And now we are venturing to dip our toe into Destri country! I loved how you tied your fiction in to Destri's version in Interregnum via the Battle of Glenumbria Moor.

One nit that I spotted:
Don't you mean bards? Darn these apostrophes, always sticking their tails where they're not wanted!

My goodness! There is certainly some teasing in this about Ayleids and Teresa. I can imagine all kinds of foreshadowing and neat possibilities! How exciting!

So, Herminia would like to wrap her legs around Raminus' brilliant smile. It seems sausage may be on Hermina's menu. I wonder if she fancies fish as well? Oh well. Regardless, this segment certainly 'fleshed out a bit more of Hermina!

SQUEEEE!!! This brought loads more than faint smiles to Buffy and I!

Hmm. . . what makes our little wild elf so sure about that?

Chapter 21.7 & Chapter 21.8

The rise and ultimate fall of King Handril was fascinating. After swearing an oath of eternal hatred for humans, I expected to hear the legend of how he led a procession of elephants over the Valus Mountains. I am left to wonder if his exile lasted long enough for him to see the Chimer and the Dwemer unite against the Nords in 1E 401. I am sure that Fabius Cunctator (another clever addition) had him exiled long before the Nords were driven from Morrowind in 1E 416. It is too bad that Handril didn’t live to see the end of that century. I think he would have been proud to see the Alessian Reform outlawed and its adherents put to death by Ryan Direnni, an elf who was in all likelihood possessed of Ayleidic (Arimic) blood.

I like to believe that Abagaianye survived the Battle of Glenumbria Moors. Call it the hopeless romantic in me. It would be incredibly tragic if an Empire as great as that of the Arimer came to an end on a swampy bog in western High Rock. I like your continued assertion that the flesh-sculptures and the gut-gardens attributed to the Ayleids were probably an Imperial invention. The keeping of slaves holds with the traditions of their Chimer (later Dunmer) cousins. I imagine that, in the books that will be written in 4th Era Black Marsh and Elsweyr, the Dunmer will be portrayed as committing any number of atrocities. History is and always has been subjective.

Hermina’s memories of Raminus give her an earthy quality that nicely complements her more scholarly aspect.

And the mystery of the last king is another jewel in the crown of this brilliant chapter- especially as you are able to bring the Direnni into it, as well.

There is little else to say- your work needs no endorsement beyond- S.G.M.

haute ecole rider: That is just like those bards, sticking their tails where they're not wanted!

The Battle of Glenumbria Moors is actually a part of the ES lore, so I was just following that. However, I did go back and re-read that chapter of Interregnum before writing that part. Believe me, if I could have, I would have tried to find some way to work in a time-traveling Lattia if I could!


Acadian: I knew you would get a kick out of Rislav and Corsair. Since I was at it, I thought I would add in the trusty steed of Acadian jr. as well.

Sausage is definitely on Herminia's menu! We will probably never find out if fish is, since Teresa is still no where near that confident in herself to see.

I am glad the history lesson seems to have worked. I was a little worried that it would be a boring infodump. But the truth is they lay a great deal of the foundations for Teresa's fascination with the Ayleids, her present statue-hunting, and future dealings.


Destri Melarg: If ES had elephants I would have used them! I was tempted to find some way to work Silt Striders in, but decided against it. As it was I had to settle for Handril just marching the length of the Jerall Mountains.

The romantic in me would like to believe that Abagaianye slipped away somewhere with the remnants of his people. Who knows, maybe that even has something to do with Teresa's creamy white skin?


treydog: I am glad that Herminia comes across as feeling multi-dimensional. I did not want her to seem as a cardboard cutout spewing factoids. Hence her daydreaming about Raminus, and Teresa daydreaming about her!


Next: While Teresa studies the Ayleids (and Herminia's figure), someone else finally gets what is coming to him.


Chapter 22.1 - The Grass Crown

8th Last Seed, 3E433

Volsinius stood alone at the gate between the Market and Arena districts. A steady flow of people shuffled past him, going from one section of the city to the other. Most were lowly plebians dressed in rough wool, a few were better-off equites in finer, cleaner linen. Here and there was a patrician or wealthy equite in velvet and lace, and to balance them out a smattering of street urchins wearing nothing but dirty sack cloth.

