not ask the ones who said it?" The Legionary asked with a glance to him. A pause. Servius furrowed his brow and looked out over the rocks below. Were it so easy.

"Legionary, if I master the art of speaking across a hundred miles , you shall be the first to learn." He sailed with a thin smile, glancing sideways to his underling. They were silent for a few moments, letting Servius continue his thinking unimpeded before a second legionary cut in

"Why dies it weigh on you so heavily, Decanus?" The Legion asked him, causing Servius to glance back over his shoulder with a look of amusement on his face.

"Because don't you see? It means there is something about us that is 'Roman', and that these Romans shaped the world before us enough to be known even now. They left a mark." Servius looked away again. Ita, these Romans must have been a great people to be so widely remembered. That glory should belong to the legion too, to him and his men who had given so much.

"Ita, and? Another profligate government. They rise and fall like the winds of the desert. It means nothing, minime?" The Legionary meant it as a rhetorical rebuttal, but Servius shook his head and replied all the same.

"A profligate government said to have its own Caesar, its own Latin? Mars take me, don't you see? Caesar may have came before... The son of Mars, guiding humanity throughout the ages."
Servius trailed off. Such an implication would have to be run by the Pontiff--but from what he understood from the warnings of his fellow legionaries, those who looked too deeply into this question were not looked on favourably by Caesar. Far from it, much like those who mentioned the burned man they found themselves on the receiving ends of his wrath.

But then, he was marching north to death anyway. Oh, cruel, devilish fate. To dangle a question - a hundred questions - before a man's eyes and drag him away before any could be answered.

He looked westward to the setting sun, and as the beams of light from it hit his eye, the beauty of the world overcame him. Lift thine eyes, and see thy god...

His thoughts wandered over hill and dale, across river and desert and mountain. He thought about how he had marked the world, how the legion had marked the world.

The sword he had crafted by his own hand-where was it now? Did it serve its owner rightful and true? Did she grasp the hilt and remember the one who forged it?

The blade of Tullius, did it still sit atop the mountains of Colorado, impaled through the eye socket of the dragon kings skull to nail it to the earth? Would someone come across the shrine near the cairn, and wonder why the skull was left there? Find the body buried beneath?

The blade that slew Knight Girdeux, did it still sleep with her skeleton at the bottom of the lake, buried deep within her neck where it had found its mark between the plates of her power armour and caused her to fall to the black waters below? Would in a hundred years someone find it at the bottom of the lake, and wonder who could have defeated a Brotherhood Knight with just a knife?

The road he had built through Phoenix, did it stand sound and safe, used by a thousand caravans bringing wealth and glory from far off lands?

The infrastructure he had built, was it all still sound, did the lights glimmer and the water flow? Would it be so in a decade, in a century?

The tower he had built in Denver, did it stand sentinel still over the land of dogs, a watchful eye to the east? Would men look upon the bullet holes in the stonework and be awed by stories of bravery and honour?

This was the mark he had made on the world. Not indelible nor clear but significant. Something to be proud of. Though he might disappear, the memory and the legion would remain and he would always be a part of it. It truly was a sort to immorality - a purpose decided for him from the start. A gift. Enviable by others. The power of Mars had forged him, protected him and guided him.

But- for a moment, he dared to think about the lands beyond the mountains and deserts. Of the Bear and their homes, their entertainment, their excess, their families and young.

Jealousy, envy, spite, disgust, hatred... All crept into his frame.

Why were they allowed such weaknesses? Why were they allowed to rest and sleep, to dance and sing, to have families and property, to settle and live and grow old? To have that sense of permenance? Why were they so blessed, when he must march the road away from everything he built and into danger and the unknown? Away from the lands that he secured, that the legion paid for in blood and sweat- that they built with slaves and aching hand, that he bore scars for, that he lost brothers to- lands that were never to be enjoyed by himself, or his blood.

Because, they were profligates, and it brought their civilisation down atop them. But Legionaries... They were born to serve the greater good. A thankless task to be a link in the legion line, to reforge the world. And to fight on to the very end.

Roman. He would find the meaning of the word before that end; that, he swore to himself silently.

= damnatio memoriae

Caesar was dead.

No warning, no alerts. No enemy activity, at least that anyone could tell.

Caesar had simply woken up dead.

Servius looked out over the camp.

Caesar was wrong.

It didn't matter now anyway. Lanius had already taken the soldiers to Hoover Dam. Victory was assured, right?

