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Chapter 1
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2021-10-10 12:35:561322 AD-Three Hundred years into the Long War
A lone figure stands in the middle of the podium; he wears the bright red cloak of an official, and a medallion bearing the crest of the old war god, Mars. He takes deep breath and bellows to the crowd
“CAPUA!!! ARE YOU READY!!!!!”
The crowd’s cheer is so powerful that the dust in the arena is shaken by it. As the smells of sweat and saliva begin to fill the air, to Gladiators enter the arena from opposite corners, both with their swords raised in salute to the crowd. I was 7 years old at that time and it was my first glimpse of a Gladiator match. One wore a red chest plate and a red steel helmet with a wolf insignia carved into it, I called him Red. The other wore only blue arm guards, shin guards, a horned helmet and a blue shawl wrapped around his armor, I called him Blue. Both carried two swords. The Red one spun his swords constantly while the Blue one just stood steadily. They both were focused on each other, caring nothing for the world but only victory over the other.
I look at the sun for a moment and then I realize, I am no longer at the Arena in Capua. No, not today, not for some time at least
My mind snaps me back to the dullness of reality as I am greeted by the sounds of boots digging into mud and grass. I look up into the sky and it seemed as if it had grown eyeballs and was staring at me. The rain pours down on my face, stinging my eyes and unhealed wounds in the process; I guess I had just woken up.
An officer stands in the middle of the resting cohort and begins banging his shield ordering us to get off our backs. As I get up I survey the landscape and take it all in, light fog, pine trees, freezing winds, the traits of the Northern Border. But then across the wide open field the vast armies of the Persian Empire could easily be seen marching towards us, with their machines belowing smoke and their warrior’s blades glinting in the Sun. On our side of things, the myriad of Remanian soldiers scurry about carrying guns, arrows, spears and all sorts of life taking trinkets that would keep all of us from getting slaughtered by the mighty Persians. What a stark contrast these sights brought, compared to the serenity of the forest.
“You there!” The officer screams as he points at me with his sword. “Still acting like a loose drunk are ya? What’s your name and why are you here!?” I immediately stand in attention and recite my unforgettable credentials “ Molag Broner. Remanian Legionnaire under the 46th Cohort, 3rd Company fighting for the 17th Legion, Lupus Infernos; The Bright Tigers.I am a soldier of Remas.” I can see the officer grinning through his mask “Just checking there Molag, you were falling asleep again. So go, get in line!”
In a few minutes time we begin to march, I look behind me and see Gunner cohorts positioning themselves on top of some hills as they ready themselves to cover our advance. At the front lines, the unfortunate shock troops from both sides exchange gunfire as artillery shakes the battlefield.
The sounds of war cries, gunfire and explosions start to become louder as we near the enemy. I feel the shock of a cannonball detonating to my left, I hear the screams of dying men and I begin to smell the distinct aroma of blood and fire. But I keep my vision fixed, ignoring it as I go and keeping my ears listening for our overzealous Centurion’s mad ranting. Five years of war has taught me well.
The smell of smoke and blood start to become thicker as we near the enemy. In a short moment’s time the signal men blow their horns thus issuing the charge. A rush of excitement flows through my body as blood flows up my head, I grip my sword and shield tighter as the adrenaline all begin to turn my weapons weightless.
The mud digs into my boots while the freezing wind bites into my skin. The Persians had also issued their charge shortening our run. So I immediately steel myself in anticipation of the charging Persian in front of me. Now this one, he carries a spear which gives him range, his shield is steel plated, his armor is chain mail, his face is covered by a mask not unlike mine.
His first strike is to lung at me with the spear; which I block with my shield, and immediately stab him in the mouth. As I pull out my sword his mask falls off; he’s only a boy, and it’s pretty obvious this is his first battle. But the time to relax is none existent as I face another charging Persian and cut him down quickly with a slash to the head. I don’t look at his face this time; best to avoid reminding myself that there is a man under that faceless mask.
I quickly turn to face another Persian, his helmet is marked with purple lines and he wears a steel plate over his chain mail. It signifies that he’s an officer. His speed is blinding but the size of my shield gives me proper defence. I parry his blows with relative ease but his speed keeps me from striking back. After a few strikes he slashes my shoulder. Despite my heavy armor, I still feel the sting of his weapon but it isn’t enough to defeat me. The attack tires the officer a bit and I strike back. I go for his shoulder too but he blocks it and gives my shield a strong kick. I tumble back and see him steadying his sword as he prepares to stab me, he’s fast and he’s experienced, he knows this is his moment and so do I. My thoughts are empty right now so I close my eyes and readily accept my death…
Within a moment I hear the familiar sound of metal piercing through flesh; I open my eyes and see a pilum –or javelin as Northern Remanians call it-- poking through the Persian’s neck; he kneels down as his eyes turn white, then he dies. It was a fool’s luck, purely an act of fate. I force my mind to spring back to reality as I ready myself to face another charging Persian. His sword and helmet is stained with blood, his shield has dozens of scratches on it and his eyes glitter like a starving lion on the hunt. In short, he resembles a true warrior. Maybe this time I won’t make it, or if I’m lucky he cuts off my arm and I go home to Capua.
But I’m not a coward so I fight back. I immediately strike at his head and once he blocks my attack I immediately pull back my sword and stab his chest. His eyes are blank, like an aging dog he kneels down, but as soon as his knees touch the ground I swing my blade and slash at his neck and kick him to the ground. Once again I have survived.