Out of habit he glanced down the streets that curved away to either side along the wall the separated the districts. Then he turned to cast another look through the tunnel that cut through the open gatehouse to the Arena District. Nothing was out of place, he thought. No guilty eyes flashing in every direction that gave the apprentice thieves away, nor the hard, measuring gazes of their masters.

Where was Brekke? he found himself thinking. It was nearing the noon hour, and he had not seen the Breton all day. The girl had to be hungry by now, he thought. She had better not be stealing food again…

That is when he saw something that was very out of place. Stalking down Market Way was his centurion - Hirtius. The middle-aged Imperial's transverse crested helmet was on his head, and the vine staff that marked his authority was clenched tightly in his fist. Whatever this is, it cannot be good, Volsinius thought. Hirtius always took his lunch in the tower at this time. If he was out on the street he was likely to make someone else regret it.

"Decanus!" the centurion's bark rang out down the street as he approached in a clangor of armor plate.

"Centurion." Volsinius' frame snapped rigidly upright as he brought his closed fist to his chest with a clash of steel on steel. Hirtius was in a bad mood for certain, Volsinius thought, whenever he addressed a soldier by rank rather than name it always meant that.

"I don't know who your friends are, but they sure have connections," the junior officer said dryly as he stepped in front of Volsinius and returned the salute.

"Sir?" Volsinius said, wondering what the centurion was up to.

"You are to immediately report to Legate Phillida at Fifth Legion headquarters," the shorter Imperial said, "in the Imperial Palace."

"Sir, my relief has not arrived yet," Volsinius said, his eye once again darting down the side streets. "There is no one to watch the gate."

"I'm your relief soldier," the centurion spat. "Now get a move on, the legate isn't going to like waiting."

"Yes sir." The response flew from Volsinius' lips as reflexively as had his salute. Leaving the centurion behind him, he marched down the main thoroughfare that arced through the Market District. The road was crowded with people of all races, but he had no difficulty making his way. With his height and bulk, not to mention armor, the waves of pedestrians opened before him with ease.

His eye glanced at Jensine's shop as he passed by the arcade in which it was located. Simplicia was sweeping the cobblestones in front of the store. Her bony frame was draped in clean green and brown linen. Her face was lined and weather-beaten, and her hair a grey tangle. She was only fifty years old, Volsinius knew, just a decade more than he was himself, yet she looked as old and withered as if she was seventy.

In his mind's eye he conjured up the Imperial woman as she had been twenty years ago. Her hair had been as black as Nocturnal then, and her skin smoother than cream. He remembered the gentle curve of her wide hips and the firm plumpness of her breasts. Even now he could see her smiling as wicked as a Daedra princess as she beckoned him into her bed at the Peony Pavilion. He could smell the jasmine and sandalwood of her perfume, and still feel her hands running over his features…

Volsinius jerked his head away as Simplicia turned and looked straight at him. Damn! he cursed inwardly, there he was again, wool-gathering about the old days. He could forget about all of the other prostitutes he had been with, usually as soon as he left the brothels. So how come after all these years he was still thinking about her?

With an effort he pushed the image of the young, voluptuous Simplicia from his mind. That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about when he had been summoned to the legate's office. What in the name of Talos would Phillida want with him? For that matter, how would the commander of an entire Legion even know that a simple foot soldier like him even existed?

Whatever it was, it could not be good, he thought. The last thing any legionary wanted was to be noticed by an officer. Nothing but trouble could follow.

With that uncertain dread in the back of his mind Volsinius turned left at Commerce Street and followed it to the Palace District. He made his way past the granaries and empty barracks and through the Plaza of Emperors, until he finally he reached the gleaming white walls surrounding the actual palace itself. Taking a moment to look up, his one eye traced the slender spire of White Gold Tower as it rose impossibly high into the blue summer sky in before him.

Then he squared his shoulders once more, and made his way to the palace gatehouse. There he found a double row of praetorian guardsmen standing at attention to either side of the gate. Clad in shining armor inlaid with gold-plated dragons, and amber horse-hair crests that rose from their helmets, they were quite the dazzling sight.

