-
> What is this trick?
>
> Some fiend’s hairy tick? She mused in her sleep.
>
> Mistress? Good Sister?
>
> Where am I? Is this a vision?
>
> She paused behind the elegant ivory stool hearing heavy steps coming towards the door. It cracked open and a wiry human entered. Square jaw and curly black hair nicely trimmed with some grey in them. Clad in heavy segmented armour, polished metal strips gleaming as the lightstones luminance reflected on them. Metal shoulder pads flaring outwards and thick arms gesturing for several soldiers to remain outside but for another officer that followed him inside. The second human was about forty-years old and had a badly healed arm but he used it to close the door behind them.
>
> They both had crimson tunics worn underneath their fancy armour and swords strapped on their waists. The first human paused inside the large room and he’d a handsome face for sure, clever eyes and a surprisingly spirited aura for a military grunt.
>
> “You think they are lying?” The first human officer asked the second and the man shrugged his shoulders. “We need those ships to get back. That’s a big swim otherwise and you’re getting up there in years friend.”
>
> “Maybe they are not here but the moment I trust Horselords, I’ll cut my other arm off Antonius,” his colleague replied curtly and the first human made a grimace.
>
> “How are you going to use yer cock then? It bothers you now a lot and you’ve got a spare hand sort of. Hah-hah!” He chuckled freely but stopped abruptly when he heard a sharp knock from the door. “Yes!” This foul-mouthed Antonius barked and a reply came she missed. “You sure? A slave from Goras? Let her in lads!”
>
> The door opened again and a striking slave girl entered with her face partially hidden behind a shrill mesh veil. Tall, fit and long limbed. She was dressed in a typical Eplas outfit, the lower parts of that dreamy skirt flowing over her legs as she approached the two rigid officers.
>
> “You know what?” Antonius decided whilst watching the slave girl placing a platter with refreshments and various fruits on a nearby table.
>
> “I’ll check on the roster sir. See if anyone is missing,” the other officer replied reading his mind and saluted raising his fist.
>
> “Check the taverns if they are.”
>
> “Yes sir.”
>
> The first officer waited for him to exit and then turned to the silent slave girl that had parked her barely covered bottom on the table next to the platter. She returned his penetrating stare, her sandaled legs swinging back and forth hypnotically.
>
> Well, well. She thought intrigued.
>
> “And the King declared so everyone present could listen -all histories reveal, my brave Marcus-Antonius never wanted for anything but always ventured forth ever proactive,” she hummed in perfect Common from memory. “Public words that forced a jealous author’s hand to write it down.”
>
> “Where are them big ears lass?” Antonius asked brusquely not liking her candor. The memories not as pleasant for him. “Does the palace shy away from employing Zilan servants?” He asked and walked near the much younger female.
>
> Much as she tried to make out her face she just couldn’t. She didn’t know her. Never met her. Nor him. It was interesting for certain. But why am I dreaming of this? She wondered forming rhymes in her sleep. What is this strange sense of bliss?
>
> “In this realm and until the end of time, everyone is my servant,” the brash slave girl had replied in a pompous manner and the officer had cracked up deafeningly.
>
> “That’s quite a lot. In the meantime, how about you clean a couple of oranges for us lass,” Antonius finally retorted with a disbelieving grin. “And help me with these darn boots. It’s an old pair. Well-traveled but you’ll take them off easily I’m sure. Then lose the garbs and bring everything to the bed over there. Perhaps then you’ll tell me more about Goras.”
>
> “The latter shall give you no pleasure,” she had replied throatily. “The former would but it might also sever your life’s thread. What shall the slain tiger’s favorite general choose this time?”
-
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Marcus-Antonius Merenda
A pair of boots
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-
> First Legion
>
> Abbreviated | ‘The Legion’, ‘Odio Patiantur Dum Timent’*, ‘First’, ‘the Army’, ‘Primo de Brutis’, RCEMR-I)
>
> Panthera Tigris | Reddish bronze, silver and gold standard representing the head of a soberly contemplating Blacktiger, very similar to Regia’s gold non-snarling banner, the royal Aldenus family crest and the 3rd Legion’s roaring Blacktiger emblem used in banners and armour. Legatus Merenda added a rectangular metal plaque containing in large gold letters the phrase Per Virtutem followed by the abbreviation RCEMR (Rex, Consul et Exercitus de Magna Regia) under the sculpted head in 194 NC, a now famed acronym in archaic Lorian that translates ‘By virtue of the King, Consul & Army of Greater Regia’ which all other Regia Legions adopted soon after.
