Toric groaned and rolled out of bed. He stood up and looked down at his chest, and sure enough, there was a long scar from his throat to his left ribs. It even looked like it was years old. Just thinking about that monster axe Rune used made him shudder. There were already half a dozen scars on his body and that was only one night of training. At least they were not lying about how he would feel in the morning though. Not only did he feel well rested, but he was wide awake, not groggy like he usually was. He moved into the bathroom and began washing up. He was dirty and sweaty and grimy and his muscles ached. It was the good aching of muscles that had been worked hard, but the hot water still felt glorious. After he was done washing he put on a pair of soft leather pants and stepped out of the bedroom and into the common room of the suite they were staying in. No one else was awake, but there was food laid out on the table and he sat down happily. He was digging into the eggs when he heard a surprised squeak from the door and turned to look.

There was a pair of pages standing there holding heavy trays laden with food and an older man behind them with two pitchers in his hands. Toric remembered his manners and stood, gesturing them inside.

“Do not worry; you come bearing food, which instantly makes you a very important person to me.”

The pages could not restrain their laughter and the older man smiled. All three entered and finished laying out the food. They had just departed when another door opened and a young Legionnaire came out of the bathroom. When he saw Toric sitting at the table eating he froze and looked down guiltily. Toric understood, the man was supposed to be at his post outside his door, and had been in the bathroom when Toric awoke. He was having a good morning and did not want to spoil it so he looked at the Legionnaire and made a tossing motion over his left shoulder, a common gesture meaning “forget about it”. As the Legionnaire came closer he whispered to him.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

The Legionnaire saluted and took up his station behind Toric while he continued to eat ravenously. Within about twenty minutes Toric was winding down on eating and leaning back in the chair sipping a tall glass of juice. The door leading to another bedroom opened and Drax and Marrick came out. They headed for the food left on the table like it was a lodestone and they iron. Marrick stopped in shock as he came around to the opposite side of the table from Toric and saw his naked torso. Before he could ask Toric quickly began explaining what his night was like. They both stared at him in shock then; until Drax began laughing uproariously. He tried to say something ten times and finally managed to get it out.

“Can you not do anything the normal slow way? It is like you have to get everything done as fast as possible. You are making the rest of us look bad.”

Toric smiled and laughed politely, but his thoughts on why everything was moving so fast were not exactly good breakfast conversation, so he kept them to himself. Turning and looking at Marrick he laid out what he wanted to do today.

“I want to visit the Island. How long is that going to take? Would it be a day trip or should we plan to stay overnight?”

Marrick looked serious and shook his head.

“It will take a couple of days, probably only one night, but it might take two. We should go as soon as possible though; there is a necessary ceremony that has to take place before you are officially Blood of Daath.”

He turned and looked at Drax.

“Drax, you were telling me yesterday that you needed to touch base with your father and let him know what is happening. That is at least a two day trip for you and you will not be able to accompany us to the Island. Could you start that today?”

Drax nodded thoughtfully while chewing his food.

“Yes that would work out fine and this way we should all be back before Toric’s grandparents arrive.”

Toric nodded as well.

“Good, let’s get to it then.”

It was a few hours before everything was ready. Toric was again in his armor and holding his helmet, he had yet to put it on except in his training. All of the Legionnaires were formed up around him and Marrick stood at his right hand. They had been moving through the Keep for about ten minutes and finally they exited out into a wide courtyard. Toric looked around curiously, but recognized that now was not the time for sightseeing. He faced forward and followed the Legionnaires toward the gatehouse. Marrick called a halt before they exited the Keep completely and turned to Toric.

“I recommend you put your helmet on until we are on the galley and away from the curious. It will keep your identity a relative secret and might prevent any problems your eyes could provoke in the populace. The Fists will keep the crowds away, but – and I mean no offense with this – those glowing blue eyes might freak out the general public.”

Toric frowned but nodded in agreement. He reached down and lifted the helmet. It slid onto his head and there was the same feeling as had happened in the dream training, but much more powerful. The helmet sealed into the place and the complete enchantment of the armor activated. He felt the magic flowing into place and gaining strength. The armor now augmented his already formidable strength and made him faster and stronger. Looking around he saw that the aura of dread was present here too; everyone in the vicinity looked uncomfortable until they turned away and then their expressions settled. Marrick was the only one to keep his eyes on his step-son and he was the only one that smiled.

“Good.” Marrick turned back to the Legionnaires. “Forward!”

