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Rise of the Bull- Fallout Legion Fanfic

4 years ago
Commended by mizal on 7/17/2019 10:03:04 PM

...Stormed the Clayfoot camp on the midday of May the second. Camp was largely evacuated, only a few left behind, elderly and those too sick to flee. Would have been of little use as slaves, so Galba gave the wretches a swift blow to the head with his sledge. Some wept before the end, but they should have been grateful. If Carus’ contubernium had been assigned to our village, they would have all been up on crosses within the hour. Our own unit will soon pursue the rest into the forests- they number no more than 30, including women and children, hardly a match for 8 legionaries. We expect little significant resistance… 

 

    Decanus Lucullus paused his writing for a long pull of the Clayfoot waterskin. The water was a welcome relief for his parched throat, having been on the march for a good length of the previous night. It had been a stroke of luck that the tribals had left behind much of their food and water, and the entirety of the contubernium was taking advantage of the stores, including Lucullus himself, as a roasted leg of a bighorner bull lay on a wooden plate before him. Nearby lay a bumper sword, nicked and dulled by years of constant combat, but still a deadly blade that could smash a man’s jaw to pieces with a single swing. 

 

    As Lucullus set down the waterskin to continue his writing, his second in command Galba slipped through the flaps of the tent. Galba moved quickly and silently for a man of his stature, looming a full head above Lucullus, although while he still retained a full head of hair, Galba had not a single strand. 

 

    “A runner from Centurion Marius came and went,” rumbled Galba, his voice low and gravelly. “Carus and Antony have concluded the conquest and enslavement of their respective villages. Our Clayfoot are the only ones still free and roaming.” 

 

    “Not for very long, Fortune willing.” Lucullus replied, slipping his journal and pencil inside one of his pouches. “Does the centurion have any new orders for us?” 

 

    “Only one. He commands that if you find a redhead among the survivors, boy or girl, they are to be brought back to his camp. The centurion always did always have a perverse desire for red hair.” chortled Galba. 

 

    “Watch your tongue, lest you want it pulled out of your mouth,” warned Lucullus, carefully eyeing his subordinate. “I do not think it likely we will find someone of his preference, but an order is an order. How long has it been since we finished off the ones in the camp?” 

 

    “A few hours, Decanus.” 

 

“Then we have japed around here for long enough. Tell the rest of the men to begin packing and to make preparations for a burning. The more we wait, the further the rest of the Clayfoot will flee and the longer it will take for us to catch them- and I know of few things that Centurion Marius despises more than his orders being delayed.” 

 

Galba gave a silent nod and exited the tent, and Lucullus could soon hear him barking orders at the rest of the men. He began his own preparations, starting by tearing off one last strip of meat off the leg with his teeth before tossing it aside. He hoisted his small pack off the ground, slinging it onto his shoulders, sharply toned and muscled from a decade of swinging bumper swords and sledges. Lucullus briefly recalled his earliest days in Caesar’s army, as a frail weak boy who collapsed almost daily from the agonizing labor. He had earned many a beating for his weakness back then, and the nicks and scars that littered his back were an eternal proof of the hell he had endured as a slave. 

 

Lucullus quickly shook his mind free of such thoughts. It was unwell to dwell on the past. He was now a feared and respected warrior of the Legion, free from the disgusting weakness that had plagued him as an adolescent. Caesar, a man he had never met, had taught him the most important lessons of life- that weakness and frailty were to be despised and renounced, and that only strength and fear could truly rule over men. 

  

    Lucullus realized with a start that he had been standing idle for several minutes now. Cursing himself for his indolence, he made one last check to make sure he had not left anything behind. After picking up his bumper sword and strapping it onto the back of his armor, Lucullus took a brief look around the tent, which had once housed some lowly tribal family. 

 

 “Go to the kindling where you belong.” murmured Lucullus to the empty space around him. With that, he stepped out into the blazing heat of New Mexico. 

 

The light of the sun forced Lucullus to squint from the brightness as he surveyed the remains of the Clayfoot camp. A dozen or so tents and longhouses scattered around the plain, every single one having been ransacked and pillaged of all valuables by the legionnaires. A few campfires smoldered in the center of the village, near them was a large pit with a cloud of small bloatflies hovering directly above it. No doubt the maggots would be feasting by now. 

 

Lucullus’ men were finishing up their preparations around the village. Galba was still barking orders to the rest of the soldiers, having finished his own packing. The veterans Io, Ulixes, and Scaro were preparing their weapons. Io his cowboy repeater, Ulixes a hunting rifle, and Scaro his marksman carbine. They all carried broad machetes in addition to their primary weapons, as a means of finishing off fallen enemies or in case of close-quarters fighting. 

 

Io was a tall gaunt man with beady dark eyes that seemed to be constantly shifting to and fro, as if he were a cat endlessly searching for some rodent to gnaw on. Io was a rather bloodthirsty man, especially if he was convinced that the violence was done in the name of Caesar, which took very little effort. Lucullus was a loyal soldier to the son of Mars, but Io’s constant rants and exultations of praise and worship regarding him and his Legion greatly irritated Lucullus. At times it was so unbearable that it made him want to beat Io’s head in until it was nothing more than a red pulp. Then he could prattle on about his undying loyalty to Caesar to the worms. 

