By the time Marius had fallen into line the entire legion had assembled in the locus. There were between four and five thousand individuals in any given legion made from men and women pulled from every territory of Talissima. Marius was what they would have called a Trueborn - a son of Tibus, the first Emperor of Talim. One simply needed to pay taxes and serve in a legion for three years to be considered a Talish citizen, but only those who could trace their family lineage to the Capital Steppes were considered Trueborn. While on paper there were no benefits to being Trueborn compared to the conquered territories, it was well known that reality was quite different. When it had come time for Marius to enlist, a quick discussion with his father was all that was required to be placed in a relatively safe and easy assignment deep within the heartland. Most people didn't have that luxury - most people who bent the knee to the imperial war machine were just cogs, and most served their tenure at one of the various war fronts. If they were truly unlucky they’d be sent to the southern effort against the Commonwealth, and three years fighting amongst the stubborn southlanders was a crapshoot as far as making it back in one piece.
“Looking a little green, Marius,” a flowery voice offered from Marius’ right. Caranir Riverswallow was Sylvish and it showed in his voice. Every syllable carried with it a certain musical quality. When the Sylvish spoke their voice was a harmony of nature, of songbirds and reverberating clear waterfalls. It was a common trait of the Fae-Touched regardless of which court their lineage hailed from. Caranir was clearly spring-blooded. His skin was a light jade color which darkened when he was embarrassed or had been drinking, and his hair was a cascade of soft lilac that spilled down his shoulders. No matter how many times their centurion had sent him to the barber for a proper shave, it would be back in all of its glory by midday. One particularly warm summer evening they had worn down the edge of hedging shears fruitlessly trying to permanently make Caranir look like a proper soldier.
“No more than you,” Marius replied. Caranir placed his hand gently on Marius’ shoulder and gave him a slight squeeze. The two had enlisted at the same time and spent the entirety of their tenure together in the Seventeenth Legion.
“Aye, all this pomp and circumstance for a big nothing feast,” a harsher, more gruff voice spoke from Marius’ left. Eonaro was the last of their little trio. He was a head shorter than Marius but shared the same olive colored skin and vibrant green eyes. Eonaro Cantano was Torvash. The small nation was eaten by the Empire of Talissima over a millennium ago. To most people the two nations were the same entity. Torva wasn’t ever truly invaded. When Emperor Tibus started his march to the sea, Torva happily welcomed him into their homes, and the former king of Torva, his name long since forgotten, simply bowed without offering the slightest resistance. Most people couldn’t tell the difference between a Torva and a Talissian citizen, but anyone with an ear for language could tell that the Torva spoke Talish with a slight accent. There was more of a flat tone to the language - not surprising given the high population of Stonekin. “Torva is a small place - beautiful as it may be, how many expecting mothers can we have? A few groups in the city, the rest across the countryside, and I bet we find not a single newborn.”
“I hope you are right, Eo,” Marius replied. “I’m probably worrying over nothing, but still… The thought of being tasked with dispatching a fresh born child feels like an affront to Balinda. The thing hasn’t been here long enough to justify such a horrid end. They’re a child of Talim all the same - touched by Nylissa or not. What are we to do?”
“Your duty. Until the end of next year, all three of us are still conscripted to the Seventeenth Legion. If it comes to it, we’ll give the child a swift death.”
“A mercy however bitter it might be,” Caranir replied. The grimace on his face hid little. Before Marius could protest the loud bellow of the legion horn crashed like thunder, and silence fell over the gathered soldiers. Instantly, without transition, they stood amongst the quiet of a crypt, a silence of fear and death.
Their prefect, Ionus Scalde, stood at the head of the mass surrounded on either side by the five heavily armored centurions who answered to his commands. He was a severe looking man - a Trueborn in every sense of the word. His dark skin was tanned leather covered in callous and scars earned from years of service. Rumors swirled each year as new recruits came in about the origin of his most grievous wound - the left ear that was torn from his head. Despite years passing and the best of healing either the company surgeon or the Daughters of Apis could provide, it looked as gnarly and fresh as the day he earned it.
Gromiv, a siege engineer that shared a bunk with Marius, swore that Ionus parted with his ear when Saori, the Sword Saint of the Emperor himself, gave him the kiss of Pain; her enchanted curved blade.
Mistula, who retired from her post a year earlier, said the ear had been cut from him when he led his troops to victory at the Second Battle of Parthus, taking the heavily fortified bridge that separated the city from the steep plateaus that surrounded it. When Ionus climbed the ladder to the ramparts, She’Var of the Parthinian royal family greeted him in personal combat, striking it from his side with an envenomed blade before he could dismount the ladder. A cheap shot, but not one that took him down, and that he sent the young princling retreating with his men following, tails between their legs.