The small parade continued and the portcullis rattled upward. Soon they were down the approach to the Keep and headed into the inner city. Everywhere they went people turned toward them in curiosity, and as soon as they saw Toric they would turn away in panic. No one impeded their path. The Fists did not even have to fend off the beggars and the march to the docks was uninterrupted. By the time they reached the docks everyone but Toric was sweating under the hot sun. Toric figured his armor had an enchantment built in to keep him cool, as that was the only explanation for him not boiling in the dark armor beneath the burning sun.

The docks were a riot of colors and noise. Laborers and longshoremen were everywhere loading and unloading ships. This was the lifeblood of the Imperial City and the docks stretched for nearly two miles, and that was just the commercial docks. They made a sharp turn and walked up to a stout stone wall, following it until a gate appeared around a corner. Standing guard before the gate was four veteran Legionnaires that came to attention when they spotted their group. Marrick barked an order for the gate to open and two of the men called their code words through the view slot. The gate ground open slowly and the Fists escorted Marrick and Toric through. The gate thudded shut behind them and Toric looked around at the Legion Embassy. It was laid out like a fort and to the side was a group of various civilians, dressed like people from all different walks of life, but with one thing in common. They were all under twenty-five and each one had a healing cut on their right hands. A memory intruded, likely from his father, and he recognized these people as new recruits. Marrick coughed and he turned back to the front to see the prick of a tribune from yesterday standing next to a woman wearing a similar uniform to Marrick, a Legate.

Toric touched Marrick’s shoulder and then stepped forward, motioning for the Fists to stand away. He came to a stop and regarded the woman for a moment. She was younger, perhaps thirty years of age, than he would have thought a Legate would be. She most definitely had some steel in her spine as she faced him without flinching. The tribune at her side was not so brave; he had dropped his eyes within seconds of seeing him. Toric reached up and hit the release on his helmet, pulling it off his head and ending the dread effect, he snapped it onto a clip on the side of his belt next to Fang and smiled at the Legate. The population of the entire courtyard let out a sigh of relief as the pervasive sensation of doom faded.

“Greetings, Legate. I am Toric Fatesblood.”

The woman did not smile back, nor did she salute. She spoke in a firm voice.

“That has yet to be determined young man. A galley awaits you and will take you and the other recruits to the Island. There you will be tested and if there is any justice in this world you will be found for the fraud you are and crucified for your deception.”

Toric had no idea of the woman’s reasoning behind such a statement, but he did know when he was being called a liar and his eyes flared with anger. With most people that would be a figure of speech, but with Toric it was truth. His eyes deepened in color, becoming such a deep blue as to appear black, and they flickered and danced like living flames within his skull. It was apparent just how menacing it appeared as the woman took a full step back away from him. Before he could speak however Marrick strode forward and put out an arm across his chest.

“Toric, do not lose your temper. It is the right of a Legate to speak their feelings, though usually they are careful not to anger superiors.”

The woman snarled at Marrick as well.

“Another imposter, wearing a uniform he has no right to. I know all the Legates in the Legion and you are unknown to me. There will be no need for you to go to the Island I will announce your punishment right here. Guards! Ready a cross so we can show this conman the laws of the Legion.”

Not a single guardsman moved; the older ones recognized Marrick Secondus and a few whispered words to the younger ones kept them in place. Toric quested around with his senses to see if the woman was being manipulated, but there was nothing there. This was not magic, no, this was simple arrogance. This time it was Toric that restrained Marrick and gestured to the Fists to stand back. The proper words and actions came to him along with a memory of his great great-grandfather facing a similar situation with a recklessly arrogant noble. The magi last night had shown him how he could use his elemental control of fire for many things. He was not yet trained enough to have great finesse, but he inherently had great enough strength to make a statement nonetheless. His voice was powerful and echoed throughout the courtyard.

“Here I stand, Toric Fatesblood, Blood of the Legion, and make this vow. By this creed do I prove my worth. Speak it only if you do not fear the anger of Daath.”

“The Legion is family, hearth, and home

I protect it with my brothers or alone

May the enemy always feel my wrath

As I am the strong right hand of Daath

Spirits strike me should I lie

This oath I make when others vie”

The moment the oath began the earth shook. Toric’s words echoed strongly and a bright light flared to the west, piercing up to the sky from the Island. A gust of wind blew and the same light that speared up into the heavens, hammered down directly atop where Toric stood speaking. The light dimmed enough for everyone to see that Toric stood unharmed, the oath complete and still lingering in the air. A figure stood behind him, made of light and shadow, it was massive. The powerful figure knelt and placed its’ huge hands on Toric’s shoulders. A voice filled with power and might came from the form. It spoke in an old dialect of a forgotten tongue, but every man and woman that heard it understood what it said.

“You spoke the oath and so I judged you. You are mine young one, the son of the Commander of my Legion and the Heir to his command. Let no one bar your path to my realm; I await you.”

