The bull the fox and the prison

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Steel boots beat down the dusty trail as Lanius walks alone. "In two years, we will crush through the land known as the Colorado... and there our armies shall meet again on the field of battle courier... I will be waiting." Lanius walks, sweating as the sun beats down upon his armor.

His eyes burn from the salt that has run down his face, yet he still walks the Mojave. He believed his men could take the Colorado mountains with no difficulty. But after the death of Ceaser, the tribes fell upon each other. The monsterous legion had truly turned upon itself without the iron fist of its leader.

Lanius was left with only a few men who had not run off, they were veterans who had served with him for at least five years. But now, he walks alone, the bodies of his best men rotting in the sun... or in the bellies of the beasts that once populated Quarry Junction.

They thought it would be a good idea to see if the mines had anything they could use, or it would serve well as a place to escape the desert sun and heat. However, when they were less than a hundred feet within the entrance, they realized their fatal mistake. Those settlers had stayed away from the mines for a good reason... Deathclaws.

It seemed as if there were hundreds of the beasts. But once again, the monster of the east was the only man to walk away from the field... and with a new trophy. When Lanius had thought he slaughtered the last of the abominations, a low growl sounded from deeper within the cave. The den-mother was not happy. She charged Lanius and threw herself at the monster. He slid beneath her, swinging his blade into her side.

The den-mother turns around, her tail crushing the armor of a dead centurion. Lanius knew he couldn't take her head on. The sheer weight of the beast would crush him. So instead he got the beast to charge him, swinging his blade for its hind knees.

The beast may have been one of the most terrifying challenges of the wastes, but the strength of Lanius swing, combined with the weight of his blade, shattered the den-mother's knee, imoblizing her. From there, all Lanius had to do was swing at the monster's neck.

The skull, claws, and scales of the monster made for good material. Lanius knew that he could not show his face, or his helmet within any large society. So he hollowed out the skull of the beast, wearing it to show what happened to those who challenged him. The claws of the beast, cemented onto his gauntlets, acted as vicous knuckles that tore into those who got past the edge of his blade.

Lanius paused, looking towards the west where the sun began to lay itself upon the horizon. The heat radiating off the desert floor made it look as if the air itself danced upon the sand. Hmm, perhaps it was time to set up camp. Lanius took off his bag, and got to work. He put two poles in the sand, and laid a tarp along them. He took off his bone-helm, laying it next to his bag. He took an old cape off. The bronze bull emblazoned upon the center of his cape.

Lanius laid the cape upon the ground, to comfort himself from the blazing sand. By the time he finished, the sun was half-way past the western lands. He grabbed his sword, and set it next to his pack, old habits die hard after all. Crickets, cicadas, and distant chittering of animals accompany the wind tomake a melody that only the wild wastes could conduct.

Lanius had nearly drifted off to sleep when a noise startled him. It wasn't like any animal he heard before, but closer to that of plasma weaponry. Lanius grabbed his blade and donned his armor. Looking from the flap of his tent, he saw nothing, no one that could be making that noise. Then, he looked up. Vulpes once told him of men who came from the Capital Wastes, they talked of aliens that flew across the sky in circular orbs, stealing the people and studying them.

It was a ship, but not like the ones Vulpes had described to him. Lanius threw on his pack and ran, leaving the tent behind. But before he could get very far, an explosive hit the ground next to him. His vision swam as he saw a figure approaching him. Not much could be made out from their features except for one thing. They had sickly yellow eyes. They glowed like plasma weaponry if it were neon yellow instead of green. That was the last thought the former legate had before passing out.

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