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the Last Legion
Topic Started: Oct 17 2009, 09:06 AM (308 Views)
Attila
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Transylvanian Mad Scientist
Anhedonia, Geroia, Tathulon... this land has been called so many names over the ages. Beset by conflicting nations squeezed into this huge archipelago that narrows out toward the sea, each waging war for their own reasons in an attempt to rule over it. No one knows precisely when something like that ever happened, but even if it did, it was surely short-lived.
But that's the least of our concerns now. Long story short, a few years ago the nations of Caledon, Ajzhiir and Swaol realized that a new kind of enemy was headed toward the Antioch Basin, where these three mighty kingdoms have been locked in battle since I could remember. An enemy that took neither prisoners, nor occupied fortresses that it captured. An enemy that, so far no one's lived to tell of.

Even now, the leaders would have been ambivalent towards these events, if not for what came to pass some months ago. A Swaol end-chain keep has been besieged that no living soul daft enough to even approach tried to take over the Antiochian wars, and that has gotten a reputation to be unassailable.
When the Swaol king saw smoke rising from the east, he dispatched his infamous knights to see who dared oppose his mighty fortress that kept the easterlings out of Antioch. When the knights returned, they claimed to have seen unspeakable horrors, the dead walking the land and heeding the commands of dark voices that came from the heavens themselves.
No one really believed them.
That was before villages started going off the map.
And when one of the lords of Swaol encountered such a group of unliving, raiding a village, he turned his back and fled. Mere days and many denars later, the Caledonians and the Ajzhiir had agreed to send emissaries to settle a momentary ceasefire. Seeing the desperate Swaol king, they spoke to their respective leaders on his behalf.

More days passed, and it was not long before the same thing started happening in Ajzhiir lands, and even as far as Caledon. Refugess that have managed to escape continued flooding ever to the west, seeking the sanctuary of the caledonian walls, only to be greeted by barred doors and shut windows.
This got even the profiteering Caledonians and the zealous Ajzhiir thinking.
They accepted the Swaol king's offer of a truce and to raise a vast, allied army to meet this threat in exchange of some of the bordering provinces and monthly wages to each of them.
To these armies were drafted the populace of refugees, and the Legion was born.


Sitting by the candle light, the man dipped the pen back into the ink bottle a few more times, turned the page and continued writing.

Back to Day One. Most of the Legion has been sent forward, across the Drakespine Mountains that lie between Antioch and the East. Our small force, mostly made up of recruits drafted freshly from villages and refugee camps was stationed at the base of Drakespine overlooking one of the two mountain passes. I was stationed here to turn these farmers, stablehands and snot-nosed citizens into soldiers.
Which I do, with varying success.
Since I've only been with them for a couple of days, they tried something stupid with me -having one of the horses water my blanket. I'd've expected something like this. But they didn't expect me to flog half the company after it. Ha. They won't try anything like that again.

This is what's happening at the rear guard while twenty thousand men march onward through the mountain passes. I could have sworn I saw a smirk on the lord's face that stationed me there. But alas. I'll serve my king as best I can.


The candle was blown out by the wind, and darkness enveloped the small tent. Heaving a frustrated sigh, the man stood up from the stool and buttoned the canvas covering the tent's entrance. There was no point in continuing the journal. So, he laid flat on the bed and pulled the blanket over him. His face twitched with a sour expression, as it still reeked of horse piss. But his expressions evened out as he thought that the men still felt the flogging on their backs as well. Whoever the tricksters were, they were surely tought a lesson from the others by now.
As sleep was steadily setting in beneath his eye lids, suddenly he heard the familiar rumble of horse hooves. A lone rider, in the middle of the night. Climbing out of the bed, he heard the sentries pointing the newcomer toward his location. Must be a messenger, then. So soon?
No sooner had he pulled his pants up, the man nearly tore the buttons of the tent's entrance off.
"Ho', sonny!" he shouted. Must be a youngster, they're always in a hurry. Taking his time to unhinge all four buttons, the then pulled the canvas to the side, motioning the messenger into the crummy tight space and closing the entrance before even more snow could rush in. It wasn't winter, but this was the price for camping this close to the mountains at this altitude.
Te candle was rekindled and it enveloped the room in its steady, warm light once more.
He was right, it was a boy, no more than 17 by the looks. He pulled out an envelope from his sleeve and started brushing his hand as son as they were free.
"What's your name, boy?"
"-Alric, sir." he said between two shivers and a sneeze as the other took the letter from him. Southerner. The ride across the mountain pass must have even frozen the snot in his nose.
Breaking open the seal, he looked at the boy.
'Dismissed, Alric."
There was a definite sorrowful twist in Alric's face as he climbed out of the tent, back into the cold night. What was he expecting anyway? Sleeping with the captain?
This was war, and no one knew it better than he did. Serving through five campaigns of Swaol and even some break-ins of the Ajzhiir, one got a feel for such things.

But the contents of the letter was something not even he could have expected. Unlike the casual reports and inquires he'd bee waiting for, the letter has been written with obviously hasty words of a trembling hand. Messy, incoherent.
"Forces utterly crushed. So many. So many. Falling back to mountain passes. Men scattered all over. They. They are coming."
The captain dropped the letter. How was he supposed to tell the ignorant recruits out there... this.

They were all that was left of the Legion.

Music Theme
Edited by Attila, Oct 17 2009, 09:17 AM.
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Silvermourn
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The Redneck, the Cynic, the Nerd, and the Hopeless Romantic

I like the setup for the situation that you have here, it's interesting enough to draw attention. However I personally think that you need some clarification about the setting and the legion, unless you intend for people to define things as they go along. Otherwise you are going to be asked the same questions by multiple people who read the roleplay, or at least similar questions.

Apart from that I like it, I'm a little fuzzy on some aspects but it sounds interesting enough.
"I mourn that which may have been but will never be."

"Stupidity is a wound that bleeds forever; Intelligence is a blade that stays forever sharp"

"An armed man will kill and unarmed man with monotonous regularity"

"Nothing adds a little class to a sniper course like a babe in a Ghillie suit."

"You have the rest of your life to solve your problems. How long you live depends on how well you do it."

"Make your attacker advance through a wall of bullets. I may get killed with my own gun, but he's gonna have to beat me to death with it, 'cause it's going to be empty."
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