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Thread: Quinta Macedonica Legio - completed and retitled in honour.

  1. #581
    Diocle's Avatar Comes Limitis
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    .....but I know the Horseman....He...is.....is......our Gaiten!!!!!!.........What is he doing? Gaiten is trying to kill us?....The Romans?.........

    Magnificent update Sir!!!!....the drill!!!(six positions?...really?..great page!!)...the mistery!!!...but now we need more....we need to know.....what is happening........and what will happen......

  2. #582
    SeniorBatavianHorse's Avatar Tribunus Vacans
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Thanks, Diocle. The Six Guard positions are very possible. One paper I read argued for a possible connection between an early medieval sword fighting manual and its uncanny resemblance to certain Late Roman/Byzantine ivory depictions. These depictions showed similar 'guard' positions and may form therefore a link to Roman military techniques. It is only a tentative hypothesis but it does make persuasive reading.

  3. #583
    Diocle's Avatar Comes Limitis
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    ....well!...a little more than only persuasive!!!....I felt like I was the poor tiro!!...At school I had a gym teacher who was from Calabria, he was a small man but he was all muscles and nerves!!...... the fear we had towards him was unbelivable!!!...and I was too tall for his taste so.........well, exactly like the poor tiro!!!.......

  4. #584
    Knonfoda's Avatar I came, I read, I wrote
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Damn, I'm a good 6-7 updates behind on this now. I can see from the comments it's reaching it's climax though, must... read.... more! Eager to catch up on this!

  5. #585
    Diocle's Avatar Comes Limitis
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Knon it is a pleasure to have you here!!.......we are in a great and holy mistery!!!...But ready to fight and die!!!.....Only the Gods know the future!.............

    SBH, sorry I forgot to speak about the image you posted in the update, it is very good!

    Is it a screenshot?..or is it a photo?...I can't distinguish!.....fantastic image!!!....if it is a screen.......unbelivable!!!!

  6. #586
    McScottish's Avatar The Scribbling Scotsman
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Oh aye! I did forget to mention that I absolutely loved the drill session, expertly written and, as a fan of the 'normal' parts of camp-life etc, entirely welcome.

  7. #587
    SeniorBatavianHorse's Avatar Tribunus Vacans
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Thanks, McScottish! Those poor tiros have no idea what is lying ahead of them!

    Diocle, the pic is a one of Julian amid the Sassanids at the moment he is struck with the lancea - here it is without my own editing:



    Knonfoda - glad to have you back! I look forward to your impressions of the AAR as always!
    Last edited by SeniorBatavianHorse; April 25, 2012 at 07:21 AM.

  8. #588

    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    For a while I thought I was looking at lego pieces.

    Crusades
    Historical fiction - Fifty Tales from Rome


    Can YOU dance like the Cookie Man?
    Improbe amor quid non mortalia pectora cogis? - The Aeneid
    I run an Asteroid mining website. Visit it before James Cameron takes it from me.

  9. #589
    Diocle's Avatar Comes Limitis
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Oops!..Sorry.....I did not recognize the sad episode, in my mind I built the scene many times......so my imagination closed my eyes!!! Sorry and thanks!!!....

    ....but my dear Dominus....I have to admit that actually my errors were two:

    1) I did not rcognized the scene painted by Angus.

    2) I have not been clear in explaining you to what image I was referring....infact I was referring to the image of the update, that wonderful sunset in the desert with the distant small lights....so if you allow me I'll ask you again: How did you take that image of sunset? It was a screen?...It was a photo?..............If it was a screen....really no words = Magnificent!

  10. #590
    SeniorBatavianHorse's Avatar Tribunus Vacans
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Diocle, it was an ingame custom screenshot edited online with Photobucket.

  11. #591
    Diocle's Avatar Comes Limitis
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    As I suspected!!!...really an enchanting an mysterious screen!!!..I'm not able to take any screen like that!

  12. #592
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Quote Originally Posted by Diocle View Post
    As I suspected!!!...really an enchanting an mysterious screen!!!..I'm not able to take any screen like that!
    Be strong - one day you will . . .

