Gaius Antonius 81 - Incorrigible
There was something to be said for the effectiveness of psychological warfare. When properly applied, it allowed an enemy to be exhausted and manipulated into adverse positions with no sacrifice on one's own side. To master this skill, however, was a significant undertaking; sometimes it had to be deployed months or even years in advance.
Agrippa had seen psychological warfare applied to great success more than once against the barbarian tribes which dotted the Stork lands, the remnants of the old Cannibal forces. Stubborn old men who refused to let go of their power, those desperate yet powerful Experts were truly a hell to dig out. Years of preparation and study, done in anticipation of catching a bandit leader off guard just once, were common.
Indeed, the CCV
Ivory Chain were certainly winning against the Cannibal holdouts, and on their way to fully wiping them out for good. But the work was terribly slow and terribly boring, not the sort of thing which brought any real glory. Agrippa didn't mind thought; never one to enthusiastically leap into battle, the mild-mannered Arraysmith used the steady pay and quiet days to devote himself to his studies.
But it seemed that the Dawn Fortress didn't share in his optimism. The Elders wanted the Stork lands cleared out entirely, in the next year, and so other Legions had been sent to temporarily bolster the CCV. They would focus on defense, aiding the Stork Clans in protecting their territory, while the reinforcements would march into the desert and take the fight right to the Cannibals.
The result was that all sorts of unfamiliar faces popping up in the base camp, going about their business as the Legates present planned out operations. People Agrippa had never met, making far more noise across the camp than he would have preferred. This place, this miniature city of tents and stalls built around a small oasis, felt all at once far too small now.
But, at least, there was plenty of food to go around. Among the Legions stepping in to bolster the operation was the DCCXXV
Primordial Cauldrons, who counted amongst their ranks many alchemists. Chemistry and cooking, while not quite the same thing, overlapped strongly, and so the food at the mess hall had lately taken a step up in quality.
A long, sturdy tent draped in thick red cloth, it housed four very long tables, with a dozen cooks on the end who furiously worked to keep all inside fed. There were several of these halls, and several more had been constructed to handle all the new visitors. These served to keep the legionnaires fed, whilst the Centurions dined amongst themselves in smaller halls, though some preferred the company of their subordinates.
It must have been through some obscene fit of hubris that the Legionnaire, drawn by the scent of some unfamiliar spice, decided to make use a different mess hall than his usual. Ducking to the side to squeeze past a larger Legionnaire, Agrippa entered to find a rather rowdy crowd of diners. Whoever these guys were, they sure weren't part of the CCV, from the way they chugged beer and loudly boasted to one another.
With all the presence of a mouse, Agrippa made his way to the far end of the tent, curly hair bouncing slightly with his steps. He was handed some sort of powerful red concoction poured over rice. The spices were potent enough to tickle his nose hairs from smell alone - perfect. Spice was just about the only enemy Agrippa was eager to do battle with.
Approaching the nearest table, the young Legionnaire saw a spot with no one around for a few feet, which suited him just fine. He wasn't in a talking mood, he just wanted to eat and then return to his studies. He made to sit down, only to be interrupted as another person - a tall bald man with a round face - got there first.
Sighing under his breath, Agrippa turned around to another table, making to take another seat, only to once more be beaten to the punch. This time, it was by a short-haired woman with a scar which started at her forehead and ran over the top of her head. "Sorry, this one's taken." She said with a smirk and a shrug.
There seemed to be a rather aggressive mood around here. Well, no matter - there was another open seat right over there. Those hopes were dashed once more, as a third person, a brawny man with a thick, long beard, barged in, shoving him out of the way. Agrippa stumbled back, mildly offended, and looked around. The three were looking at one another and chuckling under their breath.
"Sorry man, you hafta be more aggressive than that if you want to hang with us." The bearded man chided, waggling his finger playfully. The three people all laughed in unison, proving his conjecture that they were all in on it. Agrippa gritted his teeth. What a bunch of juvenile nonsense.
