The Last Centurion

The Sun was about to set as the wind suddenly picked up bringing in cool air from the south. For most it was a relief after spending a day in the hot, sulfuric air of the Minthras Hellscape, but not for Doramdus. He had spent enough time beyond the Demonfence to know better. He heard steps behind him, the heavy, brisk steps were enough to recognize Sergeant Hagob. Doramdus did not turn to the half-orc soldier, as he addressed her.

“Do you feel it too, Hagob?”

The half-orc followed his gaze to the horizon. It took her a moment to notice what he was looking at.

“That shadow to the south? Ashstorm?”

“Most likely. Have the men check and reseal their tents. I will be along for an inspection shortly.”

The half-orc saluted and left, leaving Doramdus to continue his rounds along the edge of the Warcamp. His men have been stationed at the outer rim, “Legionaries must be the first line of defense” as Legatus Kelwynn told the troops. Some might have believed him, elves are hard to read, but Doramdus knew Kelwynn for a long time now, he wouldn’t have put his soldiers in such an exposed position. The order likely came down from the monarchs leading the armies. They clearly thought of the Legion as a gaggle of thieves and murderers serving out a death sentence. There was some truth to that, the Legion was almost exclusively made up of the condemned. But they have paid for their mistakes a hundredfold, facing down demons, keeping the world safe.

It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer alone, a small shadow appeared behind him. He turned around and came face-to-face with a halfling-sized winged creature with hard skin and sharp teeth. It addressed him in a strange hissing voice.

“Doramdus, son of Krostus from the Icebrew clan! My Mistress sends her regards.”

“That is very kind of her.”

“Yes… She is worried about the battle tomorrow, about the safety of your men and of you specifically. She offers her aid and protection…”

“Let me guess, in exchange for a future favor?” The imp stared back at him in silence, so he continued, “Jazmak, you have given me the same offer countless times for almost a century, and I have turned it down every single time. Why does she keep sending you to me?”

The imp did not answer, just flashed a self-satisfied smile, the one devils were famous for. Doramdus thought about punching the imp, but he was fairly sure that it was just what went for a neutral expression among its kind, it did not have any secret master plans.

“Tell your Mistress that I appreciate her reaching out. However, her aid and protection are not needed at this time”. The dwarf in him grumbled, as he had only disdain for the devils. But the legionary in him knew that beyond the Demonfence offending a devil reduced one’s life expectancy like few other things could. The imp gave him a small nod, then disappeared with a faint pop, leaving only a faint sulfuric aroma behind.

Doramdus made his way back to the Warcamp, back to his men. The legionaries shared the northern rim with the volunteers of the Divine Order. The volunteers were a colorful bunch, folks from all over the continent, united by their belief in the righteousness of their cause. They knew how to hold a sword, but most had never seen battle, just spent their days guarding gates and granaries. But today they had their first battle. As he walked among them, they appeared just as enthusiastic as before, if not more, he could overhear them loudly boasting about their exploits, competing about who had slain more demons. They were confident, but Doramdus knew better, he had seen the same countless times among the few who volunteered to join the Legion. The loud boasts were just the first cracks in their confidence, and soon they would realize the truth of it: they were not the Sword of Righteousness or the Flame of Justice, they were just fools, and now they were doomed. This is why he never picked volunteer legionaries for his centuria. Instead, he looked among the condemned, for battered souls who knew fear and failure yet chose to rise again and fight. These were the people who could survive beyond the Demonfence, provided they learned to rely on each other and took his lessons to heart.

He found his men near their tents, setting up campfires, preparing the meager meals the quartermasters deemed to give to the legionaries. Sergeant Hagob came up to him to report.

“Tents sealed and secured Centurion! Apologies for not waiting for you, the men were unsure when you would get back, so I gave them permission to start preparing the food…”

“It is fine Hagob, you made the right call.”

Countless soldiers have served under him over the last century, but Hagob was clearly one of the good ones. Most legionaries never make it past three years of service, even under Doramdus most perished before five, but Hagob might have been one of the few who could make it to ten and become an officer. If only she stopped doubting herself…

“Have you collected the trophies from the men?”

