“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

“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

The perimeter we formed was basically still the Hammer formation but with us surrounding the Towergunners and the Captain. Lurti and Trosdig were then called off to an officer’s meeting; ironically now that I wasn’t a scribe I had felt rather envious of my replacement Leris. All these events, the expression on the Captain’s face, it all felt rather intriguing. Why was the General ordering us to arrest Lord Rubin Gavlin? And why did it need roughly 600 soldiers and 3 of Da Vinci’s war machines to arrest him? I ask Varkii and the rest in my squad and they felt the same. “When this is all over, I want to have a long chat with the Captain” Varkii says rather angrily. One of the older soldiers in the squad Joram puts his hand on Varkii’s shoulder and calms his down. Joram was a rather quiet soldier and also one of the oldest. He was bald but his eyebrows were white giving us an idea of what his age was, h

So I do the only thing I can possibly do at this moment, end his suffering; I draw my carbine and shoot the dying boy’s head, which is soon followed by a kick to the face from the knight in front of me. … “The only son of Caesar that has the right to be a successor is the son that has served as a Knight of Remas.” It was something that was taught in every school house. A Knight was a hero, he was what every young boy aspired to become. But these knights that were standing in front of me weren’t real knights; they weren’t the war heroes that every soldier cheered for whenever they rode into battle. These were the arrogant scum that everyone secretly or som

“You think it’s odd how the whole camp is not worried after those attacks?” Pal’lacon asks me as we lazily look at the storm slowly filling up the valley with water. “A few angry unpaid mercenary barbarians turned bandits are not things to be worried about, I bet the others are more worried about missing Mistress Raletia’s dance show back in Iasi. After all, we did survive the Persians.” I reply. Pal’lacon nods his head and lights up his pipe again. “That’s not what worries me, I just don’t want to watch another bleeding farm boy get shot in the head” “You weren’t the one who shot him, old man” I reply while throwing stones at the mud. “I’m sorry Molag, I understand you’ve never done that---” “Done what? I’ve killed dozens if not hundreds before I killed that boy. What’s another nameless person on my list?” I find myself rather surprised at the outburst. “Sorry, it’s just