  13. #593
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion


    That Which Flees Always Returns



    I fled and in the my heart that barbaric pounding only increased. The mad laughter behind me drifted apart into the deepening night but in my sight all I saw was my Tribune carved upright against a wall of obsidian, that manic slave at his feet aping his laughter. They were an infernal dyad framed only by the lick of that single torch. I fled and the pounding echoed my steps. I knew. I think I knew that moment also in the tent but some things are best left unlooked at for fear they will drive you mad. I wondered then if I had known all along but that also was madness. How could I have known? Or suspected? Who among us did? He was such a lowly officer and among such dregs, such cast-offs, that no one would ever suspect. Angelus however had seen it. In the tent. In that sweltering heat. He had seen a look he had seen before - and a smudge, a smear, upon this man’s brow. Angelus thought he knew now and it was a knowledge which had driven him into a stark humour in the dusk of the Black Desert. And I fled from something already deep in me but which I feared to acknowledge. I suspected it was the same reason which had driven Angelus to seek me out and pull me onto a lonely dune - to unburden that which was driving him mad; to speak of it in a bleak humour and in doing so unburden himself also. I understood that urge. I knew where it came from. Of course I knew - I had known the moment Cassianus had offered him the command here in the Auranitis and he had refused it - but I had dared not speak it or even think it. Angelus alone had had that courage - and of course it was to me he had spoken.

    I do not know if it was impulse or the will of the gods or even my own dark motive but I found myself stumbling into the desiccated palm trees beyond the walls of Nasranum. It was that place where I had sacrificed the white horse on the morning of the legion’s rebirth in the sacred Kalendar. That place of a few dried and cracked trees all alone in the dust. It was an oasis in memory only now that the old legion engineers had tapped the underground waters for the fort over fifty years ago. Did I deliberately seek it out or had I just stumbled there in confusion? I truly do not remember. The ancients write however that the gods use us to sport among themselves and I wonder now if I ended there in this bleak oasis at the prompting of some fey immortal, if only to see what would happen.

    He was there among the palm trees. I remember halting in confusion and seeing him in the distance as if among the tallest ivory columns I had ever seen. Eight torches framed him in a large square, all rammed into the ground and fluttering now like orange silken flags tossed by a manic wind. The light which fell on him was harsh, bronzen almost, and highlighted every nuance of his form. I halted among those impossibly high columns that seemed to rise up into the night and have no end, twisting, curving away, the marble ancient and flaking, and while a part of me knew that these were nothing more than old palm trees another part of me saw them as the pillars of the gods themselves. I halted and my breathing eased away and with it a stillness fell over everything. The night around the oasis was black, immutable, and seemed to press down upon this place like a solid weight. Under it, was silence, broken only by the hiss and snap of those torches framing him.

    He stood there in that large square unaware I was watching - I, alone in the darkness among the pillars which fell high into the heavens - and even as I paused in my flight and found myself gazing upon him, he moved. There was a silence all about the oasis which seemed to emerge from that night, emerge from its endless weight, but he moved as if some rhythm or song enveloped him; an inner sound which prompted him and which remained beyond my ears. He was clad in full display armour - greaves, a bronze cuirass embossed with figures, a parade helmet with a high crest and wide cheek plates, gilded leather strips flaring out from his waist in a triple layer with smaller versions down his shoulders too. In his right hand he held a spatha in a light grip while in the left a heavy oval scutum. He moved as I saw him and I knew in an moment what it was I was watching.

    Almost in slow motion, as if encased in an invisible fluid which both slowed him down and buoyed him up, he moved, placing his feet about him in intricate steps, his shoulders dipping one way and then another, the head turning, his face still but easy and light as if recollecting an old honour, the armoured torso swivelling in one fluid movement. The torches constantly haloed him and even as I watched it seemed to me as if the light from them lifted and gilded him with a divine quality. He moved slowly but constantly and in every heartbeat and breath in him that movement never ceased flowing as if a river of power and tension bathed every part of him. I saw the spatha and the scutum swing and curl about him in all the time-honoured guards and positions ever known in the exercitus of Rome but now ritually performed as if he were above us and showing, teasing, us all with an ancient litany of war and battle. He moved as dancers move and as the old lanistas moved, those named after that old Etruscan word for ‘executioner’. There was no pause nor let in his movement as one guard or thrust moved smoothly and delicately into another, the spatha held as lightly as if it were a reed, the scutum swung about with no more effort than one holding a palm frond or laurel leaf. His head, encased in that heavy cassis remained low, framed by the crest and the flaring strips of pteruges, those stiffened feathers which fell from his shoulders. The eyes were distant but gleamed in the torchlight like an animal’s as it hunts its prey. I saw him glide and twist and perform - revolving about himself as thrust dissolved into parry which in turn gave way to a lunge which itself fell back to a half-guard. That spatha seemed to dance about the scutum as if the latter were indeed a part of the blade itself - that both were in some unknown way the same organic thing, blending, separating, dividing, merging - but always connected by some unseen undivisible cord.

