[A/N Testiclés the Debug Centurion was a real character! Well, sort of. He was the original 'beta-ing' character the game developers humorously made to test out FNV. He was eventually cut, but his character files can still be found. Read about him on the Fallout wikia if you'd like. I had entirely too much fun writing this. Please review :) ]
Vulpes Inculta left the flaps of Caesar's tent fall closed behind him with a frown. He should be happy, he reminded himself. This is a reward every Legionnaire dreams of. To have his accomplishments added—to be mentioned by name—in the sacred Libro Caesaris Conquestum was more than Vulpes could ever have dared to hope. He still felt Caesar's touch upon his brow as the older man had crowned him with a laurel. The proudest moment of his life.
Still, Vulpes felt a vague sense of apprehension—not fear, he'd never call it fear—of meeting the Great Scribe. He'd heard whispers, rumors of the man. Vulpes had never seen the Great Scribe himself, no, the closest he'd ever came were glimpses of a fleet shadow on craggy outskirts of the Fort, where he knew the scribe had pitched his great tent since before Vulpes had been a whelp at his savage mother's breast. From all accounts, the Great Scribe only descended upon the camp when Caesar chose a new laureate—perhaps once every hundred moons. All Vulpes had to do now was wait for the man's call. He set out for his tent, already feeling restless.
By the time Vulpes was ready to await the messenger's call, he had tried three different kilts and two cuirasses. Vulpes had been restless and unsure. He though first to try his best armor, the brand new cuirass and kilt supple, and without a scratch. He thought it made him look fussy. He swapped out his cuirass for his older, scratched one and felt better for it. After trying his well worn field scouting kilt on, Vulpes thought the ensemble made him look like a poor field recruit, and that wouldn't do. He kept the scratched cuirass and tried it with his battle kilt. The dark leather showed no scratches, and the metal studs gleamed, still resplendent from the last polishing his slave had given it. Vulpes wondered anxiously if this ensemble would do, then quickly became angry at himself. He was fretting like an empty headed woman about attire. How very un-legionnaire of him.
While Vulpes reclined in his tent waiting, his bunk mate Alerio returned. "Ave, Inculta. I hear congratulations are in order." Vulpes thanked the man with an offhanded air. He was less than fond of Alerio. The man was slovenly and vain, and in Vulpes' opinion, cowardly. His job was not one of honor. Alerio crawled the Strip for weeks on end, constantly associating himself with profligates and whores. Alerio was bid by Caesar to keep an eye and ear on the Strip, however, it seemed all the man was good for was losing caps at the gambling tables, during what he called "reconnaissance." Still, Vulpes could do worse for a bedmate, as Alerio was often gone for weeks on end while he debauched himself with the profligates.
"Waiting to see the old man, are you?" Alerio asked with a tone of mirth Vulpes cared not for. Inculta only nodded in response. "Yep, good old Testicles," Alerio went on. It took Vulpes a moment to process the words his bunkmate had said through Alerio's thick, profligate accent. "For shame, Alerio. You do the Great Scribe a grave injustice. If I weren't so fond," here, Vulpes mouth twisted in a way that indicated that 'fond' wasn't the word he truly meant, "of you, I would cut your tongue out like a slave for dishonoring the great Testiclés." Vulpes said the name as he had been taught by the great Caesar himself—Teh-stah-kleehs, the Great Scribe and Debug Centurion. It was rumored that Testiclés was the best programmer the Mojave had ever know. He personally serviced every computer in the camp, in dead secret during the darkest hour of the night. And, he personally held the high score for Solitaire, Minesweeper, and Pong for every computer in the camp—even Vulpes' own. One day, Vulpes himself had held the high scores on his machine, the next, every single one had been replaced by TDC, with the top a high score that made Vulpes' jaw drop. Truly, this man was a master among masters.
Alerio seemed not to hold the same respect for the man. With a snort, Vulpes' bunkmate handed the man a dagger and asked him to write Testiclés' name in the dirt. Vulpes did as he was asked, wondering what Alerio's point was. Alerio crouched down beside him and erased the accent aigu from Testiclés' name. Vulpes was now looking at the word testicles written in the dirt. "…So," he asked contemptuously, but he was taken aback. How was he to trust a man whose name was one small line off from such vulgarity? "He's crazy as a bat, they say," Alerio said, using an annoying lowborn metaphor. Vulpes had no time to respond, as the messenger was finally here.