What a bunch of peacocks, Volsinius thought as he approached. Probably softer than a feather pillow too. He would sooner have one girl like Teresa with him in a fight than a dozen of them. He took off his helmet and tucked it under one arm so they could see what a real solder looked like, and strode past them with his back straight and scarred head held high.

He had never been to the Imperial Palace before, but once within the small city of buildings he had no trouble finding the sprawling estate that housed the headquarters of the Fifth Legion. He only had to follow the grey, dragon-emblazoned tunics that soldiers wore when not in armor.

In no time he was in the outer office of the legate, staring at a one-legged cornicularius. The senior clerk walked from the general's inner office with a crutch under one arm, and carried a stack of parchments tucked under the other. He was older than Volsinius, with closely-cropped hair that looked more grey than black, and a scarred face had the texture of old leather.

"What in Oblivion happened to you son, fall asleep in the fire?" the clerk laughed as he looked at the scars covering left side of Volsinius' face.

"Happens every time I drink too much Nordic Whiskey!" Volsinius returned the laugh with one of his own. "What about you old man, mudcrab get the best of you?"

The other man laughed as well. This was no strutting peacock, Volsinius thought, but a real soldier like himself. It was the last thing he expected to find in the polished marble and silks of the palace, but a relief none the less.

"So what on Nirn are you doing here soldier?" the clerk asked as he laid down his parchments and eased behind a wide desk. "Shouldn't you be out killing something?"

"Volsinius - decanus of the first contubernium, first century, eighth cohort - reporting as ordered." Volsinius snapped to attention again. He did not salute. A cornicularius was a staff position, he knew, but still one belonging to a legionary like himself rather than a ranking officer.

"Oh, so you're Volsinius then?" the other soldier said with cocked eyebrow, then motioned to a bench along one wall. "I'm Lentulus, the chief parchment-pusher here. Have a seat until the legate's ready for you. It'll probably be a while yet, he's got a meeting with the tribunes right now."

Volsinius sat as instructed, laying his helmet beside him on the marble bench. A moment later a group of librarii entered the room with more paperwork for the cornicularius, and the one-legged man sent the lesser clerks away with the parchments that he had brought from the legate's office.

Volsinius waited as the day crawled by. After twenty years in the legion he was used to waiting. Half of the time waiting was all a soldier ever did, he mused. Then the other half it was hurrying to go somewhere else, just to wait again.

In time a group of men clad in shining armor even more resplendent with gold and silver than that of palace guards issued from the legate's office. He recognized them immediately as his legion's tribunes. He knew Hieronymus Lex from his time at the Waterfront, and of course his current commander, Audens Avidius. The others he did not know by their faces, but their armor said everything.

Not one even noticed him as they walked past, except Lex, who marched straight up to him. "Congratulations soldier," the tribune said. "You've done the Fifth proud."

Volsinius sprang to his feet and snapped to attention, but when he began to salute, Lex stopped him with an outstretched hand. "No more of that," the blond-haired patrician chuckled. "From now on the rest of us will be saluting you."

Then the tribune was on his way again. Volsinius stared after the man as he made his way down the hallway beyond the office and turned out of sight. What on Nirn had gotten into him? he wondered.

Then the cornicularius was hobbling into the inner office, and when he returned a moment later he motioned Volsinius within.

"The legate will see you now," he said.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jan 7 2011, 04:05 AM

Yay! We all love Vols and here, he gets his very own episode - with hints that he may get the next one as well! Woohoo! Perhaps I was inattentive during 1.0, or perhaps it is new info, but regardless, it was fun to learn that Vols' first name is Decanus and that he is 40.

You captured so well, the picture of a field soldier entering a higher headquarters - simultaneously feeling pride at being a 'grunt', and being intimidated inside such a polished and unfamiliar place full of rank. Naturally, he felt some kinship when he saw the other old scarred warhorse, Lentulus.