    I do not know how long I gazed upon him as he moved in that torch lit square. It seemed an eternity. An eternity filled with silence save for his slight breathing and the flickering flames. In that time which had no time I saw war itself, that goddess we call Bellona, carved out of the movements of his body. War shaped itself as a living thing before me. It possessed the flesh of him who I knew of as Aemilianus and became a beautiful paean of movement. Before me in that timeless place among those pillars which rose up never-ending came Bellona to my eyes and She put aside that man I called my friend to shape his body and movements into the martial dance of battle itself. I watched that ritual we call the armatura and never had I seen it performed more exquisitely. Aemilianus with a precision bequeathed upon him by Bellona Herself span a paean of battle about himself in that slow delicate dance which was neither rehearsal nor performance but something beyond - a show of that grace which lies in blood and death; that moment of the end of another who is nothing but an equal to yourself . . .

    For one long almost endless moment, he remained still, poised, the spatha lightly by his side, the oval scutum forwards as if it floated apart from him, his eyes elsewhere, peering into who knew what divine realm, and then, as if in a moment, he smiled and dropped the shield into the dust at his feet. A long breath escaped him and he rammed that sword into the ground as if it were of no consequence. I saw sweat streaming down that ruddy face and then he shook his head, reaching up and pulling the heavy helmet away by the crest, raising his face up into the cold air. The mood was broken then and he moved casually over to a pile lying outside the lit square. Without ceremony, he reached down and pulled up a rag of cloth to wipe his face. He paused then, the filthy cloth on him, at odds to the magnificent armour he wore -

    ‘It is only rarely that I feel Her blessing. Mostly, I but dimly remember these movements and weep inside that She has abandoned me, Felix.’ He dropped the cloth into the dust and looked straight at me in the darkness.

    His face was still, closed. His grey eyes nothing but stone orbs and that smile I always enjoyed was absent.
    Last edited by SeniorBatavianHorse; May 04, 2012 at 07:51 AM.

  14. #594
    McScottish's Avatar The Scribbling Scotsman
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Breathtaking, enchanting, magnificent, such words never do justice to your writing and if in the future you never get this AAR, this saga, published...well...I think I should weep sour and bitter tears from mine very eyes. I am a fan of Scarrow, Cameron, Kane and more, but I can honestly say that this stands even above some of their writing. Continue, fráuja, and keep us not in suspense for too long.

  15. #595
    Ybbon's Avatar The Way of the Buffalo
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    words are tricky little things, for most of those they are simply artisan tools to muddle through the day, and for the select few they are precious metals and gems to be moulded into soaring passages of pure beauty. Yours are such.

  16. #596
    Diocle's Avatar Comes Limitis
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    The Emperor has returned!!!.....We'll follow Him into the hell, we'll follow Him in His last battle, we will be with Him forever!!!!.....death is nothing, He walks again with us!!!!.....sorry SBH and all you British friends but I feel like a veteran grognard of the Old Guard.......sorry..again.....




  17. #597
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    Quote Originally Posted by McScottish View Post
    Breathtaking, enchanting, magnificent, such words never do justice to your writing and if in the future you never get this AAR, this saga, published...well...I think I should weep sour and bitter tears from mine very eyes. I am a fan of Scarrow, Cameron, Kane and more, but I can honestly say that this stands even above some of their writing. Continue, fráuja, and keep us not in suspense for too long.
    Ah I wish I could compare with those stalwarts of Roman fiction but this tale is just a little AAR spun from a few turns of a Valens campaign . . . No, seriously though, I am still not sure if this will translate properly into a full-blown novelistic work but time will tell. IV Books published at Smashwords now and we have officially begun the opening chapters of the final Book, Book V of the Quinta . . .


