Fallout : Equestria - New Roam Innovatus

by Delvius

Chapter III - Loyalties

Chapter III
Loyalties
"And where do your loyalties lie? With money? With people? With one's home? None of those matter. Loyalty is wasted on what dies; but an idea, an idea lives on. It eludes, but it can be chased. It is caught with the effort and blood and sweat of those who pursue it. Thus, we must be prepared to shed all our chains in our hunt, or die, body and soul, like anything else we can be loyal to."

Outside.

After years of wondering and imagining -- of thinking up a scenery of bubbling pools and steaming craters punctuating a jagged, blackened landscape that ran off in all directions for miles and miles -- I finally saw it for myself. I could see the calm sky, the brown dirt and the rusty rocks. The Sun, I saw for a short while. Now, as the soldier and I climbed down the ragged dirt path stamped into the landscape by, so I was told, by the original builders of Marediolanon, I saw that the Outside was nothing like what I had imagined.

It was beautiful. I never thought I could say it, but it was. It differed in color and style -- it was wild and exotic. Marediolanon had always tried its best to refrain from being dull. Once a week, the colors of the curtains and blankets would shift; the styles of pillars would change, circulating between blockish and practical to elaborate and detailed. But it was nothing at all compared to the variety that greeted my eyes at that moment. Sharp cliffs lanced down into the earth, then straightened into a plain dark-grey field in the dim light of evening. Smooth rocks turned jagged as though they'd been struck with hammers. The cool air that so resembled my home's air conditioning turned warm as we descended.

It shamed me to feel like it then, but despite what had happened over the course of the day -- willingly leaving my parents, my home, my friends, and my life and witnessing death and the near-loss of one of my idols -- I was... glad. The moment I stepped onto the dirt and saw the land, it was as if all the negativity and anguish was left behind. I felt elated. The world was so much bigger than I'd ever thought, and now I could roam it freely... all of it. I wasn't underground anymore. I was free.

Not yet, I thought. At least, I felt like I thought it...

No, you're not free yet, Goldwreath. There are a few things yet that must be done before that can even be a possibility.

Ah, it was true. Bitterly true, in fact. The reality was that I wasn't out here to be free; I was out here to shoulder the debt of my people. I wasn't out here to marvel at the new world before me, embracing its beauty and dangers alike; I was out here to toil and work. I was out here to be restrained.

As we approached the camp, that reality was only enforced by the heavy grey gates that barred my entrance. And I knew that once I entered, those gates would close. Then there would truly be no escape from the path I had chosen.

***Roama Victrix***

"Open the gates!" commanded the gate-keeping legionary. From his perch upon battlements ten feet off the ground, his voice could easily have gone far into the camp.

A moment later the gates groaned and shrieked. Sparks showered down from the top of the square gateway as the two heavy slabs shifted sidewards, making me back away in fright -- gods, I'd only ever encountered sparks once before, and it was without a welding mask. The scraping of metal on metal tore into my ears like a chainsaw; at least the ramming on Marediolanon's door wasn't a continuous noise! Bright lights flooded through widening entrance, thankfully not intense enough to blind me. As soon as the space beneath the gateway was wide enough for three to trot abreast, that same number of legionaries -- now near-featureless silhouettes of black and dim colors in the advent of the night -- came rushing out, guns drawn.

I backed away and raised my forehooves, yelling over the noise that I was unarmed and not a threat. They didn't even hear me. Soon the gates were wide open, and the soldier and I stood opposite to the camp's armed deputation.

All three of them had strange masks on their faces. In the brief, quiet standoff, their breathing filled the air with muffled respiration. Then the one in the middle -- clearly an officer as declared by his helmet's crests -- spoke with a voice like a rasping old zebra, "First one out of the Stable, Postulma? I assume that means the population doesn't carry disease?"

The purple-caped zebra shrugged. "Well, I'm not sick yet. And, hell, neither are you! We've been out here for almost seven months now, Euvius. If we were to get sick, we'd have gotten ill the first few weeks. This is honestly getting tedious."

"Bah," the officer groused. "You can ever be too careful out here. Damned wasters could be carrying all kinds of evolved bacteria. Vigilance is the price of safety." The critical, scrutinizing eyes of the officer known as Euvius turned to me. "You sure he's clean? Campus Apollania can't take any chances with taking in infected individuals."

The way he said it made my skin crawl. Images of monsters from old films came to mind -- did he mean zombies? Oh gods, or maybe something out of that film 'A World of Eldritch'?

The soldier I now knew as Postulma looked at him plainly. Then he grinned and said aloud, "Oh, no, no! He's clearly infected. Can you not see his skin is tumored with cancer? Oh, and his eyes -- clearly they carry the symptoms of leprosy! Best to burn him now. Quick, Euvius, before he infects us all with his aura of contamination!" With that Postulma backed away from me, looking paranoid. I looked back to him with utter confusion, mouth hanging down.

He shielded his eyes. "Ah, stop him! His gaze has somehow obtained the ability to shoot bacteria beams !"

Euvius growled. "Alright, fuck you, Postulma. If you weren't one of the damned elite tent-guards, I'd-..."

Postulma immediately ceased his demeanor and pushed pass the group. "Yes, yes, I've heard this before. 'I'd throw you off the Tarpeian Rock'." He shook his head, then turned around from under the gateway and beckoned me come along. "Come on now, Goldwreath. Don't mind this one -- old habits die hard."

I nodded and looked from side to side, at the guards. They were giving me disdainful looks, like I was a piece of meat that had visibly gone bad. I tried to keep a straight face as I briskly trotted by and entered, glancing back at them as we moved off.

"Heh, hospitable bunch," I chuckled nervously, then cleared my throat and looked to Postulma. "They, uh... they do that to all people that enter here?"

"Only the non-Legion types. Wasters, prisoners, Stable people. Don't know why they bother with that last bunch; not like the Roaman government would have risked letting anyone with a contagious disease into one of their shelters," he replied. "Still, I suppose any manner of development could have occurred..."

I stared at him, then asked, "And, er... diseased? What's that about?"

He hissed as if the topic cased him pain. "Long story. Let's just say that, uh... well, I can't say just yet. Up to Thanus to decide if you should know. But if you need something to peruse, just know that wasteland environment's damned harsh... especially on us from the Legion."

"Huh." I looked around, at the bit of tamed wasteland within the confines of the camp. It was strange, seeing rust-brown earth illuminated in the oranges of fires and the whites of more artificial light sources. It was even stranger to see a land I thought to be hostile in every conceivable manner used as the foundation for... forges. Training rings. Medical and housing tents. Barracks.

Those were what I saw the Legion making of the wasteland -- useful things, practical things. They had vehicles, an armed force, and judging from crates of supplies I saw, they even had a logistical system. They may have involved my home in a convoluted governmental decree, but now that I saw them for myself, I lost all doubt that they could fix the wasteland if they really tried. They could rebuild the Roam I'd grown up fantasizing and reading of: a city of gleaming white marble, a bastion of the ideal everything.

For that fantasy and any chance of its becoming reality, I decided that if the Legion proved true to its cause, then I would have no qualms with helping them achieve it.

"It doesn't seem so bad, the wasteland," I remarked. "Disease surely still exists, but... well, it's just not as harsh as I imagined it."

"Really now," he muttered incredulously. "What makes you say that?"

We were heading down a wide dirt path cutting straight through the middle of the camp. At the end of the path was what was clearly the command tent -- it was the largest, and the flaps were a rich, dark purple cloth. Above the flaps was a wooden pavilion that acted as a mount to a tall flagpole that bore the Legion's insignia: crossed golden gladii, in the background of which was a golden map depicting the Roaman empire at its height. Two soldiers just like Postulma in appearance flanked the entrance.

It was a praetorium, the tent of a Roaman legion's commander. Those guards were praetorians. I wanted to smack myself on the head; how had I missed it? With his purple clothing and darker armor, Postulma was clearly of the Legion's own praetorian guard. And I only realized it now! Eyes locked on the tent and the guards in astonishment at the revelation, I answered in monotone, "It's not dotted with pools of radiated goo. No green-lightning storms. No skin-peeling wind. Seems like a plain desert."

He snickered. "Well, that's because you've just seen a desert. The city of Appolania was built in one, after all. The Roaman empire's geography was very diverse like that."

"City?" I stopped. "This is a city? I thought this place was small for a camp, now it's a city?"

He looked confused for a moment before his eyes flickered with realization. "Ah, no no!" he laughed, then pulled me away from the praetorium and towards the edge of the cliff behind it. The dirt and rock here had been piled atop each other, creating a parapet of messy earth. There were wooden fences and barbed wire stabbed into the ground, and off on the other side of the praetorium's backyard were praetorians on patrol. Postulma pointed out over the darkness, at some flickering lights and towering patterns of black in the distance.

"That is the city of Appolania. This is Campus Appolania, named after the city. We are in the city's zone of governance, so legatus Thanus decided it be named in honor of the empire's defensive technologies research hub. Make sense now?"

I stared out over the blackness, at the dark, towering figures in the distance. I couldn't make out any details except for what flashes of light revealed, but the flashes were huge, fiery -- destructive. Explosions, I realized. And lots of them. The distant gleam of the structures' metal and glass and rock made me curious. I'd read of the city of Appolania, but I never realized our home was in its territory. Yet there it was, no less than perhaps a few miles out. Now parts of it flashed before my eyes, like a fire clinging to life on the last embers of coal.

And I realized as well that, like a fire, the city was burning.

"What is happening to it?" I asked. "It's... it's on fire. It's being destroyed."

"You have a good eye, then, and a quick mind to recognize destruction despite having witnessed so little. Most stable-dwellers like you tend to be... slower to recognize such nasty things," he replied, squinting as he looked into the distance. "Well, Appolania is a war zone, yes. Tribes and savages control most of it. Few of them recognize the Legion's sovereignty and authority; we have few allies here, or anywhere. Still, it is our job to revive the empire, starting with its nerve centers. If we must fight for that goal, then we will do so."

"So... you're waging a war," I concluded. The thought made my skin crawl. Wars were composed of battles, and one example of a battle was what happened earlier. Our door being yanked down... the chaos and blood and heat, all clouding the senses... and then the screams of pain and loss. Thinking that more of that was happening brought images of fire and death to mind. My hooves trembled at the imaginary sights, and I struggled to clear my head.

"We are. We're waging many, in fact," he replied plainly. "One city, dozens of tribes -- dozens of wars. It's a fiasco, really... but one we're managing to control. We're all doing our part. We're all fighting."

"But... you're here watching a cliff," I pointed out.

He snickered. "Only for now. Just long enough to bring this Stable under our control... if that'll actually happen." He sighed, but continued, "Plus, we're the first cohort, and the first cohort of any legion can't risk just putting itself in the heat of things. That brings the possibility of losing the eagle standard. Therefore, the other nine cohorts are the ones that must do the fighting. Our own nine are doing good out there, but they're going slow... part of the reason why Thanus prioritized your home."