"Really?" He spread his arms and gave an incredulous look. "I can't just eat a meal in peace?"
"You looked uptight, little guy." The woman said, taking a big bite out of an apple. "We figured you could use some levity in your life."
Agrippa huffed in frustration, stepping back further to affix the three Legionnaires with a glare. "Oh, I'm the one who's got a problem, I see. And what makes you the ones to 'help'
me, huh? Who the hell are
you guys with?"
"Us?" The bald one snorted, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He fished out a cigarette from his pocket, lit it and took a drag from it, taking his time to answer and smugly enjoying the sight of Agrippa stewing in frustration as he waited. "We're Stargazers, pal."
"The CDIV
Stargazers. The elite army of Gaius Antonius, the Empty King." The bearded one elaborated, gesturing to Agrippa with a lazy wave of his hand. "You're a Fifth, right? In our ranks, you'd just be a Senior Aspirant, not a Legionnaire."
"I dunno about that." The woman spoke up, propping her feet up on the table and reclining with her fingers intertwined behind her head. "He's pretty skinny. Could he keep up with the Brotherhood menials?"
"The chore boys have their own chores, I'd assume. Maybe he could be
their chore-boy." Beard shot back.
"Hey, hey, give the poor guy a break." Baldy chided, though he couldn't suppress a small snicker. He walked up to Agrippa and threw an arm around his shoulders, grinning. "We're just busting your balls a bit, man. You gotta learn to lighten up, otherwise how could we ever fight together?"
"I don't know, it seems like you're the ones who don't want to work together…" Agrippa muttered under his breath. He half-heartedly tried to break away, only to be pulled back in with ease.
"You really like to push your luck, don't ya?" Beard scowled, standing up and stalking up to the smaller Legionnaire, only for Baldy to put his arm between the two. Lady, still in her seat, tilted her head back and laughed at the whole scene.
"Easy, easy. No incidents, Marcus." Baldy said in a soothing voice, prompting his friend - Marcus, apparently - to reluctantly return to his seat. He turned back to Agrippa without skipping a beat. "If you're asking why we aren't a bunch of stiffs, it's because we've earned that right. We play harder because we work harder."
—-
Under the burning, cruel midday sun, a group of Legionnaires and Aspirants stood in perfect rows, hands clasped behind the small of their backs and feet shoulder-width apart. Before them stood a woman with scarlet red hair and a half-mask of jade on the right side of her face, bearing a stoic expression which her flesh currently mirrored. She wore the lamellar of a Centurion, but instead of the breastplate being flat or sculpted to resemble muscles, it was constructed around a large circular section in the middle of the chest, pure black in color. In one hand she carried a half-empty bottle of wine, from which she took large gulps every now and then.
"So, you fuckers want to be Stargazers, is that right?" She asked, just loud enough for everyone to hear. She paced back and forth, running her eyes over the procession of recruits. They ran the full gamut from Fourth Heavenstage all the way to a single one in the Tenth, but it was best to get them all up to speed at once. Some seemed more grizzled and composed than others, and the Centurion quickly surmised the ones for which these weeks of initiation would be a mere formality, and the ones who might wash out. Hopefully they'd keep more than half this time around.
"Tell me then: what is the purpose of your miserable life!? Why do you exist!?" The Centurion, one Zenovia Kritikea, stalked up to one recruit in particular, getting up in his face. "You! What's your answer!?"
The recruit, a young-looking Fourth Heavenstage, swallowed nervously, stammering quietly as the officer's attention became focused entirely on him. "The purpose of life, Sir? I-I believe people exist to seek out their own kind of happiness."
"Happiness." The woman's voice seemed at once loud as thunder and quiet as the grave. None dared speak as she approached the foolish student "You want to be fucking happy, this isn't the line of work." She took another swig of wine. Getting so close she nearly whispered in the boy's ear, she continued. "You want to be happy? Reach the Fifth Haveanstage. Take some missions. You'll be able to afford as many drugs as the richest mortal merchant."