    Quote Originally Posted by ybbon66 View Post
    words are tricky little things, for most of those they are simply artisan tools to muddle through the day, and for the select few they are precious metals and gems to be moulded into soaring passages of pure beauty. Yours are such.
    A lovely phrase, ybonn66, and one worthy of the very sentiment it expresses. Thank you.

    Quote Originally Posted by Diocle View Post
    The Emperor has returned!!!.....We'll follow Him into the hell, we'll follow Him in His last battle, we will be with Him forever!!!!.....death is nothing, He walks again with us!!!!.....sorry SBH and all you British friends but I feel like a veteran grognard of the Old Guard.......sorry..again.....
    But Diocle surely you realise who it was that abandoned this 'emperor'? Would you dare her ire?

  18. #598
    Diocle's Avatar Comes Limitis
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    ....Ah, well.......sorry Clarissimus!.....I was lost in the works of Gerome and David!


    PALLAS ATHENA
    She was always with Julian, and I hope with us all!!



    PALLAS ATHENA by Gustav Klimt

    I have to admit that I thought to Her while I was reading, but....I feared the real meaning of the feeling of Her absence by the Imperator Iulianus, why She is distant? why Her eyes are so cold? or is Iulian who is no more able to understand the signs of Her presence?.....the ancient Gods are not like the Nazarenus, they do not ask our love, we have to try to find them, and we have to try to understand their language,......more difficult is feeling their presence more distand they are from us! .......So I fear!..and this is a cruel situation because, seeing Iulianus alive is wonderful.......but the future is dark.....and now if He is no more able to sense Her presence the future might be even more dark.............

    so I preferred Bonaparte in His wonderful First Campaign d'Italie!!

  19. #599
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    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    In Whose Steps Do We follow, On What Path Do We Lead?


    I walked forwards into the light of those torches. ‘Tell me again,’ I said.

    He bowed his head slightly as if expecting the question then he began to unstrap the clasps at his side, loosening the bronze buckles. He shucked off the weighty cuirass and placed it at his feet in the sand. For a moment, he looked down on it. I saw it was embossed with a scene detailing Hercules wrestling with the Nemean Lion. Laurels and little figures of Victory framed those two magnificent figures. The craftsmanship was exquisite but I noticed that the cuirass was old and in places battered. Aemilianus stood and flexed his body in relief from the weight and instinctively placed his hand on that scar now hidden beneath a leather subamarlis.

    ‘By purple death he was seized and fate supreme . . .’

    ‘Julian?’

    He nodded. ‘His cousin Constantius, Augustus, raised him up as Caesar and gave him command of the Gallic provinces - and scarce enough men to hold a town let alone a diocese! Those were the words he uttered when he was born aloft on that shield of destiny . . .’

    I took a step closer, my voice firm, cold. ‘No. Not that. Tell me again, Aemilianus.’

    He looked at me for a moment as if undecided and then nodded. He beckoned me to follow him and we walked back into the centre of the square. All around us the torches fluttered and cast out their light. Our shadows seemed to dance unevenly around us like daemons caught up in a debate of their own. He reached down and pulled up the spatha from the sand. ‘It was a day of confusion and hot battle. The advance guard was bogged down in a defensive square as I am sure you will remember. They fell on us without let - first the Saraceni in small skirmishing bands and then larger assaults - and then the Sassanids with their cataphracts and finally their black elephants.’ His voice took on a distant tone and I could see that he no longer really saw me but was looking back now into a lost time peopled with ghosts and vengeful spirits. His eyes were cold and a slight frown hung above them. He twirled that spatha absently in one hand. ‘We moved as best we could among the crumbling lines - shouting out cheer here, plugging a gap there, pulling up a falling legionary wherever we could - it was chaos, all wreathed in dust and that endless cacophony of battle. We rode and dashed about like madmen, shouting, laughing, daring, wherever we went. Up and down the entire line of the column. All around us legions and vexillations were pulling up and forming defensive positions. Cornus brayed. Men shouted out orders that were never heard. Pack animals and wagons were being herded in among the fighting ranks even as the latter cursed them for hampering their movements. And we rode in among it all, our ranks scattered, our best men disappearing as if falling down into endless waves of blood and confusion. The Draconarius of the Candidati, old Cato, fell from his horse and vanished as if he had never existed but that horse of his rode on with us without let, neighing, kicking out, stamping the ground, fighting on, and on. And one by one we fell from him as the wind dashes leaves from a tree in Winter.’