“The ‘trophies’, yes, let me look…” she disappeared into one of the tents then returned with a large worn chest. “Most kept a lookout after the battle, so we have quite a few pieces…”

She took a deep breath then opened the chest. The smell emanating from it would have given even a troll pause. Inside were dozens of broken horns and talons wrapped in clothes, most of them full of acid holes. Next to it were over a dozen glass vials all filled with some repulsive noxious liquid and what looked like pieces of innards.

“May I ask Centurion, why do we need demon parts?”

“Have you talked with the quartermasters about the duty roster for tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, about an hour ago” Hagob seemed puzzled about the sudden change of topic.

“Which centuriae got assigned to deconstruction duty?”

“Well on the northern rim it is us, as well as the eleventh, and seventeenth.”

“And are you looking forward to hours of hard labor before dawn then marching for half a day to do battle with an army of demons?” From Hagob’s expression her answer was clear. “Neither do I. So, I hope to get some help.”

“With demon horns and guts? Who would want that?”

“You would be surprised what kind of people we keep company with. Tell the men to set a storm watch. I will be back in a few hours; in the meantime, you are in charge.”

He lifted the chest on his broad shoulders and headed towards the center of the Warcamp. He told Hagob of his plan as if it was a done deal, but in fact he was just carrying out a desperate gamble. He saw what happened to the eighth and twelfth centuriae who had been on deconstruction duty before yesterday’s battle. If not for the clerics and healers, there would not have been a single one of them standing today, they still lost more than half their numbers.

As he walked towards to the central encampment of the Warcamp, he had to pass through the Dominion forces. Most assumed that he would be happy to see his kin, but he felt nothing for them but contempt. The feeling was mutual, he could feel the stares and hear the insults. They only saw a dwarf who was a legionary. And to them being a legionary meant that Doramdus must have committed some grave and unforgivable sin, one so vile that even an honorable exile to the Underdark was out of the question. Most of them were too young to remember the time when serving the Legion was a source of pride. It should still have been, was there really anything more noble than guarding the realms from the demon hordes?

He ignored the dwarves and went to the central encampment. It was a separate fort within the Warcamp, where the monarchs and the ‘important people’ were kept safe behind an extra layer of log walls. As if that would matter against the demon horde.

“Are you lost, legionary?”

The guard was a young human wearing a shining full plate adorned with the symbol of Pelor and a sigil that probably belonged to his noble house. Doramdus knew his type, scion of an important noble house, probably too dumb to make him an officer, so they gave him the safest possible assignment where he could do little harm.

“Here on business for the mages.” Doramdus said and moved to get past the guard, but the young nobleman decided to exercise the little authority he was given as long as it was possible.

“Mage business, eh? For whom? Why wasn’t I told?”

“Perhaps they had better things to do, you should ask them.”

The guard blocked him again, “Stop right there, criminal scum! I did not allow you to move!”

Doramdus really had no time for this fool, so with a quick turn he hit the young nobleman in the head with the chest then quickly shoved him next to the griffin pens. It was far from subtle, several of the griffin handlers obviously noticed but decided to ignore it. It seemed Doramdus was not the first on whom the nobleman tried to exercise his authority.

He made his way to the quarters of the Mages, or more precisely, the mansion they magically built for themselves in every warcamp. He circled around the building, looking for a back entrance; the mages always had several in case they needed to escape quickly. He checked the sky, the Sun was about to set, he arrived just in time. He opened the door and made his way to the quarters of the mages, as stealthily as a bulky dwarf carrying a heavy chest while wearing armor possibly could. Fortunately, the mages conjured up their mansion with door signs, so he quickly found the right one and opened it without knocking.

Inside he found a very startled elf, who was clearly annoyed that her meditation had been interrupted. The elf had auburn hair and a somewhat oval face, but she still looked regal like most high elves. She was wearing green robes decorated with intricate symbols, it was probably real elven silk, worth a fortune. Doramdus recognized her immediately, she looked exactly the same as the last he had seen her, over seventy years ago. The only difference was her hair which was almost waist-long now, instead of the short boyish style she used to wear.

“What’s with the hair, Ilyrana?” That is clearly not how he planned to welcome a friend he had not seen for over seven decades, but that is what first came to him.

It took the elf a second to recognize him.

“Says the dwarf who is missing half his beard.” She smiled and continued, “It is good to see you too, Doramdus. And to answer your question, I am a Master-Wizard now, no longer an apprentice of Nalizar so I can do with my hair and wear whatever I want.”