She slapped the boy. "That's the fastest way to be happy: chemical pleasures! That wasn't a philosophical question, you little nancy! This isn't about such hollow fucking emotions, is it, men!"
"No, Sir!" They shouted in unison, filled with a ground-in desire to please their commander.
"That's right! We cultivate for enlightenment!" The commander shouted. She finished her wine, then threw the empty bottle over the horizon. "The pleasure of serving one's nation, Of serving a higher cause, isn't about being happy! A real Devil can live a life of misery and feel satisfied, so long as he brought more prosperity to his nation than the resources his life cost! That's where a real soldier finds enlightenment!"
"That's right, you dogs!" Shouted a second voice, booming from over the Centurion's shoulder. A ghostly figure began to manifest, thick with ectoplasmic gas which streamed out of the portal on Zenovia's chest. "The Stargazers are a cut above! You will perform crucial, delicate, high-risk operations! Each and every one of you must conduct yourselves as an elite! Do we make ourselves clear!?"
The ghost bore a similar half-mask to his summoner, but on the other half of his face. Otherwise, he looked eerily similar to the woman, albeit with a more close-cropped style of hair. He flitted about this way and that like a small dog on a leash, and the Legionnaires struggled with all their might to maintain their composure in the face of the unearthly chill the ghost carried.
"Sir, yes, Sir!" The men shouted again, louder this time.
"Our Legate is an ambitious man. He doesn't take things slow and he doesn't hold his subordinates' hands. He expects you to pull your weight, to risk your life, to even die if you need to!" Zenovia marched up to another Legionnaire as she continued her tirade, stopping a foot from the man's face. "He wants heroes, do you understand!? A legion of heroes! If you're not hard enough to be a part of that, then you can get out! Do! You! Understand!?"
"Sir, Yes, Sir!" The recruits shouted again, saluting as one.
"That's it!" She clapped her hands in triumph, as her ghostly companion pointed at the recruits with both hands. "That's what we like to see!"
"Now, get ready for drills! We're doing body conditioning today!" The ghost shouted in turn. "If you throw up, you will watch as another recruit cleans it up!"
——
Raising a wooden cup to his lips, a short, bespectacled man in smartly-tailored gray and red robes watched with bemusement as Zenovia put the fresh meat through their paces. He wondered if perhaps she was a little bit too harsh; a fifty percent retention rate, on a legion with unusually high recruitment standards, meant that they grew slowly. After the major losses at Molehill Fort, it had taken years to build back up, and even now the Stargazers numbered a mere three thousand.
Through the window and the heat haze, telling the individual recruits apart became difficult. They seemed to all melt down into one mass in the sun, which was probably just how Zenovia liked them. Still, it provided this man, a Centurion by the name of Caelinus Remellis, a nice distraction from his current predicament: utter defeat.
"Anyone promising in the new batch?" Said the man sitting across from him as he reached down to the game board between them and moved a tile. "I lost a good squad leader a few months back. Thinking maybe I could poach her replacement from the greenhorns." A stocky old man with a strong jaw and a thick beard, Centurion Milo Matellis seemed like a brutish sort, not one who would hand around with a small, unassuming sort like Caelinus. To the surprise of most, including Caelinus himself, they got along well.
Caelinus scoffed a bit at the other man's statement. Only an old codger like Milo, who was rapidly approaching his fifth century in this world, would call a group of Sixth Heavenstages 'greenhorns'. The Stargazers' harsh recruiting standards, which only allowed the Fourth and up to be Aspirants and the Sixth and up to be Legionnaires, meant that very few recruits were without Legion experience. Unless they spent the entirety of the Third Heavenstage as a free agent(unlikely, given the meager pay afforded to the sorts of missions a lone Aspirant could handle), they would have already trained under one Legion before jumping ship to this new, more exciting venture.