Super duper characterization in this episode. You portrayed Vols' soldierly mentality very well. Just as importantly, you portrayed his 'manthink' superbly as he found himself reminiscing about Simplicia, then cursing himself for his sentimentality and wandering thoughts. You have, on occasion, remarked that I have some skill at portraying a young woman; let me return the compliment at your skill in portraying an older man - and one who well-knows the ways of steel. Vols lives and breathes - my heart swelled with pride as he marched into that palace!


Booboo? I think you want to indicate that Vols turned left at Commerce Street - unless you meant for him to turn one direction or the other at a road named Left Commerce Street. Unless I am confused, I think you want: '…turned left at Commerce Street…'; that is switching at & left and capitalizing Street as part of its name.

Oops, his name isn't Decanus, that is a Roman rank. Hmmm, I did not want to italicize it, as then I would have to put centurion, legate, and all the others in italics as well. I will see if I can go back to make it more clear it is a rank, rather than a name.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Nov 9 2010, 07:52 PM

Ooh, yeah, Vols! :twirl:

Something about this gruff, hard-bitten old soldier just makes me all gooey!

In addition to everything Acadian said, there's this:

I'm so with you Vols! Show 'em, Vols!

This is what happens every time my dad (former SeaBee) and uncle (former Marine) would get together - they'd trade insults just like this!

What a treat to have Vols follow on the heels of an awesome history lesson from one of the most underutilized characters in the Imperial City!

I loved this chapter when it first came out - and I see that

.... wait for it, wait for it...



OLD. HABITS. DIE. HARRRRRD!!!!

But of course! And where Vols is concerned, well -

*puts hand on curvaceous hip and does a little bump-n-grind*

A harrrrd man is good to find. Always. Always. Always.

Or at least until he's been that way for more than four hours!

Sorry 'Rosa, about this chapter:

Leave it to Lex to ruin the surprise of what happens next. If memory serves, Volsinius efforts in Jensine’s shop are about to be rewarded.

Vols’ wool gathering where Simplicia is concerned further underscores both the feelings he has for her, and the guilt that he feels over not being able to protect her. I wonder what a conversation between the two would be like, considering that they are both still carrying scars (and I don't mean the ones on Volsinius' face).

I also just loved the interplay between Vols and Lentulus. Like haute, I remember listening to the insults thrown around by my great-uncle and my grandfather. If you didn’t know them, you would have sworn that they hated each other.

Yes Hautee....and a curvaceous hip is good to grind...

er...


all you dhertee thinkers our there, I meant that a nice smooth hip is good to SEE doing the bump and grind.

HMMMMPH!!!


AS IF I would be insinuating that EYE was going to grind myself into that hip! AS IF! Who me? Innocent, Virginal MEEEE????

You know Vols is one of my favourite chars in your story and seeing he gets what he deserves (a notable promotion?) makes me smile. Big.

Acadian: You did indeed sort out my leftist commerce street. And quite right on Vols having the next segment as well.


haute ecole rider & D.Foxy: Y'all need to get some cold showers going...


Destri Melarg: Lex is a spoilsport alright, just ask Mandila... There is indeed a lot left unsaid between Vols and Simplicia. They will have that face to face, but how much of what does get said is hard to say. Neither one is really the most open about their true feelings (not even to themselves).


Remko: Vols will indeed be getting just what he deserves...


Next: Vols meets the general.


Chapter 22.2 - The Grass Crown

Volsinius turned and marched through the open doorway with his helmet tucked under one arm. The inner office of the legion's commanding officer was simply furnished. A huge map of Cyrodiil covered one wall, and a large desk stood across from the door, surrounded by numerous chairs. A tapestry of an Imperial dragon loomed behind the desk, but what really drew Volsinius' eye was the standard of the legion rising beside it.

The polished ash wood of the staff was crowned by a solid gold dragon with wings outstretched and mouth open in challenge. Trailing out behind it, as if it was the tail of the magnificent creature, was a silk windsock. It was now slack in the still air, but in his mind's eye Volsinius could see it billowing out in the wind, like the body of a great serpent. A wide plaque of gold sat under it, with silver lettering proclaiming it as 'Legio V'.