Centurion

Victory no longer felt like victory, wherever and whoever it was. With Caesars death, the legion had slowly sunken into infighting. Lanius had claimed the title of Caesar for himself and had set about purging those he had deemed disloyal.

Naturally, there was a power struggle brewing.

Servius sighed heavily, continuing to sharpen his blade. This wasn't what the Legion was meant to stand for, either. It was supposed to be stability.

"Decanus!" A voice called. Servius looked up to see his Centurion, and quickly stood and rushed over.

"Ita, Centurion?" Servius replies, pressing his hand to his chest in saluts and averting his eyes.

"Minime, I'm a Legatus now." His superior replied, removing his centurions plume from his helmet

"Forgive me, Legatus!"

"All is forgiven, Servius. This is your Centuria now. Lead it well." He haded the plume to the former Decanus with a weak smile "I need them ready by night fall."

"I-Ita Legatus! Thank you, Legatus, I shan't let you down." Servius stammered as he took the plume in his hands, examining it. Years ago, he'd have killed for this. Now?

Twice now the legion had failed to take Vegas. The second time they had lost Caesar, and without him the brewing storm was becoming more and more obvious by the day. The legion wasn't built to last anymore. It had to adapt or it would die.

_{{ "No. Even if we won absolutely and every tribe that was once part of the legion was it again- I will not be the leader of it. I shouldn't be. Neither should you. We cannot risk someone becoming the new Caesar or Lanius. If I did- I might take that power with the desire to good - but it'd twist me as much as it must have twisted him. No one man should hold absolute power, be the centre of everything. That thinking has led us here." }}

diem perdidi

Servius awoke and rolled over, pulling himself up to his knees. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air as he looked around the corpses surrounding him. Some six feet away lay his Vexillarius, the banner still handing from his back, torn and ridden with holes.

He looked around the remains of his soldiers, how many corpses were here? He made a quick count as best he could. So many dead, it had to be the majority of the soldiers he had; perhaps a handful had gotten away at best.

He reached down to touch the tattered banner one last time, running his fingers over the ruined fabric. A broken heirloom of justice, truth and honour. As tattered as the legion now was, as tattered as Caesar's Pax Per Bellum had ended up.

The voices nearby and a single shot of gunfire drew him back to the present. He glanced in their direction but for a moment before he quickly slipped away behind the rocks, waiting for them to pass.

And then he ran. And he ran. Until his legs could no longer run him any further away and he gave out, sending him collapsing down onto the rock and dirt, many dozens of miles away from where he had once been. He slumped down against a rock, peering off over the edge of the mountain path he had ended up on.

Years had passed since Caesars death. Years since Caliente, since he'd found the truth. And yet now, he was right back where he had started. No, worse than where he had started; the peace was ruined and all his efforts had been for nought.

"It survives in me." He declared, mostly to himself.

auribus teneo lupum

"Say you go. Do you make it? And if you make it, do you succeed? And then, do you make it back? If you stay here with us and fight, we might have a chance to regain support and strike."

"There's no chance at all. Alea iacta est. We've been decimated. If we try to fight in this state, we're finished."

"Servius, everything Caesar built is falling apart, everything we hoped to build is crumbling down around us. If you leave now- that chaos is going to continue. You haven't even told me what you're doing."

"Do not forget that we are part of what's causing that chaos; we are one of the fractious legion splinter cells."

"We had to. To restore the peace. Lanius was going to rip the legion apart - he did rip the legion apart. If the Bear goes for the kill, if the raiders see that we aren't enforcing order properly- it's gone. You told me that, you convinced me of that. No, we are doing what is right."

"That remains to be seen; certainly we can't press that cause with what we have here. I will return. And when I do, I'll return with money, weapons and soldiers. We shall fix this and put what's left of the Legion back together. Reunite the Eighty Seven. Until then- you must regroup what we have and regather what little strength we can muster. Remain quiet and calm, we do not yet have the strength to risk another direct confrontation."

"Let us assume this works how you want; You'll be gone for weeks. How do you even know they'll be a we to fix this?"

"There has to be, Domitus, for everyone's sake."