>
>
>
>
>
> Organizational chart*
>
> During the restructuring that happened after the battles of the Lorian Plains throughout 194 NC
>
> Overall strength ~3000?
>
> -Legio general staff not included, supply train personnel not included
>
> -2600-2800 legionnaires. (Almost 2000 of them taken from the first Cohort)
>
> ~200? Other units mainly engineers and rangers.
>
>
>
> Legatus | Marcus-Antonius Merenda (One of Sir Seleucid’s many legitimized bastards. The youngest Legatus ever in the history of the Legions. He was five years younger from Caesar Lucius I and seven from King Lucius III who were the other two at the time that he got promoted in 194 NC. A Quadrumvir, the ‘most skilled but also unpredictable of the bunch’ according to Sirio Veturius’ description of him and the ‘handsomest officer that ever donned the Lorica Segmentata after Tribune Trupo’ according to the Tribune himself, who considered Merenda’s lack of a prominent mustache a big minus.)
>
> Aide de Legatus | Prefect (of general’s staff) Domus (Gold Phalera recipient. Maimed. Transferred from the 2nd Cohort of the 3rd Legion. Promoted twice in a few months by Merenda. A lowborn, his family worked the Merenda family lands historically and the Legatus childhood friend.)
>
> 1st Prefect | Memon, (Legatus Ligur’s old aide du Camp. Promoted to Prefect by Ligur just before he committed suicide. Represented the old guard of the First Legion. A lowborn.)
>
> Optio | Damian ‘milord’ Holt (Asturia, Regia. His father Robart Holt, former director in the Bank of Trust’s main office in Cediorum, was third cousin to the Duke of Asturia and a financial advisor to King Lucius. A political appointment.)
>
> 2nd Prefect Damascus (Sabretooth Castle, Regia. A young member of the old guard. His family associated with Baron Scylla.)
>
> 3rd Prefect (of engineers) | Servius Celsus (Cartagen. Legendary engineer. The inventor of ‘mounted artillery’. Injured in the battle for the Lorian Plains.)
>
> Quartermaster | Ninius Arminus, also Keeper of the Purse.
>
> Panthera Tigris Signifer | Centurion (Honoraris) Sextus Crassus (Aldenfort. Member of the old guard. Famously stepped forward and surrendered the trapped First Legion’s defenders to King Lucius at the waning stages of the Lorian Plains battle.)
>
> Centurion Primus Pilus, ‘Retired’ Glycia (1st Cohort. Serving for a second twenty-five year term. The unit’s moniker ‘Old Mother’ also attributed to him, an affectionate term as it basically birthed all other Cohorts after the 194 NC reorganization. Very influential member of the old guard in the First Legion and Ligur’s favorite field officer.)
>
> Decanus, Cornelius Pilatus. (Vinterfort)
>
> Camp Sergeant, Furius Tasius ‘the second’. (Alden)
>
> Centurion ‘Ravenous’ Indus (2nd Cohort. Transferred from the 3rd Legion. He had also served under Merenda there. Several soldiers had petitioned the King to follow the Legatus in his new command but Lucius ordered Trupo to stop accepting the transfers after a while.)
>
> Legionnaires (attached) Vegetius and Cucan. (The ‘Praetorians’. Hailing from Cartagen, decorated legionnaires and members of the Legatus inner circle. Transferred from the 3rd Legion but while in the 2nd Cohort they stayed near the Legatus acting as his personal bodyguards.)
>
>
>
> -
>
>
>
> *Archaic expression attributed to Magnus Lucius I that translates -‘let them suffer in hate, so long as they fear us.’
>
> *Archaic Lorian -‘First of the Brutes.’
>
>
-
First Legion’s Castrum
Between the shores of Alden Gulf and the westernmost edge of Al’Den Desert
Seven kilometers north of Sabretooth Castle
Twenty-five kilometers from the junction to Timberville and South Greenforest
2nd of Sextus, summer of 194 NC
Poor Sextus Celsus has the look of a man that has had his arse-cheek grabbed whilst waiting in line outside the forum with punched ticket in hand, Merenda thought with a quick glance at the desert sun that boiled their heads inside the helmets. And now stands uncertain whether to protest at the indignity or relax and present both arse-cheeks.
