The crowd’s roar becomes stronger when the Red Wolf draws first blood by hitting the Iron Ram’s head, the Ram spits out blood but isn’t down yet so he strikes back at the Red Wolf’s side. The Wolf immediately blocks it and kicks the Iron Ram in the chest and hits his face again with the sword. Killing isn’t allowed in Gladiatorial games anymore, the weapons are blunted and hollow but the attacks still draw blood and blood is all the crowd really cares for. As for me all I care about is the rush of the crowd and the thrill of watching the Champion Of Capua defeat his opponent. But all of my hopes of seeing victory turns dim as the Iron Ram sweeps the Red Wolf’s feet and kicks his face as the Wolf’s body hits the ground. The crowd’s thunderous applause turns into loud cries of fear and worry as the Iron Ram raises his 2 swords to finish off the Champion of Capua.
I wake up to the smell of vomit and wine mixed together. I open my drapes and realize I just missed the victory celebrations last night. The large stain puddles that look like vomit and dozens of wine bottles, grain ale and Blueberry rum jugs strewn across the tent’s floor are clear evidence of it. Silhouettes of female figures are visible behind the drapes of my tent mates; I guess the Legions had some special company last night. As I step out of the tent the smell of burned meat and drink fills my nostrils, I look around and find the encampment in complete disaster. Bottles lying all over, soldiers sleeping on the ground, roasting meat left to burn in the bonfires and not to mention the smell of regurgitated celebratory food coming from the puddles left all over the camp. I seriously missed a true Remanian party
My stomach begins to rumble so I start looking for something to eat. I flip over some plates and pick up an untouched hunk of cow ribs out of a pile of bones, I then pick up some bread and begin to eat while walking around the encampment. I finish off the bread and ribs and wash it off with a bottle of Blueberry Rum I picked up on the way, I find some burned meat on a spit which tasted a bit like a fleshy chicken. It’s turkey, haven’t had one since Capua.
Home, I’ll be hitting it in a few days now. Maybe I’ll finally get that normal life Uncle Servo wanted for us from the start. I picture Lurti and Molag married to their wives and raising children. I’ve always wanted to be the story telling type of uncle, one who’d tell the little nieces and nephews about the old day. But I on the other hand, I never pictured myself settling down with a family, in fact I don’t think I’ve ever pictured my future at all. I spent 5 years adapting to this hell, even though I lived in constant fear all the time.
There was a thrill that battle gave you that you wouldn’t feel anywhere else. The battle cries, the roar of gunfire, the cranking of war machines and the clashing of steel. I loved it; even though I missed Capua it seemed that the battlefield was beginning to feel like my first home.
I look at my hands and begin to take notice of how scarred they are. The rough spots in my palms show clear marks from the sword hilts and shield handles. My fingers are filled with so many scars there isn’t any smooth skin left. They barely resemble the hands that were owned by the butcher’s assistant all those years back. I wonder if I can even go back to being that kind of person, my time here has been my reality; you spend enough time in a hell, you’ll begin to think it’s a paradise. Now that is a nightmare, and I’m not even asleep.
I immediately begin to down the bottle of rum but then I stop myself when I remember Varkii in his drunken states, he would always cry when drunk while he would scream Uncle Servo’s name. The cause for his drunkenness was because it was he who found Uncle Servo’s dead body in our home. He vomited on the floor out of sheer fear and despair and cleaned his mouth by finishing a bottle of wine. He was only 12 when he became addicted to drinking.
I shudder at the thought of me becoming a drunk but the thought of changing my life again completely bothers me. I drop the bottle and slap myself a bit. “Shut up you idiot.” I tell myself as I stand up and continue walking around the camp.
It’s basically the same all around the camp, soldiers sleeping on the ground, puddles of vomit, meat burning on the fires and inside the tents I see the silhouettes of a man and a woman clearly visible through the drapes. I walk near the side of camp where the Knights and some officer’s tents were placed; there was a tent that was brightly decorated with the various images of Knights riding out into battle, woven into the tapestry. I recognized it immediately, nearly every soldier despised the owners of the tent; The Dwyle Clan, an arrogant group of young noblemen who bragged about their achievements of slaying scores of peasant villages who they allegedly believed were supporters of some Persian division that cut deep into Remanian Territory. But everyone knew the Dwyle Clan mainly consisted of glory hounds and inexperienced squires pretending to be Knights. I give the customary spit at the side of the tent as I pass it by while I continue towards the center of the camp itself. At the center stood over 15 Golden Lions perched on wooden blocks positioned on top of large banners. They were the Legionary Lions of the armies of the Northern Border. The Lions symbolized importance of Remas itself, every major Legion was given a Legionary Lions it meant that Remas has seen fit to trust that Legion in continuing a long term military campaign. The number of Legionary Lions a single Legion possesses gives it priority in requisitioning supplies and special war machines. In short, only the most decorated Legions were given Lions, because Remas was sure that those specific Legions would never fall. So far the Bright Tigers had 4. One more and they could request a Company of Spartan Vanguards.
I read the words inscribed on the base of each of the Lions, “All for the Glory of Remas.” The words were carved on a metal plate sticking on a platform, I think about the all the battles I’ve been through and all the blood that has touched my hands. I remember Riiger’s blood soaked Crucifix. I remember each and every fellow soldier who died in front of me. I look at my right arm and feel the bloody bandages wrapped tightly around them. “For the Glory of Remas” I mutter and walk back towards my tent as the sun slowly begins to rise.