Volsinius felt his heart stir with pride at the sight of the standard. His back instantly felt straighter, his head higher, and his shoulders squarer than normal. Somehow, he simply felt invincible, like there was nothing he could not accomplish. The dragon always did that to him, he thought, ever since he had first laid eyes upon it as a recruit.

Then his eye moved to the man who rose from behind the desk. He was an old Imperial, even older than the cornicularius in the outer office. His hair was solid white, and his face a road map of lines. He wore a senior officer's day uniform of gold and red velvet, and the scarlet sash tied around his waist the mark of his status as commander of the legion.

"Decanus Volsinius reporting sir!" the one-eyed soldier snapped to precise attention, his right fist crashing to his chest in salute.

"Damn son, they told me you were big, but they never said how big," the general said with a sparkle in his eyes as he looked up at Volsinius, who towered over him as he did most other men. Unlike most others, Phillida stared at the burns that marred the legionary's face without flinching. "What did your mother feed you up in Skyrim, trolls?"

"Sir?" Volsinius asked, staring directly ahead and not daring to break his stance.

"Relax soldier, you aren't in trouble," the patrician laughed and returned Volsinius' salute. Then Phillida walked back to his desk and sifted through the stacks of parchment on it.

"Do you have any idea why you are here soldier?" he said, lifting several papers in one hand and turning to look back at Volsinius.

"No sir," Volsinius answered honestly.

"Well, it seems that you are a hero son, only you never bothered to tell anyone," the legate smiled.

"Sir?" Volsinius could not stop his eyebrow from rising. What on Nirn was the legate talking about?

"I have sworn statements from three citizens describing your heroism during the attack on the Imperial City," the legate declared, holding the pieces of parchment up in front of Volsinius. "This one, by a Bosmer named Teresa, states that she and nearly half a dozen other people were in Jensine's Good As New Merchandise when a daedroth burst in. Before any of them could react, you came out of nowhere and killed it with a single blow, saving them all from certain death. She goes on to describe how you again personally saved her from a dremora Churl, and later how you took a Flame Atronach's firebolt in the face to protect a woman named Simplicia, also called 'the Slow'. There's more too, clannfears, scamps, and more daedroth and dremora."

"All three accounts say the same thing," the legate went on, laying the parchments down and walking back to Volsinius, "you continually put yourself in the face of the Daedra and saved all three of their lives, again and again in fact. Damn son, if we had you up at Bruma you could have held the line yourself while the rest of us had lunch in the castle!"

"I also have a report from the battlemage that attended your injuries that in addition to receiving those burns on your head and losing your eye, you also had your guts torn up, and more cuts and bruises than he could count. From what he said it was only emergency potions given on the scene that prevented your death. He could not believe that you were even alive after them!"

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself soldier?" the legate asked.

"I was just doing my duty sir," Volsinius answered. This was all Teresa's fault, he thought. She did something, talked to someone. It was just like that wood elf to meddle…

"Doing your duty?" the legate sounded incredulous. "From what I have read and the witnesses I have spoken to, an Oblivion gate opened directly in front of the shop, and you killed almost all of the Daedra that came out of it. At a very obvious personal cost I might add."

"Sir, the others in the shop pitched in and fought too," Volsinius tried to explain. "That Bosmer - Teresa - she probably killed as many with her arrows as I did…"

"They aren't Legion son, you are," the legate said plainly. "As much as I would like to, I have no authority over civilian awards."

"Awards?" Volsinius said, feeling completely at a loss.

"You heard me son, awards," the legate said as he sat behind his desk and picked up the parchments once more. "Do you deny these statements?"

"No sir," Volsinius answered, wondering what was coming next, "but I-"

"Then shut up and accept the honors due you!" the legate barked. "Akatosh's wings! Hieronymus told me that you were a stiff-necked fetcher, but you're even worse than he is! I didn't think that was possible! He also said that you were the meanest, toughest piece of work he had ever met. Coming from him that is quite a compliment."

Volsinius did not say a word, knowing that to contradict the legate would be the last mistake he ever made in the Imperial Legion.

"Do you know how many Grass Crowns have been awarded since the Oblivion Crisis began?" the legate asked calmly, staring Volsinius in the eye.