 

Ulixes was of a sober and quiet disposition. He was of average height and average build for a legionary, but his extensive knowledge and experience in combat made him one of the contubernium’s better soldiers. He was also quite fleet footed and thus served as the squad’s explorer, running messages back and forth between the other squads. Lucullus was rather fond of Ulixes- he was a simple quiet soldier who followed his orders. He knew of at least two others within the group who would become far more tolerable if they learned that silence was golden. 

 

Among the soldiers of the contubernium, Scaro was the oldest by far. His hair and beard had long since turned a deep gray, the pockmarks and scars covering his face also serving as a display of his years. Despite his age, Scaro had only served in Lucullus’ squad for hardly a year, meaning that either the majority of his fighting had been elsewhere- or that he had been made a soldier at an advanced age, a mercy only granted to the very strongest of the Legion’s opponents. It made Lucullus curious, but he was never one to pry into the private affairs of his soldiers as long as they served well, and Scaro had never given him any cause for complaint. 

 

Legionary Ramio was splashing gasoline from a jug onto the tents, whistling some cheery tune that Lucullus had never heard before. Lucullus disliked Ramio immensely, the only one within the contubernium he had any true disgust for. It was bad enough that he had a womanly appearance- thick supple lips, rosy cheeks, and a high pitched voice that made his skin crawl. But even worse, Lucullus had seen Ramio venture on many a nightly visit into Centurion Marius’ tent- and walk limping and hunched over the morning after. Secure in the knowledge that he had Marius’ favor, Ramio had taken it upon himself to be insubordinate at every turn. The one time Lucullus had dared to punish him with a vicious slap to the cheek resulted in a severe reprimand from the Centurion and a veiled threat that he may not see the next sunrise if he dared to lay another finger on his precious manwhore. Lucullus had lived long enough to know that crossing his superior, no matter how much of a degenerate he may be, was an extraordinarily foolish notion. From then on he had left Ramio be, although as expected, this had made his insubordination even worse.


 

The two newest recruits, Quintus and Pansa, were securing the few food rations that he bothered to bring with them on the hunt, which Lucullus did not expect to last long. Even if they did run dry, the bighorners were plentiful in the area and would be easy to catch. He knew little about the recruits themselves, only that they had been replacements for two of his veterans killed in battle with the Owlheads, some other New Mexican tribe steamrolled by the might of the Legion. He did not care enough to learn more about them, and did not expect them to last against a more formidable foe- although Lucullus still considered them lucky, as their first true fighting would be against a handful of weak tribal degenerates already decimated by war. Their only weapons were 3 throwing spears each- they would have to prove themselves in battle before they would be allowed more advanced weapons. 

 

    “Legionaries, assemble.” barked Lucullus. The men quickly finished the last of their duties and lined up in front of their Decanus- except for Ramio, who took his time finishing pouring the gasoline until he too made his way to the line. Lucullus imagined his bumper sword smashing into his pretty face, shattering his pearly white teeth and splitting open his rosy lips. 

 

    “We do not return to the main camp until we have either killed or enslaved all of the remaining Clayfoot. I will not be known as the Decanus who allowed their name to live on. I care not if it takes us 30 hours or 30 days- it will be done. Understood?” 

 

    “Salve, Decanus.” came the chorus. 

 

    “Then we will be on our way. Legionary Galba, you will lead the formation. Recruits- finish up here, and bring up the rear with Legionary Scaro.” The two greenhorns saluted and set off to finish their task. They lit makeshift torches with a handful of matches and the remaining embers of the campfire, and then tossed them onto the closest gasoline-soaked tent. Within seconds, the entirety of the cloth was set ablaze, and the tent was turned into a bonfire, sending smoke far up into the blue afternoon sky. Soon the fire spread, tent by tent, house to house, and the entire camp was up in flames, a fiery inferno born from the wrath of the Caesar. 

 

    As the legionaries walked out of the burning camp, Lucullus took one last look behind them to gaze at the fire that was consuming the last home of the Clayfoot. A thousand years ago he had been a boy. Some tribal whelp whose own home and tribe had been annihilated by some officer looking for personal glory.  Now Lucullus could not recall how many camps and homes he himself had burned to ashes and ground to dust. They deserved it, of course. They were ignorant tribals who knew nothing of civilization or strength. To enslave them was to free them.

 

But sometimes Lucullus remembered. A woman’s voice singing a lullaby in a tongue he had long since forgotten. Small pale arms reaching toward chocolate brown eyes, warm as the morning sun. A man nailed to a cross, his tattooed muscled body glistening with blood and sweat. Lucullus knew who they were and what their fate had been. 

 

They are immortal, thought Lucullus, as he gazed into the all-consuming fires. The flames here look just as they did when Caesar came to me. 

 

The line trudged ahead in silence as the camp burned behind them.

 

Rise of the Bull- Fallout Legion Fanfic

4 years ago
You had my attention throughout the whole thing. I liked it.
What's the deal with these guys and the Roman theme? Is there a story behind that, or is it just is?

Rise of the Bull- Fallout Legion Fanfic

4 years ago

In the setting of Fallout, Caesar's Legion is an amalgamation of various post-apocalyptic tribes, coming together and abandoning their old customs, culture, and identity in favor of the Roman style, under the leadership of the eponymous Caesar.

If you'd like to know more, please follow the link:

https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Caesar's_Legion

Rise of the Bull- Fallout Legion Fanfic

4 years ago
I see. Thanks. That explains a lot then.

Rise of the Bull- Fallout Legion Fanfic

4 years ago

Awesome job.