Post by Wolfezth Severus Deraine on Jun 19, 2012 12:27:47 GMT -5
Marsan fields... The breast basket of the Empire. Quite possibly the most fertile stretch of land of the world, and always needing something. This was officially land under Legate Fezendere, so normally he would oversee the operations here, which ranged from building bridges to roads and buildings. Instead, Wolfezth jumped at the opportunity to get out of Archenridge - luckily having rank on Fezendere, who wanted to get out just as badly as the Phoenix-Commander did. He hated to do that, and he knew how much the Legate hated politics, but truth be told the Legate was better at it than he was. That man had somehow prevented Aquila from erupting in a civil war thus far, through means that must involve magic of some sort - and more than bloody likely sacrifices to the gods every hour to keep the Senators from slitting each others throats.
Point was, he was good at his job. He might not enjoy it, but he got to do it on a daily basis, and his job was absolutely necessary whether he liked it or not. Wolfezth, on the other hand, can't do his job every day - he can't lead his legions into battle day in and day out, it's just not feasible and would cause a completely unnecessary bloodbath. That was job. To fight and kill big, scary things that threatened the safety of Amoraea. The only problem, big, scary things that marched on Amoraean soil are few and far in between, and hadn't been seen since Thornvale or even since he was appointed Phoenix-Commander two years ago. So in the meantime he just did whatever it took to avoid him going absolutely and utterly stir-crazy, keeping himself busy in the meantime.
And if that meant 'overseeing' the building of something - gods, he didn't know nor care what, that was that. Legionnaires normally didn't volunteer for these jobs out of the goodness of their hearts, they volunteered for something productive to do. Seventh White Feather was essentially the police force to Amoraea, and that entailed more watching and waiting than many liked, and menial labor was one way of having something productive to do with your day. Far more so than anything he could do in Archenridge - he knew as well as anyone how unliked he was there by the Senators and how little he could accomplish there - in the Senators' seat of power.
In the heartland of the Empire, Aquila, and especially around Marasan Fields, where the temperature could get overbearing, uniform rules were a lot more lax. The legionnaires - two dozen each on horseback - weren't in armor, and indeed some of them didn't even carry any weapons. Wolfezth carried his damascus steel spatha, but that was more because he didn't trust another soul with the damned thing - and it was his rightful sword of the Phoenix-Commander, and him parting with it for any extended period of time was as seldom as the gods coming down and shaking hands with the Senate.
The rest of the legionnaires, however, had a pugio which doubled as as an knife at best, and merely carried spades and other tools on packs on their backs. They were all dressed simply, for work - with merely tunics and trousers of various colors and qualities. They moved at a leisurely pace, not really caring at the speed they got there. The entire way joking and laughing the entire way, even unto the last stretch where it became a race.
A race which was a foregone conclusion. Wolfezth rode upon a pure white courser of the finest quality, Chance - who at only eight years old was in the prime of his life, and was one of the best trained warhorses in all of Amoraea, and built for both speed and endurance rather than brute strength to be able to maneuver across the battlefield, to be able to get to any and all hotspots and take control of the situation. As it stands, in the middle of their destination, twenty five horses pulled up and twenty five packs of tools starting slipping off the backs of the twenty five legionnaires.
"Building service, right from Archenridge! Point us in the direction and we'll get to work!" Wolfezth said, loudly to nobody in particular. In truth, he didn't even know how to hold a hammer, but could at least help with moral support and looking like he's doing something - as an officer should. At least it got him out of the damned city. He grinned widely as he saw the townsfolk - more than likely farmers and the like peeping out their windows at the uncommon sight, Wolfezth himself slipping the pack from his back and dismounting from his courser, his steel gray eyes surveying the environment around him, but he was much more lax than he otherwise would be. He knew there was little to no danger here, and he looked at this almost like a vacation - which what an officer overseeing a building operation like this was in all put name - as it wasn't like he could help in any meaningful way. Holding a hammer was an engineer's job, an immune, not the rank and file legionnaire. It was a rather drastic change from Archenridge to a normal town or village like this, going from being treated like dirt and an imbecile due to his brashness and relative inexperience to being treated almost like a god or something due to both his noble birth and his status - two extremes that were not comfortable in the least - and just as irritating. Who knows, maybe this town will be different. Marasan was known for its entitlement, especially now where it is absolutely pivotal to the new Empire - because without it, quite frankly, famine would be a much more real and terrifying prospect.
