Night sets upon the bloodied silent plains, the cradle of the Human kin. Down in the burnt and trampled grassland, thousands of kin prepare to face the daily nightmare of sleeping by the fires of war.
Smokestacks from firepits in legionary forts and camps raise to the heavens, its tenders hoping to imitate the hope of their vanishing sun to face the coming night. The legionaries huddle together, they regale each other with myths and stories from decades back when the civil war started.
“I was there when Maximus died.”
“Hogwash, you was shoveling manure down in Goldswill.”
“Tall tales, that's all you Gurel are good for.”
Each legionary spoke in turn as they sat by the fire, two of them were Humans but the first one to speak was a Gurel from the far southern league cities. His dark pink oily skin glistened slightly against the light of the fire and his short face tentacles obscuring his mouth wriggled, as his mood soured at the words of his companions.
“Tall tales? Tall tales?! If that be tall tales explain this!” He uttered as he unsheathed his shortsword with his larger right arm tentacle and proudly displayed the engraving on it, of the letters “M.T IV”.
“Maximus Thrax's 4th Retinue, that be no tall tale. I was there when the bastard died.” The squid kin said with a hint of pride as he crossed his four tentacle legs, sprouting from underneath his armored skirt. “All of you's shoulda seen those first days after he died; felt like the whole world was coming to an end.”
The legionaries by the fire all quietened as they heard the old veteran and as the wind blew and the wood popped in the fire, the legionary continued.
“Fraternity, honor...what a load of crap. Once that ugly bastard was dead, none of those words stopped legionaries from stabbing each other.
It was legionari against patroli, patroli against centuri, centuri against bracari...
After Thrax died, not one kin, not one cared about a chain of command or honor. They just cared about how much they could plunder for themselves and how quickly they could usurp up the ranks.”
A mocking laugh erupted from the listening crowd of armored legionaries and opposite to the gurel, sat in full armor and helmet a Minar legionary. His deer like snout protruding from the tight fit standardized metal helmet and his brown body fur on his legs and arms meshing together with the dark red fabric, intersected in between the laminar armor plates on his chest and waist.
He stood up, clanking his two hooves against the dirt as he accused his companion. “If you're such a saint Orbel, then how did you survive the first days?” He questioned as he moved closer to the squid legionary and pointed his black fur tipped fingers to the old veteran.
“How do you think I survived, Eral?” The legionary paused for a second and looked to the listening group around the campfire, gauging their mood. “I killed the mastri!”
The campfire roared with laughter, toasting with their wooden cups as they heard the Gurel's response and as it died down he continued.
“We are Legionaries Eral, not Imperials. If we had any honor to begin with, Thrax wouldn't have split off from the Empire and declared himself Maximus.
Now he's dead and we are all paying the price of his pride...waiting for one mythical commander to come along and unite us free legions, as if that will ever happen.” The legionary finished as he sheathed his sword again and peered off into the distance, beyond the camp walls and deep into the plain where masterless legions of men fought with one another.
A young human recruit however dared to speak, as he gazed to the heavens and the emerging stars. “It will happen. The fact we are all here together now proves the legions can be united again.”
The legionaries both groaned and laughed as they heard the words from the newly impressed recruit and from his side, emerged an elderly human recruit whose wrinkles matched the layers of his armor. “Son, it will be quicker for the Gods to fall or the Empire to catch us than it is for the legions to ever be united again.
The Bracari and the Legani, they rule with might and fear. It's been like that ever since Thrax. Legionaries are like hungry wolfs now, at the merest sight of weakness they spring to attack against their betters, to take their place...until the day they too become weak.”
The elderly veteran stopped as if to remind himself of better days, when being a legionary meant more than being a plunderer and a raider upon unsuspecting settlements and villages. He raised his finger as if to preach to the hungry wolfs around him, opening his mouth...but he stopped. “What's the point.” He thought, as his preaching changed to a warning. “As long as the legions are ruled by fear and might young one, there will never be unity.”
The young recruit however was unmoved and he retorted. “Then we should change how things are done.
My uncle always told me stories of how the Legionaries protected villages and settlements from wild monsters and dragons! We can still help people, just need the chance.”
The legionaries now were beginning to scatter and move again with their individual conversations, as companions went to companions singing songs and drinking their watered down alchohol.
In the middle of the reverie though, the old man smiled at the young recruit and said with a saddened yet comforting smile. “Oh you poor child. Those times are long gone now...I'm sad to say but nowadays the legions themselves are more of a danger to settlements and villages in the silent plain than any monsters that might still be unlucky enough to lurk here.
What's your name child?”
“Gunar! Gunar Merigold.” The young adult said, clearly proud of a family name that was meaningless in the vast desolate plains.
“Gunar...how did you come to join our Bracaria?” The old veteran asked, interested in why anyone would still willing come to the slaughterhouse that was the birth lands of all humans.