This was the reason for the grueling treatment placed upon brand new recruits - more developed Cultivators were harder to influence, so it was best to take heavy-handed measures across the board to ensure they all adopted the Legion's tenants and principles. Still, it meant their soldiers were not only stronger than average, but harder to shake. Considering the sorts of tasks they were most often put to, that came in handy.
"You're in luck then; there's a few old veterans. Even a dead-ender in the Tenth Heavenstage." Caelinus replied, making his move with a soft
clack. "Some more old-timers might do us some good. Too much rowdiness around here."
"You say that as if you don't contribute to it." Milo chuckled, taking one of his pieces. "Those big, creepy rituals of yours always draw a crowd."
Caelinus took one of Milo's pieces in revenge. "Don't make false equivalencies. My rituals are a sacred thing, nothing like the hooliganism your meathead shock troops enjoy."
The big man gave a wry grin and shrugged. "What am I to do, Caelinus? They risk their lives the most of all. Ought to let them live a whole life's worth of passion while they're still breathing."
Caelinus quirked an eyebrow and started counting on his fingers. "Passions such as pocketing a quarter of the spoils, blowing up enemy corpses for kicks, drinking themselves blind and deaf the night before a
parade-"
"That was a scheduling error!" Milo protested, pounding the table and shaking the game board a bit. He cursed under his breath, carefully sliding all the pieces back to where they had been. "We thought it was the next day."
"Well, you don't need to worry about it anyway. I don't think the Legate will ever put your boys in the public eye again." Caelinus laughed, taking a swig of beer. It wasn't that good, but it was cheap and clean; good enough for him.
"Just you wait, you little twerp!" Milo exclaimed, moving a piece into position and cutting off Caelinus' line of attack. "We'll perform an act of heroism so amazing, he won't have a choice. We'll get a medal in front of the fucking Archegetes."
Caelinus clicked his tongue in annoyance - in one masterstroke, his opponent had seized total control of the game's momentum. It would be very difficult to escape a downward spiral into defeat. "You must have had more to drink than I thought, talking like that an hour past noon."
"How interesting that you're having
any an hour past noon, you two." A clipped, aristocratic voice called out from the other side of the bar.
The two Centurions turned to look, and beheld a familiar figure striding over to their table. The powerful build and stiff bearing of Axia Quintia; wife of Gaius Antonius and, depending on who you asked, either the second in command of the Stargazers or merely one of a few equally powerful figures just beneath the Legate.
"Ma'am, I didn't know you were coming. I'd have rolled out a nice carpet for you." Milo smirked, reaching up to tip his hat, only to realize he wasn't wearing one.
Axia rolled her eyes. "We're launching our attack on the Cannibal remnants in one month, so this is the ideal time to conduct war games." She explained. "Myself and a few others have been trying to contact the Centurions, but getting them all together is like herding cats. What are you even doing holed up in this dingy bar?"
"Hey now, don't be so cruel, Ma'am!" Milo spoke up. "This bar is quite the friendly place, if you let it grow on you. It heals the soul, I say!"
Milo did have a point. This was one of the few public buildings in the village built around this oasis before the CCV had commandeered it as a base camp. Thus, it carried a sense of comfort and belonging which the rest of the comparatively utilitarian camp lacked.
Caelinus snickered, before chipping in with some commentary of his own. "We just got done waging
real war a couple months ago. Shouldn't we give the boys a bit more time for themselves before we get back to the grind?"
"Yeah, come on, everybody needs personal time!" Milo smirked, taking a swig from his cup.
"Personal time, huh? Is that what this is? And you thought it best to spend that time wiling away your days with games and cheap beer?" The Senior Centurion asked with a raised eyebrow. "We have only twenty-three years before the next Trial, a slow-growing Legion like ours cannot afford to lose its Centurions."
"Bah! One lazy afternoon won't get me killed, I've gone through two of those fucking ordeals already. I know how those hunters' simple minds work." Caelinus laughed, flashing Axia a cocky grin. "Their brains are all overcooked from eating too much spicy food every day. I could outwit them in my sleep."