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The battle begins to clear a bit, I march forward searching for more foes but then an explosion rings out a good distance from me, an incendiary cannonball detonates in front of me releasing its payload of burning, the world goes silent as I immediately block the ordinance with my shield but the force from the blast is still enough to blow me back. I feel a powerful thud on my head as I hit the ground back first. My vision becomes increasingly blurred, I see other Legionnaires around me coated in flames, with their screams being slowly muffled by the effects of my own head slowly dying. Maybe this is my time, I will finally die. Again I am wrong as I feel myself being lifted on top of a shield as the world around me goes dark…“
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This isn’t the first time I’ve just simply laid down to die when an explosion hits near me, the thing is it’s happened to me so many times I just thought it’d end up that way. Lurti knows I get his point so he doesn’t say anything else; instead he unties the blue strap tied to his wrist and smells it. It’s a memento from Aquilia his lady back home in Capua. “They’re saying the war is over, I’m finally going to see her again.” He says. I suddenly burst in laughter at those words, which is a stupid act since it turns out my chest has suffered some bruising from the explosion. But the annoyed look on Lurti’s face is completely worth it. “Lurti, they’ve been saying that before Uncle Servo was first Knighted. What makes you think it’s going to end this time?” Lurti curses and kicks my wounded arm; I curl back from th
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Both sides face each other at opposite sides of the battlefield from yesterday, the stench of smoke and blood still fill the air to some degree. We hear that the officers simply named the battle, Final Eternity. Although I found the name a bit bland, in all truth I believe it didn’t matter. The ceremony was conducted by the meeting of Generals from both sides. When our own General Vaxides read the official Persian letter and inspected the seal for authenticity while the Persian Leader General Izari did the same with the Remanian letter. When both Generals returned the letters and saluted each other we knew the war was now over. The cheers of both armies are much more deafening than the fiercest battle cries or loudest explosion, the Long War was finally over and yet despite my happiness I find my heart beating really fast, my fingertips
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It’s early in the afternoon when the Legion begins the march; everyone is much more cheery than usual after all we were going back to civilization. Some of these soldiers have been serving for at least 20 years now, our General Vaxides has been serving for 50 years straight. The smiles on everyone’s faces are clearly evident despite the terrible Northland cold, the Centurions even allowed loose marching formations. So Cohorts were allowed to mix ranks, with that I marched with Lurti and Varkii. I noticed throughout the march Lurti constantly smelt the blue strap in his wrist while Varkii and I talk about our plans to start our own business. Varkii was thinking of making deals with butcher shops at the tower levels in Capua where wild game was pretty much scarce. “We’ll be rich Pup! Imagine all those pompous senators an
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The crowd’s roar becomes stronger when the Red Wolf draws first blood by hitting the Iron Ram’s head, the Ram spits out blood but isn’t down yet so he strikes back at the Red Wolf’s side. The Wolf immediately blocks it and kicks the Iron Ram in the chest and hits his face again with the sword. Killing isn’t allowed in Gladiatorial games anymore, the weapons are blunted and hollow but the attacks still draw blood and blood is all the crowd really cares for. As for me all I care about is the rush of the crowd and the thrill of watching the Champion Of Capua defeat his opponent. But all of my hopes of seeing victory turns dim as the Iron Ram sweeps the Red Wolf’s feet and kicks his face as the Wolf’s body hits the ground. The crowd’s thunderous applause turns into loud cries of fear and worry as the Iron Ram raises his 2 swords to finish off
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“Every Legion is divided into two distinct units, Cadet Molag Broner, what are those units?” I freeze for a second but I take a short deep breath to break the anxiety. “Sir, every Legion is divided into Companies and the Companies are divided into Cohorts sir!.” “Correct Cadet Molag, now first and foremost what does a Legionnaire fight for Cadet Rook?” The Cadet in question was a bulky man, roughly around my age. He would always brag about his days as a young boxer. “The Legionnaire fights for the honor and the preservation of the Remanian Empire.” The Lanistae, clearly unimpressed lets out a harsh southland curse and punches Rook in the stomach, making him clutch his stomach in pain “Cadet Rook! Do you mean to tell me that your honor is more important than the lives of your fellow Legionnaires?” Rook straightens his posture and lets out
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I had completely forgotten how great beer tasted like, over the past 5 years the only drink we’d ever taste was either 2 week fermented “wine” or on special days blueberry rum. But even blueberry rum begins to taste like stale water after 5 years. So the taste of cold malt beer was one of the few things I had been looking forward to since the treaty. Over the past 30 minutes since Lurti’s knock out, Varkii and I must have tried over five kinds of grain ales. Varkii being the smart drinker was barely drunk yet but as for me, it was the opposite. Like Lurti I always was a weak drinker but I wasn’t looking forward to getting passed out. “I’m going out for some air.” I tell Varkii as I stumble towards the door.
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“Legionnaire Molag Broner Cohort 46 3rd Company 17th Legion Bright Tigers, I’m here to check for the belongings of deceased Legionnaire Riiger Clarion also from Cohort 46 17th Legion Bright Tigers.”“Riiger Clarion? Knew the lad, he’d be sending letters whenever he could. Good with the sword but bad with the shield. Not too smart for a Remanian I’ll wager”“That’s him indeed sir, we both grew up in New Capua and also went to New Capuan Military Academy. He almost didn’t make it because of his slow shield arm.”“
Last Updated : 2021-10-20
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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
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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 “