He frowned and looked to me. "We're stretched thin, Goldwreath. A willing eighty volunteers would've been invaluable. The resources in your home would've been put to good use, as well. But..."

"But we're not willing to cooperate," I finished for him. I sighed at the thought. I could imagine what it meant to them, being rejected. They were waging wars against people who refused their authority, stretching them thin. To add to it, the pockets of assistance they were promised didn't even recognize them, stretching them even thinner. Instead of helping them fulfill their purpose -- and also our own purpose, if their word on our existence was to be trusted -- we were just distracting them. The first cohort could've been out there, fighting to reclaim Roam from the wasteland. Instead they were here, garrisoning near a settlement that probably would never cooperate with them.

My people were were a detriment. I loved them, but knowing all this now... well, we were a small thread in a grand tapestry. We should have looked at the big picture, not shut ourselves in. Maybe I was gullible. Maybe this whole display of power was just some elaborate scheme by some well-equipped bandit group to gain recruits. Maybe I was letting my desire to see a restored Roam cloud my judgement. But as I opened my eyes and looked back out over the darkness and the distant fires, I knew that we needed the Legion just as much as they needed us. Sooner or later, something or someone with the ability to bring down our door would've found us, and they may not have been as 'friendly' as the Legion. Without them policing the cities, we could've been killed long before by mutants, somehow. And now, undermanned, they needed us. Naturally, we were suspicious and cautious, unwilling to cooperate, content to stay put, and even more content to take their promises of safety -- content to receive, and not to give.

But that wasn't fair. Absolutely not fair. I would give all of myself up to pay our heavy debt, and my people... they were willing to let me pay that debt alone. I wasn't angry, but I knew what I had to do to make it right -- to make the wasteland right.

I had to make them see that bigger picture. I had to make them understand that they had a duty as Roamans.

Postulma clicked his tongue and nodded. "Yup. Pretty much the main problem right now, really... and not just with Marediolanon. I can't stress how much more effective we'd be if at least half of the Stables cooperated. We can well accommodate their demands for food and supplies; why don't they send any volunteers? I mean, they can choose not to agree, sure. But gods, they don't care for what's happening out here at all. We promise to do everything in our power to make sure they stay reasonably safe, and that's still not enough. Nothing is ever enough. Mars the Wrathful, they won't listen to reason. They won't listen to-..."

"I'll get them understand," I cut in. He stopped mid-rant and leaned forward to give me a look of confusion. "You're right. They won't listen to reason. But perhaps, given a chance... they can see it."

"Really now?" His voice was uncertain, baffled. "How? What're you thinking?"

I took a deep breath, pondering on what to say. "I'm thinking that... well, maybe if they saw just how much your Legion can do for us, they'd have second thoughts. Power-projection can move people to more than just fear -- there is awe, as well. Maybe let them see your camp, your vehicles, your troop formations. Perhaps show them what you shield us from, if you shield us from anything at all." I narrowed my eyes. "They don't trust you. And neither do I, yet. But if you really came here for mutual benefit, let it be shown."

He cocked his head. "You're suggesting what we've already done. We've shown restraint. Isn't that enough a show of goodwill?"

"Well... yes it's a show of goodwill, but it's not enough. You need to do more, I think. You need to wait for an opportunity to convince us all that you can indeed protect us, and that you will." I nodded over at the city in the distance. "If they see that city in ruins from your wars, they will fear you. But if they see a mutant swarm coming for us, with only you between us and them, well... if you're victorious, maybe you'll win more than just a battle. You could win our trust."

He crossed his forelegs. "So you mean to say that we must show your people our sincerity and ability, more than we already have?" He shook his head, looking uncertain. "Well, maybe, but..."

"Well, it's just my suggestion. If you deide to follow it somehow, make your objective winning trust, not gaining benefit. Only then can the real reward be obtained."

He stood there for along moment, pursing his lips in thought. Then he looked to me. "I will inform Thanus of this. I don't know just how he'll apply your advice, but perhaps he can find a way."

I nodded. "I don't doubt that he can. He seems like the type that won't take no for an answer."

"He is, and good observation. But have no fear, he's not the ruthless type either. He does what needs to be done... with restraint."

The moment fell into a silence as we looked out over the wastes. My mind was heavy with thought, wondering if what I'd said wasn't perhaps a form of betrayal. I had to remind myself that this was for their own good, and for fairness' sake. They couldn't stay shut in forever, not doing anything to make the world a better place. It was wasteful, both of theirs and our home's potential. Any existence spent doing nothing wasn't worth maintaining.

Nonetheless, the notion that I may have been going against them already left a grim imprint on my mind.

As a distraction against that unsettling thought, I took a moment to observe the environment, the world I would now reside it. Really, against my own expectations, I liked it. Everything felt so much more free, more wondrous. Marediolanon felt constraining and cramped in comparison. I could finally stretch my wings without bumping into somebody -- I could finally fly, if my wings weren't so lacking in muscles from years of neglect. But I could possibly rectify that now. That's what the outside was. A world of possibilities, and a world of new and wondrous things.

Like cold wind.

I felt my coat go numb and shiver. I tucked my unused excuses of wings in close, bracing against the chill. "Whoo, gods, that's cold," I said with a shaky breath. "We got air conditioning in there, but... whoo, nothing that makes me numb like this."

"Ah, you'll get used to it," he replied, his purple cape wrapped about him. "That is, you'll get used to the usually skin-blistering days and the usually nuts-freezing evenings. But the nights are longer and colder nowadays. Near the winter season, you see."

"Winter... so, there'll be snow?" I gave a little gleeful giggle. "Like in those movies where people made snow angels and such? I've never seen snow."

"Well, neither have I and by the gods I pray it's not some radioactive shit. We've not been out that long. Just a little over half a year."

The night grew colder. Dust swept into the air. Postulma turned, waving me along as the winds picked up. "Come on," he said over the whistle of the wind. "You're retraining doesn't start just yet. That's tomorrow. I'll take you to your tent."

I pried my eyes away from the gloomy darkness and turned to the brighter lights and noise of the camp. And now there was a thing I didn't notice going in: a smell, sweet and savory, with the tang of spices and the strength of wine. "What is that? Is it near dinner or something?"

"Dinner? Well, call it that if you like. Not too much food's going around, though. Definitely not in proportion to the number of people, but we make do," he answered.

"Oh? Why's there not enough?" I wondered out loud.

He didn't say a word as he trotted a few steps onto the camp's main path. He clicked his tongue. "Well... you'll see soon enough. Now, come on. We may be susceptible to illness, but we've grown used to how cold things can get out here. You haven't. Best to avoid chances of getting colds, eh?"

I sighed. I hated not being answered. I'd always labeled anyone who said 'maybe later', or 'you'll see' and other such replies as people to be wary of. A caution justified by the fact that my friends used to lure me into nasty little surprises. Even up to now, the memory of Summer Sand's little April Fool's joke made me avoid ketchup and all it's possible... blood-look-alike uses.

Still, Postulma was of the Legion's praetorians. Surely that meant he was one of the better people, one of the more trustworthy. So I followed him.

"So long as there's no ketchup-smothered dummy in the tent."

"What?" he asked, baffled.

I shook my head. "No, nothing. Lead on."

***Roama Victrix***

"If you'd told me earlier that my life outside would be spent at least partially in the comfort of a two-story tent with a nice home setup and collapsible stairs, I'd have been... very skeptical."

Really, the place had everything a soldier on campaign would need and more. Fit for comfortable living, in fact, which was strange. The couches were practical but not uncomfortable -- hell, I didn't even know of any military that kept couches in their camps. Yet here the Legion was, doing just that. The microwave was another surprise; the non-crude, non-bunk single beds lining the tiled floor near the internally-supported tent walls were just boasting of luxurious expenditures. The place even had its own dining table!

"What is this place? A tent for a patrician playing at war but wanting to retain the comforts of home?" I looked around, baffled. I picked up a nearby plate. As in a dining plate; not a plate for armor, or anything military-like. A dining plate. "I think you've brought me to the wrong tent..."

Postulma shook his head from where he stood, leaning against the entrance, the luxurious cloth-rimmed leather flaps cascading around his body. "No, I am sure I have brought you to the right place." He was grinning as he watched me round on him; he looked smug, even. This had to be a joke... I couldn't actually complain if it wasn't, but it had to be.

My expression gave him all the reason he needed to start explaining. "We don't really use money in the Legion. Don't need it, except for dealing with outsiders," he said. "For that, we've established a denarii-based economic system. But for truly internal transactions, we use raw materials. Kind of like bartering. It's simple, really. You want a nice pillow some rich soldier's wife gave him from our capital? Give him something for it. Call in favors. That's how we set this tent up with these... luxuries."

"But why? Is it actually necessary?" I pressed.

"Not biologically, no. But Thanus learned from the recent refusals of many Stables. Few were signing up because there wasn't much in it for them, so it seemed. Suspecting future refusals, he set up more inviting recruits' quarters. Increased volunteer count a bit, at least. Thanks to that internal bartering-system, we didn't spend anything at all setting this tent up like this. We just traded in the numerous bunk-beds for better ones. The result... well." He gestured a hoof proudly at the interior.

Okay, it made sense, fine. It was an... an incentive. But, "And what if it turns out the volunteer count was more than this place with its luxurious spacing and nice but few beds could handle?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Trade a single nice bed in for a few filthy bunks. I imagine the legionaries would find it a sweet trade, even if they'd be cramped."

I sighed and twirled a mug around in my hooves. Then I looked around, at all the nice lights and at the tiled and paneled floor, at the soft beds and the dining table, and at the second floor ten feet up where -- it seemed -- there was a lounge set up, with a coffee table and a radio and a set of board game boxes laying on their sides against the seats of chairs. It was nice... so nice it made me suspicious. It was too damn good to be true.

"Heh," I chuckled mirthlessly. "So I have to ask, then... your soliders. They get shit beds and crowded tents, and we recruits get all this. Bit unfair, don't you think?"

He snorted. "Boy, you've not even seen the veterans' tents, don't go saying they'll envy you. Bedding facilities, sure, could be improved, but everything else..." He smirked, then turned around. "Those soldiers had their wealthy-and-important families set them up with good gear and supplies. As for me, I don't envy you. I'm a praetorian. Best service-benefits you can get," he said with smug grin, then disappeared outside beyond the flaps.

"Enjoy your tent, Goldwreath. A gift from legatus Thanus for all Marediolanian volunteers!" he laughed from outside.

I was left alone. In a tent with very nice facilities, all at my disposal. It was almost impossible to believe. To think, earlier I'd thought we were all going to die; then I thought we were all going to be imprisoned and made into slaves. Now here I was, a volunteer for the Legion, benefiting from their glorified incentive strategy.