Lost and Found

Servius awoke in a cold sweat, his hand darting to his blade. He breathed heavily but slowly calmed as he came back to reality, his face contorting in silent agony. Then suddenly took on an expression of shock as he heard a voice

"You alright?" Alan asked from behind him. Servius took a moment to calm himself before replying

"I- Yes. Just bad memories." He murmured, rolling over to face his companion who was sitting some 16 feet away. Servius had been travelling with their caravan across what was formerly Kentucky. They'd met a lot of problems along the way - In fact, Servius had rescued them from a pack of ghouls and in exchange they'd brought him along with them and given him food and water. An alliance of convenience, at first. "Haunt my dreams sometimes, keep me awake."

"Heh, I hear that. Want to talk about it?" Alan said, shifting over away from his wife towards Servius. The old mans wrinkled face took on a kindly expression as he regarded the middle aged legionary

"There is nothing to talk about. It was many years ago." Servius responded reservedly. Biting his lip and shaking his head solemnly. Couldn't even beat his own dreams, what a joke he'd become. A useless, pathetic joke of a legionary.

"I lost my daughter many years ago. Still need to talk about. Seems you need to talk to." The old man handed Servius his canteen and the former legionary accepted it, opening it and taking a long swig from it.

"How did she pass?" Servius asked after he had gulped down some of the liquid, peering back over to the elderly Alan.

"Raiders." Alan replied, lowering his gaze to the ground for a moment and breathing in "It wasn't pretty. I- sent her out to gather xander root and broc flower for healing powder. My wife and my daughters husband, they were ill. I was coming down with it too so- I stayed back to look after them. Molly was tough, I thought she could handle herself. So I let her go out alone. When we found what they'd done to her, I just- It was inhuman. When she needed me most- I weren't there. Always told her I'd be there but- I wasn't."

Servius looked to Alan sadly, smiling weakly. It was a story he'd heard a couple of times since he'd gotten towards the west. It reminded him of= Why the legion had done everything to begin with. So old men would still have their kids.

"I'm sorry." Servius said quietly. He paused for a moment before continuing "It was not your fault, you didn't fail her. People are monsters."

"I tell myself that but... It don't change how I feel. I shouldn't have let her go out alone."

"Ita- I mean, yeah. I tell myself I couldn't have done anything but it doesn't make that feel true."

"And you? What shook you up this bad?"

"I can't say. Too much. We'd be here by morning if I started." Servius replied and then smirked slightly, shaking his head. Alan laughed a little with him and gave a small nod, taking back his canteen and taking a sip.

"Ain't that the truth these days." Alan paused for a moment "You sure you have to go tomorrow? We've grown used to having you around, you're a good man. You've more than earned your keep."

"I have to. I've a duty to do."

"Yeah - Well, I hope you find what you're looking for."

Necropolis

He moved with great haste despite the pain in his legs and the crushing tiredness that had accompanied him these weeks. So many long miles had passed, and he grew increasingly tired of wandering and increasingly tired of fighting off or evading the dangers around him.
When the weary traveller came over the hill and he saw necropolis, he fell to his knees and thanked Mars for his arrival. He had reached the great ocean!

He let out a small smile as the sun raised, catching the ocean and causing it to shimmer.

He paused... If he strutted up dressed like this, he'd have blown away one of the parameters he'd been given. He let out a weak sigh; this was never going to work, if the people he was dealing with really had a problem with the legion, they'd likely interacted with them enough to work out who he was quickly enough anyway. He wasn't exactly a good actor - nor good liar for that matter. Still, orders were orders.

He removed his helmet and ran his fingers over it before twisting out the plumage with a grunt of effort. He examined ot for a moment before opening his rucksack and sticking it into the section which kept his trophies in. He could pass if off, he suspected.

He placed helmet back onto his head, sighing and unfastening his cingulum militare, folding it over on itself and placing that too away with the plumes. The focale was next, then his pteruges. By the time he was done, he looked a fair deal closer to a mercenary who'd scavenged his armour over the years rather than a legionary; and consequently he felt very bare and foolish, naked without the symbols of his rank, the trappings of his life and - culture. There was no other word for it. It was who he was, and now he had to pretend it was not.

That, he thought, was harder than any fight. Enough, almost, to make him turn away again.

He wrapped his sagum around himself to fight the chill. "Alea Iacta Est." He repeated as he began to walk towards the city, as he had been instructed to do. Once this had been a powerful and prosperous city of the old world- and now it was just another relic of the hellfire that had rained down. Perhaps it was the fate of all things to be ripped apart by man.

Now it was time to get to work.