With those short words the figure condensed again into a blazing ball of light, and shot back into the sky. A sonic boom was heard and the light returned to the Island, the earth shook once more, and then all was silent. Toric looked at the Legate.

“I should not have had to do that woman. Your arrogance and pride have been your undoing. It is my wish that you and the tribune accompany me to the Island. Get to the galley and I will join you soon.”

With that Toric turned away and looked over the courtyard. His voice rang with authority.

“Return to your duties. See the recruits loaded on the galley; I wish to leave as soon as possible. Fists, I had hoped to give you a day off, but it looks like I am not as safe as I had thought among the Legion. That saddens me, but it will be necessary for you to remain with me. Someone send a message to the Keep, and give it to Second Mage Vorxin. Tell him this. ‘The recent event was necessary and I apologize for any disruption it has caused. Should further explanation be required I will expound in person upon my return. Sign the missive Toric Fatesblood’. Let us get going.”

Toric and Marrick boarded the galley with the Fists and stepped into the pilot cabin for a moment. Marrick spun around and smacked Toric’s armored shoulder. Then he screamed and hollered for a bit, and finally he grabbed Toric in a bear hug.

“You have got to stop doing shit like that. You are fifteen years old, and you spoke an oath you shouldn’t even know and summoned Daath! He has not come off the Island in centuries. Most of the rest of the world has forgotten he ever existed. Had he been unamused by that stunt he might have burned you out right then and there. I have aged ten years in the last two days just from being near you, and I am damn sure not going to let you go off on your own.”

After Marrick ran down a bit and let off some steam; Toric reached out and pulled him back for another hug, then pushed him out to arms reach and looked him in the eyes.

“I am sorry that I scared you dad, I had to do something with her accusations, never mind the threat to have you crucified. Calling on Daath to strike me down if it was a lie was the greatest vow I could think to make, and it surprised me just as much as it did you when he actually answered. I will try and keep my antics down to the bare minimum, but to be perfectly honest so far I have just been reacting to what happens around me. What is going to happen when I actually have a chance to make proactive decisions doesn’t really bear thinking on.”

Toric offered a crooked smile with that last comment and Marrick laughed and smacked his arm again, wincing when his hand bounced off the armor.

“Okay, fine, let’s get out of this cabin and let the pilot back in here. Maybe you would like to take a turn at the oars?”

Marrick joked as they both left the cabin and went to the aft end where there were some rough seats anchored to the deck. The Fists arranged themselves about the duo, two of them on their feet with eyes sweeping from the lake to the ship to check for threats, while the others settled down on the benches as well. The centurion among them came over and sat down next to Toric.

“We haven’t had a chance for formal introductions my lord. I am Centurion Xander, and as you have found out the squad is called the Fists of Daath. We are actually a Special Sections Squad, but when the call came in for a squad to volunteer to guard the son of the Commander I managed to pull rank and get us assigned. The Legate and I served together during the war and he knows me pretty well, considering he has been a little out of the loop for the past fifteen years. I need to apologize for Third Michael, he told me about the little incident this morning when he had to go to the can. He is good kid, but still a little wet behind the ears.”

Xander went a little red in the face when he realized he was telling a fifteen year old that one of his men did something stupid because he was too young at nineteen. Then he shook his head and smiled, Toric was something else, it was impossible to think of him as a typical teenager.

“Anyways, I just wanted to introduce myself and tell you what a pleasure it is to meet you. The boys and I had thought this might be a dull but relaxing posting and looked forward to the honor. Now that we know you a little bit that thought has reversed itself, this should be a terrible and exciting posting and we look forward to vacation.”

Xander had a professional soldier’s sense of humor and Toric appreciated it greatly, laughing loudly at the joke.

“I am honored to have you with me Xander, honored to have a squad with the reputation of the Fists with me. I was prepared to ignore Michael’s error in judgement and frankly had forgotten all about it, but it speaks very well to his commitment and character that he came to you and told you about it, knowing that he would suffer a punishment. When things slow down I will see to it that ya’ll get that vacation, but for now I am happy to have good men watching my back. It’s a big back, so you all got your work cut out for you.”

It was Xander’s turn to laugh and laugh he did. Then they all leaned back and enjoyed the trip to the Island, letting the steady beat of the pacers drum lull them along.

Toric jolted up and realized the ship had come to a halt. Moreover he realized he had nodded off and not dreamed; that was a very interesting thing to know. Catnaps did not count toward the torture sessions the Instructors called training. Standing up he stretched and faced toward the Island, getting his first good look at the Realm of Daath.