“Every Legion is divided into two distinct units, Cadet Molag Broner, what are those units?” I freeze for a second but I take a short deep breath to break the anxiety. “Sir, every Legion is divided into Companies and the Companies are divided into Cohorts sir!.” “Correct Cadet Molag, now first and foremost what does a Legionnaire fight for Cadet Rook?” The Cadet in question was a bulky man, roughly around my age. He would always brag about his days as a young boxer. “The Legionnaire fights for the honor and the preservation of the Remanian Empire.” The Lanistae, clearly unimpressed lets out a harsh southland curse and punches Rook in the stomach, making him clutch his stomach in pain “Cadet Rook! Do you mean to tell me that your honor is more important than the lives of your fellow Legionnaires?” Rook straightens his posture and lets out
I had completely forgotten how great beer tasted like, over the past 5 years the only drink we’d ever taste was either 2 week fermented “wine” or on special days blueberry rum. But even blueberry rum begins to taste like stale water after 5 years. So the taste of cold malt beer was one of the few things I had been looking forward to since the treaty. Over the past 30 minutes since Lurti’s knock out, Varkii and I must have tried over five kinds of grain ales. Varkii being the smart drinker was barely drunk yet but as for me, it was the opposite. Like Lurti I always was a weak drinker but I wasn’t looking forward to getting passed out. “I’m going out for some air.” I tell Varkii as I stumble towards the door.
“Legionnaire Molag Broner Cohort 46 3rd Company 17th Legion Bright Tigers, I’m here to check for the belongings of deceased Legionnaire Riiger Clarion also from Cohort 46 17th Legion Bright Tigers.”“Riiger Clarion? Knew the lad, he’d be sending letters whenever he could. Good with the sword but bad with the shield. Not too smart for a Remanian I’ll wager”“That’s him indeed sir, we both grew up in New Capua and also went to New Capuan Military Academy. He almost didn’t make it because of his slow shield arm.”“
By nightfall I had already woken up and the rest of the camp was already considerably rowdy, the smell of roasting meat and nearly every type of ale in existence was everywhere. Normally on a “peaceful day” we would conduct some combat drills to stay in shape but the war was over. By some crack in the laws of war we were all discharged so there was no point in conducting any more drills. Lurti and Varkii were out there enjoying themselves drinking their own skulls off with the rest of their unit. Normally a soldier like me would just enjoy the party but I wasn’t in the mood to endure the noise of an entire Remanian Legion going drunk, I’ve seen it enough times when veterans try to forget where they are. I just wanted to find some peace and quiet so I could read Riiger’s Journal. So I grab a goat leg and opt instead to go back to Iasi alone so
“So soldier, would wine do you good today? I know you’re not here for the ale” The barmaid asks. “Oh no thank you, water would be fine.” I reply. She gives me a puzzled look and then says “There’s probably some boiled water that has cooled down. I’ll go fetch you some.” Before she leaves she gives me a small wink and walks towards the kitchen. I try to guess why she gave me a puzzled look till I remembered that inside any Remanian city; water is as filthy as a pig’s ass. In the battlefield clean water was easier to get by because we always left some buckets out for the rains. Here in the city people would rather drink ale and rum to avoid whatever diseases had cooked up in the water. Of course folks around would boil water but boiling hot water isn’t something you’d be drinking instantly. The barmaid arrived in a few minutes carrying a mug of
I wake up to the sting of cold water and the site of Varkii standing beside my bed with a bucket in his hand. Varkii, realizing I’m still half asleep pours another bucket of cold water at me. “What was that for!?” I yell at him as I get off the bed. “Get up strap on your armor, we don’t have time” This was the first time I had seen the whole Iasi camp under duress. Hundreds of soldiers were running around in full battle gear, I could hear the Centurion’s whistling along with the confusion of the many soldiers who had just woken up from their hangovers. “Varkii, what’s going on?” I ask him while I step off my bed desperately bearing through the pain in my leg while I search for my sword under a pile of bottles and pig bones. “There’
“Providence’s Mercy Lurti, my burned leg is killing me.” “Calm down Molag, just put on that Crimson Arrow oil when we can sit down and it’ll be good as new. Oh yes, hide that thing, it’s worth two bags of gold remember?.” Lurti and I had been following Centurion Trosdig for at least 3 minutes now; I didn’t realize how busy the camp was till I reached the camp’s main road. Dozens of riders and knights were frantically trying to clear the way for their horses while Engineers were pushing all manner of artillery into positions. The Grand Guns, sitting on their Coal Engines were already being positioned for mobilization; the sound of their hissing engines was something I would never get tired of. But the one thing that we Legionnaires would always leave us in awe was the sight of a Towergunner. The familiar roar of Remas’s fabled bipedal war machine could be heard echoing all
After what seemed like an entire day of formation planning, battle strategies and logistical drivel we were finally dismissed and allowed to leave. By the time we left the tent, all the Towergunners had left their bays and were positioned at the roads leaving camp. The hissing noise their engines made was grating to the ear, but was something everyone got used to. At the camp’s main road other companies were marching off to wherever they were being sent off to. I could see some of their faces; they all had the looks of frustration on them. The same look that even I and the officers of the 3rd