---

- Survival Characteristics -

| {Non-Combat Skills} |

What is this blasted magic box?!: Don't let him try to hack the terminal. Just don't. He's used a terminal perhaps twice in his entire lifetime and nobody has taught him a thing about them.

Even unto death: Pushing fear away is what Servius has done his whole life. Little can shake this mans will.

Smithy: That said, while he's useless with electronics he has a decent amount of skill with repairing things and crafting weapons and armour. This has allowed him to maintain his weapons despite many years of use

Herbal Medicine: While any true medical ability has been seriously hamstrung by the legions views on chems, Servius knows how to make healing powder and bitter drink along with basic first aid. If a member of the Old Sedona Centuria was injured in combat, they wouldn't have been remiss in hoping Servius was nearby.

Historical Knowledge: Despite having been raised on misinformation and lies, Servius has long since shook off such falsehoods in pursuit of knowledge. Having developed a love of history and having treated himself to whatever books he could find during his time with the legion, Servius has a surprisingly sound understanding of history. In the end, he even found out about the Romans - this, combined with Caesars passing, finally shattered his belief in Caesar.

| {Possessions} |

A small collection of Holotags, dogtags and feathers from Decanii headdresses. (His way of honouring worthy opponents, taking the time to remember their names)
Legion Centurion Helmet
Legion Centurion Armour
Backpack with some food, drink, camping gear etc.
Motar and pestle used for making healing powder.
An old pocket watch.
Holotape player
Flashlight
A Cross

| {Combat Skills} |

Warrior of Old Sedona: With blade, hammer or fist, Servius is an expert melee combatant. Trained with a machete since the day he was born and serving in the legion proper for some twenty years of his life, crossing blades with him is a dangerous act.

Aquila luscus: He used a gun from an early age too, and proved more able with it than a blade initially. As time drew on, Servius became better and better with the weapons he had scavenged from his fallen foes.

Soft as shadows: For a man who is built like a brick, its rather surprising how swiftly and quietly he can move when need be. While certainly not the best, his small stature and quiet step has allowed him to get the drop on many enemies in his time.

Legionary Conditioning: The Life of a Legionary is a hard life. As Colonel Cassandra Moore once said, even the lowliest of legionaries has received conditioning on par or better to those of the NCR Rangers. Servius never let his condition slip; he is both scarily strong and scarily fast, making him an extremely dangerous foe. Indeed, while short for a legionary he appears to have lost none of their speed or strength, bounding across the battlefield with shocking fluidity.

| {Gear} |

Tyrannus: Servius' sword, Tyrannus, was one of two twin blades he forged with his own hands many years ago in a fort in Legion territory. Having forged two blades, he imparted one to a local he had befriended before he left on campaign with the rest of his Centuria. Since then, Tyrannus has shed the lifeblood of many enemies. The blade is a far cry from the usual blades of the legion; rather than being a lawnmower blade crudely taped onto a handle, Tyrannus is a true sword that was forged with great care. It's end is sharpened to a point and both edges of the blade are kept sharp, designed to allow for thrusting and slashing rather than the hacking motions required of a legion machete.

Requies: Requies was the rifle Servius took from the Ranger he and the Veteran Decanus Severus captured. A powerful Brush Gun, Servius has kept it in good condition and uses it for taking down targets at range with an impressive degree of accuracy. He has since grown quite fond of it and has named it Requies. It's large calibre and accuracy has made it his preferred choice over his 12.7mm SMG save for in tighter confines.

12.7mm Sub Machine Gun
Bola
Net

Fallout: Into the Storm

Red still dibsed by anyone or?

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

Zakroti Unalim

_{Husband of Aymiria Unalim @Amethyst, Aurora Liesma @WeepingLiberty}

"Qeynate shantoz fus-gua-e-jyl lali a an lok kala Welebak, esh a Kalderas. Gehdzi sepoz grunis an hame e an Ptaz e as thul geh shantaoz - arat! [Qeynate took 1020 warriors from the 5th to Welebak, north of Kalderas. They cut through the land and the Ptaz and by dawn he took - poison!]" Zakroti was cut off and cursed as Aurora came around the corner and ran straight into the armoured blackguard, collapsing back onto the floor. He had been explaining the contents of the letter to Miry and to the blackguard whose counsel he trusted deeply, yet was barely a sentence in when Aurora arrived. Handing the letter off to Narlemaewel and being quite shocked by Aurora's sudden appearance around the corner, Zakroti reached for his blade, suspecting she was fleeing from something. His mind instantly leapt to Aymiria and he subconsciously moved slightly to the left to shield her from whatever might be following - then when Aurora spoke, he relaxed a little and moved his hand away again and his brows raised even higher. He offered her a hand up as she finished speaking "Are you alright?"