“Fresh cack just turned to stone Celsus,” Merenda scolded the shocked engineer. “At least give us answer so we can return in the fucking shade my good officer!”
The Prefect of engineers stood back with a scowl and glanced at the frowned Memon. “Don’t look at him,” Merenda jested but it was a warning also. “Vegetius did you give me the wrong armour to put on today? You illiterate goose. The helm is digging my skull in lad!” He scolded him reasonably and the sweaty legionnaire stepped forward.
“The Legatus has only one armour,” a solemn Vegetius stated to the officers present.
“One pair of boots, a single pair of old sandals, an army-issued tunic and as of yesterday one chiton since I had to toss the other one away due to the ungodly odor! Right Cucan?”
Legionnaire Cucan cleared his throat and replied in a small voice.
“Aye sir.”
“What was that?” Merenda snapped angrily. “Am I turning deaf? Good grief!”
“No sir,” Cucan assured him in a bigger voice. “The chiton was discarded.”
“Why?” Merenda asked tapping the front of his hobnailed boot on the ground.
“It reeked sir!” The soldier bellowed.
“Aha! There’s a good lung,” Merenda agreed and turned to Celsus with an animated gesture that meant ‘told you so’.
“Legatus you should speak to Arminus,” Celsus started but a flushed Antonius stopped him placing a hand on Celsus chest armour.
The metal burned underneath.
“Now Prefect, you are correct in a sense,” Merenda agreed and retrieved his hand to wipe the sweat from his chin. “But… ah, let me repeat myself.” He glanced at the nearby entrance of the headquarters building at the center of the Castrum. “We talked of necessities right?”
“Rebuilding the artillery—”
“Tyeus spear! Give me the time to finish,” the Legatus cut him off abruptly and then smiled to soften it. “I have to gather spit given the heat else the tongue sticks to the palate and it forces me to talk slow so as not to lisp.”
“Yes sir,” a miffed Celsus yielded, looking more depressed than the day he’d surrendered to Merenda months back at Holt’s Stables.
“After your proposal I offered counter didn’t I?”
“The Legatus wanted a roof build over the entrance extending four meters to create shade,” Celsus repeated now sounding strangled.
“I did! Hah-hah!” Merenda guffawed his mood on the opposite spectrum and grinned broadly.
“It’s not in the regulations sir.”
“And mounted artillery is?”
“It’s a far better use of resources.”
I can see now why Ligur had you operating as far from him as he could.
“Says who? Didn’t I just explain the need for the Legatus to inspect the troops without…?” He paused unsure. “What was the metaphor Vegetius?”
“Cack turned to stone sir.”
“Gruesome.” Antonius agreed with a grimace. “Imagine a dried up turd watching the men Prefect. You’re suggesting I’ll speak to the Quartermaster about it?”
Celsus pursed his mouth. “A simple extension with a couple of posts supporting it?” He asked tiredly.
“Basic comforts and rudimentary architecture,” Merenda nodded. “Not asking you to build an amphitheater Celsus.”
“I’ll have the men work on it on the morrow,” Celsus yielded.
“Good then. Ah, remember to place the divan near the wall, under the window.”
“The divan sir?”
“It’s like an armchair but thrice the size and a bit wider,” Merenda explained. “Usually escorted by a short rectangular table. You can sit on it but also have a foot up to stretch your legs or take a short nap with the help of a pillow.”
“Legatus,” Memon started but Merenda puffed out in exasperation and gestured for him to wait.
“I’ll need an answer Celsus so we can all move on. Sweat is running down my legs like piss friend. It’s an unseemly sight.”
“I’ll see to it,” Celsus hissed through his teeth and Merenda let out a sigh of relief.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
“At last. We got a bit of progress,” he decided and waved the engineer and officer away.
“Legatus how is rebuilding the headquarters useful at this point?” Memon asked when Celsus marched away.
“It improves my mood Prefect,” Antonius explained and grimaced feeling his head about to explode inside the helm. “Order the men to wear scarfs when in the sun.”
“They can endure it sir. What does the Legatus’ mood have to do with changing the building regulations?”
“Progress Prefect and morale. Do you know what the best remedy for the gloominess that permeates the camp is?”
“I stand baffled as to the association Legatus.”