    ‘Your emperor?’

    ‘Our sacred emperor, Felix. He flew about us all like an eagle in battle - glorious, insane, laughing. His hair streaming behind him like a golden halo. His sword flashing like lightning. His eyes aflame with desire . . .’

    ‘For death, you said.’

    He stopped then. For one long moment, he remained gazing on that sword as he twirled it first one way and then another, admiring its clean lines and balance. I heard the slight thrum of it through the heavy night air.

    ‘Death . . . and perhaps another in the folds of all that battle. He hunted, you see, Felix. Hunted for that which had left him - all the while knowing it would never be found. He pursued his own fate knowing it would lead him only into those final purple folds - that cloak we will all eventually clasp about our shoulders. The emperor rode onto into death because it was the last place he had left to find her . . .’

    He stepped back from me a little and placed the spatha between us. Its tip gleamed in the dancing light. ‘Have you ever watched your destiny walk away from you, its back silent and mute with condemnation, Felix? Have you ever seen all that you have aspired to spurn you with eyes so cold they froze your soul?’

    I do not know why but I found myself slowly pulling out my own spatha to face his. I dropped back into a slight stance, my feet sliding apart on instinct. My blade rose up slowly. I saw a smile from him accompany my gesture and then he inclined his head slightly towards me. He seemed fey and I felt that although he talked to me he was far away in another place and I was nothing to him now but a faint shade, a dream figure he talked to without really seeing. Unease began to bubble up inside me. His words fell on me and in them for some reason I saw the scarred face of Palladius rise up, smiling that last smile, his eyes already seeing his death, and looking back to me as a father does to his son knowing he will never see him again. I saw the face of Palladius and heard again in the sudden crackling of the torches about us both that word I could not write. That word I write every day. Gently, almost as an afterthought, Aemilianus brought his spatha about and into my head in one slow long arc, revolving his torso and waist with all the slow grace of a dancer. I found my own sword rising equally slowly to block his descending blade. They touched for a single moment and then he was away again moving as if we were rehearsing some delicate pantomimus for an unseen crowd. As he pulled away, I flexed my knees and brought the sword forwards into his exposed neck. Time seemed to slow even further down. I did not feel the weight of the weapon in my hand. About me, those giant pillars bent in towards me - arcing in high over my head as if closing me in. Each single torch was alive in its own domain, drifting, sliding, fluttering its light, as it too danced alone on a tiny pole in the sand. Deep, deep, in my heart I felt that awful drumming beginning to emerge - a dark pulse that seemed to reach out and flow into my arms . . .

    We joined blades again in a slow ritual, our breaths easy, a smile on both our lips, our eyes light but alert. He nodded as we struck and parried and I in my turn felt that pounding grow in me but deep in the background and in such a way that it seemed to support me now . . .

    His blade descended towards my left shoulder and I brought up my own to block it even as I stepped aside, my feet scuffling the black dust. The swords touched briefly and fell away again. We revolved about each other even as our dark shadows flared out in a fluid choric embrace. His words seemed to come to me as if from another realm. ‘She turned Her back on him at the end and it broke his soul into a million pieces. I told you he was already dead, Felix. That he hunted for his death and that portal into Elysium. That it was not Cassianus nor even that Saraceni lance which killed him. I was not lying. It was Her abandonment which killed him as surely as if She had pierced him Herself with that lance.’

    We danced again and passed through a series of guards and ripostes that seemed to merge together into one long delicate embrace. The swords rose and dipped about us as if imbued with their own souls and I felt as though I were watching outside it all - that I floated somehow above us both and gazed down from afar. Only that deep muted drumming made me realise that something else was moving through and in me - a primal beat that was now slowly and surely rising up into my breath and my heart. I saw myself take on that gentle tempo of his and edge it up slightly.

    ‘She?’

    Roma.’

    That word caught me off guard and his spatha slid slowly down my own, towards my head. I stepped back and recovered. He nodded back into my surprise. ‘She alone raised him up and at the end She walked away from and left him all alone in the desert among the dying and the hopeless. She spurned him at the last. Can you imagine that, Felix? The despair which consumes you in that moment? To be left behind from all that you honour and hold dear?’