Gaikus, whom Aurora had ran into, had recovered from stumbling back a step and peered down to the Gem with keen eyes, as if sizing her up. He glanced between the two and let out a slight grunt. Narlemaewel put the letter away and took a few steps forwards, nodding to Gaikus and cocking a brow beneath his helmet as he examined Aurora.

"You want me to teach you how to fight?" Zakroti said with a somewhat bemused smile, glancing over towards Aymiria for a few moments and examining her before looking back to Aurora. Miry's opinion would likely rule the day here, truth be told, he trusted her deeply and sought her opinion where possible. It was for that reason, and comfort, that he had just begun explaining what the letter entailed to her "What do you think, Miry, oeiz aigz?"

"Why is that?" Gaikus asked curiously, tilting his head to the side. Zakroti nodded as if to affirm the question; it seemed a rare act indeed for a bride. Then again, after what she had told him earlier about her family, the Liesmas were not quite the ordinary Gems. He could believe it, having experienced first hand her sisters stubbornness. He paused, considering it carefully; she could become something more of a risk if she knew how to fight, he supposed, but then what could she really do against the majority of his soldiers? If she were to kill him personally, that would be simple enough whether she was trained or not, merely a matter of catching him off guard. And conversely, would it not perhaps be useful? If there was another incident such as that with Lugft or a siege of some description, her being somewhat capable of defending herself would certainly be a plus.

Of course, there was a lot to consider. After what had happened with Aery, he was cautious about the prospect. He'd have to make sure on her mental state first; if she was liable to panic, more awful things might happen. And the truth was that discipline made warriors what they were, you can't fight if you're running around in terror like a headless chicken. Still, if he were to explain that too her and make sure that she understood, it probably wouldn't cause too much damage - and they certainly seemed to be getting along better now that she had heard him out, even if this was odd behaviour for a Gem. Teaching her might help to cement such a change away from antagonism, which would be much more desirable than going back to it because he refused her. Zakroti glanced to Gaikus and then to Narlemaewel to seek their silent counsel, them both giving silent nods of affirmation. He'd wait for Miry's input before making a final decision on this matter.

"When you say fight proper, I assume you mean with weapons of some description? Well, I suppose the answer is the same either way. Though Gems have a significant shortfall of strength, it can be done. It is likely for the best that it is so; Drakka is far from an orderly realm, infighting is not uncommon. We shall encounter more than a few brutes and monsters in our time together I can assure you of that, and we may have cause to dispatch of a few of them as well. Naturally I shall endeavour to keep yourself and Aymiria out of harms way and away from such individuals- and I typically endeavour to avoid it myself where possible - yet it is possible that on occasion we shall not have that luxury. Indeed, sometimes they might bring their fight to us as was the case with Lufgt. If that should occur, it shall be beneficial for you to be able to defend yourself." Zakroti said with some degree of apprehension. He moved a little close to Aymiria when he spoke about that night, linking his arm with hers gently. The occasional conflict was unavoidable in Drakka, though he imagined he would be able to keep the two Gems out of harms way for most such battles. Then again, he had thought that with Kasari and look how that turned out in the end so perhaps it was not wise to be so sure of himself and with some conflicts foreseeable in the near future and with Drakka being on a knife edge given the kings advanced age and the schism that was developing between his children...

He took a step forwards towards Aurora before continuing in an approving tone "If more of the Gems had you and your families spirit, this arrangement might not exist. I confess that I am grateful that is not the case, else I would not have met Aymiria. You'd need a weapon, of course; most Drakken arms aren't really fit for your stature, the arms of our Kalderan auxiliaries would be too short. A problem I myself have faced, as you likely understand. Perhaps one of mine; we'll find something sufficient."

Zakroti took a few steps past Aurora towards the hall with his arm still linked through Aymiria's, motioning with his free hand for Aurora and his guardsmen to continue following him as he took off down the corridor towards the hall, talking to her as they walked through the stone halls.