My people were in our home, scared and paranoid. Yet here I was, grinning and looking at my reflection in a plate. Was it deserved, I wondered, to receive all this after a sacrifice I believed I would suffer incredibly for? Was it right that I'd taken that plunge, and was rewarded? Well, when one believes in karma as I do... yes. Yes I did. That's not to say I forgot my people, the reason I made this sacrifice. It was too early to even start. But as I sat down and slowly laid on the nearest of the ten beds inside, I relaxed. I forgot it all for just a moment. I forgot it all and was just thankful that things were turning out far better than I'd expected.

"My people need to join. They need to," I murmured to myself. They had to. They could fight for a better world instead of wasting away, living a life where their greatest deeds didn't reach beyond our home. And they wouldn't be treated like conscripts for it. The Legion seemed very generous, very willing and able to accommodate.

They just had to trust them. Postulma said he'd bring my advice to Thanus. I wondered what plan the legate would set up to apply my advice, if he would. He was cunning -- he commissioned luxurious tents for recruits to attract enlistment. Surely he could come up with something else. But as for me... well, the Legion had my favor. Not my trust, but it was a start.

Gods, I couldn't believe how relieved I was at that moment. They say that people are left tired after a flood of emotion rocks through them. Well, so I felt then. And the bed beneath me didn't make fighting off the urge to nap easier.

***Roama Victrix***

I awoke fifteen minutes later. I could tell just that amount of time had passed because the little digital clock on a cupboard right next to the bed said so, and according to its count, it was 7:12 PM.

Nothing regarding the atmosphere seemed to have changed -- the noise outside was just the same, and so was the now unmistakable smell of seasoned, roasted, and mouth-watering meat. I never liked meat, though. Never ate it, either. But damn did it smell better than salads and soups.

I sat up, my senses slowly reawakening as I held a hoof to my head. I breathed through my mouth, but what came out was a rasp. My throat was dry, thirsty. The simple need for water drove me to get off the bed and look around. I suppose I shouldn't have been disappointed that the tent had no sink; not like they would've set up plumbing systems for a possibly temporary camp. I knew they had water outside. From the clinking and slurping and chewing noises, it clearly was dinner time. But like hell was I going to toss myself out there and ask for some. Too awkward, too much attention on me. I was fine with big groups if I was a part of the crowd, but to be observed specifically... a harrowing experience. That's why, whenever I was asked for a speech regarding anything, I'd always need someone at my side to share attention. On my own and under such scrutiny, I was a nervous, stammering wreck.

So I kept searching, and searching, and searching... took me five minutes, but I discovered a bunch of chilled water canteens inside a cooler. I snatched one and took a big gulp, then spat almost all of it back out. Gods, it was sour! And sweet, and tangy, and... and a lot of things, all at once. I fought back a cough and held the canteen in disgust.

"What is this?"

"That, my friend, is posca," Postulma said from right behind me, and I nearly jumped as I rounded on him, instinctively reaching to my hip where my gladius once was. Of course, it wasn't there now, which seemed to amuse the purple-caped zebra.

"Careful now, alright?" he smirked. "Can't tell you how many times too-quick-reflexes injured and nearly killed people. We need speed for combat, sure, but we aren't fighting. Not yet, anyway."

"Yeah? Well then, maybe people shouldn't sneak up on others," I huffed, getting my heart rate back down. "If it happens that often-..."

"Nearly happens that often," he cut in.

"... nearly happens that often," I growled irritatedly. "Then maybe people need to be a bit more conspicuous, for their allies' sakes."

He shrugged. "Eh, maybe. Mostly just occurs with you Stable types, though. Lacking combat experience, not knowing the value of hesitation. That kind of thing." He trotted over and patted me on the shoulder. "Don't worry now, you'll get the hang of it. Only real problem you'll have is low-light identification. Real nasty bitch, those kinds of situations... which is where posca comes in handy." He pointed to the canteen and at the light-violet fluid I spat onto the nice clean wooden floor.

"What... this stuff?" I asked, baffled. "Is it some kind of night-vision potion?"

"Hehe," he snickered. "No, no it isn't. It's wine and water mixed with vinegar. Hydrates the body, puts taste on a bitter tongue, and speeds up the head all at once. Most legionaries want more wine in it, but it's damn fine with the current solution."

I looked back to the canteen in slight disgust. Well, I was looking for water, and I did get it and more, sure... but it wasn't for me. Tasted like shit at first, but if there was anything I liked, it was that inexplicable aftertaste. Still nothing that beats plain water, though. "Right then, okay... and just how would this help the soldiers get themselves in control?"

He smiled humorously. "Well, if you're lucky, the wine'd have slowed them down enough that they wouldn't point a gun out of reflex. Or, if you're really lucky, they'd have drank just enough to perk their heads up and see you're with them. Alcohol's a double-edged blade like that. Just right, quick head. Too much, slow head."

He grinned to himself. "Hey, it rhymes!" he beamed, then hummed, "Just right, quick head; too much, slow head..."

I watched him for a moment as he did a little head dance, moving to the rhythm of the rhyme. Then I smelled the sweet-sour scent of the posca. But it wasn't coming from the canteen; no, it was coming from him. "You've been drinking, haven't you?"

"Well, of course! People're much happier and a lot warmer with bellies full of posca, the wonder drink," he replied, smiling. "Now, are you going to drink that?" He pointed to the canteen in my hooves.

"No," I replied immediately. "I can imagine it has appeals and benefits, but really I just want water."

"Ah, good." He swiped the canteen right from my hooves and took a swig. "Well, there's water outside. Come! Time to meet the first cohort."

Before I could so much as say I word, he was dragging me off. First towards the flaps of the tent, then past that and into the chilly night air. My senses were assaulted with the strong, bright lights of cooking flames and the overwhelming scent of roasted meat. Harsh metallic screeching from a thousand different directions blared into my ears. The crunch of cold dirt met my hooves as I fumbled along. My eyes hadn't even adjusted to the change in scenery and I was seeing everything as a blur when I was plopped down hard onto a wooden seat.

"Now stay here," Postulma told me. "I'll be back in... who knows, half an hour? The line to that big, fat brahmin's only gotten longer since last I saw it." He patted my shoulders and went off, leaving me disoriented as my senses struggled to adapt to sudden change in environment.

I wasn't much better off even when I adjusted, but at least I knew where I was in the hectic camp. I was sitting right next to a tent close to the main path, and just a little ways off to my right was a bright orange flame boiling a pot of water. A bunch of zebra legionaries tended to the fire and talked amongst themselves. The gate I'd come through earlier was still guarded and was all the way down the path. And there, up the mountain, where the entrance to my home was, was a fire -- a small camp, already established at the mouth to Marediolanon. I didn't know whether to take it as a sign of my people's submission, or Thanus making good on his word to protect us, or... or something else.

I sighed and kept to myself, trying to draw as little attention as possible. My efforts were mitigated by the fact that I was the only pony sight, and apparently that meant much to these people. They were giving me looks when they thought I wasn't watching them, talking about me in whispers. They were even covering their mouths, and the ones closest to me had strapped on masks to shield their breathing.

"Quod ille extraneus," one of them said. 'He's that outsider'. That's what I was to them. A stranger. Postulma may have interacted with me, but that's all I was until I became one of them. And now, sitting alone in a foreigner's camp with little knowledge of what was happening beyond what I saw, I realized exactly that would eat away at my existence here. I would never really be one of them. At the most they'd accept me, but judging from the way they glanced at me I knew they'd never hesitate to remind me that I was alone in a camp of zebras, a pony away from home.

I'd been tucking in on myself for just a few minutes, bracing against the occasional gush of freezing air before Postulma came back, a bowl of steaming meat in each of his forehooves. "Here," he said as he handed me a bowl and sat down on the dirt next to me. "Turns out, most of these louts don't mind letting a praetorian go first at the meat. Poor bastards." He snickered. "Ah well, at least I didn't have to pull rank myself... or wait in line." He shuddered.

I shook my head lightly and cautiously took the bowl. I'll admit, the strings and chops of steaming, juicy meat inside smelled good... better than most anything I'd ever smelled, really. Then my stomach growled; gods, it'd been a while since I'd had a proper meal. That cake mother made was... light, and left me hungry. Now the meat was starting to look good, and that was bad -- I'd sworn to myself never to eat meat. Dad and Mom didn't, nor their parents, and neither did most ponies in Marediolanon. I would not break a lifetime and more of restraint so easily. So I put it down and did everything in my power to distract myself.

"Thanks, but, uh... well, I'm not hungry. Full, and you can thank my mother for that," I lied. Who knew, maybe they'd look at me more favorably if I didn't eat their apparently scarce food. Best to try to play it safe.

He took the bowl and poured its contents into his own. "Well, I'll thank your mother for indirectly giving me more meat," he grinned, going through the food quickly with his bare hooves. The slurping noises he made as he sucked in the soft slices of the long, thin cuts were... disturbing me, and causing my stomach to rebel against my will. "You sure, though? Not too much left there. Wouldn't want you to go hungry now."

"Ah, yes I'm sure," I replied quickly. He shrugged and continued eating, getting his nice purple cape dirty on the mud. "Your uniform's getting dirty," I pointed out, nodding at his cape.

"Mhmm, what of it?" he replied.

I cocked my head. "Shouldn't you... not let it get dirty?"

He shook his head. "Nah, no point. Out here, things and people get dirty, scraped, scratched, shot, eviscerated, sliced, beaten, shelled, burned, crushed, pulverized, smacked and generally fucked up too often for us to really give a damn any more. Take for example this cape." He yanked the cloth out from behind him. It was filthy, and not just from his recent sitting. There were old mud stains, and the thing had more wrinkles than a prune.

"I washed and ironed this thing today, right before the first century of the first cohort busted down your door. Yet, look at it! Looks like it's been through Cerberus' mouth and throat, then out his ass or something." He flicked the cape away, going back to his meal. "No point in trying to look clean. We all got dirt on our hooves. Oh, and blood. Lots of that. Ah, but the more the blood, the bigger the grin on grumpy old Mars' face, right?" he chuckled.

I swallowed, and suddenly my stomach wanted to void itself rather take anything in. I started to shake, and not just from the cold. A little sniff managed to make its way out from me as I sat there, seeing that first battle all over again. All the fire, all the dead, and all the blood...

Postulma's expression very quickly changed to one of immediate understanding and remorse. "I, uh... I'm sorry. I forgot that... you know, your home, and your loss and... stuff. Your... your first time seeing blood? Tends to be common out here, so I didn't really think that through... yeah..."

"N-no," I stuttered. "I've seen blood before. When you're a guard you just do sometimes, you know? Sometimes you need to beat some sense into someone or... or maybe hit him in the leg with a non-lethal stab. It's the death I saw with the blood that makes this time different... that and having had my friend's party and our normal life ruined, and... and losing friends and nearly losing an idol and mentor." I fought back a sob, feeling my eyes go wet. I shook my head and looked away in embarrassment.

The people we lost; those who died -- they were gone forever. Mortality had never been a subject of much discussion or concern in Marediolanon. Assuming they didn't do anything to get harmed, a Marediolanian could expect to die a peaceful death, surrounded by family and incinerated in an evening-long ceremony.

