“Reform lines! There’s another one!” Trosdig screams while trying his best to balance himself on a pilum, while aiming his carbine at a single large barbarian. The man charging at us was covered in a large brown cloak and he seemed to be nearly twice the height of a normal man and he was covered in burning bolts from the cluster shells. The barbarian wasn’t carrying any weapons at all and he ran in a limping manner. I join the others and fire at him, but nothing seems to faze him. The gunners also begin firing at him, but he just kept lumbering on. One soldier throws his pilum at the barbarian hitting him on the left shoulder, it barely seemed to hurt him. “Throw pilums!” Trosdig screams again. A few more pilums hit the barbarian, but he continued to move. A cluster shell detonates above the barbarian, coating him in more burning metal bolts and yet he still lumbered on.

Trosdig then blows a whistle and in comes a number of wagons filled with barrels and crates filled with drink. “Courtesy of the taverns of Iasi, You’ve earned it!” The men cheer in unison as our benefactors split open the barrels and crates revealing ale and various bottles of liquor. Like the rest of the company I join the revelry as we are thrown bottles of rum, wine and pints of ale. But I see something strange in the corner of my eye, a man was shaking hands with Trosdig, it wasn’t the Captain nor was it any of the other Centurions. It was a man who was sporting a bright red sash over something that resembled Praetorian armor. But then I realize his face is familiar, it looked like the man the Captain was riding with back in Gravlin Valley. It was somehow unnerving, but then the curiosity disappeared as both my brothers throw me a bottle of my favorite liquor, Blueber

After forming up, a group of officers led us to a set of habitation tents near the perimeter of the Southern walls of the fort, from which we were split up and assigned to the tents by squad. “Get some rest, you’re moving out before dawn and meeting up with the rest of the legion at the main fortress.” Says one of the Officers, we salute in response and begin unpacking. Trosdig had again released me as scribe after remembering my bad arm and took in Frederick this time. Once we settled by the tents, Cub passes by and I strike up a conversation with me “I thought there was a meeting?” I ask him “

I had faced disrespect in the past, disrespect from my brothers, and disrespect from strangers, from officers, prisoners, enemies and so forth. The irritation that follows is something I have never outgrown so what followed next was a flurry of fists, curses and more spit as I wrestled the tattooed legionnaire to the ground. My opponent fought back as hard as any Remanian soldier was expected to and so did I. He struck back by punching at my ribs as I tried to land an elbow strike to his face, I clinch through the pain and go through with the attack as I feel his nose crack under my elbow. But despite that attack he is able to flip me over and then begins to deliver strike down on my face with a series of quick punches. I block with arms and catch one arm and use it

“Retreat! Fall back!” echoed the all the other Legionnaires running towards us down the hill. Despite the confusion, Trosdig’s defiant orders could be heard amidst the deafening screams of fear. “Hold you cowards!” He screamed as he drew his sword and lifted it up into the sky. A shiver begins to crawl throughout my entire body. My fingers begin to uneasily shake. “Forward” Screamed our Centurion, and so we marched up the hill through the throng of our fear stricken comrades, some who were covered by terrifyingly large splatters of blood adorning their gear. We continued to mutter prayers and hum songs of encouragement until it became terrifyingly clear that we were not facing an enemy of the usual sort as the ring of its engine and the whirl of its blade