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Locklen, a stable hand from Faurin Tir, swore that he had the ear literally eaten from his head by a Loup Garou in the fighting pits of Talim. That in celebration of the god of the night, Noctus, the emperor had a wolf man thrown into the pit to fight his favored champions, and that the seasoned veteran had his ear swallowed by the monstrosity before he buried his silvered gladius in its guts.
They were all rumors. Not a single soul had been able to truly confirm how Scalde lost his ear.
The man to his right produced a silver cylindrical container adorned with the golden sigil of the crown: the two-headed phoenix. Ionus seized the vessel and popped open the gilded top with a flick of his thumb. From inside he pulled a vellum scroll from which he scraped the wax seal that Marius could not see. He was sure it was the stamp of the emperor. He examined it for a moment before rolling it back up.
“Sword of the Emperor cuts deep!” he called out the usual rallying cry that every legionnaire had inscribed in the deepest corners of their brain. It was said so many times in a day, that most citizens knew before they even walked through the doors of a recruitment outpost.
“ Shield of the Imperium guards true!” a chorus of voices responded in perfect unison. Ionus marched like a regimented soldier along the front rank of his soldiers, examining each of them with a sharp eye. He expected perfection from his men and women, and anything less than that was met with chastisement that could make even the largest and toughest pit fighter wither.
“Tonight,” Ionus called out, “the night sky will burn iridescent.” His voice was metallic, like the pitch of blades meeting in the heat of battle. It was inhuman and it fit the man well. “Tonight, you will bear gladius against your fellow countrymen and women should it be necessary. I know that for many of you this will sit heavy in your stomachs. That you’ve already been engaging in a moral battle within yourself.” He paused to look at someone in the front row. Marius couldn’t make out who it was, but he knew that being singled out was never a good thing. He couldn’t hear the words being exchanged.
“Poor sod,” Caranir breathed at his side. “Probably forgot his standard issue pin for his cloak.”
“Maybe old iron lung thinks his helmet isn’t polished enough,” Eo responded through a muffled chortle.
“No food rations for a week. Gruel only, served cold of course,” his honey voiced friend said.
“Maybe he’ll get latrine duty. That’ll be proper fun after Stormsong.” Marius attempted to ignore their attempts at humor, but it was challenging when the mountain of a man in the row in front of them gave them a scowl over his shoulder. He was Malacathan, or as most of the soldiers liked to call them via slur, Mountain Men. The one before him was as big as any Malacathan he had ever seen. He stood at least seven foot tall, and his broad shoulders strained against the infamous brass segmented armor of the Talissian legions. His ashen skin mirrored Malacatha itself, the gray mountains from which his tribes hailed. The soldiers called him Gor, but Marius wasn’t certain that was his actual name. The giant’s Talish was barely intelligible. He communicated mostly through broken phrases and hand gestures, but it was clear that from his grimace, Tor was not amused with Marius or his friends.
Marius gave him an awkward smile.
Gor gave him a glowering stare.
It was apparent the commotion at the front of the block was settled as Ionus' scathing iron voice reverberated over them once again. “I will remind you that each and every one of my legionnaires is expected to follow the divine edict set forth by Emperor Cassius Tiberian himself. To hesitate is to show weakness, and weakness finds no home here in the Imperium.” He slapped the scroll canister against his palm as he spoke. “Dereliction of duty is tantamount to insurgency, and will be dealt with as such. The Chaos Sky is a phenomenon that heralds the “blessing” of Nylissa, mother of chaos. New babes born under that sky will grow to be wretched creatures - and their vileness is a blemish upon the beauty of Talissima. The records provided to us shall contain within the names of expecting parents throughout Torva. Your legion officer will have the details for each of your assignments. Some of you will be on patrol, while others will be tasked with visiting these families. If you discover they have given birth at any point on this day strike the implings down. If the mother or father intervene, greet them with Talish steel. May the blood of the tainted fill the street on this desecrated night.” With that the old veteran turned and departed, leaving his soldiers to receive orders from the centurions.
Before, Marius had simply been uncomfortable. Now there was fear in him like icy cold tendrils running through his blood. It felt like Ionus had been talking directly to him. That the metallic voice of a man who he feared and respected in equal parts knew his every thought and chastised him specifically for doubting the words of the Emperor. Marius had served with the Seventeenth for two years - and in that time the only blood he spilled belonged to the monsters that occasionally terrorized the area. Killing a goblinoid or crossing blades with a centaur marauder was one thing. It was something else entirely to kill an innocent, and a fellow countryman at that. Marius had never seen any of the various wars the Imperium of Talissima was constantly embroiled in. He wasn’t sure any members of his company had.
He glanced at Eo - but he was as stone faced as always. He was impossible to read most of the time. He took his dedication to the Empire seriously, but Marius wondered if even he was okay with killing someone from Torva - someone who he might know. Caranir on the other hand looked exactly how Marius felt. The disgust and apprehension were tattooed to his face.