//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Legions of Rome // Story: The Eagle Of Equestria // by Romes_FinestPony //------------------------------// Chapter 1: Legions of Rome Bom! Bom! Bom! Bom! A steady beat of war-drums filled the air as a continuous, yet rhythmic thudding of thousand of sandals followed the beat. Echoing throughout the grassy plain. It was the sound that struck fear into the unconquered nation's hearts. It was the sound that marked the destruction of Greece, of Carthage, of Gaul and many other nations. Now the same sound was once again heard... This time, in Germania. It was the sound of Rome's Legions marching to war. A crimson line of armoured men was slowly moving it's way onward. deeper and deeper into barbarian territory. A Cornu, or a trumpet suddenly blared, repeated by fellow trumpeters below the line from other units. The thudding came to an abrupt stop as the whole marching line came to a grounding halt. The last crunch of thousands of sandaled feet echoed away until all that is left is the soft sound of the morning breeze and the waving of linen that adorned the standards of each unit and the occasional nervous whinny of a rider's steed. The Romans faced not an army, but an ancient forest. A forest that has always been enshrouded with mystery. The forest that marked the edge of the known world. The Teutoburg. The forest sent down a chill on many a Legionaries' spine as their minds forcefully relayed the stories of Demons, half-animal and half-human beasts, human sacrificing Druids, missing children, sudden storms, ghostly armies and many other strange perils that the friendly locals from settlements along the border shared with the Legionaries around a campfire. A man who wore a richly decorated breastplate and a crested helmet rode at the head of the army of three Legions, where he stopped along with his army and took a moment to contemplate about what is to come. The planned route led through the forest. He must have to go through this damned bunch of trees to save precious time and money. Even to the objection of his own men. But the man who he trusted convinced him to pass through this forest. The Auxiliary commander named Arminius. The man took off his helmet, showing his balding, whited-haired head and leaned down to pat his whinnying horse's neck, casting quick nervous and suspicious glances towards the dark forest. Arminius had gone ahead with his Auxiliary force composed mostly of loyal German tribesmen to gather more men for the army and ever since then, He hasn't returned... 'Yet.' The man murmured and sat up. He then beckoned for one of the young officers who surrounded him. 'General Varus, Sir!' The young officer, wearing a similar armour to the general's, saluted with a raised hand as he willed his horse to canter nearer towards his general. 'Has the squad of cavalrymen returned? They're supposed to be back by now from their reconnaissance and scouting mission.' 'No sir.' 'Not a sign?' 'Nay.' 'Hmm... Very strange. Very strange indeed. Publicus. What do you think happened to them?' The young officer was now looking uneasy. He hesitated for a moment before answering. 'I think they are captured sir. I would be highly unlikely for them to have lost the trail. Talk has spread like wildfire among the men about their strange disappearance. The men say that the squad has been taken by some mystical power that the forest holds or some superstitious madness of some sort.' The young officer rolled his eyes as he mentioned the preposterous theories that the men had been talking about. The General rubbed his chin in deep thought as he finally came to a conclusion. ''Hmmm... Okay then. Bring me the commanders of the Legions.' The young officer, Publicus, saluted once again and rode off to fetch the commanders of the 17th, 18th and 19th Legions. The General then shifted his attention to a mounted trumpeter nearby and gave a nod. The Trumpeter lifted his instrument to his lips and blew out a long, resounding note that was echoed once again by fellow trumpeters. At once, the Rhythmic crunching and thudding of 18,000 pairs of feet resumed as the marching column slowly entered the dark forest, breaking the eerie silence that abound in it. General Varus watched with pride as his legions marched by in perfect step. Well, almost perfect step. He sighed as he caught a glimpse of a fresh-faced soldier stumble a bit before regaining his composure. The General knew that his three Legions, the 17th, 18th and the 19th were some of "Rome's Finest". He controlled 3 out of the 28 Legions that are serving the empire in all of her borders. He also knew that he did not have many battle-hardened veterans. Most of the men in the legions at this moment were 2nd and 1st enlistment men. Aging between 20-45. The young, inexperienced men who made the majority of his legions were at their prime. These men were good enough to pass and survive the rigorous physical training that happened daily while in peace. These men will do. Varus reminded himself. I should trust these men. I HAVE to trust these men. If I fail now, my career as Consul and great politician of Rome would end... Or worse! Varus shuddered at the very thought as he relayed worst case scenarios in his head. The General then put on his crested helmet and shrugged. I'm sure Ariovistus will return with all the Auxiliary units. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The young officer, Publicus, felt pride surge in his heart as he watched the Golden eagle standard of the 19th loomed into view, sitting proudly on top of it's golden perch with the inscription: 'LEGIO XIX' 'SPQR'. He watched the men of the 1st Cohort march proudly under their beloved standard. He shifted his gaze to a group of mounted officers who rode at the head of the legion. He spurred his horse onward and went straight to the officer in the middle. 