He would never forget the first Trial of his life, as a no-name Aspirant, forty-four years old and still only at the Fourth Heavenstage. Those terrifying days had instilled in Caelinus a drive he had never known before, a survival instinct which pushed him to abandon the laziness of his youth and seek security through power. The nightmare only abated near the end, where he bore witness to the Miracle at Pleuron. That fateful day, where a gathering of young heroes-to-be accomplished the impossible and inspired a generation; where would Caelinus be now, if not for them? Dead, probably.
"Mm. Don't worry about me either, Ma'am." Milo grunted before downing the rest of his drink. "I'm too stubborn to die. I'd recommend you save your worry for our dear Legate."
"Yeah, he'll get in over his head again for sure." Caelinus chuckled, imagining the sorts of outlandish situations Gaius would throw himself into this go around. From what he'd heard, the young hero had helped in an operation to bring down a King hunter back then, while still in Qi Condensation. The very idea of doing such a thing boggled his mind.
Axia's lips pursed a bit, as if she were tasting something sour. She was looking down on them, that much he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to feel too bad about it. By just about any metric, that scion really was better than them. "This isn't a debate - I want to see you both at the northern outskirts of the camp in three days." With that, the Quintia heir turned on her heel and left, footsteps perfectly rhythmic.
"Sheesh, what's got her so hot and bothered?" Caelinus muttered once he was fairly certain she was out of earshot, before turning back to the game.
Milo shrugged, starting on yet another beer(When had he even ordered that?). "Trouble in paradise, maybe?"
—-
"Bunch of incorrigible jocks." Axia muttered to herself, falling back into a comfortable routine. She cycled through one weapon form after another, feeling her body loosen up as she worked her muscles. "Childish, undisciplined…"
It was only natural that her husband would draw such people to himself. Being a King, he was naturally a celebrity in a sort of way that even most Elders were not, bearing a kind of mystique that drew in thrill-seekers. The Stargazers' stricter recruitment policy and culture of glory-seeking only heightened such tendencies. The result was a Legion full of preening, prideful types, all with something to prove. An investment strategy, where everybody wanted to be an early adopter on a venture that would make them into a hero.
And of course, Gaius couldn't be bothered to enforce discipline himself. How could he, when he could be among the worst of them on his worst days? Axia sighed, transitioning into another form and banishing such cruel thoughts. She still cared for that man, after everything; she wouldn't fault him for being unwell, especially not when he had worked so hard to pull himself together in the wake of that mess.
No, the more charitable description would be that Legate Gaius Antonius was
unreliable. When fully focused and with his flights of fancy suppressed, Gaius was the infuriating sort who did well at nearly everything they tried(Axia, too, was such a person - it would be too demoralizing to be with Gaius otherwise). But even before the caves, Gaius had been a birdbrain, hamstringing himself with arrogance and pride and getting caught up in his own ways of doing things. Now, he could be so much more dysfunctional, on a bad day.
That wasn't the only negative change, of course. Her husband, once a type to not indulge overly in vices, had degraded into open hedonism. This was not entirely without precedent - when his own worried overtook him, Gaius would sometimes descend into drink, or any number of substances, but these periods never lasted very long. Now, it was the norm. He imbibed what he liked when the mood took him, regardless of the hour, flaunted tasteless jewelry and clothing whenever he was "feeling fancy" and worst of all…
Worst of all…
Swallow those feelings down, she thought to herself. Gaius was a transcendent prodigy. He was the golden opportunity which would launch the Quintia Family to glorious heights. It was not her place to dwell on such personal humiliations.
What was more important than Axia's petty emotions was the state of the Legion. From Gaius' shoddy example sprung an eclectic bunch of officers, ranging from reliable consummate professionals to borderline lunatics acceptable only for their considerable power. None of them were outright incompetent - their mission casualties were high enough that true incompetents died off - but there was not enough standardization in how they did things.