“You’re looking at it,” Merenda explained soberly. “If I’m in a good mood then it trickles down the ranks and everyone has a smile on their face.”
Memon stared inquiringly at the face of Prefect Domus, the man had his left arm mangled especially at the fingers with two of them too crooked to close properly.
“He’s serious,” Domus replied to the officer’s silent query. “The Legatus can spun a simulating story when in a good mood. Most times it births results.”
Leaving it vague as to what those results might be.
“Here’s a medical advice for free,” Merenda told them casting a sour glare at his friend. “We either get back inside or ride to Sabretooth.”
“The Baron is indisposed,” Memon grunted. “His aide is with the 2nd Cohort for exercises.”
“Thank the gods,” Merenda retorted. “I was going to visit the shoemaker. Waiting for the Baron to receive us had my feet sprout several corns and calluses the other day. Hah. And they say you can’t grow crap in the desert!”
----------------------------------------
Merenda rode his horse to the gates of the Castrum straight from the Praetorium followed by his aide Domus and the two legionnaires Vegetius and Cucan. He stopped at the twin tower-reinforced Porta Praetoria (the main gates were facing south) and returned the gates camp sergeant salute.
“Legatus sir!” The minor officer boomed and the soldiers standing on the two small wooden towers thumped a pair clenched fists on their chests.
“At ease sergeant…”
“Tasius Furius the second sir.”
“That’s a great name sergeant,” Merenda applauded him.
“Gratitude sir. It was my grandfather’s.”
“You hail from Alden?” Merenda asked.
“Aye sir. Our Decanus is from Vinterfort.”
The Decanus on duty stepped out of the small office inside the east tower and saluted the mounted Legatus.
“Decanus Pilatus is it?” Merenda asked with a smile despite the sweat rivulets running down his neck.
“Yes sir,” the Decanus replied. “Will the Legatus head for the city?”
“Well my dear Pilatus,” Merenda retorted in jest. “The Legatus wasn’t aware we had this kind of relationship.”
Tasius had a comic expression on his face, torn between cracking up and remaining serious in front of the officers.
“Good gods! Does the First have no sense of humor?” Merenda wondered aloud.
“Sir, ahm… I was… a merchant passed by and left us eight sacks with dates,” the Decanus explained.
“How wonderful of him to make the detour,” Merenda commented.
“Arminus has a patrol stopping caravans on the road sir,” Decanus Pilatus elucidated on the reason with an uncomfortable grimace.
“Is there a purpose to our Quartermaster’s practice?” Merenda asked civilly and swung a leg over the saddle to climb down from his mount.
“He makes orders and they bring supplies back on their return,” the Decanus replied.
“Do continue while I stand in the shade for a while,” Merenda said and untied his helm to wipe his drenched face with a cloth.
“I still have them, the dried Dates sir.”
“In there?” Merenda asked and pointed at the tiny office space under the tower.
“Yes sir.”
“Let’s have a taste boys,” a grinning Merenda suggested and walked inside, mostly to avoid the sun. He sat on a stool, found a bronze bowl with water on the small table where he deposited his bulky helm and poured its contents over his head. Merenda had stooped between his legs first not to make a mess of his clothes.
“Ah,” the Legatus gasped letting the water drip from his head and then rubbed his face with both hands. “Any piss in the bowl Pilatus?”
“No sir.”
“Good,” Merenda replied and accepted a handful of Dates from the Decanus. He munched on them some and then signaled with his eyes for the Decanus to have some as well. Pointed at the watching them from outside the door sergeant Tasius and the two Legionnaires with Domus. “Go on then. Spread the wealth dear Pilatus,” he urged the Decanus in between chomps.
They savored the merchant’s Dates for a while in silence and then Merenda got up and retrieved his plumed helm. “Keep a sack at the gates for the different shifts Decanus. Let Arminus take the rest.”
“Yes sir.” Pilatus said with a smile.
Right.
“Boys finish up here,” Merenda ordered his escort and heard a horse approaching. “Stand behind the walls though. We don’t want someone seeing us from outside and thinking this is a Cofol bazaar.”
He waited for them to relocate next to the wall, still standing under the shade of the gatehouse. The mounted officer reached them and stopped his horse.
“Optio Holt,” he greeted the Asturia officer. “I was hoping to depart soon. Are my plans to be foiled?”