"No sir," the legionary said. Volsinius did not imagine there were that many. The Grass Crown was the highest honor any soldier could earn, he knew. Even officers like the legate were required to salute the winner of one. So needless to say, they did not dole them out like loaves of bread.

"Thirteen," the legate breathed, "and out of them only four were awarded to soldiers who were still breathing. Every one of them came through here, just like you. I can tell you the rest of them were a damn sight more enthusiastic about it too."

"Sir?" Volsinius asked. He still had no idea what the legate was talking about,

"I am recommending you for the Grass Crown son," the legate explained, rising to his feet once more. "I cannot think of any man more deserving than you are. Normally only the Emperor can approve them, but under the circumstances the High Chancellor has been taking over that responsibility. I do not see any reason for him to deny my recommendation though, he hasn't yet."

"It would have come a lot sooner, except the report did not come through legion channels. You can thank that wood elf Teresa it came at all. She must have friends in high places, because this came through the Blades."

It was just like Red to meddle, Volsinius thought. Damn wood elf could not keep her nose out of other people's lives…

"Well son, you don't look very impressed." Phillida walked up to Volsinius again. Even though the legate was a full head shorter, the weight of his position loomed behind him like a vast shadow in the legionary's mind.

"Permission to speak freely sir?" Volsinius said, his one eye fixed on the dragon tapestry behind the legate's desk.

"Go ahead son, let me hear it." The legate was walking around Volsinius now, as if the legionary was a horse he was sizing up.

"I joined the legion when I was just kid sir. All I could think about then was honor and glory." Volsinius could see himself at eighteen again. His blond hair was past his shoulders, and his two eyes had glowed with pride when he told his mother he was enlisting.

"But I learned quickly," Volsinius continued. Now he saw Simplicia, tied to her bed and covered with blood. The image gave way to that of the man who had done it to her, screaming as he took off one of the Dunmer's feet with a cleaver and threw it into the lake. "What we do is a dirty, ugly job. It's like shoveling horse manure in a stable, only blood doesn't wash off as easy."

"So then what are you doing in the Imperial Legion?" the legate asked, standing in front of Volsinius again.

"Because it has to be done." Volsinius pictured Simplicia again, older than her years and worn down by the horrors of the streets. He saw her cradling the Bosmer infant who had become more important to her than her own life. He remembered how every morning when she was gone, he had walked through the alley where she hid her few meager belongings and left her whatever coins he could spare.

"If we don't hold the line against the filth of this world, then there won't be nothing left worth a damn. We're the only chance these people have, but they're the ones who make life worth living." Volsinius now saw Brekke eating fried fish from the hot food stand as if there was no tomorrow. Then he pictured her smile when he told her he was 'the handsome legionary'. "They are the ones who make this world a better place. Giving them the chance to do that is the only honor, the only glory in life."

Phillida's eyes narrowed as he stared up at Volsinius. The legionary had no idea what the legate was thinking. He just hoped he had not ticked him off worse. The general walked back to his desk and drew forth another parchment.

"I looked over your record this morning son," he said. "Did you know that you are the only recruit in the Fifth to ever make it through training without a single demerit? Centurion Hirtius also tells me that in the time you have been a decanus, your eight men have been the best in his century. How did you manage that?"

"I don't coddle fools or take excuses sir," Volsinius said plainly. "A soldier's duty is simple. If they are too lazy or stupid to do it right, then I see to it that they learn."

The legate nodded, looking pleased for some reason which Volsinius could not fathom. He stalked from his desk to a chest across the room and pulled its lid open.

"The Fifth Legion has been bled white in the fighting at Kvatch, Bruma, and here in the Imperial City. Because of that crime in the city is rampant and the countryside is filled with bandits," the legate declared. Volsinius nodded, he had seen it all first hand. Three months ago he would not have been doing gate detail alone. He only had four men left in his file, when he should have twice that.

"I have been authorized by the Elder Council to bring the Fifth back up to strength," the legate said. He leaned down into the chest and drew forth a legionary helmet whose horse-hair crest ran from one side to the other, rather than from front to back as the regular ones did. Then he produced a long swagger stick of polished oak whose surface was carved with the likeness of twisting grapevines.