'Praeator Marcus Terentillus! Commander of the 19th!' Publicus called and smiled to himself as he saw the armoured figure of the officer turn to his direction. The armoured figure and two others then veered off to the side and waited for Publicus to come near. 'Ave!' Publicus raised his right hand in salute. Standard Legion Practice. 'Ave.' The Praeator returned the greeting with a stern expression. 'General Quinctilius Varus orders to see you and the other Legion commanders.' 'Has this got something to do with the missing Auxiliary units and the cavalry squad?' 'Yes.' Marcus was a veteran of many campaigns and he knew the danger when he sees or senses one. He also knew the importance of the presence of Cavalry units, Ranged units and most importantly, the auxiliary units to back up the Legionaries meant the Victory or Defeat of a battle. He glanced at Publicus and caught the questioning look that he had on his face. 'Sir?' 'Sorry Publicus. I'm just thinking.' Marcus' expression softened as he patted Publicus' shoulder. 'Um. Ah. That's quite okay sir. But uh. The General would want to see you right now.' Publicus now looked uneasy and unable to meet the Praeator's eyes. 'Go on then Publicus. As you were. I will meet the general quite shortly.' Publicus Gave a small nod and continued down the column to fetch the legion commander of the 17th. Marcus silently watched the retreating figure of the rider for a while until Publicus was finally out of sight. He then turned to his right-hand man and said. 'Quintus. I'm beginning to think that this is a trap. I need someone to confirm this. Bring me Centurion Felix.' The man was more than happy to oblige and with a sly smile, galloped away. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 'Come on Lads! Keep it up!' An impressive looking man hollered with a gruff voice. He wore a helmet with a transverse crest with a red eagle feather plume, silver-black, curly hair poked out from underneath the front of his helmet. A scar ran through his left cheek and his face was weathered by the wind and rain and always had a stern expression. A true Veteran. His chest armour looked even more impressive! War decorations covered his chain mail armour, he wore arm guards and Metal Greaves on his Shins. Behind him, a Flowing scarlet cloak danced with the wind as he marched beside his troops. With his left hand, He carried a large, rectangular, scarlet sheild. It was painted over with the standard eagle wings and lightning bolts with the enscription of the unit of the bearer. With his right hand, He carried a Pilum. A throwing spear that can be converted as a thrusting spear. All the other Centurions knew that the only one who has a scar on his face was none other than Centurion Felix of the 1st Cohort. The Primus Pilus of the Legion (Senior Centurion). He looked over and saw a Legionary stumble a bit. Silvanus. He sighed. A moment later, the legionary must have felt eyes on him and turned to his watcher's direction. The eyes of Centurion Felix's and Legionary Silvanus' met. With a nod, the Centurion signalled the legionary over. He walked over to the Centurion with an annoyed sigh. When close enough, the Centurion then put an arm around Silvanus and sighed. 'Silvanus, my son. I know that this is your first Campaign, and I'm tellin' ya! You'd better stay close to me lad! I do not trust these woods. Promise me that you won't stray far okay?' The Centurion barked with a stern face. The Centurion then raised an expectant brow waiting for his son to answer. Silvanus gave a sly grin and opened his mouth to answer. 'Alright Fathe-' The Centurion hurriedly covered his son's mouth with an outraged and embarrassed look on his face. 'Oi! Didn't I tell you that your in the army now!? Now only refer to me as 'Sir!' or 'Centurion!' Got it!? Oh do stop laughin' there. Your Saliva's gettin' into my hand!' The Centurion then quickly withdrew his hand and wiped it on Silvanus' Blood red Tunic. Silvanus laughed while marching with his father, causing a few nearby troops to glance quizzically at the marching pair. The Centurion winced inwardly as he begged his son to stop. He finally gave up and just glared at his son. After a while he realized that it was quite humorous and gave a short guffaw. Silvanus was at least two inches taller than the Centurion and had no apparent similarities between them. Yet, they still acted like they always had been father and son since the beginning. Silvanus appeared to be somewhat regal, and had the air of authority and Leadership around him. He did not have the gruffness that most soldiers had. He also only saw killing as a last option. He was noticeably the best healer and herbalist in the whole Legion. That's how he came to join his father in the prestigious 1st Cohort. The Cohort that was and is supposed to defend the Eagle to the last man. As soon as both of them finally calmed down, the Centurion finally managed to speak. 'I take that as a yes then. Good Lad! Now go back to your Maniple (Unit of 10 men) and try marching this time. No prancing about okay? Oh. And keep a hand on your sword always. You may be needing it.' 'Yes Fa- I mean Centurion!' Silvanus replied with a comical grin. 'Why You! Go on then! Scram!' The Centurion laughed and patted his son's back as Silvanus walked faster to catch up with his unit. Still stifling giggles. 'Ahh... Just like his mother...' The Centurion muttered to himself and frowned slightly at the mention of Silvanus' mother. Faustina. He remembered the day Silvanus' family got brutally murdered by the Emperor's assassins. He remembered how he arrived just in time to save the 4 year old child from the grip of a cloaked assassin. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the galloping of a horse and his name being called out. 'Centurion Felix! My old Friend! How do you do? Care for a small gallop?'