“Legatus Merenda,” the stiff young officer said trying to keep his nervous horse under control. “I have some paperwork for you to sign.” He was having trouble getting the scrolls out of this satchel with one hand.
“Vegetius help him,” Merenda ordered the munching legionnaire and he walked to the officer with a grimace. “Holt I’ve business to attend to,” Merenda said a little impatiently.
“Just a couple of matters Legatus,” the Optio replied after stepping on solid ground. He glanced unsure for a moment at Vegetius, the soldier was masticating with enthusiasm whilst eyeing the Optio tauntingly and then approached the pouting Merenda.
“Prefect Damascus has sent a report from Timberville,” Damian Holt started, at eighteen he was the youngest officer in the Legion with Merenda being second as Domus was a year older than him. The Legatus was in turn six years older than the young Optio.
“Is it lengthy?”
“Ahm…” Holt looked at his pack of scrolls. “A page and a bit more sir.”
“I’ll take it with me,” Merenda speeded him along with a curt sign for Prefect Domus to pick up the scrolls. “Unless it says the Horselords have him surrounded. Then you might need to sound the alarm.”
“No sign of Horselords near Timberville sir.”
“Good. That would have been bothersome,” Merenda taunted. “What’s the next one Optio? I had dipped my head in water but I feel it evaporating at a rapid pace. It’s uncomfortable and a tad itchy.”
“Legatus,” Holt gasped.
“We’ve established that Optio go on,” Merenda urged him with a roll of his eyes.
“We have a lack of horses but the men to create a cavalry unit is there.”
“I’m aware,” Merenda replied. “Any solutions? The matter sort of tied up my hands as you’re aware.”
“We need more horses’ sir?”
“Clearly. I was hoping for something more useful. What does the other papyrus say?”
“It’s an official proposal by Prefect Celsus. He wishes to enter it in the record sir.”
Merenda grimaced. “It’s about the Scorpios again.”
“Yes sir. Now we could accommodate thirty at this junction given the material present at the stores—”
Merenda stopped him raising his left hand, fingers kept together. “The engineers are busy rebuilding the Praetorium.”
“Yes sir but…”
“Can I finish? I had another reason,” Merenda stopped him.
“Of course sir.”
“What did we just establish not a minute ago?” The Legatus asked with a sigh and got the dirty cloth out to wipe his sweaty face again.
“Eh. The engineers—”
“Before that. Domus?” Merenda asked impatiently.
“I’m pretty sure our Legatus is referring to the horses Optio,” Domus helped the confused Holt.
“The lack of them Optio,” Merenda picked up from where his Aide had stopped. “Is a fact yes? It is. Which is why we can’t have a proper cavalry at this point. We got the manpower for it, as in lads that can ride a horse and all that fuzz, but what good is a dashing horseman without a horse?”
“We have sixty six horses sir,” Optio Holt argued.
“Split between the rangers, the officers and the fast patrols,” Merenda explained. “A mounted Scorpio needs two horses to pull at the cart. That means sixty horses at the minimum will be absorbed there. Celsus will have us all walk to Sabretooth dear Holt. In this heat not many will make it.”
Holt grimaced and stared at his papers.
“Domus retrieve Celsus report,” Merenda ordered and his Aide stepped forward. He took the scroll from the Optio’s hands. Domus then proceeded to crumble it in his fist. “Right. Anything else?” Merenda asked when the vellum was sufficiently destroyed.
“I don’t have anything else sir.”
“The gods are merciful,” Merenda exclaimed colorfully. “Return to the HQ Optio and stay there to keep us informed.”
He walked to his mount, tossed his helm at Domus and then climbed on the saddle. Merenda stooped to accept his helm from his Aide and waved his arm at the watching them from the two towers sentinels. “Take breaks lads,” he ordered loudly. “But keep vigilant!”
“Yes sir!” The guards boomed and the Legatus smiled. Then clicked his tongue to get his horse going and burst out of the Castrum gates with Prefect Domus and the two legionnaires scrambling to keep up with him.
----------------------------------------
Sabretooth was built near the desert coast and had docks facing both the Alden Gulf and Toe Peninsula across the sea. Its walls of pale limestone, transported from Carcass Plateau and Vinterfort the latter located to the east and deeper into the desert, stood six meters high. Behind them a small town had been erected with almost as many people living outside and near the fishing docks two kilometers away to the west. A military outpost initially it had benefited from the busy coastal road used by caravans coming from Kaltha but living so close to the desert wasn’t appealing to many and despite the castle’s size the population had remained small in size. People just moved further south towards the rich lands beyond Captain’s Lament River and the city of Alden.