But enough dwelling on such things - her and Gaius had argued about it many times before. The sacrifices to general cohesion were, in his mind, made up for by the Legion's exceptional performance when battle was underway. It was true that the Stargazers functioned extremely well on operations which entailed a single Legion, but what use would that be in the coming times of war? With the rise of the Great Era, the Clan needed to be more united than ever, and a culture of machismo would become a detriment.
The future. What a laugh.
Axia split the target dummy in half. Solid spirit-steel, it was intended to take strikes from Great Circle Foundation warriors without damage. Evidently, that seal of approval didn't include unorthodoxies. She'd need to get a stronger one.
Axia scowled - The future remained as uncertain as ever, and she had only her own body to blame. She hadn't managed to get pregnant yet. It was only natural that such things took time; a couple made up of two unorthodox Foundation-level cultivators would naturally have great difficulty with fertility, even with treatments.
She knew her grandfather was getting nervous. Less than a quarter-century before the next Trial and no heir yet. But what exactly was she supposed to do about that? Running a Legion was difficult - she was too busy to focus on trying for a baby as much as the family would like. And besides, it was a poorly-kept secret that her
dearly beloved had no problems sating his needs without her. He'd probably produce three bastards before a proper heir came along.
Hm. Perhaps Axia had more in her system than she thought. It would be the ultra-heavy training spear today, then.
—-
"Damnit, I
will defeat you!" Caelinus slurred, bidding the pieces to reset themselves with a furious wave of his hand. "I can beguile spirits, I can do advanced surgeries, I can take apart delicate arrays and put them back together - why can't I beat you at strategic games?"
"There's many kinds of intelligence, Caelinus." Milo chuckled. "You're just no good at this kind, I'm afraid."
"What's all this then?" shouted a new, enthusiastic voice, soon accompanied by a chair skidding and spinning across the room. It came to a stop a foot from the table, and a tall, long-faced man took a seat in it backwards. Leaning over the back of the chair and looming over the other two Centurions, this man - Yao Bojing - was distinguished from his brethren by being one of the few Stargazer officers of predominantly Third Sea heritage. Ironically, he was also the tallest Centurion in the Legion despite this, having several inches even on their Legate. "We talkin' about the Trials?"
"Not much to talk about." Caelinus shrugged, giving the new arrival a cold look. "It's not like we can spy on 'em to plan our moves in advance."
"What's with that tone, man? We're all buddies here, ain't we?" Yao Bojing's mouth twisted up into a wry smirk. "Are you in a bad mood 'cuz you're losing?" He asked, peering at the game board.
"Yeah Caelinus, what's got you in a bad mood all of a sudden?" Milo added, his craggy thumb of a face pulling into what could generously be called a jovial grin.
Asshole; he knew exactly why Caelinus was in a bad mood. Yao Bojing was one of the newer Centurions, having been present only for ten years, but he'd already wormed his way into the Legate's good graces, gaining quite a bit of social power. The fact that he fought like a demon and cultivated like a madman sure helped too - he'd joined with only two Pillars to his name, formed his third soon after, and now stood on the brink of a fourth.
The brutish Milo, who cared nothing for social climbing and respected sheer strength in all its forms most of all, liked Yao Bojing quite a bit. But to Caelinus, he was a walking pile of alarm bells. The slimy, smarmy confidence, the slicked-back hair, the way he turned every argument around to make the other guy look like an asshole - Yao Bojing's Jingshen ancestry was clear as day. Still a conniving merchant, like his father.
"Gotta say, it really is frightening." Yao Bojing said, face briefly falling as he looked out the window with a melancholy expression. Just a moment later, it snapped back like rubber. "I get why the Golden Devils are so warlike now - I bet none of the soft ones make it past their first Trial."
Seeing a moment of vulnerability, a rare thing to see from the convert, prompted the short Centurion to make his move. "Now look, I know you haven't experienced a real Trial hunt before." Caelinus said with a smirk, patting the taller man on the shoulder. "So you can't really understand, but it's not quite as terrible as you think. The hunters are strong, but they have plenty of weaknesses."
