Forum adverts like this one are shown to any user who is not logged in. Join us by filling out a tiny 3 field form and you will get your own, free, dakka user account which gives a good range of benefits to you: No adverts like this in the forums anymore. Times and dates in your local timezone. Full tracking of what you have read so you can skip to your first unread post, easily see what has changed since you last logged in, and easily see what is new at a glance. Email notifications for threads you want to watch closely. Being a part of the oldest wargaming community on the net. If you are already a member then feel free to login now.

FOR ROME! GIVE THESE BASTARDS HELL MEN!

Excellent entry, I'm sorry it took me so long to comment. I can't wait to see what happens to the Legionnaires. As a side note, when does this story take place?

 Themanwiththeplan wrote:
to whom it may concern. How sad. Get a life and bother me no more, I'm staying on dakka no matter how many times you feth with my stories.

I'm not sure what you're talking about with this, but I'm curious. If its inappropriate for Dakka Discussion, you can PM me.

Yes things look pretty grim from here on in. I didn't realy decide on any actual time or age, then again I pick them with a shield everyone defines the roman soldier with and have them in chain mail instead of the scaled ribbed one, whos name escapes me.
If had to put a number judging on the kit probably early 40's AD but it's just a guess.

You mean the segmentum lorrica?

I really couldnt tell you TBH, I had in my minds eye the first set that came into service. If your telling me that it's called that then ta mate, I didn't know it's proper name. Just knew it as scale armour.

Scale armour is something different if memory serves me correct. Its made of metal scales hence the name, while the lorica was made of shaped sheets of steel.

True, scale makes you think of fish and individual bits of metal woven together to make a scale armoured shirt. But in the Simon Scarrow eagle series that I read he calls the bands of metal scale armour, so it's a little confusing for me. He might have called it by it's proper name once or twice but he does say it's scale armour alot.

The Final Chapter

Varius stepped out into the cool night air past the section guarding the enterance to stand before the herald alone but still armed. Hearing the scrape of equipment from behind in the courtyard as he strode forwards unafraid to meet his fate.

'That's far enough Centurion.' Varius halted a few steps from the leveled spears of the Princes elite, eying them with contempt before he looked beyond them to speak.

'Come forth Herald. I wish to look upon your face, or did the stories of Rome told to you in your crib make you fear a single Roman.'

As expected the barb to the Heralds pride struck home. His anger causing him to barge his way through the soldiers surounding him to come face to face with Centurion Varius while flanked by his two burly bodyguards. Who each gripped a flaming torch in one hand, while gripping the pommel of a sheathed sword in the other.

'Do you and those inside agree to the terms laid out to you or not?' Speaking with a catch of annoyance betrayed in his voice rather than his smooth courtly air of a little while before.

'Well, me and the lads were talking it out, and we hit a few snags in our deliberations you see.'

Confused by the turn of events the Parthan asked. 'Which are?'

'Well like what happens if one of us wont surrender, and the rest of us do? Or, we lay down our arms and someone tries to hide a dagger on them and it's found when we're searched. Does that single man pay for the blade, or do we all? What if some of the lads want to keep some of their kit. I mean they could lose out on alot of their pay replacing all that lot. And wh-'

'Enough! You know the terms. Anyone found in non compliance of the terms will result in all your lives cast as forfit. Is that clear enough for you Roman.'

'Yes, I understand alright.' He cast his gaze back into the shadowed enterance behind him to glimpse figures packed behind the section of original eight men.

'Enough talk. Will you lay down your arms son of Rome. Yes, or no.'

In answer, Varius reached up with his right hand to undo his chin strap holding in place his crested helm. With a practiced ease the strap came loose to allow him to slide the helm away from the drenched scalp and drop it to the floor.

'Your shield.'