Still, it was a colorful castle town with Issirs, Lorians and even Cofols finding their way there even briefly and its sole market was always busy.
Merenda’s small group crossed the gatehouse under the watchful eyes of Scylla’s sentinels. The town had suffered great casualties relative to its population in the war of the ‘Two Kings’ and the legion colors were regarded with a hefty dose of skepticism. The fact that the First Legion had returned but many of their countrymen hadn’t not palatable to the hardened locals.
“What’s the shoemaker’s name?” Merenda asked blinking as the sun made the stone walls of the compact narrow houses shine a brilliant white.
“Cucan?” Domus asked the legionnaire.
“Polio Microbius sir,” Cucan replied not happy being put on the spot.
“That sounds rather contagious,” Merenda commented narrowing his eyes seeing a local preparing sausages at the busy market. Plenty of dust landing on the meat from the animals going back and forth.
“Might have been Macrobius,” Cucan admitted.
Merenda pulled at his left earlobe thoughtfully. “Anyone remembers which alley it was? I can’t think right now wearing this oven.”
“Next to the blacksmith Legatus,” Domus replied and pointed at the corner workshop. The market started right after the north gates and ended almost at the other end of the castle. It was faster to try the smaller alleys to move about than cutting through the town.
“Vegetius get the horses to the tavern’s stable and stay guard there,” Merenda ordered and untied his helm to carry it in his arm. The leather cord securing the metal guard-cheeks had started cutting into his chin.
“Wait in the tavern sir,” Vegetius repeated for clarification.
“Wait outside the stables door,” Merenda corrected him.
“It’s a four meter difference sir,” Vegetius argued smartly.
“You can order a beer from there then,” Merenda countered and signed for Domus to give the soldier some coins to pay the tavern owner. He walked towards the loud blacksmith’s workshop but paused seeing a crowd gathered at a garbs-selling stand three spots from the local preparing the pork sausages. With the coals lit and sizzling in the crude bronze grill, standing near the man was a torture unless you had a deep craving for pork. Merenda didn’t mind the occasional ‘dirty’ street meal but he was too hot to consider a snack at this particular instance.
----------------------------------------
“Silk sheets!” The Cofol merchant roared as if daring anyone to challenge the fact. “You won’t find a better material! Cool in the day and soft to sleep in! Yes sir! Madam! Have a feel! Pull at it hard. No fears! See? It won’t tear.”
Merenda approached the small crowd gathered around the foreign merchant with the fancy robes and tried to get to the front so that he could have a look for himself. Some pushing and shoving ensued with some leaving their spot to the Legatus and others not cooperating. Domus had to use his maimed arm to get people out of the way.
“Red!” The merchant boomed, a scarf over his head and slanted-eyes heavily tinted in blue paint. “Yellow and a soft Green!” He continued opening up different rolls. Merenda reached to touch one of crimson rolls of fabric with his hand, his eyes staying on a big camel that chewed with its head dipped inside a wicker basket hanged from its long neck. The camel farted loudly which got a chuckle out from the crowd and the merchant beamed to keep the momentum going. “Undergarments for the ladies,” he said. “Outfits for your pleasure slaves!”
“No slaves here Narcho,” a local grunted and Narcho moved along without missing a beat.
“Dresses for the rich ladies and their servants!” He countered using an inoffensive word and pulled one of the colorful outfits out of a basket under the stand. He kept it before him to showcase its length. “Look at the lines peeps!”
“Isn’t it too short?” A local woman asked a little concerned.
“That’s the idea!” The merchant guffawed missing the point.
Merenda thought to order a simple red chiton made, but caught sight out of the corner of his left eye of another stand right next to the Cofol’s. The square stall had different-colored leather cords hanged on its sides and several belts. An assortment of weapon harnesses nicely presented and even soft-leather gloves with cutoff fingers. The man behind it having the looks of a Lorian, a very tall one, with a narrow chin and expressive green eyes.
The Legatus stepped to the left and out of the line to move to his empty stall, an action that also brought Cucan and the scowling Domus out of the crowd. Merenda stood in front of the merchant and stared at his wares unsure.