"Really? Well, tell me more, little buddy." Yao Bojing replied, already back to being unflappably smug. "Gotta know the enemy's weaknesses."
"Well you see, their type… they ain't predisposed to courage, like us Devils are. They'll throw away their pride and run him if there's even a quarter-chance of death." Caelinus explained, reminiscing on the wave of retreats after the monumental victory of the Thirteen. "Plus, they don't treat their women right. Put a female warrior in front of one and he'll underestimate her, maybe drop his guard entirely."
"Is that true? I'm not sure I buy that…'' Yao Bojing muttered, prompting Caelinus to growl under his breath. Here he was, giving sound advice to a foreigner, a man who joined the Clan only by the grace of a civilized and merciful people. All this generosity, and the guy wouldn't even listen!
Keeping quiet off to the side, Milo snickered under his breath. It was probably at the sight of Caelinus trying to lecture a man with a foot of height on him - he was admittedly not an imposing fellow.
Caelinus grinned,trying to project as much confidence as possible. "It's true, and there's more. They also don't have good hygiene. Wound them, and they might get infected later, because they don't wash their wounds properly."
"Infected, huh…" Yao Bojing mused quietly. "Poison does sound like a good way to go about it. Treating such things in the field is a lot harder than at home. Hit them with poison and you don't even have to engage."
"Now you're thinking like a Devil!" Milo exclaimed. "Honor should be given to those who deserve it. Trial Hunters? They can rot in a pit."
Yao Bojing rubbed his chin in thought, his perpetual grin turning a bit cruel. "A pit… yeah, I like it, Milo! Maybe we could kite them into a pit of spikes. Slather them up in feces and toxins, so that even if they live and go back home, they'll have a bad time. A friend of mine once told me that sometimes, several weak poisons at once can be as deadly as a strong one."
"Make 'em so busy fixing one thing, they get blindsided by another. That's how all war works, in the end." Milo tilted his head and pointed at Yao Bojing. "It's called bushwhacking. Now, perhaps if we were to engage the enemy on a cliff…"
The two carried on from there, prompting Caelinus to tune them out and quietly leave. Not enough for that three stories of asshole to strut about like a peacock, he had to push Caelinus out of a conversation with his friend? A friend that had been Caelinus' for much longer than he'd been Yao Bojing's, mind you! Fucking Jingshen cheats, he thought. You just couldn't trust them, not until they'd integrated for another three, no, five hundred years at least.
—-
"Shouldn't have let them in like that, ought to vet them more…" The little Centurion muttered, triple-checking the locks on all his boxes and dressers. Thoroughly ousted from his comfortable afternoon, Caelinus had retired to his tent to cultivate a bit earlier than he normally did, hoping to purge his frustration by grinding away at the eternal whetstone of self-improvement. It helped, a little bit.
The tent was spacious enough, as the personal dwelling space of a Centurion tended to be. It housed a fairly nice cot, plenty of storage space, a table for meals, a firepit and a small wooden tub for bathing. Relatively spartan compared to his permanent dwelling back home, but for a base camp it was almost luxurious. The only problem, really, was his own nerves - having his property in a place where anyone could walk in, Caelinus found himself wracked with paranoia that he would be stolen from. As a Soul Artist, he relied upon rare and esoteric regents for a good chunk of his techniques and rituals, and had to look after his belongings closely.
Caelinus was, by his reckoning, not a prejudiced man. He gave each and every person a chance to prove that they were worth his time - it wasn't his fault that some groups tended to measure up more than others. Being around a bunch of folks he didn't know and who didn't know him, then, only redoubled his suspicions.
Perhaps it would help to consult the Legate. That man, while not exactly infallible, often had some calming words to give on a good day. And so, Caelinus set off a couple hours after dawn to speak with his commanding officer, briefly stopping to admire the beauty of the stars on the way.
