Fallout: Rise Of The Burned Man

Chapter VIII

One woe is past; and, behold, there come two woes more hereafter. [Book of Revelation].

Legate Lanius was aware he had inspired as many stories as the Malpais Legate, Joshua Graham, who had led Caesar's armies before him. He'd often wondered if it was simply the way of a Legate, for stories and myths to grow in their footsteps, along with the blood and the corpses dragging in their wake. Soon he'd have more stories clustered about himself than that previous legend Joshua Graham. Soon he'd have the Dam.

"Legate Lanius, the Courier approaches!" the prime legionary who manned the door to the Legate's tent announced.

Behind the metal mask, Lanius narrowed his eyes in an action none could see. The Courier. Even he had heard of the man, although man didn't seem like a fair summation of the creature who had walked free of his own grave. It hadn't been a man who'd walked the length of the Mojave from Goodsprings to the New Vegas Strip in order to find the man who'd killed him. Or who had tried to kill him.

No, people like the Legate, the Courier and Joshua Graham weren't men. They had gone beyond that when they refused the hand of death.

"The Courier of the Mojave," Lanius' voice intoned from behind the metal of his mask, "I wonder what message he has come forth to bring. Allow him entrance."

The prime legionary stepped aside, holding the flap of the tent open to allow the man on the other side to pass through.

Lanius' eyes tracked the Courier's reaction carefully as he entered the tent. Most men were at least awed at their first sight of Lanius and with appropriate reason: he was a goliath; almost seven feet tall and covered in golden armour which mirrored the flames when he stood in front of fire, making him appear like the Son of Mars he was. His mask unnerved many of the Legion when first encountered as the thick off-gold metal covered his entire face and was built into his helmet, a gift forged by Caesar in the hopes of affirming Lanius' loyalty after his tribe had been taken and he himself woefully scarred.

"You are the Courier who has given such aid to our cause," the Legate greeted him, encouraged that the man didn't show intimidation if he felt it in Lanius' presence. "Why have you come here?"

"Caesar sent me to inspect your camp." The Courier said, folding his arms, "To see if you are ready."

The Courier could imagine the Legate's irritation at his intrusion into his camp and was surprised when the Legate managed to contain his temper. If he had been annoyed, he showed no sign of it in his voice.

"Fine." He said, "If that is what Caesar asks, then you may walk my camp. You will see my men are men of the Bull, with a fist of iron and a fist of steel. They are more than ready to face the Bear, so be sure to give Caesar the message, Courier." He pushed the tent flap aside and stepped out into the sunlight. "Come, I will show you. You will see we are ready for war."

The sun had begun to set its last rays across the Mojave Wasteland and Isaac the Gun Runner stretched, looking up from the reloading bench as he set aside a fresh batch of .308 rounds. He cracked his knuckles and lit up a fresh cigarette, wishing it was possible to have more than a basic conversation with the service protectron fenced inside the box that was the Gun Runner's hut. He'd kill for some small talk now, a little something to smooth the quiet discomfort he felt running up his spine. He wasn't nervous or scared; fear was something he'd learned to handle pretty well long ago.

He was uneasy.

"Hey, what time do you make it?" Isaac asked the robot in the kiosk.

"The time is seven fifty five. Do you require the day?"