"I'll tell you something - it might sound pretentious, it might just seem common sense to you, but you'd be surprised how easily it is forgotten. Fighting takes patience, discipline and intelligence. Self-Control, emotional balance, your state of mind, all of it is more important than any physical element. You have to think quickly and clearly; You're not just fighting a physical battle, you're fighting a mental one too - and that mental one is vital. Drakken or Gem, strong or weak, big or small, we're all flimsy sacks of meat that bleed quickly when you stick a sword in. Now matter how strong you are, it can all be over in a matter of seconds, any mistake can be fatal. It sounds easy - but it's not. All too often in a fight, the inexperienced aren't thinking straight. They're angry or scared or just acting on instinct, or they're all three. Once the fighting starts, once you realise your life is at risk, once something hits you and injures you, once you watch someone else die - all of that can unbalance you and panic you. Sometimes so much so you turn and run or just freeze up and do nothing at all."

Zakroti opened up the door to the hall and as he stepped through into the hall, he motioned to the soldiers gathered around the tables, eating from the food the servants had brought out. He stood just inside the door and to the right, pointing to the them through the gaps in the pillars that ran down the length of the room

"These drakken are Lali of the West. They don't break ranks and charge like brute barbarians, they hold formation and protect each other even when the odds seem so overwhelming that death is a certainty, they have discipline and unwavering loyalty. That's what makes warriors. Actual warriors, I mean, not some eastern brute who thinks that charging into battle half-armoured or tormenting some whimpering gem girl he earned makes him tough. It takes a long time to instil such into them, but it's vital. If a handful of them were to panic and rout, the formation would be compromised. It makes a weakness for the enemy to exploit, an opening - and if they press that opening, the battle is lost. The same principle applies to fighting as a single person; if you lose that discipline and panic even for a moment, if you are either too timid or too aggressive, you leave yourself open for but a second and then..." Zakroti snapped his fingers and shook his head slowly "If you want to learn how to fight then you need to know that first, above all. When you fight, you need a clear head. It doesn't matter how much I teach you, if you aren't in control of your own head then it'll all slip out like water in a sieve once the fighting starts. Your brother, charging alone at a reaper? Brave, yes, but there was no one to have his back and the circumstances were heavily stacked against him, as you say it's something of a miracle that he wasn't punished or killed as a result of it. In fury, he opened himself up - and that can be costly, especially against a stronger opponent. I don't know the details, I don't know if he could have done anything differently or in a way that might have worked better, of course - but in that moment, with all those thoughts flowing through his head, the anger and the desire to rescue his sister I wonder whether he knew either? Perhaps if he had, he would have thought of something - sadly, I suspect the disloyalty of your fellow Gems likely rendered his attempt futile no matter what method he might have tried. Perhaps one day they'll wake up and fight back, certainly I'll welcome that day."

"But if you can do that, if you can stay strong and keep a level head even when your life is at risk or something you care about is dying before your eyes - then I'd be able to teach you. Just like we taught my wards, my nieces and nephews." Zakroti finished and turned to face her. He took a few steps backwards so he was standing in front of the fresco and he looked her up and down quickly, examining her steadily and trying to read her body language. "If Miry thinks it a wise choice as well then I shall do it; I trust he counsel on any matter. If so, when and where do you want to start?"

Summary

Zakroti gets surprised by Aurora running into Gaikus while he is explaining the contents of the letter to Aymiria and the blackguard, then is slightly amused by her asking him to teach her how to 'fight proper'. He rambles for a bit and then asks her when she wants to start - should Miry agree. As ever, he's getting Miry's opinion on the matter.

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

Zakroti Unalim

_{Interacting with: Aymiria Unalim @Amethyst, Aurora Liesma @WeepingLiberty}

Zakroti batted her hand away from under his chin gently, flashing her a thin smile as he sat forwards somewhat whilst she leant back away. When he spoke, each phrase itself an attack and yet was delivered with a cool tone, filled with conviction and certainty rather than venom or aggression. "It is what you choose to be, not all you are to be. Do you wish for that to be your sole purpose? Would you rather carve something more out? I am open to talk."