"The Great Scribe is waiting for you in Caesar's tent," the messenger announced. With a dry swallow, Vulpes pulled his fox hood on for courage and followed the man. He squared his shoulders as he walked through the camp. It wouldn't do to look weak. Ever. Vulpes wondered to himself if the man would even find him interesting enough to grant him access to the annuls of history. Truly, Vulpes was not known for his wit. His deeds would have to speak in his stead, he decided. When he thought back to the Lottery and the blazing fires of Nipton, Vulpes was comforted. He was a true legionnaire, and this Debug Centurion would have to be blind not to see it.
Entering the tent, Vulpes eagerly cast eyes on the Great Scribe. Well, he wasn't blind, exactly, Vulpes though numbly. Only missing an eye. Finally face to face with the Great Scribe, Vulpes wasn't sure exactly what to think. By turns, the man appeared to be fierce and battle seasoned, and old and worn. Surely, Vulpes would never allow himself to grow so old. He'd fling himself from the top of Black Mountain, he vowed, before he'd allow his hair to flow white from his temple, as fully and snowy as Testiclés'. Still, Vulpes could not ignore the respect Caesar showed the man. "Hear me, Vulpes," Caesar said as the fox entered his tent. "It is said that history belongs to the victor. Unfortunately, I am too busy making history to write it as well. I deigned to find myself a hand to write in my stead—no small task, you understand. Here before you stands Testiclés the Great Scribe, hand of Caesar and keeper of the Libro Caesaris Conquestum."
"Pleasure to meet you, Vulpes Inculta, leader of the Frumentarii, known to his friends and foes as Mr. Fox." Testiclés' voice was deep and resonant. His was the voice of a man who could read sonnets across a battlefield and be heard clearly by all. "I have heard about the sack of Nipton, how you and your men took the town from behind with gleaming shafts."
"Yes sir," Vulpes said, bowing his head modestly. "If it would please you, I could recount the adventure for the Conquestum." The Great Scribe waved his hand at the thought. "There's time enough for that later. For now, I would follow you to get a sense of what sort of man you are around camp. First, I would see where you rest at night. From there, I would have you go about your day as normal. I shall observe you from behind and survey your assets, but please forget my presence. It will be as if I weren't there."
"Understood," Vulpes responded. An odd request, to say the least, but Vulpes was resourceful. What sort of Frumentarii would he be if he couldn't clear his mind and follow orders with skill? Vulpes asked leave of Caesar, and after it was granted, the two men exited the tent. Back at his own humble tent, Vulpes reluctantly introduced Testiclés to Alerio. "Fine to meet you, son," Testiclés said, clapping Alerio on the shoulder and fixing his good eye on the man. "So you are the fine rod that rises to meet Vulpes every morning. Splendid." After Testiclés was finished speaking with Alerio, the older man bid Vulpes to go about his day.
"Yes sir," Vulpes responded, tugging awkwardly at his leather kilt. It felt odd to allow a man follow him WITHOUT meaning to kill him later. Vulpes stood still a moment, unsure as to where he was going. Testiclés and his slave-scribe stopped several feet behind him, and Vulpes felt awkward. He needed to stop wandering aimlessly and apply himself at acting normal. Looking at the sun, Vulpes saw it was well past lunch and he'd yet to even break his fast. He had had a busy morning. It would do him good to feast now.
On the walk to the mess tent, Vulpes felt himself relaxing. He enjoyed the look of the cloudless blue sky and the shimmering heat on the packed dirt in front of him. He watched two mongrels fight over a stew bone and felt a smile rise to his lips. He was being honored with a place in history today, and the day seemed extra fine in his honor. "Write, boy," Testiclés commanded to the slave scribe. "Vulpes Inculta, though a young man and lacking for height, has not failed to bring glory to his name. Leader of the Frumentarii, he leads the vicious band of warriors with erect posture and deft confidence. Clearly, this is a man who knows how to use his hands. The question remains, how good is he with his head? Does he plunge into tight situations with rough thrusts of his sword? Or does he ease in gently, exploiting the holes in his enemy's defense? We shall endeavor to find out."
To be certain, Vulpes' mind was no longer on the beauty of the day. He tried to hide the stricken look on his face from passing legion brethren. Did the Great Scribe realize that Vulpes could hear him talking? Truly, the whole camp could probably hear the man's clear, powerful voice. The words worried Vulpes, and he turned around to favor Testiclés with a questioning look. "Don't mind me, don't mind me," Testiclés chided when he found Vulpes' attention on him. "I've told you, just go about your day."