“I...I always wanted to be a warrior. My family is from the Sigi towns, so we don't get much action. So couple weeks ago, I snuck out of home and crossed the border to the Silent Plain and joined the first legion that would take me. It turned out to be you guys.” The boy said as his face began to blush to a light shade of red.
“I see.” The old man merely said with a sigh, he tried to avoid his gaze towards the boy. His face and story reminded him of the countless of dead comrades left now to fertilize the soil of the silent plain. He rose up with some difficulty and said as he turned away from the boy. “You might become a warrior yet, now if you'll lose yourself...that's for you to decide.”
Night had now fully established itself, the camp occupied half a hill in the middle of the open plain, nesting itself solidly against the hill's north face.
The camp itself wasn't that large, a standard legionary camp, big enough to host twenty men plus a small array of slaves, or auxiliari as they were called.
The camp was surrounded by a shallow moat and a wooden wall, that more resembled a fence, as it was made from various gathered wooden sticks and twigs. Deeper inside, the camp was organized into six tents.
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The first five housed the legionaries, with each tent holding three Legionari and one Patroli, the leader of the four-men tent and said legionari squad. The fith tent held three Legionari and the Mastri, the leader of the entire camp and the highest ranking soldier present currently from the Bracaria that they owed their allegiance to.
The last tent housed the slaves and it did not have a set number, being able to fit as many slaves as the Mastri saw fit.
Besides the tent the only sort of building was a shoddily built watchtower, that offered a lone legionary, armed with a brass horn view of the surrounding plains and any approaching party.
The air had started to become cold and quiet, but suddenly the horn sounded throughout the entire camp, signaling the arrival of the camp's Equestris, the mounted legionaries.
“Scouts in the grass!” The lone legionary atop the guard tower screamed to the camp floor as he set his brass horn aside.
Below him, the legionaries all rose up from their campfires and tents and rushed to greet their four brave scouts.
“Mirius! What sights have you?” An old grey and white furred minar in armor, Eldi, the Mastri of the camp, stepped forward to ask. His white-snow beard dangling from his chin, as he leaned atop his shield.
From atop a steed of white and brown, a human legionary dressed in simple light clothes, complemented by a red cloak prepared to speak to the gathering crowd.
His hair was short, trimmed, befitting a military style, he was clean shaven and his lightly scarred face showed signs of a kin who had seen his share of battles, even if his soft and cleaned hands and arms betrayed how rough and hardy his military involvement had actually been.
“Bad news, Mastri Eldi. We are being trailed by a whole camp, possibly from Gustaf's Bracaria.” The rider said with a heavy tone as his fellow riding equestri, nodded in confirmation.
Below, the legionaries all erupted into arguing and shouting matches as each pointed and sought to give their piece to the highest official in the camp, the old armored minar, looking more like a goat in his old age, than as a deer as was customary of his Kinship.
A legionary cried. “But we fended off one of Gustaf's camps a few days ago.”
Another yelled back “That was Lycius's camp you idiot!”
“Quiet!” The old goat screamed to the heavens as he began to glare to the dissenting legionaries all around him. He moved his hands as if to grasp for the sword on his belt and as he did, all around him the legionaries went quiet. Fearing against the reprisal by the old master of their camp.
“If what you say is true, Mirius. We are in a lot of trouble...How far away are they?” The old goat asked as his voice echoed in the entire camp.
“A few hours away, by our estimation they should be right on our doors by midnight.” Mirius said with a fearful tone.
“Hmm.” The old goat pondered, his thoughts as heavy as the armor he wore. He stroked his beard with his grey fur tipped fingers as they contrasted with his elderly white body fur. “This is indeed a predicament...you certain it was Gustaff's Bracaria?”
“Well, it was a bit hard to be certain.” Mirius answered as he began to comb his memory. “We were caught by surprise and had to leave in a hurry but we are fairly certain by their dark blue scarfs, that they were indeed Gustaf's.” Mirius said as his fellow equestri all bowed down their heads, not wanting to be held responsible by the camp's Mastri.
“Hmm, well if it is Gustaf's lot we should be fine. They wouldn't dare to attack us at night. They always prefer morning engagements. Besides they will surely be too tired by the long march towards us.
We will need to prepare for it though.” The old goat finished as he looked to the crowd around him, looking for the four Patroli and he called. “Ermand, Hanri, Arnaut, Orbel, get your tents ready and outfitted properly for tomorrow's combat, we will have breakfast before sunrise.
I will have my tent do extra night duty tonight.” The goat finished as each of the four Patroli stepped forwards and saluted the Mastri.
“Sir with all due respect, three extra men for night duty hardly seems apro-”
“Are you questioning my orders, legionari?” The old goat scowled at Mirius atop his high horse.
“What? No, sir I am just concerned about the camps safety.” Mirius said as he unmounted his rank's namesake and knelt before the old goats level.