But this wasn't that. Death out here wasn't going to be peaceful or unthought of. It was going to be filled with pain, loss, and anguish. Paranoia would grip any just wanting to survive. That exchange back in the entrance hall was just a taste of the cruelty of the times to come, and I knew that. I knew it since I saw such carnage earlier that day. It was a truth I wish no one needed to understand just to live.

And now here I was, my mind lamenting and expressing in tears and sobs my terror. I was scared. Beneath my relief and newborn determination to convince my people to join these outsiders, I harbored a fear of death... and of causing death. The Legion would ask me to kill, I knew it. And if it meant repaying the debt we owed them, then I would take lives. But the day I would kill would be the day I would cease being the Goldwreath that I was.

And it was that, the turning away from who I was and becoming another person... that scared me most of all.

"Sorry, just uh... it's just so much to take in," I sniffled, wiping my nose. It was a huge understatement, but it was true. He just looked at me intently. "I don't regret my choice to come out here. I see potential in the Legion. I see things that my people should see." I sniffed and tried to disperse the emotions gathering in my head. "But... it doesn't make the weight lighter. I have to repay the debt of my people, and if I can't do that... what will happen? And, gods, I don't think I can bring myself to kill anyone... not willingly. It's not my place to end everything a person is and ever will be. Only nature can and should do that."

Despite everything, he laughed. It wasn't cynically mocking or born of genuine humor. It was a pitiful chuckle. "Okay, I get that," he snickered, shaking his head with a little half-smile. "You want to let death be natural. Old age. Illness. You know, nothing violent -- let nature handle it."

His smile melted away, replaced with a resigned regret. "Well... if only. Thing is, violence is integral to nature. People are naturally inclined to fight, whether physically or otherwise. It doesn't matter. Conflict is in our essence, and well... out here, acknowledging that is the only way you can keep your head attached to your body. If you don't recognize the necessity of killing, you’ll get nowhere out here. You'll be a corpse, because when you're facing off with the enemy, hesitation is a weakness they'll exploit if it meant they'd live."

I hung my head and scowled. Never in all my life did I want to disagree more. My throat was sore and tight and bore a lump that made it hard to speak, and my eyes stung as I blinked out tears, but I was capable of talking back. I was capable of trying to force out the poisonous words.

But I didn't. It seemed his words were proving true, even in my own mind. I'd been torn asunder, conflicted as to what to believe. My consensus had been sabotaged by the betrayal of my own head, and now the venom he called truth was worming its way into me.

"I am sorry," he said, looking uncertain himself. "Killing is... more often than not the best solution to things. That is the truth out here"

I snorted, glaring into the dirt. "Maybe it's the wasteland's truth. But not mine."

I looked up, gaze locking with his. "If I'll ever kill, it will only be to protect. I'll never let it be my 'best solution'. Nothing that involves death can be the way things should be."

He sighed and leaned back, his disbelieving glance practically saying, 'We'll see.'

"Have it your way," was what he actually said as he brought the posca-filled canteen to his lips, his hooves trembling ever so slightly. He downed the liquid slowly at first, but with each glance he threw my way he drank bigger gulps until at last he pulled away, the canteen dried of every drop. A crooked, sour smile crossed his lips as he looked to the canteen in admiration.

"Wow, strong stuff!" He sucked in air through his teeth as if scattering the sting I knew the liquid had. "Bacchus, did they add more wine to this?" he laughed, shaking his head and throwing questioning glances off to a bunch of zebras on the other side of the road who were handing out similar canteens. They had not; I knew the answer. He was just trying to distract himself. Clearly our little exchange had had some fallout on him, and drinking was his way of dealing with it.

I let him have his distraction. Once the determination to prove that 'truth' wrong left me, I was left hollow, unfeeling. I was trying to wrap my head around so many things and so many emotions that I ended up understanding none of it. I sat there like a husk for who knows how long, but gradually the noise toned down a notch as some soldiers left the revelry on the road.

Then, "Open the gates!" I heard Euvius shout , and I was knocked from my trance. A teeth-grating metallic shrieking filled the air as the heavy doors shifted aside, and Thanus -- looking tired but relieved -- cantered in, accompanied by what must have been most of the legionaries he'd brought in with him.

Of those that strolled in with him, there was one that caught my attention: a zebra, cloaked in the skin of some furry beast, the flesh of its upper jaw and face draped over his head like a hood. On a specially-designed slot on his back was mounted a long silver pole, atop which stood a large golden eagle, wings extended proudly. My eyes locked onto the image and the IPQR engraving on a metal plate beneath it, unable to look away.

Thanus gave orders, and his troops stood at attention, yet I could only stare. There it was again, that feeling -- that void in my head accompanied by an undertone of tension, as though the silence of my mind was holding back a great wave of overwhelming thoughts. Then the zebra, who was so clearly the aquilifer, the bearer of a legion's Aquila, or eagle standard, stepped out of view behind some tents. The silence broke, proving me right as thoughts and sounds crashed back onto the fore of my attention, snapping me back to reality.

Postulma had left me the moment Thanus entered and was in formation in a square of praetorians, all being instructed and directed by their legate. Then they were dismissed, heading off into different directions all around the camp. Similarly, the legionaries scattered, quickly putting out fires and cleaning up messes, putting away excess soup and stacking stools atop each other. It was a curfew; I'd helped impose those enough to know it when I saw it. If Thanus had given any other order, it must have been 'clear the damn road and take the night off -- in your tents'.

Now it was just him and Postulma near the gate, with the exception of the guards. He and his praetorian held a short discussion. Then Postulma lazily flopped a hoof in my direction, and the pair trotted to where I sat. I swallowed -- this was the moment I'd been waiting for, the chance to speak with the zebra who essentially had the life of my Stable in his hooves. My nerves were on edge, my brain thinking up of what to say. It felt like the most important meeting of my life, and perhaps it was.

"Ah, I see you stayed right where I left you," Postulma said as they finally arrived. "Goldwreath, sir, has been well-behaved. A dream for a praetorian on baby-sitting duty; couldn't have asked for a tamer charge myself." He smiled, "Ah, but he'll let that caution peel off. When the time comes, I know he'll do what needs to be done... even if he may not want to do it."

"Mmm," Thanus hummed, eyeing me. His gaze made my skin crawl, his apparent scrutiny uneasing me. Perhaps I had nothing to be uncomfortable about. Perhaps I was just letting the fact that he was the zebra who controlled the immediate future of my people intimidate me. What I was certain of was that, judging from the way he stared, he had some kind of plan in store for me. And I wasn't sure I was going to like it. "Is that your current image of Goldwreath, Postulma? An individual to make sacrifices as need calls?"

"Yes, legatus," the praetorian replied.

"Good. Then my own observations are backed by another." Thanus nodded his way and then waved him off, and Postulma promptly gave a quick bow and left for the praetorium.

I was left alone in the presence of the single most powerful zebra I currently knew by name. I fought the urge to remain quiet, to be intimidated. I stood, bringing myself to his level. "Legate Thanus, it's-..."

"Cold," he cut in.

The road was devoid of almost all activity now, save some officers making rounds within and about clusters of tents. The noise the soldiers were making came from within their shelters, sounding muffled and soft -- easily drowned out by the howl of a renewed, chilly wind. Thanus was right, it certainly was getting cold. I shivered again. "Er, y-yes..." I replied, teeth chattering. "So... what now?" I asked.

"We go to my tent," he replied, patting me on the back to move me along. "The nights tend to get cold out here around this time. No sense staying out here to face it, not when there's warmth nearby."

We made our way down the road and up a small earthen ramp elevating the praetorium from the rest of the camp. Thanus entered first, and I followed. The immediate rise in temperature was a relief, pleasing.

The sights, however, were not. Unlike the recruits' tent (and those of the veterans, though I'd not actually entered them), the praetorium made no attempt to look more homely or comfortable than necessary; this was a military interior now, totally and unmistakably. The inner walls were a plain dark red. The floor was made of large wooden squares nailed together. Illumination consisted of a single long fluorescent bulb running the length of the tent's ceiling. The entire first floor was a meeting area, with furniture arranged near the center. The central table was blanketed by a huge map of plastic make. The only comforts and non-necessities present seemed to be a pair of washbowls on the table, a bed and some more homely seats on the small second floor, a few statuettes lining the top of a nearby shelf, the bust of a zebra upon which was what I presumed was Thanus' legate's helmet, and several bottles of wine.

Postulma seemed to be responsible for that last bit. Crouched next to a bottle rack at the opposite end of the tent alongside some more kitchen-based facilities, he was scanning the available bottles as if perusing which one to bring over next.

"Ah, of course!" He picked one up and looked it over. "Fifty years old, this; it'll be sweeter than a sugar cube, hehe." He stood up and plopped the bottle down on the table, then waved a hoof over at us. "Please, do sit and discuss things with a cup of my selected wines in your hooves. Everything is better with wine."

Thanus stepped forward and took his seat on the table. "I trust your judgement on alcohol, Postulma. I need the most relaxing flavors; that little fiasco back there was... draining. So many questions to answer... irritating." The legate looked up at me, still standing there at the doorway. "Take a seat, now. Don't act meek around me; I have little time for that. You and I, you see, have a few things to discuss."

Hesitantly, I trotted over and sat down. "Yes, I... I suppose we do." I cleared my throat. "Legate, I have some concerns..." I said, and he rose an eyebrow as he took a sip from a cup. Postulma, acting as servant-on-duty, brought over some bread, cheese, and thin meats on a platter. Though the site of the food incited a growl from within, I continued, "You see, I firmly believe that the Legion should do more to earn the trust of the people of Marediolanon. They just don't see the benefit of submitting. They don't know what's up here, after all."

He put down the cup and cleared his throat. "Ah, this. Postulma told me of your advice; I know what you mean. And I'm glad to say that I can easily arrange a means to provoke their trust and dependence." He smiled slightly, chortling quietly as he tore into the bread to make himself a sandwich.

The news caught me off-guard. "Oh? Really?" I looked about in confusion for a moment. "What is your plan?"

"Ah, I cam't tell you just wet," he said through a mouthful of bread. "Suffwice it to say thawt it winvolves... expwosions."

I furrowed my eyebrows in bafflement, prompting Postulma to speak as he trotted over to me, putting down a similar assortment of food. "What my superior means is that his plan involves some fighting. Well, lots of it. I can't say more for him."

Thanus nodded. "Thank you for being so considerate as to leave adding context to me. And yes, Goldwreath, the plan involves quite a bit of bloodshed."

My eyes widened in horror. "And whose blood will be spilled?" I asked quickly. When they didn't answer immediately, I stood up. "If you mean to harm my people, then I'll have you know-..."