"The first recruits will be coming in two days." The legate walked back to Volsinius. "I need a stiff-necked fetcher who does not coddle fools to whip them into shape and turn them into real soldiers. Soldiers I can count on to clean up this province and put it back in order. I need mean, hard fighters who eat fire and piss vinegar, and you are going to give them to me."

"Sir?" Volsinius' felt his eye widen. Was Phillida saying what he thought he was? Then a moment later the legate was handing him the transverse-crested helmet and vine staff, and he knew it was true. Neither weighed more than a few pounds, but for some reason Volsinius felt as if all of Nirn had fallen on his shoulders.

"I thought I was going to have to give it to Lex, but I need him on the Waterfront." The legate walked back to his desk and sat down. "Now I see that you are exactly the man I need. The cornicularius will have your orders drawn up within the hour. Now go and rebuild my legion, Centurion Volsinius."

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Nov 12 2010, 06:08 PM

Woo Hoo Vols!

There's so much I love here that I could just spam the whole segment!

One nit, as a medical professional: Ruptures come from blunt trauma (as in punching a filled water balloon); stabs leave lacerations. Also intestines may be a bit technical for TES (I'm thinking bowels might be more appropriate) but I'll leave that up to you.

But that's just nit-picking.

The entire speech Vols gives Phillidia is awesome, especially since it is entwined with his own memories of the people in his life that mattered to him. But this:
is what makes me (and Julian) stand up and salute the man.

Julian tells me Vols doesn't need any lessons from her how to achieve this - he'll do just fine on his own!

Thanks for the tweak to your previous chapter. It's crystal clear in the context now that decanus is a TF rank. . .

. . . a short-lived revelation however, as Vols has been promoted!

This story was simply magnificent.

The interaction between Phillida and Vols was crisp, and spoke of truth.

And how like Vols to curse the meddling wood elf whose hand is seen at work here.

As Vols requested and received permission to openly speak his mind, the internal images in his mind that you shared with us were the perfect companions to his words - quite simply, you wove a beautiful tapestry of his thoughts, memories and words. We all have come to understand what Vols stands for, but I suspect I was not alone in swelling with pride for him as he enunciated it.

I both envy and pity the young recruits that will soon report to Volsinius for training.

I said it then and I'll say it now...

the whole chapter: HELL YEAH!

the philosophy of the soldier, his balance between the moral shades of grey that is life versus the moral black and whites that is necessary for a soldier to remain sane...

that is the ethical dilemma that has faced the soldier for centuries. And it has been starkly outlined here.

Sorry ‘Rosa, you are just going to have to face it. You simply can’t help writing about heroes! Teresa, Pappy, Morcant, now Volsinius. All are heroes in their own quiet way. Don’t believe me? Ask yourself why Julian, a figure so blatantly heroic that it makes the teeth ache, would reserve her highest praise for the actions of Volsinius. Or why our own resident heroes, Acadian and Foxy, would ‘swell with pride’ and offer a hearty HELL YEAH in Volsinius’ general direction. In the same way the aforementioned Acadian must eventually acknowledge his facility at plotting, you have to allow that your characters inspire through their thoughts and actions.

And isn’t that what a hero is supposed to do?

YEAH! Centurion Volsinius.... I can imagine him being a hard-boat like the Drill-Sargeant (how the hell do you spell that? ) in "Full Metal Jacket"
eat fire and piss vinegar... cool

Loved this chapter.

It is always a treat to have a chapter from Vols’ point of view. He is such a powerful presence in your story- and in the lives of many of its other characters.


QFT!

His assessment of the “elite” guardsmen also rings true. The interaction with the clerk also has the genuine feel of one veteran recognizing another.

In Adamus Phillida, you portray a leader any true soldier would be glad to follow.



Why do I see Dale Dye as Adamus Phillida? (Colonel Sink from Band of Brothers).

I want to quote Vols’ entire answer about why he is still in the Legion, but I won’t. It is the sort of unvarnished statement of honor and commitment that puts iron in anyone’s spine.

And of course, the reward for successfully completing a difficult job is to be given a still more difficult one.