“I am happy you finally got out from under that slave driver. I came during sunset meditation specifically to avoid him.”

“Judging by that large chest on your shoulder, I assume you didn’t just come to reminisce?”

Doramdus put the chest down in front of Ilyrana and opened it. The noxious smell quickly filled the room, but the elf did not seem to mind, on the contrary, she leaned closer and started examining the various pieces in the chest.

This was the moment of truth, Doramdus was getting impatient, “Any of these useful?” he asked.

“Most are unfortunately too damaged to be useful for alchemy or magic, you should have harvested them sooner.”

“It is a bit hard to concentrate on that in the middle of a battle where demons are trying to eat you.”

She ignored his grumblings and continued rummaging through the chest.

“Look at that… That vrock eye is still in fairly good shape. Talons look fine too…”

“Are these worth a favor?”

“Depends on the favor.”

“My men are on deconstruction duty next morning, right before battle. I can’t get them out of it.”

“And you would like some magical assistance? I am fairly powerful, but I can’t replace the work of a hundred men.”

Doramdus did not answer.

After a moment of silence Ilyrana understood the request then continued, “I will try to get some of my colleagues to also come and help. They are supposed to help the human nobles, but I am sure they have enough man to handle it themselves. If not, a bit of exercise will not hurt them.”

Doramdus let out a sigh of relief. Ilyrana took a step forward “I see you are still wearing your old Legion armor. You never left, did you?”

“An oath is an oath.”

At least that is what he told everyone and there was some truth to it. He belonged to the old guard, those who joined the Legion in the old days. But unlike Legatus Kelwynn and the other elders, he joined as the Imperial City fell, so he did not take an oath to serve the God-Emperor, he took an oath to protect the realms from the demons or die trying.

“Is that all?” inquired Ilyrana further.

His answer would have been enough for most, a stubborn dwarf following an impossible oath to damnation, a story as old as time itself. But not for her, an elf with the perspective of centuries and someone who was once very close to him. But he could not bring himself to tell her the truth. All he ever had; all he ever was had been taken from him. Within the Demonfence he was a hero, the legionaries and even the old guard looked up to him. Outside he would be less than nothing.

Doramdus stood up, ready to leave, but Ilyrana rose as well and stood between him and the door.

“You must know that he is here. I know what he did to your family, and you have every right to take vengeance, but this war needs him as well as you. This is bigger than all of us”

“An oath is an oath. I swore to drive back the demons or die trying. The lives and freedom of my men also hang on this campaign. I would never risk either for selfish vengeance.”

She looked sad as she listened to him, then said, “And what happens after the war is over, after the demons are driven back?”

He stared back at her without answering. After a moment of silence, he looked away and said, “Thank you. For everything.”

He left the same way he came.

By then the Sun had set, but the center of the Warcamp was well lit by torches. He could see groups of human nobles toasting with dwarf officers. They were dining on fine meals that would not have looked out of place in a palace, nothing like the thin soup and slop the legionaries were getting. The wise thing to do would have been to quietly sneak out. Doramdus instead straightened himself and approached one of the human servants. He hoped they would not be able to tell Dominion and Legion armor apart in the dark. He made an effort to mimic the dismissive superiority of noble dwarves and ordered two kegs of ale, three bushels of bread and a crate of minehog bacon to be delivered to the gate. He barely believed when it worked, then he quickly made his way towards the northern rim, where his men were encamped.

“Centurion, is that you?” asked a familiar voice.

It seemed Hagob took the first guard shift. She seemed to be learning the tricks of being in command, taking the first shift showed the men that she was putting in the same work as they were, while also allowing her to get uninterrupted sleep before tomorrow’s battle.

“Hagob, get half a dozen men and have them ditch their armor. Tell them to follow me and not say a word, no matter what happens.”

The sergeant quickly mustered the men and in ten minutes they were at the entrance to the central encampment.  He could still hardly believe it, but the human servants did really prepare all the food he asked for. He approached the lone servant guarding the supplies with Hagob and the legionaries in tow.

Before the servant could say anything, he addressed him in a stern tone.

“You had better have got everything we asked for”. Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Hagob and his men, “What are you idiots waiting for, grab it all, no one should keep the Thane waiting!” The soldiers quickly gathered up the crates and barrels, then they made their way back to their camp.