"Oh, obviously not," Thanus interjected. "In the past two hours, I've come to know those people well enough. They’re stubborn, and fervent in their desires. If I were to attack them, which I will not, I'd lose any chance to secure this region. Our supply lines here are short; those people don't know it, but we need them. And I'm no savage. I'll not commit slaughter to get what I want... no, what I need. I can employ... other means."

I sat back down, sighing. My hooves were trembling, my nerves all thrumming like a charged wire. If I didn't calm down, I'd have had a nervous breakdown. So I drank of the wine I was provided, but just enough to think clearly again. "Okay... yes, of course. Obviously that would be a detriment to your motives here. Postulma told me of your needs, and you've just confirmed them. But it seems this entire discussion is rendered unnecessary by your awareness."

"Perhaps. I've salvaged an ongoing operation to achieve the goal you stressed. But I'm not just talking to you to help clear up some of this mess; I'd like to know who exactly it is I've managed to recruit." He swirled his cup around in his hooves, smiling relaxedly. "Care to share anything?"

"I, uh... you mean, about myself?" I asked, and he nodded. For a moment after I felt sluggish, unsure of what to say. I suppose I'd hyped myself up so much that the sudden drop in tension, and the sudden change in topic from the whole Marediolanon-Legion fiasco to myself, left me... without thought.

But I managed to start with just how I felt, luckily needing no thought. "I'll be honest, I am... confused as hell," I admitted, feeling a great weight leave me. I stifled a relieved laugh as I continued, "You know, it's just a bit much. I woke up earlier today, tired and cake-smothered, expecting to be greeted with just... just another day. Then you came along and, well, I saw death for the first time. Damned if it's still not something that gets to me... and then I found myself leaving my whole life behind. Now here I am, thinking and worrying so much about what to do and what exactly will happen to me... shit, I feel overtaxed."

"I think so," he nodded. "A stone cracks when subjected to heat and chill. Likewise with you -- a person who endures a plethora of different feelings over too short a time can find himself spent, hollow. Believe me, I know. When you're a commander, you deal with it everyday. And you're confused because you've felt too many differing emotions since we knocked on your door. Fear, relief, sadness, awe -- all in quick succession."

I nodded slowly, making him narrow his eyes. "But there's more, isn't there? You're skittish, and more than just from being nervous around me. I think you’re conflicted about something. Mind telling me what it is?" he asked slowly, gently.

"I..." My voice cracked, and I swallowed. Was I that easy to see through? "I-I am. Yes, I am..." I bowed my head and took another quick sip of wine. "Well, you already know it, so I might as well say it." I sighed and looked up at him. "I think I'm betraying my people."

Now here that train of thought was again. Damn me, I wasn't betraying them; it just felt that way. I knew getting them to participate in a mutually-beneficial agreement with the Legion was for their own good, if against some of the people's wills. But what could I do? I was a guard. I'd been trained to always do what was right, no matter the toll. And now the toll now was mental, flashing images of my Dad's disappointment, of Horus' disgust, Mom's disdain -- all reactions to the eventual revelation that, if Thanus' plan succeeded, I had participated in something they didn't initially want. That I, the pony they trusted with their lives, had handed them in to the deal.

My only hope now was that Thanus' plan would make them all trust the Legion, so that none of them would hate me for it.

"Curious notion," Thanus mused, absent-mindedly taking another drink of his wine. "Though, I can see why you'd think so. Less than a whole day out, and already you've made efforts to bring our two peoples together, though it's against the vast majority of your people’s beliefs." Leaning forward, he asked, "Now... why is that?"

I shook my head and shrugged. "When you first broke in, I was scared to death. I thought we were all doomed, that the wasteland had come for us. You see, I'd imagined the horrors of the outside many times, thinking up monsters and visualizing a landscape so hostile one would be dead in minutes. But..."

"It isn't anything at all like he thought," Postulma chimed in. "Told me this bit, too, sir. You should hear this."

Intently, Thanus squinted and put his hooves beneath his chin. I took it as the signal to continue, "But the Legion has tamed it. Or, well... at least the part of the wasteland that's in this camp. It's safe, secure, livable. That you've managed to assert yourself over a place I've feared for all my life is... extremely convincing, impressive. So I thought ‘I should help these people to achieve even more'. I suppose, following that intuition, I've come to think myself... easily swayed, gullible. I don't mean that your cause is fake, but I am saying that, maybe, I let the bigger picture capture me too quickly."

I bowed my head. "And all that in less than five hours..." I sighed.

"Well, don't let it shame you," Thanus said, sitting straight on his seat. "I've known you by name for just a few hours and by face for just a bit more, Goldwreath. You may think yourself a traitor for 'letting the bigger picture capture you', but I find it admirable. You easily adapt to circumstance, you see what most don't. You feel, but don't let emotions get in the way of doing what you believe is right." He wagged a hoof at me, insisting, "That sense has allowed you to understand that we need each other, the soldiers of the Legion and the people of Marediolanon. It is the truth, as you've seen and heard. And for that reason understand this: you are no traitor. You are an idealist, and one that acts for his thoughts. That is why I think you are the best your people have to offer."

I found myself speechless, flattered. If Thanus was good at one thing it was seeing into people. By the gods, he'd read me like an open book! It was a skill of his I both admired and feared. My only consolation was that I had some aptitude in that art, as well -- how else could I have seen what kind of person Thanus was when he stood atop that balcony? Still, he was better than I was. A lot better.

It was a long moment before I found my voice again. "Thank you, sir. That... that actually makes me feel better."

"Good. And do stop calling me 'sir', or 'legatus'. I can only take so much respect before I wonder if people are saying it just to make my pride swell. And I'm no fool -- too much pride can bring down empires and cause folly."

I blinked. This legate surprised me on every turn, first with his ability to see into me easily, and now with his firm denial of pride. I wondered if perhaps I'd read him wrong, that maybe I'd thought him up into a different kind of person than he actually was. Relentless, scheming, cunning: all traits I'd believed he possessed. But he wasn't at all like the cold-hearted mastermind I'd imagined him to be. Cunning? So he seemed. Relentless? He had an air of it, yes. But the type to scheme, to plot the convoluted downfall of those who didn't side with him? No. He seemed capable of friendliness and understanding, and seemed to own a great deal of both.

I stood, feeling the meeting had come to its natural conclusion. To my surprise, he stood as well, putting a hoof to his chest. "It's been good getting to know you, Goldwreath," he said, smiling. I returned the gesture and put a hoof to my chest, smiling back.

"And you, as well, lega-..." I stopped myself short. "And you as well, Thanus."

He nodded, sitting back down and gesturing at the entrance. "Well, you can leave whenever you'd like; I shan't hold you any longer."

I could have left that moment, but the large map on the table finally caught my attention. On my end, upside down, were the letters spelling the words 'IMPERIUM ROAMANUM'. Beneath the letters, also upside down, was a map of Roam at its height before the war. The printed landscape and archipelagos were similar enough to the maps of Roam I'd seen in Marediolanon, except this one had its lands and waters marked with countless markings of different colors -- there were arcing arrows, circles, X's, symbols of explosions, outlines of vehicles, hoof-drawn representations of rivers, lakes, and others. Clearly, Roam had changed quite dramatically.

"If you were anyone else," Thanus said as he watched me look over the map, "I'd have you flogged for viewing the Legion's strategic information. But as you're a legionary auxiliary now, if untrained, I permit you to look. In fact..." He waved Postulma over to a small cabinet, and the praetorian promptly went over and pulled out a similar map, though blank.

Thanus took it and started copying down the markings from his own map, symbol-by-symbol, drawing-by-drawing. "You'll need this more than that money I gave you," he said idly. He finished and handed me the new copy, and I took it thankfully.

"Thank you," I said sincerely, taking it and forcing back a smile at the thought of sating a great bit of the curiosity that had started brewing since I first saw that centurion's silhouette earlier that day.

"I suggest you peruse that tonight. If by chance you're forced out of garrison duty here, you may find that thing could save your life," he informed me. "Now, is there nothing else? Drawing that map has reminded me I have yet to set my plan in motion." Looking to Postulma, he added, "Be so kind as to gather the centurions outside once our guest leaves. I've much to tell them."

There was nothing else. I said as much, then turned around and made my way for the flaps, my eyes scanning over the map. I let out a tiny little smile as I spotted the name 'Marediolanon' -- my home, represented by a gear-shaped symbol.

Then I remembered something, and stopped abruptly. "There is one more thing, actually," I said as I turned around. I looked to Postulma, and the praetorian gave me an expectant look.

"Yes? What do you need?"

I cleared my dry throat and asked, "I don't suppose I could have some water now?"

***Roama Victrix***

I couldn't make out what I was hearing. Thanus was clearly addressing the assembled centurions, but what he was saying obscured by distance and the walls of the tent. For a while I looked over the map, familiarizing myself with the contemporary landscape of the empire. Then the noise died away as the centurions were dismissed, and all became quiet.

The hour struck nine in the evening. I'd gotten back to my tent nearly an hour earlier. Yes, my tent, seeing as there was no one there to share it with me. There was something both oddly comforting and grimly disheartening to having the entire place to myself. On the one hoof, I had unrestricted access to the amenities and comforts Thanus had so generously obtained for the volunteers. I had a whole bed to myself, and it was of no shy size -- I could stretch my whole body out upon it with remaining room for luxury. Not at all like the tight, cramped bunks of Marediolanon's barracks.

And on the other hoof, I missed just that. I missed the noise, the chatter of eighty other people, even if I only ever used it as comforting background noise. I never really spoke much to them -- Summer Sands was really the only one I ever conversed with, mostly because he was my official partner in the centuria. But now, alone in a quiet, spacious tent... I was reminded just how much we'd gone through together in training. And then after that, in the months after our becoming the peacekeepers of our home. We swore oaths of unity and honesty so that we would always be there for each other.

So was that why I was alone? Did they all reach the consensus that their place was in Marediolanon, not outside? Did they let me sacrifice myself not because they wanted to, but because those oaths bound them to look after the majority, not the individual?

It was a disconcerting notion, but one that had some background. 'Always stay in formation' -- the magical words Horus had taught us. Even in combat drills, anyone caught stepping too far out of the line to pursue a fleeing enemy would be punished. Initiative was on the part of the officers (in that case only Horus and another randomly assigned mock centurion), never on the rank-and-file soldiers. I suppose that extended up to here: I had stepped out of line, out of formation, to pursue a goal. Now I was doomed to fight alone, while my fellows clustered together in the safety of each other's presence.

I sighed and stared at the cloth of the bed, my mind distracted from the map. After a while I decided I was in no mood to peruse it amy more, not the way I felt. Even with Thanus' words, there was doubt, and it was compounded by my being alone. Were it that there was at least one more volunteer to make me feel like I wasn't abandoned for one reason or another... if only. I quietly folded up the map and placed it on a nearby drawer, then switched off the lights and laid on my back. The outside was eerily quiet -- I suppose the officers had been successful in imposing the curfew.

It was quiet. Too damned quiet. I never liked the quiet. I always fell asleep most soundly when at least a few others in the barracks were still conversing. It was a reminder that I wasn't alone.