Toric let his memories tell him the story of Daath and the Legion. The Island was nestled in the exact center of the massive Imperial Lake. Long before the Empire was founded, indeed long before there were even any settlements around the lake there was a terrible war fought between the Armies of Light and the Forces of Shadow. The last battle of that war took place here on the shores of this lake, and ended when an Elvish Mage called for an elemental to turn the tide of the battle. He cast the spell incorrectly and instead of the earth elemental he was seeking, he awakened a spirit that was anchored to a shrine built in another age and buried under the silt of the lake. The spirit awoke and lifted the shrine and what is now the Island up to the surface of the lake. Looking around at all the terror and agony, all of the honor and courage, the self-sacrifice and also the betrayal that was evident in all war, the spirit saw potential. In a long dead age this spirit had been worshipped as a god, despite its attempts to explain to the people of that age that he was simply a level of being beyond theirs. Now it looked upon the age of man and saw a being he could interact with. First things came first however, and it did not want to deal with this war. With a heave and twist of the Veil the spirit twisted the world so that the Armies of Light were sent to another continent with a temperate climate, and the Forces of Shadow were banished to a continent far to the north, a land of ice and snow. The spirit acted in the extreme long term, and slowly man moved toward the Island. As mortals began the slow colonization toward its home the spirit made some decisions, first it molded its appearance to that of a strong male human warrior. After that was decided it looked into the very souls of men to try and decide what he wanted in the people that would serve him. It was during this time that an Elder Dragon came to the spirit, having felt its stirrings and having known it of old. The dragon landed on the Island and spoke to the spirit. The two of them were ancient and extremely powerful beings, they spoke no lies to each other, and neither of them feared the other, as a battle between them would destroy them both. The dragon was intrigued by the spirit’s idea and offered a piece of information. To the far south of the Island was a group of humans that had inadvertently been pulled to this world when the spirit had twisted space and time to rid himself of the Armies of Light and Shadow. They were called by some foreign tongue that the dragon did his best to pronounce, saying Leejun. The spirit was interested and sent his mind toward these foreign humans, discovering them to be a group of warriors, but not just warriors. They were builders, scholars, fighters, archers, cavalry, and something called soldiers. They called themselves the Ninth Legion and wished for nothing more than to return to their home. The spirit could not do that, as he did not know from where they had come. However, he asked his friend the dragon to deliver a message for him. The dragon agreed and offered this Legion a new home, a place to call their own, with natural protection and the bounty of nature all about them; all that was required was for them to agree to hold no other liege than the spirit. The spirit realized it was going to require a name; humans were very picky about having names and titles. He and the dragon tossed ideas back and forth and the dragon mentioned something that all humans feared, something called Daath. The spirit liked that, and he made it his own. That is how the Legion came to serve Daath, and it wasn’t until the memory had finished playing in his mind that Toric realized it was the memory of the ancient dragon and the Legatus Quintus Octavius. He shivered as the name filled his mind, such a strange sound it had. He even remembered the Legatus changing rank structures to permit the usage of magic, and changing his name to reflect both the luck of the fates and his blood oath to the spirit Daath, Fatesblood. These facts resonated in his mind and made him close his eyes and hold his head for a moment. Finally after an interminable amount of time he opened his eyes to find that only a few moments had passed since he began traveling along through his ancestor’s memories.

Toric reached down and put his helmet back on; this time his memory showed him a small knob that turned on the side of the helmet and the feeling of dread dimmed to nothingness. The rest of the enchantments still activated and he gestured to Xander and Marrick, time to go. His voice was steady and did not betray any of his inner turmoil as he addressed the Legionnaires on the ship.

“Detail four men to escort the Legate and the tribune along with us. I will see that they are dealt with and then send the men back.”

Toric turned and faced the recruits who were exhausted after their brief journey across the lake, each and every new batch of recruits spent the entire trip at the oars and rowing. He looked them each over and nodded to himself before speaking.

“Welcome to the Legion. Obey your trainers and learn your lessons well, the Legion is family. The Legion is hearth. The Legion is home. We look after each other, beat each other up, and pick on each other incessantly. The Legion is a fresh start, nothing you were before coming to the Island matters; all that matters is who you become now. Legionnaires are the most feared individuals in the world, and it is for a single reason. There is no such thing as ONE Legionnaire. Anyone that picks a fight with a member of the Legion has to fight the ENTIRE Legion. Learn that and you will be well on your way to becoming everything you are meant to. The Legion is our life, and Daath is our Lord. Centurions, move them out.”

By the end of his little impromptu speech the recruits were cheering, as were many of the Legionnaires within hearing. For the veterans it was nothing that they had not heard before, but there was something about the man that was speaking that tugged at the heart and made them feel as if he was an older brother sharing a family code.