The Empty King's tent was not difficult to find. Set up near the center of the base camp in relatively close proximity to those of the three other Legates, it was dyed in a rich ultramarine with embroidery of gold. The surface area which lay under the geometrically perfect canopy had to be nearly ten times that of Caelinus', and it was warded in all manner of complex and powerful arrays.
Standing guard outside the tent flaps stood two Centurions. One of them was the giant Nikolas, a nine foot tall mountain of a man who didn't like to speak unless he had to. His lamellar was unusually thick and heavy, making full use of the man's unnatural strength to garb him in far greater protection afforded to most of his rank. Underneath the helmet, two yellow eyes gleamed in the night, speaking of a cunning which belied Nikolas' appearance. Indeed, many an opponent had thought him a simple-minded meathead, only to meet their end to a canny tactic.
The other was pretty boy Albinus, apple-cheeked and gleam-eyed. He of the double-meaning, the poisoned dagger, the disarming smile. Albinus didn't work very hard to hide the reason Gaius liked him so much, nor did he make it easy for most people to ever fully grasp what he was thinking. If anything, he seemed to delight in being frustrating and slippery, though he never held any real malice toward his comrades - at least, as far as anyone could tell.
In that massive embroidered tent was, presumably, their Legate. No one he'd talked to had seen Gaius for a few weeks now, so Caelinus' curiosity was inevitably piqued. It would probably get him killed one day. However, there was no need for it to be
this day, and Caelinus could figure out pretty easily which guard he would rather speak to.
"So… you keeping watch?" He asked, giving Albinus an analytical side-eye.
"Yes sirree." The other Centurion grinned. It seemed for an instant that Albinus was giving him a little wink, but it passed by so fast that the Centurion was left wondering if that had really happened.
The little nymph was in an exceptionally good mood, if his body language was to be believed. Was he sleeping with the Legate again?
"You seem to be having a good day."
"Today
is a good day."
He was
definitely sleeping with the Legate again.
"What's the bossman doing, anyway?" Caelinus asked, looking over his fellow Centurion's shoulder in the hopes of catching a glimpse inside the tent.
The playful smile did not leave Albinus' round face. "He won't say. Forcing a dead-ender upward, perhaps?"
Caelinus' eyebrow rose. "Would he really do that indoors?"
The smile, perhaps, grew a sixteenth of an inch."Who's to say?"
He clicked his tongue. "Come on, you know the real answer, don't you?"
Another sixteenth. "Who, me? Never."
Smartass. Several seconds of awkward silence passed by, as Albinus reveled in Caelinus' frustration.
Ah, fuck it. "Can you give me a hint?" Caelinus asked, shoulders slumping.
"What would be the point of telling anyone?"Albinus asked, a wistful look falling upon his features. "You mustn't let people taste a dish while it's still cooking."
Why, oh why, was this Legion so full of jackasses?
"Fine, have it your way." Caelinus sighed, turning to leave. "But before I go, a word of advice. Miss Axia is in a bad mood lately. I'd make myself scarce if I were you - I don't think she'd be happy to see you."
Albinus' smile stayed glued on, but his face visibly blanched. Caelinus counted that as a small victory, and went on his way.
—-
I somehow ended up procrastinating all of my in-progress collabs to do another solo thing, after part of a chapter came to me in a dream. This is a sort of ensemble piece, using a series of vignettes to introduce several more Centurions of the Stargazers, giving me a sizable pool of minor characters to pull from in the future. It also gave me an opportunity to create some characterization for the Stargazers as a whole, which was nice to do.
I also wanted to practice being more ambitious with my character writing. It's easy to create a complex character over tens of thousands of words, but I wanted to challenge myself to create a multifaceted person in a single chapter, with Caelinus. He's a tad racist, but in a benign way where he's blind to his own biases. It's less that he's a hateful person and more that he's an inherently untrusting one. He has something of a misanthropic streak, and the more of an outsider you are the more pronounced it becomes.