But that's what I was now. Alone, and left unanswered as to the events to unfold the next day. Questions nagged at my consciousness. Concern swelled up within me. Yet there was nothing to be done about it, nothing but anticipate. So I closed my eyes and waited.

It took a long, long... long time before my uneasy mind finally drifted off to slumber.

***Roama Victrix***

B-JEWG !!!

My eyes snapped open. My legs kicked hard against the bed, thrusting me onto my hooves as the adrenaline surging through me broke my sleep. My heart drummed in my chest, my lungs sucked in air to fuel the stupor-shattering surge of energy and acute awareness.

An explosion! The first I'd ever experienced, and it had detonated right there, inside the camp! Even as I stood there like a statue, unsure of what to do next, the blast of heat and wind flew over the tent, sending waves rippling across the walls. I blinked rapidly as I heard shouts outside, the clamor of soldiers as commands were bellowed through the chaos. Then I yelped and jumped as a sharp rock punched through the ceiling and lodged itself into the wooden floor, smoking.

Then beyond my belief more explosions tore through the air, each seaming closer than the last and shaking the earth more violently each time. B-JEWG!!! B-JEWG!!! B-JEWG!!!

I could very well have either cowered under cover inside the tent or rushed outside to see what was transpiring; my mind, having only witnessed as of yet one genuine display of fatal violence, was reeling from the area-of-effect of another. Conflicted, I stood still, making no decision as panic, fear, and concern fought for dominance in my head.

It was at that moment of doubt that Postulma came strolling in past the flaps, bread in one hoof and a canteen in the other. He threw me a cheeky smile, still chewing on his food. "Ah, morning. I see you've heard the wake up call."

"Wake up call?"

"Mhm," he replied, taking a swig of posca. "Yup, the wake up call. Well, not the official one, no. The troops woke up half an hour ago to form up for the attack. That one was to really break their stupor!"

"So you set off explosions to wake people up? Are you out of your mind?!"

"Ha! No, we didn't set those explosions off," he replied easily. "No, the enemy did that with the few artillery cannons they've got. Should be just a few more blasts, then they'll be out of ammo. And after that..." He grinned deviously.

Enemy? Explosions as 'wake up calls'? "Are... are we under attack?" I asked, feeling incredibly sluggish and not just a bit stupid for it. His flat gaze only compounded my doubt, and I asked again more assertively, "Well, are we?"

He rolled his eyes, opening his mouth and sucking in a breath in preparation for one of those snarky replies of his. He didn't get to make it as another blast emanated nearby, shaking the earth and filling the air with the scent of smoke. Wails and screams and a much smaller, much closer, explosion followed suit, the detonation knocking me to a stumble and him to the ground.

"Gah! Yes, alright? We are!" he sputtered, muttering curses as he got back onto his hooves, then openly swore at the sight of his spoiled breakfast. His serious, scowling gaze locked with my own. "Alright, enough breakfast. Come with me, and make no mistake: if we fail here, we're all dead. Now, come!"

He grabbed me by the mane and dragged me outside, where he promptly called for us to lower our heads as we skittered across the marred dirt road. Smoking craters were blown into various areas and into some tents, and also along the earthen palisade. The early morning sun's golden rays cast a light not unlike yesterday's afternoon, but it felt alien and corrupted as it filtered through black smoke. Shouting centurions and hurrying legionaries galloped all over the site in squares, marching off towards the gates. In their midst, a centuria of praetorians cantered in formation, moving at a brisk pace along with the crowd. Distant explosions coupled by a shaking earth made our movement uneven, causing us to stumble every so often as we hurried our pace. The general heat and chaos of the area made my head spin, and I was thankful for the visual focal point that was Postulma.

"Can you take a moment and just tell me what the fuck is going on?!" I shouted as a particularly rapid set of booms vibrated the earth. Gods, my ears were getting hammered! How did he seem so unfazed? I doubted any amount of time hearing explosions could get one used to it!

"Like I said!" he shouted back, gesturing me to hurry before breaking into a gallop. I followed him as he made for the marching square of praetorians, falling into the rear rank before shouting again in continuation, "Remember what Thanus said? That blood would be shed to finally end our plights? Well, this is it!" Despite everything going on, he managed to throw me a smirk. "Sorry if I can't say more, but you'll understand it all soon enough! Maybe later, after we crush the enemy!"

"Postulma!" a praetorian officer yelled from the front, his voice straining to be extra loud just to be heard over the marching and yelling of the other legionary centuriae. "Quit talking to that pony and follow pace! The legate wants us there quickly, but with air in our lungs! So save your breath!"

"Yes, sir!" With that, Postulma fell silent to my further inquiries, irking me terribly.

We reached the gates. The legionaries and their centurions hurried off down the road, but the praetorians marched to the side of the path. There Thanus was, riding a beast the likes of which I'd never seen before. It was a grey thing, born with thick and desiccated-looking hide. Muscular too, with stocky legs and a wide, robust body; perhaps large enough to hold three ponies on its back. Its tail was short and stubby, pointing upwards slightly towards the sky. Its head, thick in width and tipped with a series of three long horns on the end of its bony nose, wore what seemed like a scowl.

An interesting thing -- the first of wasteland wildlife that I ever saw! But my attention was quickly directed to the legate, whose scarlet-crested legate's galea (or helmet) made him stand out even from the mass of purple-plumed praetorians assembling before him. Smiling easily and handling the reigns of his mount, he looked to each of his assembled troops.

"Praetorians!" he announced, straightening his back to rise to his full height upon the beast. His voice grabbed the immediate focus of his soldiers. "A few months from now, I will be sending my colt off to school in the first restored academy in Roam. I will be tutoring him, singing him lullabies at night. A peaceful existence, unlike the war we know now. There is a future for me, and so there shall also be for you! Thus is the power of determination -- imagine where you will be months from now, and it shall be so. None can limit your worth or potential, only Death!"

"And Death won't take us, not today!" the praetorians roared in practiced unity, grinning and cheering amongst themselves.

The legate smiled. "And I can promise you that, for today," Thanus said, then turned his beast around and nodded up the slope leading to Marediolanon. What I saw astonished me: some of my people, trotting about nervously at the crest of the slope, looking panicked. Then they saw the legate and his assembled troops, and they stopped dead in their tracks, looking fearful. If it were me in their hooves, with no knowledge of the outside, I'd have felt the same crippling indecision and fear; as it was, I was anxious as to what Thanus was going to do with my home. With my people.

His hoof pointed to a trail of smoke I'd not earlier seen. It was emanating from the other side of the mountain. "Now, those savages out there -- those numerous tribes you've fought in Apollania -- have come to assault us. Look at the result! With their wildly-aimed cannons and untrained marksmanship, they have either accidentally or purposefully attacked the shelter of Marediolanon. According to schematics, the part of the shelter struck by the blasts was the engine room, from which all power of the settlement comes from," he declared, looking back to his troops. The image of our engine room, the place I'd once gotten lost in when I was a colt, leveled and caved in with mountainous rubble, brought a fresh wave of anger and loss to the fore of my mind.

"They have attacked innocents," he frowned, shaking his head. "They have antagonized a people they had no qualms with. In their efforts to retaliate against our righteous goals, they have disrupted the fragile stability won by the generous sacrifice of the pony who here now stands in our presence. Tell me, as champions of Roam, of order and civilization, will you stand for this?"

The praetorians roared in the negative, their defiant cries synchronizing perfectly with a set of distant explosions, a few of which landed shells dangerously close to the entrance of Marediolanon. The ponies and zebras assembled up the slope screamed and panicked, and some galloped out of view.

Thanus observed the occurrence, then turned back to his soldiers. "You all know the plan," he finally said when the shouts died down. "Stay with the Aquila, with the first cohort, and you shall not be harmed. The gods protect those who fight for them. Stay in formation! Break the line, and I cannot guarantee your survival. Wait for me patiently, and you shall soon find that the depth of their ranks will ring hollow. Now, on to the battle!"

He kicked into his mount's ribs, and the beast roared and turned before running off down the path leading off the mountain. The praetorians galloped after it in formation. From those crossroads in front of that gateway, I managed to get an unobstructed view of the plains below. I beheld a wide, thin arch of gleaming metal -- the first cohort of the 4th legion, I realized. They were assembled on the lower slopes of the mountain, with one segment of the arch covering the width of the road entrance below and five other segments arranged around it the first like a bow.

They were many, but not too many, I realized; they couldn't even have reached a thousand. And they were few compared to the looming, terrifying swarm of black moving hastily into view from the perimeter of the city, which was, I now realized, not more than a few miles from our own position. It rendered me breathless to see such a number of enemies, all swarming over to the mountain like an angered ant colony.

"Goldwreath!" Postulma managed to call, his voice almost drowned by the stomping of their hooves as they marched hastily down the road. "Stay with your people, and make sure they don't get killed! This could get rough!"

I heeded his words and galloped up hurriedly, my legs straining themselves against the force of gravity. Then I reached the small plateau up top, upon which a dozen or so Marediolanian zebras and ponies huddled together in clusters, keeping far away both from the entrance to Marediolanon and from the edge of the plateau, from which they could easily have seen the great masses of combatants poised opposite from one another. To my horror, I realized that smoke was now seeping out of Marediolanon, obscuring sight of the entrance hall entirely.

A fresh surge of panic welling up inside me, I galloped to the nearest of my fellows and asked in a hurry, "What's going on? Is there a fire, or has something exploded?"

The zebra mare coughed, shaking her head and blinking her reddened eyes rapidly. "No, nothing too bad. Those of us out here, we're outside 'cause the smoke from the engine room's filling up the halls, but those who were in their quarters following last night's curfew should be safe. But we couldn't get to our rooms -- the smoke, it's so dense. My eyes are burning..."

A zebra colt galloped up to her, handing out a water jug. "Here Mommy, drink." The colt winced as his mother let out a set of wheezing coughs, and he insisted, "Drink!"

I shook my head as I noticed that the others were similarly affected -- perhaps the old shells the Legion's enemies were using had been infused with some kind of gas? A poison? I shuddered at the thought, berating myself for not being able to do anything for them as they writhed and wheezed. I could only help distribute the water being handed about. It seemed to help, if only a little.

"Goldwreath!" a voice called out, sounding muffled and regulated, like Euvius from behind his gas mask. I tore my eyes away from the languishing Marediolanians and looked to the door. Even underneath his Marediolanon-issued red tunic, dark-grey lorica (body armor), and worst-case-scenario gas mask, I could recognize the pale yellow coat of Summer Sands anywhere. Despite the sporadic detonations blasting the mountainside and the hot, smoky air that started to wrap itself about all of us, I couldn't help but let off a genuine smile of relief and gladness as I cantered over, wary of the smoke.

"What's the situation, Summer?" I asked, hoof over my nose.