“This might not be the market for leather comrade,” he jested and raised the cloth to dab the underside of his sweaty chin. He heard a weird clacking sound coming from the small cotton roof of the stall and paused unsure.
“It’s a brief stop into a long journey,” the merchant replied with a weird accent in a passable Common dialect bringing him back to the present. Merenda couldn’t figure out where the man hailed from. He noticed the long graceful fingers and the strangely sewn cloak the man had on. The hood over his head shading part of it. “I’m heading for the coast.”
“Well, you made it one would suggest,” Merenda informed him and reached to check on a pair of silver-colored gloves.
“For a ranger,” the man explained. Merenda felt the strange material with his fingers.
“Is it silk?” He asked.
“A special kind. You could paint it even like a real cloth or leather,” the man replied.
“You don’t have many clients,” Merenda noticed and the merchant pointed at a small sign between his wares. The parchment read, ‘trades accepted but not in coin.’ The Legatus smiled. “You are not going to make profit like that.”
“I will make enough to move on.”
“Right. Got any boots?” Merenda asked looking about.
“A pair. But they are different than yours. I believe these are hobnailed sandals,” the man replied.
“Military issued.”
“What military is this?”
Merenda chuckled and glanced at the skeptical Domus standing on his shoulder. “The Legion.” He slapped a hand on the insignia of his Lorica Segmentata armour. “The First Legion. I’m its Legatus as a matter of fact.”
The man nodded thoughtfully. He stooped under the stand and got a pair of black boots out. The merchant placed them on the counter making room for them carefully. They looked like adventurer’s boots reaching just above the ankle and tied at the front with black leather strings. The sole made out of hard leather and shaped wood at the short heel. The top part out of the same soft material as the gloves.
“It’s a classic design but these boots will never tear. You should at some point repair the bottom part though.”
Merenda looked at him and reached to pick up the boots. They weren’t heavy at all. The material malleable and silky to the touch. “Who made this?”
“Qerrali,” the man replied and made to smile but paused as if unsure. “She’s very skilled.”
“And where are you from exactly mister…?” Merenda asked now intrigued.
“Ryfon. I’m a merchant from Sinya Goras Legatus.”
Domus gasped nervously but Merenda waved for him to calm down.
He stared in the face of the exotic merchant intently. “You aren’t human,” Merenda finally said.
“That is correct,” Ryfon admitted. “Would the Legatus make the trade?”
“What do you want for them?”
“Food for the journey.”
“Coin will buy you food,” Merenda noticed.
“I’d prefer to minimize the number of transactions,” Ryfon countered.
“Cucan, do you have any dates?” Merenda asked brusquely.
“Not much—”
“Don’t embarrass me lad,” Merenda admonished him. “Bring it here.”
A reluctant Cucan gave him his heavy legion-issued satchel managing not to voice any further objections.
“Is it full of dates you rascal?” Merenda queried with a smirk and checked to see for himself.
It was.
“Can I have one?” Ryfon asked after Merenda placed the satchel on the stall. “It is acceptable,” he said after tasting a couple of them.
“Are you sure?” Merenda queried a little surprised. “This is a fine pair of boots mister Ryfon. You can talk me into giving up a whole sack for them. I’ll even throw in a sack of biscuits. They’ll never spoil. Ever. Just like your boots.”
“I am sure,” Ryfon replied still munching and Merenda heard something moving on the roof of the stall. He flinched but the merchant placed the boots in front of him with the hint of a smirk. “I appreciate the trade Legatus.”
“Huh? Alright then,” Merenda decided and signed for Domus to grab the boots afore the merchant changed his mind. “Tell me my good Ryfon, how is Goras? We hear a lot of weird stuff these days. Pros and cons. I’m ambivalent on where to stand on the matter.”
Ryfon stared at him in shock. “Wetull is not everyone’s cup of tea Legatus,” he managed to croak visibly affected by the question or something.
“I see,” Merenda retorted expecting something more. “You seemed rather surprised there. Was it my query? Surely I’m not the first one asking it?”
“Apologies Legatus,” a grimacing Ryfon replied and closed the satchel carefully afore placing it under the stall. “A part of my reply was candid.”
“What about the other part?” Merenda grunted a little suspicious.
“She says it doesn’t matter where you stand now,” the alien merchant replied still sounding shocked himself. “For Wetull shall love you.”
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