"Yet if you truly wish to know who is at fault for such an injustice, for telling you such things, for letting your whole purpose be that, for allowing this tradition to carry on for so long - then peer into a mirror. For as a collective, for a moments peace you unleash damnation upon your own. Assemble your armies! Fight us! Yet we both know you will not. Do we come and tear away daughters from their families, or do families and neighbours give away their own rather than put up resistance and risk their hide? Of course, this is how empires are built; Upon the groaning bones of the weak, frail and cowardly. "

"Who is the worse here? We, who take what is on offer? Or you, who offer it up so willingly and with so little recourse? Indeed, you who are by your own account collaborative enough in your offering that you train those who are to be offered? Yourself, who did nothing and gave up your sister, your flesh and blood out of fear? Why did you not act? Your parents, who offered up both daughters? Why did they not act? Do Gemmenite parents care not for their blood? Do the Gems have no concept of honour or shame, no sense of self sacrifice and bravery? One might have thought sisters would defend each other, not perpetuate quite willingly an endless lottery of misery." His tone took a slightly more aggressive turn here, certainly, more accusatory and even disgusted as opposed to the cool and calculating tone he had begun with, as though he thought their actions some great and nigh on unpardonable sin - and in truth to an extent he did, for their disloyalty to each other with no good cause was disgusting - though did it not parallel what he himself did? He pushed that thought away from his head; the circumstances were very different, and after all he would have allowed no other to take his family from him. Internal strife and infighting was one thing, especially between brothers and sisters where it wasn't even uncommon for them to fight each other on succession. Between parent and child, though? Such a greater treachery, and one which struck a cord deep within him.

"Do you know what we would do in your place? We would stand shoulder to shoulder, the highest lord with the lowest slave of our holdings, and die standing rather than offer up a daughter, we would throw ourselves hopelessly through the Stars and into the void beyond to be devoured before submitting our own so weakly, and we should march through into the heavens and die trying to kill the gods themselves before we so much as thought of teaching our young women to accept such a position. Do you know why? It's loyalty. Honour. Family. Love. Yes, perhaps pet is generous for pets have loyalty and honour, and pets care; a hound will fight for its master. I have seen runt dogs that come up lower than my knee try to maul my foot off rather than let me slay their master; standing defiant in a scene that might reflect that of a mouse before a dragon. The Gemminite people, apparently, will not even fight for their pups. So what does that make them?" His voice had drifted away from the accusatory tone again, perhaps ironically given its content. It seemed he offered it more as a sincere question than as some sort of rhetorical device, rather bizzarely. He confessed, he was interested to hear a Gem defend their practice.

"Yes, you have an air of bitterness about you indeed. Perhaps deserved, perhaps not. Can I blame you for bitterness? Certainly not. I am a foreign man to whom you have been forcibly bound, and certainly I deserve your scorn for that. But point it also towards your own, who have abandoned you and are complicit in your suffering." And having finished his response so, Zakroti casually reached out and poured her a goblet of Mazjamma, offering it to her with a small smile. Apparently, his speech had again changed on a dime. No longer was he on the offensive but rather speaking to her as though she were on friendly terms with him. "A few drops more bitterness shall surely not affect you much, and bitterness is not itself a bad thing but just another taste to be experienced. I know many who are rather partial to this beverage, for example, despite the strong bitter taste it has."

Zakroti tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, then shook it firmly and frowned, drawing back his lip in an expression of - disappointment, perhaps, that she thought he would have done such a thing to them, or perhaps feeling insulted at the very insinuation. Still, he understood; he could see how it might be interpreted as such, for the Drakken were not precisely known for being the moral, sentimental or even compassionate kind. He knew more than a few lord who had in fact sent back mutilated bodies to torment the families from whom they hailed. It was a mistake on his part, perhaps. He drank from his own glass before continuing, his tone understanding despite his initial facial expression. "No, that was not the case. You assume the worst of me yet I intended only the best. I sent your sisters body home that her spirit might rest in peace, that your family might bury her on your own soil according to your own customs. Where do you think she should rest? On your families pyre? Or 'neath foreign moon and star, buried in coarse soil in a land that is not hers, bound to death and sent to Krenta with rites that are not hers? Does the soul rest well in such an environment. I know not your beliefs but think perhaps that it does not. Although I admit, perhaps I could have dealt with it better, do not wrought my intent; I intended only good when I returned her body to your family. I saw not your first mourning, nor your second and certainly I derived no pleasure from the thought of it. I wished only to give your family closure on her fate, and give her spirit peace of rest that she might wander into the arms of her gods - whatever I might think of them."

Zakroti paused as he finished, pleased that she had gained control over her volume. He didn't particularly like the idea of a scene in front of the great hall, though it was certainly better than occurring outside. He nodded slowly as she spoke again, this time accusing Miry for having committed the apparently terrible crime of surviving.