Breath erratic for a moment, he swallowed and glanced behind and around him at the swirling wisps and churning clouds of smoke, then gulped again. "Gah, n-nothing much. Just some smoke going through the main halls -- it'll clear soon after Engineering stymies that damaged engine." His eyes widened as he looked behind me at our suffering fellows, then around him at the environment. He swallowed once again, his gaze darting around in swelling panic. It occurred to me this must have been the first time he'd actually been outside.

And therefore, what a wonderful impression he must have gotten when one shell managed to land itself on the mountain peek, blasting rubble and rocks in all directions. Panicked screams cried out as boulders crashed onto the plateau, nearly crushing several ponies. Summer Sands and I barely managed to stumble out of the way of a small avalanche that brought with it the earth right above the doorway of Marediolanon.

Turning to lay on his back, my friend eyed the mound of dirt with a terrorized paranoia. "G-gods!" he stammered, shaking his head before looking to me. "Goldwreath, what's going on out here? Is it the End?"

"It very well could be," I answered grimly, helping him up. "Postulma... well, one of the legionaries told me that if their defense fails here, then we might all be wiped out. So I need your help, my friend. I need you to bring word of this ongoing battle to the others inside -- they are not to exit Marediolanon unless I have reported victory for the Legion. And in the case of defeat, I will return quickly to sound a hasty evacuation. Until either case becomes imminent, you and the others need to maintain our home. Alright? I'll watch the others out here, but the majority inside... they're in the hooves of the centuria urbanae. Understand?"

He trembled and breathed in deeply for a moment, eyes locked on my own. Then he shut them close and nodded, regaining his composure. "Yes. Yes, of course. I'll go tell them..." He got up and swayed a bit for just a moment before cantering into the smoke, glancing back my way one more time before disappearing into the fog. I sent a prayer to gods I didn't believe in, begging that things would turn out well, before I rounded and galloped over to the others.

They'd all left the near-peak plateau. There was only either the camp or the rest of the mountain for them to go to, and if I knew anything it's that the less adaptable civilians of my home would seek shelter in someplace similar, someplace resembling comfort or safety. I trusted they all had the sense to not scatter, because if they did...

I galloped down the weaving dirt road back to the camp. From my elevated position I spotted the source of the near-constant tremors I'd feared were the detonations of shells intended for us: artillery canons, lining a small ridge in front and beneath the earthen palisade protecting the praetorium. Goodness, did the legionaries set those things up just as the attack started? If so, they did it damn quick! Now the canons were blasting away at the innumerable attackers still raging towards the mountain like a wave, the pillar of flame ejected from each barrel burning in my vision even when I blinked. The enemy barrage seemed to have stopped, and now the swarming mass encroaching on the cohort below advanced under heavy bombardment.

But it wasn't enough. Whatever Thanus had done to incite such a breathtakingly violent and savage response had filled this enemy with a reckless disregard for their own safety. They were only a mile out now, and closing fast -- the huge columns of fire that erupted in their midst didn't make them hesitate, didn't dissuade them from their assault as the desert plains hundreds of meters below was littered with their dead. No, it only enraged them as a now-audible screaming filled the air, riding on the motorized whir and growl of dozens of vehicles driving ahead of the main mass of combatants. With every meter they drive on, it became clear that those vehicles' intent was to ram themselves straight into the cohort's centuries.

The spectacle about to occur beneath me had forced me to stop just to take it all in. In moments those mechanized fanatics would drive themselves straight into the legionaries. Then the mass of maybe several thousand angry and equally zealous combatants would slam right into the disorganized legionaries. The battle that would ensue would be terrible, bloody beyond my willingness to want to comprehend. And then if they got through the cohort and into my home...

Such death. And I was in the middle of it, in a sense the cause of it all -- the possibility that Thanus would have fought this battle anyway, even without my suggestion for a plan, was an idea I didn't care for. All I knew was that I was now watching what would be the greatest bloodshed I'd ever see, and my link to it was irrefutable. Come win or loose, I had a hoof in all this.

I shook myself out of my trance and continued downhill again. Leave the battle to the Legion; my goal was to gather my people and make sure they weren't hurt in this chaos. I reached the gateway and rushed into the camp. There were two Legion centurions here, holding back two centuries of troops in reserve and guarding the camp. To my great relief, it seemed the Marediolanians hadn't spread out and were allowing the Legionaries, however they may have felt about them, to lead them to safety and away from the edges of the earthen perimeter. They stumbled and staggered along, still not recovered from the effects of the smoke, but they would be fine.

Once they were safely gathered in what must have been the Legion's field hospital, I went in to hurriedly check on them. The medical zebras inside were putting them at ease, calming the foals and reassuring them that the explosions and the battle wouldn't harm them. Which was good for me, because I was not good with children. At least, not since the time I'd been made to lecture them for their history class' lesson on the Roaman military. They called me all kinds of names that generally meant 'boring teacher.'

An earth-rumbling cacophony of sharp detonations from the battle below rendered their efforts useless, though. The noise that blasted into our ears was like thousands of metal rods all snapping together. As the foals and the more shaken adults started crying and the surgeons tried to calm them, I rushed outside to where the two centurions stood against the dirt ramparts and watched the ongoing clash.

I galloped past their assembled legionaries and on towards them. "Officers! What's going on?" I stared at them in panic for a moment as they continued to look downhill, faces grim. Every single second they spent not responding filled me with an anxious dread, and I began to hyperventilate. For fuck's sake, I'd trained to handle the next holiday's inevitable drunken brawl, not to control the anxieties of combat! I was a guard, not a soldier!

Finally one of them turned to face me. Of all the centurions in the cohort, the one to respond was the one with half his face enclosed in bandages -- the very same one that had glared down on me yesterday morning. Even with the rage of battle blaring up at us from below, his disgust seemed pointed my way as he scowled.

"What do you think?" he spat, eyeing me with unmistakable loathing. "The enemy's smashed against our line. The chaos is ensuing -- our explosive javelins have been discharged, and the front-liners are holding the enemy at bay so that those behind them can pump lead into that dense pack of savages. The attackers have no tactics, no organization or battle formation. They charged across four miles of desert, waving guns and war clubs around like imbeciles. The few among them with the sense to call for artillery and mechanized support had their assets wiped out. Now it's a matter of the bloody melee and firepower of our small-arms fire against theirs."

I trotted carefully over to the edge of the rampart, wary that a stray bullet might end me. Then under the mixed gazes of the centurions and their troops, I peered out over the edge.

Gods in Tartarus, it was a horrific sight. Hundreds of bodies littered the vast expanse of distant desert, and not all of them were dead. Some, little writhing specks of black in the early morning light, were bordered with expanding outlines of red. Smoking metallic corpses burned all across the plain below. This close to their allies, the artillery dared not fire at the chaotic scene below. The multicolored, screaming, hectic mass of attackers below threw themselves against the significantly smaller Legion formation, pounding on the bow-shaped cohort with relentless violence. The ceaseless rat-tat-tat! of hundreds of rifles accompanied bright lances of fire streaking into both sides, downing legionary and attacker alike by scores.

The intense clanging and bashing emanating from the melee line testified to the ferocity of the fighting as the assault began to steadily push the cohort's formation into a straighter line. Then, being hammered at by superior weight from all sides, the cohort slowly backed up the slope. Despite casualties that were too monstrous for me to believe, the unadulterated hatred with which the assaulting swarm fought was just too much to hold out against for long. I almost didn't believe my eyes as I saw a handful of minotaurs swing massive axes at the puny legionaries, their gargantuan bodies so armored most bullets just clattered off their armor. Gaps were punched into the Legion line, and were it not for the compactness of the centuriae as the remaining legionaries funneled onto the road the enemy very well could have broken through and surrounded them.

Centurions bellowed for tactical retreat, and shrunken formations of legionaries pulled away from the battle and rushed back up the slope, some collapsing from shots to the rear. Over at the Legion's dwindling force, the flashing of muzzles gradually faded, signifying that both sides were beginning to run low on ammo. The assault's dead could have numbered in the thousands now, their corpses littering the slope with blood and death as the fighting slowly made it's way even further up. But their fury was so fierce that they'd managed to fight to get close enough for me to be able to make out the individual features of their combatants -- the wickedly spiked manes of the zebras and the swirling tattoos marking any flesh not covered by conglomerate metal and kevlar armor; the jagged spikes protruding from vicious hoof-worn boots; the elaborately-accessorized helmets worn by the more equipped of their members, especially the minotaurs in their midst. Their snarls and glares and the mad glints in their eyes made it evident that these were fanatics. They would fight to the death. This close to them, I was also made to suffer the full onset of their furious howling, and my ears began pounding again.

The spectacle unfolding before me gripped my heart in ice. I was dumbstruck; no, not dumbstruck. I knew what it was I was feeling. It wasn't the first genuine fear I'd experienced since the day before, but this was the greatest. Desperate for some reassurance that the enemy would be stopped, that all would not be lost and that my home would not be ravaged nor my people burned in a metal pit, I turned to the reserve centurions. "W-well? What's going to happen? My gods, we're all going to die if you don't do anything!"

"Orders are orders," the bandaged-face centurion replied coldly. "We're to stay as reserve. Unless the eagle-bearers and the praetorians call for aid, that is. Then we'll know that we're needed."

"You're needed now! The enemy is right there!" I pointed down the road, where the paltry force of legionaries were barely holding back the wave of hostiles. "And what's more, the people of Marediolanon need you. Your injured, retreating comrades need you. Those zebras fighting for their lives down there need you! You can't just stay here and... and watch!"

"Well, you're doing it," he snapped, glaring at me with his one eye. "And like hell can you tell me what I can or can't do. You're a guard, pony. You know nothing of being a soldier, of making the brutal decisions war deems necessary. If we tire our troops out now before the enemy's sufficiently whittled down, then we'll suffer the same fate as the poor sods with their faces in the dirt."

He glanced to the gateway, where the stream of surviving troops were stumbling in and collapsing against the ramparts and the palisade. Their number swelled up inside the camp, their groans and panting and cries of agony bearing down on me like a lead weight. It was too horrible to watch them in their state, with limbs sliced into and abdomens leaking blood like faucets. I barely managed to restrain my lurching stomach even when I clenched my eyes shut and conjured up the most out-of-place happy thoughts I could muster.

And still, the reserve centuries just stood where they were, paying their suffering comrades nothing but the quickest of pained and pitiful glances.

"Besides, we've not lost too many. Mostly just injured, this lot. They'll live," the centurion said gruffly. "Bunch of green recruits until now, most of them. They need get used to the prospect of constant suffering, and this will put enough trauma in their heads to force a change. And you..." He threw a disgusted look my way. "... you're actually just like them. Fearful, panicked. Too eager to do the first thing that comes to your mind. Well, here's lesson number one of war out in the wasteland: don't mind the suffering or the pain, or your life will be just that. Shed your queasiness and take a good, long look at a corpse. Then you'll know what awaits you if you keep being the incapable little shit you are right now."

