Headed by a Snake

"At once, Primus Pilus..."

Justus brushed the mud off of his sandals as ordered... It may have been a trick of the light or his frazzled nerves, but he thought he saw flecks of blood caking his soles.

Taking off his helmet, he entered Primus Pilus' large command tent and into the dim glow of an oil lamp. A few cots had been set up for the field officers, as well as a flat-topped footlocker used as an impromptu table. There, sat a still-armored Decanus and an old, white-bearded man in a comfortable tunic.

Centurion Cyrac, the Primus Pilus, had been an aging officer since Modestus was a part of the Tyrion military, proper. The old man had a dull brass eyepatch covering his right eye, a neatly trimmed white beard, and aged lines on his face like they were carved out of weathered rock.

Justus thought it strange that the Primus Pilus had discarded his armor. The centurion wasn't a small man... but without his armor, he looked like a friendly tavernkeeper or a farmer who earned their land by serving their full terms as a soldier.

It was the man whose choices had doomed half of their company to death.

Optio Sixtus silently scrutinized Justus as soon as he'd entered the tent. The Optio's face was young and his short, dark-brown hair had no signs of white. However, with his military achievements, Justus guessed the man was at least 30 or 35-- not young for a soldier. It was perhaps young for a field-grade officer.

Sixtus' armor was similar to Gianna's: comprised of thick plates of polished professionalism. The majestic helm he had placed on the table was crested with horsehair, dyed dark green. Optio Sixtus was one of the Rhodoks' handful of Iron-Rankers and his armor matched his prestige, if slightly out of uniform with Munifex armor.

Justus expected to feel a similar fear, like when judged by Zehr's predatory gaze. Instead, he felt vague discomfort and the general fatigue from the fighting and marching.

...Maybe there was magic in the golden eyes of Decanus Zehr.

"Come in, come in, young Decanus. Sit down." Cyrac gestured at an empty stool, "And just 'Centurion' is fine. A *real* Primus Pilus leads 1000 loyal Tyrion men and women. I'm just an old, doddering Pilus Prior, if anything."

Justus gave a friendly smile. It was certainly different treatment from being called a fish all the time, and he could sense no ill-feelings from the older gentleman, "Thank you, Pilus Prior."

"Ehehe... Thank you, but no. Just Centurion, will do." Cyrac chuckled. He poured wine into an empty wooden cup, "Here you go, drink up. Flame knows you need it, leading the Second Cohort out through enemy territory, as you did."

Justus felt his brows furrowing as he hesitated. Most of the achievements belonged to Decanus Zehr. Tactics and coordination were performed by Scoutmaster Constantina and... the particularly bloodthirsty Decanus Ferrutius was a very effective slayer of kobolds.

One was missing. And he knew the other two Decani were not popular with the Rhodoks' leadership. It was why despite their skills, they were in the Second Cohort, instead of the First.

Justus offered an apologetic look, "I'm sorry, Centurion, I'm too young to drink."

The old Centurion paused before erupting into laughter.

"Amusing." Sixtus nodded, the corners of his mouth curling up ever so slightly, "Young Decanus, be advised: A superior's wish is a subordinate's order."

Justus averted his gaze, "O... oh. M-my apologies, Optio."

Cyrac frowned, but his eyes still kept their mirth, "Oh, come now, Sixtus. Decanus Justus, are you allergic, perhaps? I've never heard of a young soldier rejecting alcohol before."

"...With your permission, Centurion," Justus took the cup in front of him and looked into it closely. The strong scent of the alcohol seemed a bit intimidating... but taking a sip, it was sweeter than he thought it would be.

"It's not the best, haha." Cyrac shrugged, "Our Rhodok adventuring company has enough to pay its troops, but not enough for good wine."

"N-no, it's good. Thank you, Centurion," Justus bowed his head.He was beginning to feel the wine's warmth redden his cheeks.

"See? Look at this, Sixtus." Cyrac gestured, "This is the younger generation. This is good. I like this. When I was his age, every other sun I surrounded myself with wine and whores!"

Optio Sixtus nodded, "Polite. Professional. I have no qualms about his promotion to Decanus."

Cyrac reached over the table to pat Justus on the shoulder-- a strong, stalwart arm from a trustworthy leader. Justus' heart surged with pride at the assessment... but his heart ached in guilt. Decanus Zehr should have been the one receiving these honors, not him.

"Cheer up, young Decanus. The battle is over, for now." The Centurion poured more wine into Justus' cup, the liquid threatening to spill over the brim, "Tell us! Whose helmet is that?"

"It's... different," Cyrac nodded... "--but I remember seeing it before."

Justus caressed the modified visored helmet as words caught in his throat. He was going to tell them it belonged to Decanus Zehr, but that wasn't exactly right.

"It belonged to Decanus Caelistis."

"Ehhh? That thick-headed thief?" Cyrac's face contorted to disgust. He turned to Sixtus, "I thought he'd been kicked out?"

Sixtus tilted his head up, frowning, "No, Centurion. He was one more complaint away from me crucifying him personally. I'd like to remind you that you were the only officer against the notion."

Cyrac clapped Justus on the shoulder again, "You look better in it than he did, I'm sure."

Justus wore a wry smile, "Thank you, Centurion."

The old man sighed and shook his head, "Anyroad, congratulations on your promotion, young man! 'Tis cause for at least a cup or two of celebration."

Justus took a polite sip of his cup so it wouldn't spill... "A battlefield promotion is not something to celebrate."

Cyrac sat back and took a deep breath. He pushed his own wine cup away, nodding slightly to himself, "Of course... That's true... That's very true."

Slowly, the Centurion leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression grave, "Young Decanus... the Fates have conspired to place you into your position... You may not think you deserve it. You may not even want it... but I hope you'll accept it and perform your duties with honor and fidelity."

Justus took a deep breath through his nostrils, trying not to choke on his emotions. Many had died. An unacceptable amount of Rhodoks had died. The Centurion captured his feelings on the matter, perfectly.

"I will, Centurion... I swear it," Justus gulped and tried to calm his breathing.

"Decanus Justus," Optio Sixtus nodded, a half-smile of approval on his face. "You were summoned to give your account on the sun's events."

"Yes, Optio," Justus nodded. He began to tell his superiors what he knew...