Point was, he was good at his job. He might not enjoy it, but he got to do it on a daily basis, and his job was absolutely necessary whether he liked it or not. Wolfezth, on the other hand, can't do his job every day - he can't lead his legions into battle day in and day out, it's just not feasible and would cause a completely unnecessary bloodbath. That was job. To fight and kill big, scary things that threatened the safety of Amoraea. The only problem, big, scary things that marched on Amoraean soil are few and far in between, and hadn't been seen since Thornvale or even since he was appointed Phoenix-Commander two years ago. So in the meantime he just did whatever it took to avoid him going absolutely and utterly stir-crazy, keeping himself busy in the meantime.
And if that meant 'overseeing' the building of something - gods, he didn't know nor care what, that was that. Legionnaires normally didn't volunteer for these jobs out of the goodness of their hearts, they volunteered for something productive to do. Seventh White Feather was essentially the police force to Amoraea, and that entailed more watching and waiting than many liked, and menial labor was one way of having something productive to do with your day. Far more so than anything he could do in Archenridge - he knew as well as anyone how unliked he was there by the Senators and how little he could accomplish there - in the Senators' seat of power.
In the heartland of the Empire, Aquila, and especially around Marasan Fields, where the temperature could get overbearing, uniform rules were a lot more lax. The legionnaires - two dozen each on horseback - weren't in armor, and indeed some of them didn't even carry any weapons. Wolfezth carried his damascus steel spatha, but that was more because he didn't trust another soul with the damned thing - and it was his rightful sword of the Phoenix-Commander, and him parting with it for any extended period of time was as seldom as the gods coming down and shaking hands with the Senate.
The rest of the legionnaires, however, had a pugio which doubled as as an knife at best, and merely carried spades and other tools on packs on their backs. They were all dressed simply, for work - with merely tunics and trousers of various colors and qualities. They moved at a leisurely pace, not really caring at the speed they got there. The entire way joking and laughing the entire way, even unto the last stretch where it became a race.
A race which was a foregone conclusion. Wolfezth rode upon a pure white courser of the finest quality, Chance - who at only eight years old was in the prime of his life, and was one of the best trained warhorses in all of Amoraea, and built for both speed and endurance rather than brute strength to be able to maneuver across the battlefield, to be able to get to any and all hotspots and take control of the situation. As it stands, in the middle of their destination, twenty five horses pulled up and twenty five packs of tools starting slipping off the backs of the twenty five legionnaires.
"Building service, right from Archenridge! Point us in the direction and we'll get to work!" Wolfezth said, loudly to nobody in particular. In truth, he didn't even know how to hold a hammer, but could at least help with moral support and looking like he's doing something - as an officer should. At least it got him out of the damned city. He grinned widely as he saw the townsfolk - more than likely farmers and the like peeping out their windows at the uncommon sight, Wolfezth himself slipping the pack from his back and dismounting from his courser, his steel gray eyes surveying the environment around him, but he was much more lax than he otherwise would be. He knew there was little to no danger here, and he looked at this almost like a vacation - which what an officer overseeing a building operation like this was in all put name - as it wasn't like he could help in any meaningful way. Holding a hammer was an engineer's job, an immune, not the rank and file legionnaire. It was a rather drastic change from Archenridge to a normal town or village like this, going from being treated like dirt and an imbecile due to his brashness and relative inexperience to being treated almost like a god or something due to both his noble birth and his status - two extremes that were not comfortable in the least - and just as irritating. Who knows, maybe this town will be different. Marasan was known for its entitlement, especially now where it is absolutely pivotal to the new Empire - because without it, quite frankly, famine would be a much more real and terrifying prospect.