I was hyperventilating again, my heart racing to support my systems as panic and tension welled up inside of me. I couldn't have responded even if I wanted to, not without losing the battle for my stomach as the smells of the carnage caught on the wind and made its way to my nostrils. I forced myself to straighten up and breath through my mouth just to be able to inhale air at all.

"Sixth century! To the front with us, now!" I heard someone bellow, the voice so strained and puny in the midst of the finally-quieting chaos. Last I'd heard him, he'd told Postulma to stop talking to me. "The Aquila is in danger!"

That seemed to cause quite a commotion as dozens of zebras behind me rushed to prepare themselves for the plunge. Checking of helmet straps, tightening of shield grips, magazine checks -- all final preparations done in a hurry. Then the other centurion who'd been so kind as to not cram his own belief on death down my throat shouted a marching order, and one of the reserve centuries was off.

Their ranks bolstered, the meagre three-hundred or so defenders managed to finally, truly stymie the advance. Fanatics or no, these attackers had crossed a desert plain miles long and fought a battle uphill. Add to that the injuries of having thousands of bullets shot into their midst, and it was a blessing to see all their fighting starting to take its toll. They were very numerous still, and reinforced by roaring minotaurs that swept their axes around like juggernauts. But tasked with protecting the eagle itself, the praetorians and the remaining legionaries fought hard and well, and didn't lose another foot of ground to the enemy. The minotaur axes smashed down on shields, sending legionaries flying down the Roaman ranks. But then they were simply replaced by the soldiers behind, presenting a fresh and new face each time a minotaur swung. Thus the roaring enemy's juggernauts grew tired, and one by one they were cut down by the deadly short swords of the legionaries. The few in the camp capable of doing so rushed the ramparts and cheered their fellows on.

Me, I wasn't quite so enthusiastic. Yes, the enemy was halted, but not defeated. Any moment reinforcements could have come, or maybe their artillery would come back anew. Perhaps the minotaurs would prove too strong for the praetorians and the legionary defenders would be routed back to the camp, where the injured where incapable of fighting as field surgeons tended to them. And if they got here, there would be little to stop them from killing the Marediolanians in the hospital tent, or breaking through the centuria urbanae in my home and slaughtering my people.

Then the unthinkable happened. A ripple of joy moved through the cheering legionaries, their cries of salvation growing louder by the second. I tore myself away from leaning against a nearby tent's leg and ambled anxiously, nauseously towards the rampart.

At first I didn't see what they were so joyous about. Given the circumstances of the stalemate, it seemed the battle could have gone on for another agonizingly uncertain hour before fortune would've favored either side. But then I noticed an evident panic in the attackers' faces as they glanced skittishly towards their rear ranks. Even the minotaurs were distracted. And then I noticed the growing noise of crunching bone emanating from the bottom of the mountain, the sound getting closer and closer each second. Then I heard a rapid set of of dull explosions. What could have been causing it, I didn't know...

Then a minotaur bellowed in agony as a hole was punched into his chest, going straight through the armor that had saved him from countless other bullets. A crippling terror ran through the enemy and their remaining fighters started running, fleeing in any direction at all wherein no legionary was bound to be. But they were cut down by the dozens as machine guns opened fire on them from below. The bodies of those who'd galloped to steeper slopes rolled down the mountainside like rag dolls, and at last the long line of Legion armored vehicles rolled to a stop where the slopes of the mountain were friendly with their engines. They continued firing, seemingly more willing to expend every last bullet than let a single enemy escape. The eagle-guards screamed for joy and began pursuing the enemy. Only the aquilifer himself stood where he was, panting, his vestments and armor all but torn to shreds.

Then from between two hulking tanks flanking the bloodied dirt road came Thanus, his beast and himself speckled with dust and gore. The legate rode up the slope and greeted the aquilifer openly, joyously. The legionaries who'd cheered their lungs out along the camp ramparts rushed out through the gates, all seeming to want to proclaim their legate's name like he was a god. A mere minute later the only ones in the camp were me, the few Marediolanians, and the many injured.

I watched him as he basked in the praise of his troops. The looks on all their faces made me wonder if they knew they were stepping on hundreds of different corpses, all carpeting the mountainside with blood, guts, bone, and metal. With the enemy force broken and under pursuit, no longer blocking view of the carnage, I could see just what had happened. I could see in perfect detail the means of death of around five-thousand people -- every cut, stab, bullet hole, decapitation, and mutilation. The smell of sulfur and phosphorus hung in the air, and the morning sun bathed everything in sight in a malicious, eldritch light. Then came the breeze, carrying the putrid scent of blood and exposed innards, of the sweat and grime and dirt that had been the byproduct of the battle.

It was too much. Too much death for me to witness in one day, and it was too much to take in in too few moments. I couldn't stop myself as my body fell to the side, the world fading away into black before I thudded to the ground, unconscious.

Entry #3
Organizer of Events... well, so Mother calls me. She said I did a wonderful job of putting together aunt Pudding Cup's party, even though I barely know my aunt. Could have gone better, really, but hey, at least I know I've got some skill with administration.

Unlocks special dialogue options with most faction characters.
Speech -- 35+5/100

Comments

[Gamma Deekay]

"Out here, things and people get dirty, scraped, scratched, shot, eviscerated, sliced, beaten, shelled, burned, crushed, pulverized, smacked and generally fucked up too often for us to really give a damn any more." Congrats! You've managed to condense the entirety of the wasteland into a single sentence! One that Goldwreath now has more of an understanding of than he'd ever wanted.

But really, it's such a simple concept that a defender who has the high ground holds the advantage. It's suicide to charge right up against it rather then draw them down. All I can really say is that the unfortunate wastelanders should have known better.

[Delvius]

3521564 Well, the tactic they were attempting to use was basically just 'attack' -- pretty much the only tactic used by most of Rome/Roam's barbarian enemies. I was trying to emulate it here, with a bit of artillery to act as *some* manner of tactical thinking. Anyways, you'll find out why the many tribes inhabiting the city of Apollania were so bloodthirsty as to not even come up with a battle strategy.

Thank you kindly!

[Delvius]

3541050 Strange, because here the Legion are actually MORE powerful -- perhaps just less concentrated; they work in different cities by legion, so legio IV under Thanus is there in the Apollania region, for example. As for the legionaries, they don't even look at a pony without reason; deep down, they're each SLIGHTLY racist. Of course those who would look at GW and, of course, be so courageous as to look at a male pony's flank would probably see it; as of now, though, few have done so.

[fuck mcdickbutt]

Wow.

If it ever got into a fight, Equestria vs. Roam, ponies be fucked. If I remember project horizons correctly, only 700 or so ponies live in Hoofington, a large city.

[Delvius]

3576349 Oh, it really depends. Here, the Legion (Thanus) was using a rather crude fighting formation -- that is, fighting IN formation. If they adopted more modern engagement tactics (the reason as to why they did not will be given), they'd definitely have killed more and had less casualties.

[fuck mcdickbutt]

3577535

I was simply saying that the zebra cities seem to have hella bigger population than the Equestrian one.

[Delvius]

3578472 Well, when they'be barely been hit, such is the case.

[fuck mcdickbutt]

3579419

Ah. Such is life.

Or death.

*awkward silence before leaving*

[thatguyvex]

Yeesh, took me long enough to get around to reading this, but it was well worth it. One of the things that continues to strike me about this version is how Goldwreath is depicted; his motivations, passions, and thought processes are all a more refined and clearer than what we had until about halfway through the original story. I like his conversations with Thanus, the two play off of each other so well. There is this ever present tension, though, as much as Goldwreath is trying to fit in with the Legion, that things might not go as smooth as either him or Thanus want them to go. Just this ever present hint of danger that, as much 'restraint' as the Legion is showing, that restraint is a gift that can be taken away rather instantly under the wrong circumstances.

The battle was well written, though a part of me wishes we'd had more context for its advent. It might have taken away from the jarring suddenness of the battle, which may have been part of your intent, but I may have found it more engaging and interesting if I'd had some notion of who these crazy barbarians were that decided to stream down on this Legion cohort in the thousands, dying like mad zealots, for no foreseeable purpose or gain other than killing Legion soldiers. Who are these madponies? Raiders, even at their most crazy, don't gather in numbers that large to attack a tough military target like that. It may have helped, just to have some manner of name or explanation attached to the attacking force, but perhaps keeping them a little mysterious, at least from Goldwreath's point of view, was intentional. Either way, it certainly drives home to Goldwreath that the Legion isn't there just for show; its an army actively fighting a war to control this territory and bring it to order.

As usual I come away from these chapters feeling both eager and trepidation about the next one. Eager because I enjoy you're ever improving writing style, I like this new Goldwreath, who is much like the old one became after developing for awhile, and I'm intrigued by the new set up and want to see where this all goes. Trepidation, because I still am unsure how all the old characters are going to change in order to fit into this new scenario, but you certainly seem to know what you're doing, so eagerness easily outweighs trepidation in this case.

[Delvius]

3589062 Oh, there actually shall be a faction with similar power. Not foreign, though. No, like in Roam's history, civil wars will tear the likes of the Legion asunder, from within and without.

And hmm, yes, the battle did go quite conveniently. What a strange occurrence.

3589337 Yes, Thanus and Goldwreath do get along quite well. In this chapter, at least; when you know how to speak, and speak well, many things are possible. Whether good for you or bad, that is. And yes, the battle was intentionally done with little context, or at least not immediately revealed context. Remember, this is first person. The reader can only know as much as is perceived by the MC, after all.

And thank you for the positive feedback on GW's character and the tension! Those were both things I found quite lacking in the original rendition; hopefully they can be rectified this time.

[pantheundying]

I think I mainly like this story because it gives me a reason to actually have taken 4 years of Latin in high school.

[Delvius]

3649639 Aww, well thanks dude. So glad to see my efforts have managed to get people to like it as I intended! Indeed, I too believe I did a better job this time around, with the characters and the story as a whole. What can I say, much as I loved the old New Roam, there were just too many things I wish I'd done instead... now is my time to make amends!

As for the characters, I truly did try to make each of them more relatable, more like real living people instead of just guys I placed in scene; they're dynamic, they change, they have quirks. I'm also really glad you like what I've done with GW and Thanus so far, though I am confused as to what you mean by "the path I fear you'll take" and "Shakespearean awesome" -- maybe PM me about those?

As for Thanus and GW's lines, I actually can see the connection you make with Russel Crowe -- though, while perhaps he'd retain that personality, physically I actually imagine GW to be more like, say, Channing Tatum. And as for Thanus, I actually visualized a typical Roman general: that is, ambitious and cunning, with an exterior charisma but a possible internal ulterior motive. Think Silanus from this video...

(skip to 0:46)
... but with a more subtle, gentler external sense of authority.

[S3rb4n]

More intensity, more battles, more of everything! I think you've got a real gem in your hands, Delvius, you sure have my attention.

As for good old Postulma, I only have three words: In Vino Veritas