As they arrived at the campfire Hagob turned to Doramdus.

“What just happened?”

“This is what all those demon trophies bought us.” He had them put the kegs down near the campfire along with the crates and the bushels of bread. He opened a crate of minehog bacon, then turned to Hagob, “Now we wait.”.

It took only a minute of the smell of minehog bacon to spread in the camp, and slowly his men started to gather around the campfire. Soon even the sleeping legionaries were roused by the aroma. When enough of his men gathered to gawk at the source of the heavenly aroma, he addressed them.

“Legionaries, you fought hard today, just as you did countless times before. The people of the continent might forget your sacrifices, but the Gods do not, and today they chose to reward you! Now, eat!”

What followed made him doubt for a moment that his men were soldiers and not locusts as they descended on the ale and bacon as if they had not eaten for weeks. Still, the looks they gave him afterwards made it all worth it. For a short time Doramdus really felt like a hero.

He rarely felt this feeling, but he still remembered the time he first felt it. It was merely days after the Imperial City had fallen, the underground city of Dhul Tholdir was abuzz with news of the demonic invasion. The clerics of Moradin called the people of the city to the main square. Doramdus was just a young lad, he barely knew how to hold an axe, but he was certain what this would be about. The clerics would rally the dwarves and they would march on the Abyssal Gate and face the demon hordes in the name of Moradin. However, as the meeting started the clerics soon withdrew from the podium and gave it up for one man. A man most thought dead. Thorin Ironfist. The crowd fell so silent that the whole city could hear his words even though he barely raised his voice. But his words were poison, about old grudges and prophecies, blind to the peril the demons posed. As Ironfist finished Doramdus expected boos, instead Ironfist received a seemingly never-ending ovation. At that moment he realized that from Dhul Tholdir no one will pick up an axe to fight the demons. No one, except him. The lone hero of Dhul Tholdir…

But he was no hero. A hero would have done better. He joined the remnants of the Legion and fought with them for years, but he had slain no great demons, the only thing he accomplished was staying alive. Once the Demonfence was erected all legionaries were offered leave, as criminals were brought in to replace them as guardians of the Demonfence. Almost all left, but he did not. It was not just the oath. By that time, he learned what happened in Dhul Tholdir in his absence. Ironfist turned dwarf against dwarf in a bloody civil war. His clan, the Icebrew would not accept him as king, so Thorin exiled them. But the Icebrew were proud, they would not leave their ancestral home. So, they were made an example. He did not leave the Legion to go home, because there was no home left. He was the last of the Icebrew clan. And now he was serving in the army of Thorin Ironfist, the man butchered them all. But an oath was an oath…

He was awakened by a loud mechanical whirring. It was still dark outside, there was probably at least an hour until dawn. The source of the whirring was the strange little contraption in the shape of a tiny legionary. One of his men, a gnome, made it a long time ago. He got out of the tent, found Hagob and told her to rouse the men for deconstruction duty.

The work started off painfully slow, but with dawn came not only the first rays of sunshine but also Ilyrana, leading a group of robed figures. The mages not only sped up the work, but they also made it immeasurably easier, moving vast amounts of earth without shovels, lifting massive logs supplies into the air, allowing Doramdus and his men to load the suspended cargo onto carts.

By the time the army was mustered and ready to march they had finished deconstructing the fortifications and had most of the materials loaded onto carts. Looking at the dead tired soldiers of the eleventh and seventeenth centuriae who were assigned the same duty but without arcane assistance, Doramdus knew that he made the right call involving Ilyrana.

The march that followed was just as grueling as the one the previous day, every move was hindered by the hot sulfuric air and the treacherous terrain. But even that was preferable to what came later when the scouts blew their horns. A demon army had come to meet them.

This time the scouts sighted the demons in time, giving enough time for the army to get into formation. This meant that Doramdus and his centuria were pushed to the front to take the brunt of the demons’ assault. He had his soldiers form a phalanx, as a wall of spears was their only hope against the beasts that were superior to men in strength and size. The demon horde began advancing, first with ape-like barlguras charging towards their lines. But the advance warning of the scouts allowed the army to get in position, and the demons were soon met with a devastating barrage of dwarven artillery, elven arrows, and magic. For a moment it looked as if they were all taken out, but Doramdus knew that the battle had just begun. He was soon proven right as the horizon filled with demons of all shapes, a ravenous army of sharp talons and fangs intent on consuming them.