    ‘Tell me how it felt,’ I challenged him - and he laughed back into my face, as we crossed swords, our feet twisting, our bodies revolving.

    ‘But surely you already know?’ And then he increased the tempo in response to my own and I felt my breath rising. Our rhythm changed and now the blades were beginning to spin about us as if alive. I narrowed my eyes down, focusing on his moves and face, tensing for the next thrust, even as I probed his defence. Around us both, those endless pillars seemed to revolve, faster and faster.

    ‘Me?’ I shouted back above the clang of the blades. ‘I am just a soldier of Rome. What do I know of Roma and destiny?’

    He laughed above the sound of our duelling. ‘Oh Felix you are blind like Homer. But unlike Homer you write and do not see that it is your own tale you are penning!’

    That infernal beat deep in me flared higher, cascading into my limbs, coursing through every drop of my blood, and it felt as if a strange paean enveloped me. I grinned back into his mocking face and advanced then upon him. I heard the blood rushing through me. It was a stampede of power; of will. It absorbed me and all about me I saw dark shades rise up, stamping the ground, shrieking out a wild encouragement, even as I felt the grim ivory of death and that stink of fear overwhelm me. Something unearthly was in me that both lifted me up and fell outside me as a crowd. I became both inside and outside of this place we duelled in. I was both fighting and watching. He laughed to see it in me and that maddened me even further - and I fell upon him like a beast from Hades, my spatha overpowering his without let. I spun about him with a fury and a focus which caught him off-guard and in a single heart-beat he was falling backwards, flailing out in a desperate attempt to block my advances. I was remorseless however and pressed in on him. He swung wide in an attempt to open up my guard but I knew his ploy even as I saw it and stepped into him, laughing in return for the sheer joy of owning his game, and then I touched my tip into his armpit then up to his temple before placing it with all the cold purpose of a killer in against his exposed throat and I held it there. His eyes widened in astonishment and for a moment we remained in that frieze, his sword-arm wide, his head back, legs apart, as I leaned in with that spatha cold and still in his neck, the tiniest thread of crimson falling down his neck . . .

    Cede,’ he said then in a whisper of surprise, and dropped his guard. ‘Cede.’

    I stepped back slowly looking at the tip of my sword, at the red jewel which blessed it. And in a moment, that drumming was gone as if it had never existed. It fell away from me like a waterfall dammed at the source and I stood there frowning, my eyes remaining on the sword. I became aware of my breath tumbling out of me, of sweat streaming down my face, of a sudden ache in my muscles. The sword grew in weight then and in surprise I dropped it into the sand and stood back in shock. It fell with a heavy thud at my feet.

    In confusion, I looked back at Aemilianus - and that easy face and mocking smile greeted me as if it had never disappeared. He smiled into my confusion, his eyes glinting with amusement, his face wide and easy with that stamp of his Gallic humour - and then he reached out and grasped my arm in the old soldier’s embrace, laughing as he did so - all the while I stood there like a raw recruit with a gaping mouth. He laughed and clasped my arm as a brother

    ‘Very well, amicus,’ he said then through his laughter, ‘you want to know the truth and I will tell it to you - it will be the spoils of your victory!’

    And he told me then what I already suspected as we stood in that square in the night, our shadows dancing about us, the trees vanishing above our heads into darkness, he told me, swords at our feet, a thin trickle of blood on his neck, my breath ragged on me, and I found myself grinning back into his words . . .
    Last edited by SeniorBatavianHorse; May 04, 2012 at 08:02 AM.

  20. #600

    Default Re: IB SAI AAR - The Nowhere Legion

    enchanting... enthralling... idk... there's magic in your words.
    "Siehst du in des Waldes Grün feindlicher Gewehrmaschin?"
    - Peronje

    "Der NKWD in Russland, der SD im Deutschland des Dritten Reiches und alle anderen Geheimpolizeiorganisationen ähnlicher Art sind Spielwiesen für Psychopathen, für Usurpatoren illegaler Macht über Millionen.
    Dort liegen die Krebsherde der modernen Gesellschaft."


    aus "Holt Hartmann vom Himmel" Motorbuch Verlag Spezial 2007

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