"As for Miry, she indeed was almost slain. Yet by the skill of Gaikus - and another Gem - she endures. It would be strange indeed for me to send someone who is alive home to be buried. Battles are messy things and people die, others live. I suppose I owe you that explanation." Zakroti took another drink, draining the goblet and pouring himself another glass of it from the pitcher in the centre of the table. Without another word he took another sip, then placed it down before continuing. "It starts as you might not expect. Aymiria's sister, Aery, came fleeing to us that morning. She was brutalised and traumatised, bleeding something awful and I believe she had been cruelly mistreated. She was the bride of one known as Lugft, a brute of a Drakken as foolish as he was brawny yet he had a number of vassals and substantial power. Having asked my protection and being related to my own bride, I brought Aery under the protection of my house, at least until such a time my Grandfather, the Muthseran, was available to deal with the situation. I was not enthralled by the idea of allowing her to go back to Lugft, although I was begrudgingly willing to allow such as under the law I had no right to steal away a bride simply because I did not approve of her treatment. I did what little I could."

"Needless to say, Lugft did not see it in the same way and intended to set upon us with a small group of his soldiers in our rooms. I gave orders that the brides be armed so that Miry and your sister could defend themselves should they be attacked- and this led to Aery being armed also, a grave mistaken given her fragile mental state. Negotiations were brief and futile, the barbarian could not be reasoned with and so we let our swords sing our arguments with a clashing and slashing of steel. During this time, your sister died. I know not the precise detail for I was locked in mortal combat with Lugft himself, but as I understand she accidentally mortally wounded Kasari before killing herself out of shame. Lugft and his soldiers paid dearly for this, I assure you; while one of them escaped unharmed, the others were either killed or wounded. Lugft himself was reduced a husk of the man he once was by my very hand, in a state that he lingers in today; as an idiot, as one without memory or thought, he is left as a drooling imbecile barely capable of moving his head, the fool warlord lives out a pained existence behind the locked doors of his fortress as his family, enemies and former subordinates slowly rip apart his lands, taking advantage of his ruined state for their own material gain."

Zakroti paused before continuing, his tone now a far cry from his initial one. It was soft and apologetic, perhaps even slightly saddened. "You have my sincerest apologies and regrets that your sister ended up dead of a fight that was not her own. I recall advising her to retreat to a more defensible part of our wing as it was not her fight and I would naturally understand any desire to extricate herself form it, yet she elected to stand. I remember her reply; 'This is unacceptable, Pyrus' sacred flame has many uses but this should never be one. The moment you chose me at the ceremony, lord, I became a part of your noble house. And while I am aware that I gain no social standing within your nation, your pride has become mine. This Drakken flame is tainted and I will be damned if I allow it. I will stay.' Brave words from a brave warrior, who I have remembered and honoured - though perhaps you view it more as insult than honouring, I ensured her body was returned to you and her name was added to annals of my household." Zakroti answered, placing down his glass and looking towards Aurora sincerely. He did not yet chastise her for her vitriol towards Aymiria, as much as he wanted to in his gut; she had more than fair reason to be angry. He highly doubted she would be pleased by this, but it was the truth and it might perhaps allow them to reconcile in some manner or another in time (given they were to spend a considerable length of time together) and having offered her an apology for what had happened did to an extent clear his own conscience; whether it was accepted or not, he had confessed what had occurred in full. He offered Aurora a weak and sad smile, reaching out to place his hand against Aymiria throughout, fully aware that the topic was very sensitive and still raw for her. He continued, adding but a few more sentences onto his spiel "In the end, she made a heroic choice and it did me a great honour. I fear that I failed her, while she certainly did not fail us. I beg that any blame you have for us be directed unto I rather than Miry; a commander is responsible for the activities of his soldiers, it was my duty to keep an eye on Aery and to ensure Kasari's well being. If you can find it in time, and I would understand if you could not given - everything - I would ask forgiveness for what happened, and for my handling of returning your sisters body which I realise now I did not properly explained and it must have caused more ill than good."

= Summary

Zakroti condemns the Gemminites and counters Aurora's argument against him, directing her back to her own people as those to blame for the situation due to what he sees as a cowardly collaboration. He dares to go so far as to suggest that the Drakken, though primarily refer to his family and his own, are morally superior because they would not give up their own without a fight while the Gemminites do regularly.

However, he softens up somewhat as he reaches the topic of Kasari, recounting that night of her death and praising her, pointing out that she choose to stay and fight which he puts to her great credit