The first wave hit the frontline as a massive tsunami, toppling soldiers and disrupting most formations. Thanks to years of fighting demons and the harsh training of Doramdus, his phalanx held. Infantry on both of flanks have been overrun by the demons, but it seemed the monarchs in charge have noticed it too as Doramdus saw the flags of the cavalry regiments moving in to reinforce them. This meant no one was left to help his centuria if his phalanx was broken.

His centuria held their ground, their phalanx was an impenetrable wall of spears that brought down any demons that threw itself against it. But it was not to last, as a battlefield courier found him.

“Centurion, new orders for you! The dwarven heavies have engaged a large group of swine demons. You are to flank the pinned demons and help the dwarves take them down!”

“Is Kelwynn insane!? That would expose our flank to the demons!”

“Those are your orders, Centurion.”

“They are idiotic! Where is the Legatus, I will make him see sense…”

“Legatus Kelwynn has fallen, the order comes directly from Emperor Thorin Ironfist.”

At those words Doramdus’ heart sank. Convincing the legatus to change his orders in the middle of a battle was already a long shot, changing an order from Ironfist was impossible. He dismissed the courier and rejoined the phalanx.

“Hagob! Have the men break the phalanx and hurry over to the dwarven heavies. We will reform the phalanx there and smash the demons against them.”

“But that will expose our flank!”

“Yes. So, let’s get this done as fast as we can, and pray the demons won’t notice how foolish we are.”

With a few quick orders the phalanx was disbanded, and Doramdus’ soldiers started running to the west where the heavy infantry of the Dominion was engaged in pitched battle with demons assaulting them from all sides. The legionaries stopped a few hundred feet from the battle, waiting for their centurion’s order.

“Looks like the Dominion bit off more than they can chew, and it is up to the Legion to save their asses. Legionaries, charge!”

The legionaries charged at the hulking swine demons. At first the beasts did not even realize what was going on, they were so consumed with fighting the dwarves, allowing the legionaries to spear several of the giants through the heart. What followed was an intense and desperate battle, Doramdus saw dozens of his men fall, crushed by giant arms, sliced by sharp talons. He could only hope that they could hold on long enough for the healers and clerics to arrive after the battle.

Less than half an hour passed but it felt like he fought for an eternity. Most of the swine demons were slain and the dwarves were no longer flanked by such dangerous beasts. But none of the legionaries celebrated, as they felt the earth quake and then through the smoke saw a sea of demons charging at them from all directions. There was no way out. Dozens of his men died within minutes. Doramdus tried to form a defensive phalanx, but he had too few men for it to be effective, it only delayed the inevitable. Finally, the demons broke the phalanx, and for them it was no longer a battle, but a feast. A strike from a barlgura brought Doramdus to the ground, cracking his armor and shattering most of his ribs. He could still see Hagob fighting, she was the last one from the centuria still standing. She fought with a berserker’s fury, dismembering demon after demon, swinging from beast to beast. Her orcish ancestors would have been proud. But eventually even she fell.

Doramdus did not know how much time had passed when he finally came to, but probably not much. There were no more demons around, perhaps they have been driven off? Then he spotted a group dressed in white and grey robes. Clerics and healers! They were looking for wounded. He had to signal them, some of his men could still be saved. He tried to shout, but only a whimper came through his throat. Even if he could shout, they would not know where it came from. He had to stand up.

He moved his shattered limbs one by one, put weight on cracked and broken bones. His armor was both a blessing and a hindrance, as he could use it for support, but the extra weight made getting up even harder. Finally, with the help of his spear he managed to stand. He looked to the clerics as he took out his horn and blew into it. His lungs were still weak, but it was enough. Some of the clerics turned towards him and started pointing to the others in his direction. Then a dwarf appeared in heavy dominion armor and pointed the clerics to the west, where the fallen dwarves lied. They followed him without looking back at Doramdus.

He tried to shout, but only whimpers came out. With his last breath he cursed the name of Thorin Ironfist, then his legs gave out and he fell back to the ground. On that ground Doramdus, son of Krostus, last of the Icebrew clan finally fulfilled his oath.