“Is that so?” The old goat glared to his underling, as while Mirius knelt, he still towered above the Mastri. “If you are so concerned about the camps safety, how about we put you on slave duty tonight, Mirius?”
Mirus sighed silently and as he bit his lip he uttered. “It would be my honor, sir.”
“Good! Then it's settled. Alright everyone back to your positions!” The old goat yelled as he clapped his hands and slowly the legionaries uneasily dispersed back to their campfires and legends.
“A bloodbath is heading towards us and he doesn't even care. Maybe I should just cut you lose, huh girl?” Mirius spoke quietly as he pulled on his horse towards the far end of the camp, where the Auxiliari dwelt and worked to maintain the basic necessities of the camp.
“Nah, you are probably still safer here than on your own out there. I would feel awful if some plains thief got its hands on you.”
“Well, look who it is, everyone's favorite knight. Want me to give you some time alone with your wife?” A scornful cry came out from the nearby fire pit, where close to the entrance of the tent, four of the camps seven auxiliary had gathered up. Each had their own distinct sets of clothing, unique to the homes from which they had been snatched from and made slaves. Now forced to wear a distinctive tied red piece of fabric around their necks, that for now branded them as slaves.
“Well, horse got your tongue?” A plucky young human woman with short blond hair, called again to Mirius, her brown peasant tunic and beige pants and her distinctive accent marked her as a local girl, stolen away from some random independent settlement that still dared to survive in the war torn plains.
“Hello, Enna. Good to see you tonight.” Mirius said with a respectful bow as he tied his horse to a nearby pole.
“What do you want, Mirius?” An extremely elderly man, bald and dressed in a grey robe asked, as he finished mending the sandals of one of the camps legionaries.
“I'm meant to stay with you tonight, got slave watch duty.” He said with a worried expression.
“Oh please, as if anyone would be stupid enough to try to brave it alone out here. There's a reason you don't shackle us.” Enna clapped back as Mirius got close to the fire and sat on the dirt besides the Auxiliari.
“You know, Enna, you don't have to be so hostile to me. I was an auxiliari too once.” Mirius said as he raised his hands to the fire and warmed himself.
“I don't care if you were the goddamn Prince of Len, your precious army burned down our villages and kidnapped us! I am never, ever becoming like you.” Enna ended as she spat into Mirius face.
To which in response the equestri, cleaned it with his hand and said. “You treat all legionari like this?” Enna simply glared back. “I can't blame you. The Bracarias methods aren't...ideal.”
“Oh is that dissent I hear?” A human male auxiliari, no older than fourteen and the youngest person in the entire camp, asked as he continued to sharpen the various piles of weapons he had at his side.
“Not really dissent, more of...reform maybe.” Mirius said as he too grabbed one of the swords from his pile and began to help sharpen it. “The Legions can't continue going as they are, honestly its a miracle that somehow the Empire hasn't decided to attack any of us yet.
That aside, the way they operate is just completely unsustainable. We forcefully enlist villagers, we destroy settlements for supplies...for the dredgers sake, this war has completely deforested the entire plain, we have to use sticks for fences instead of palisade walls now! It's ridiculous.”
“And how would you change anything, young Mirius?” The elderly auxiliari asked as he put aside the sandals he had been working on.
“I don't know...I tell you what, I would end this whole slavery thing, that and the whole auxiliari to legionari system. How can you expect loyalty from people who's lives you took away? No, any functioning army needs its soldiers to want to be there.”
“Ah! That would be the day. If you did that I might start to actually respect you. Just a little bit.” Enna said with a smile as the thougth of freely killing legionaries began to flood her head.
“Why did you decide to join them, Mirius?” The young auxiliari asked, as he looked to Mirius face.
“I...I don't know. Felt maybe I could do some good, maybe actually help someone, that and I hoped I would get less beatings as legionari than I got as an auxiliari.
Of course I quickly realized there won't be any good to be made, as long as the current legionary system is still in place at least. That and I actually got more beatings when I became a legionari than I ever got as an auxiliari.”
Enna let out a laugh as she heard Mirius, a laugh that she quickly disguised and pretended had not happen.
“Well, perhaps one day we will have our wishes granted, young Mirius.” The elderly auxiliari uttered as he prepared to raise up and sleep in the bedroll inside the tent.
“Oh yeah? Whats your wish, Atlas?” Mirius asked as he continued to polish and help the young auxiliari.
“To write about the end of this civil war, young Mirius, and the one or ones who will do it. That is after all, why I came to this land in the first place. Goodnight.” Atlas excused himself as he left and one by one, the auxiliaries ended their tasks with Mirius help and off they went to their crowded tent to fall asleep until the next day of servitude.
Still, something loomed heavy upon Mirius.
A growing shadow of doubt over the coming confrontation with the pursuing camp, something deep inside, his instincts, his experience maybe even the Gods kept him from falling into the realm of Luna, the Goddess of dreams.
Out there in the dark plain, clouds were gathering and he had to choose had to decide what to do.