Silus-FC

Dolly was in and out during the long journey to Utah.  She was dehydrated most of the time; the desert was particularly unforgiving in the valleys of eastern Nevada, and water was limited.  Still, they pressed on, and she responded with stubborn silence to the man's amiable talk.  He wouldn't answer any serious questions, so she had nothing to say to him, no matter how friendly he seemed.  Dolly was not about to be diplomatic when she was tied like a piece of meat.  Thanks to the hot summer sun and lack of water, she slept most of the day, waking up several times at night to the sounds of the desert and a scratchy blanket around her as she la

Dolly and Follows-Chalk ran down the side of the steep mountain, dangerously careening across the soft dirt path until they were close enough to the bottom to see that something stood directly in front of the approaching group.  A lone soldier, standing sentinel to the entryway of the Salt Lake Valley.  His arms were crossed and a chainsaw was strapped to his thigh. "Oh, thank the gods for Silus," Follows-Chalk breathed, and Dolly answered, "That's probably the only time anyone's ever said that." They skidded to a stop as the group approached, Follows-Chalk withdrawing his 1911 as Silus turned, staring impassively. "Do you know who they ar

"What is that." Curious, the Centurion leaned forward to inspect what obviously bothered the ex-Legate so much, and when he realized that the Mark he'd given Nicole was still around her neck, he sighed and closed his eyes. Fuck. He should've taken it off her while they were still outside. Unpredictable Joshua Graham was probably not the best person to see such a sight. Squeezing her hand, Silus silently willed Nicole to not answer, though she by now probably figured caution was key when dealing with this man. Graham gracefully scooped up the golden coin, then ungracefully jerked it from Nicole's neck, the leather tearing. For a moment, he h

The silence that penetrated the main passageway through Caesar's camp had a purpose.  That purpose was revealed to be a blood-soaked and tired Legate.  Slaves and warriors alike both paused in half respect, half fear as he trudged past with several of his top centurions, men whose faces were hardened and as slate blank as the helmets they wore, where the sun glinted harshly off the metal.  The Legate himself didn't wear a helmet, but now he shrugged off the heavy rifle he toted to wipe his bloody arm over his sweaty brow. The Legate was the "doing" leader of the Legion, where Caesar was more of the "planning" leader.  As they moved west and