One second he was laying down the heavy wooden metal trimmed shield at the heralds feet, the next he was slamming it down on the bodyguard to his left nearest foot. Who howled with the pain and shock of the blow.
The shield shot up from where it had been planted down on the flagstone to crush the wailing mans throat, silencing his cries as Varius drew his gladius to block the downward hack of the other bodyguard.

The herald stood there in stunned silence at the sudden violence done to those at his side. Watching on wide eyed as the Centurion knocked aside the bodyguards sword and ram his own into the mans chest. Ripping it free with a squirt of blood pumped from a failing heart.
The last thing to pass through his mind other than a gladius was the feeling of utter terror for Rome, and the folly of stiring it's vengful wrath.

Varius kicked out at the corpse holding fast to his blade, earning a sickening crunch as it came free dripping stringy clots of blood and grey jelly quivering from it's tip.
He covered his body with his shield to ward off the jabbing spears from the scaled spearmen closing in from all round. Catching a glancing trust to his cheek that began to bleed onto his mailed chest as he backed away to his men hacking at the thicket of shafts darting towards him.

For one mad moment he thought he could make it until a spear stabbed into his thigh ending the fanasty as his leg gave out, and he sank to one knee.
With a roar of defiance he hacked and stabbed at anything he could, but he never saw the spear that caught him high in the shoulder. Forcing his fingers to disobey his will to hold fast to the shield protecting him. With a clang from its boss hitting the stone, he was laid bare to his enemies.

Cato and Anton had been watching on with the rest that could see of the hundred or so men that was all that was left of the five hundred strong chort.
When they had seen the slaying of the Herald and their father beset from all sides, only the Opito' command to hold fast kept them from rushing to his side.
Now with him bleeding on the floor bereft of his shield. A throaty roar and a stamping of hob nailed feet came storming from the emterance to fall upon those who had dared lay hands upon their Centurion. Slaughtering them to a man.

Cato was the first to reach his father, quickly followed by Anton and the Opito as the men formed a protective screne around them.

'Sir, are you ok?' Bending down to inspect his wounds before reaching into his satchel to pull out some linin to bind them with.

'I'l be fine in a moment, just get them strapped up, Opito.'

Looking up at his sons, a deep regret passed over his face at the death sentence he had handed them and them all.
While out in the square, the Princes troops were massing to cut them down.

'What now sir?' Asked the Opito tying the last bandage and helping him to stand.

'Now, we die like Romans. Hand me that standard boy and find yourself a shield.'

Anton did as he was told and handed the wounded warrior the standard which Varius used to prop himself up as he raised his voice to the men around him.

'Soldiers of Rome! Your family is dead! Your homes and crops burned, pilaged, and defiled! Your comrades slain, and your lands taken by the hand of your enemy!' Pointing his sword at the enemy he said. 'There these sons of bitches stand, waiting to send you to see the boatman and the land of Hades. But I say we keep the boatman waiting a little longer! Are you with me!'

The men listening on felt there blood pour like fire through their veins at his words. Answering him with a fearsome war cry and hammering of their shields that sent a cold chill down the spines of the nearest of the Parthan host.

'Kill them all!' Shouted the commander of the Princes elite, and charged forward with a host of tribesman and soldiers at his back.

An hour later, the square littered with Roman and Parthan bodies from the bitter skirmish ran with blood trickling along the gutter.
The chort had fought and died to a man. Their standards prized from their stiffening fingers and their arms taken as spoils of war. But they would be avenged.

In a tangled knot of bodies lay the Centurion and his sons. A score of Pathans keeping them company in deaths embrace on the trip across the styxs to once again be with with the one who waited for them upon the far shore.
There they lay until the fire consumed them as the inferno unleashed by Parthan torches devowered the charnel house of death.

As the Parthan host marched away into the night to join the doomed campaign against the Governor of Syria. Those that would survive to see old age would never forget the burning town below, nor the vengful wrath of Rome.

Aw man...this dust in here.....

yeah...the dust...

Yes the dust gets everywhere