Reluctantly, Vulpes turned away from Testiclés and continued to the mess halls. "What have we today," Vulpes demanded of the slave-woman in charge of today's meal. "Food from the NCR supply line itself, my lord. Apples and steak and beans. Truly a feast, my lord."
"Enough talk. Draw me a portion, woman," Vulpes said roughly.
"A true legionnaire, Inculta does not speak lightly to those beneath him." Again, Testiclés narrated to his scribe-boy. Vulpes felt a smile rise to his lips. This was more along the lines of what he wished to hear the scribe record. "The slave woman before him is undoubtedly wet at the sound of his strong words." Vulpes peered at the slave woman, trying to discern a sheen of sweat upon her brow or lip. He saw nothing, and his pride assured him that he surely had sharper eyes than the one eyed, elderly centurion. Vulpes' smile turned to a pondering frown. The Debug Centurion surely had a poetic way of speaking.
Even after sitting to his food, the Debug Centurion did not rest. "Inculta suckles the meat before him with practiced enthusiasm. Surely, we are looking at a true carnivore." Uncomfortable for the first time in ages, Vulpes noticed the stares of his fellow legionnaires. It seemed every eye in the camp was turned towards him. Vulpes did not feel honored by the morbid curiosity, and ducked his head. Soon, however, he worried that the Great Scribe might take this as a sign of weakness, and that would not do. Vulpes found that his appetite was gone.
Back to wandering the yard, Vulpes was struck suddenly by inspiration. He would go to the practice grounds and show his prowess among his brothers. "Ah, now we see how Mr. Fox handles his rod," Testiclés noted approvingly as Vulpes picked up a sword. Vulpes beckoned a young recruit over and demanded the boy practice with him. With a nervous gulp, the boy picked up his practice weapon and met Vulpes in the center of the field. He put the boy through his paces, alternating between shouts of demand and advice to the recruit. Try as he might, the boy could not land a blow against Inculta. "Like an older brother taking a boy under his wing, Inculta shows a recruit how best to wield his sword. A practiced master, Vulpes demonstrates short and long strokes, designed to tease one's opponent maddeningly and try their stamina before spilling in the dust."
"Hey, Inculta, why don't you pick on somebody your own size," a teasing voice called across the practice field. Frowning, Vulpes shifted his gaze to the newcomer at the edge of the field. "Lucius," Vulpes Inculta growled. Truly, he did not care for the man. "Well, come on then," Lucius said, still teasing. He joined the two in the center of the field and took the recruit's sword. "Let us match blades instead, my friend. I heard you are being written into history today. It would not do to fight lowly recruits for such an honored task." More like you wish to have your name mentioned in the book, Vulpes accused silently. Still, he had no valid reason to refuse Lucius without appearing cravenly.
"What's this," Testiclés asked. "Have we finally found a man whose very face makes Inculta weak in the knees?"
"Never," Vulpes replied savagely. "Lucius, let us talk no more, and fight instead!" Here, Lucius was at a disadvantage; his specialty was hand-to-hand combat, not weaponry. Vulpes relished the chance to clash swords, and started the fight eagerly. His sword arced through the air, meeting Lucius' heavily. The two began their dance, swords flying and sparking. Though what Lucius lacked in finesse, he made up in tenacity, Vulpes soon found out. Inculta, though, could be tenacious as well—and he must not lose this fight. Vulpes feinted a wide arc towards Lucius' shoulder, but dropped his blade and body down quickly, catching the other man behind the knees. After all, he only wanted to shame the man, not lame him. Lucius' legs buckled and he fell gracelessly onto the packed dirt of the arena. His breath left him with a loud whoosh. Vulpes exited his crouch and stood over Lucius with a boastful little half smile. "I thought we were to keep to sparring rules," Lucius accused breathlessly.
"Honor comes only from the win, not by following rules meant to shelter lesser men," Vulpes commented. Others may have helped their brother out of the dirt, but Vulpes didn't think it fitting to cosset the weak. He threw a glance over his shoulder to Testiclés, curious that the man had yet to say a word. The Great Scribe was stroking his beardless chin, deep in thought. Finally, he turned to his scribe and said, "Truly, this Inculta is not a man to be crossed. He dominates his friend eagerly in battle, but fortunately leaves no lasting harm. It seems Inculta enjoys the look of a man on his knees. Perhaps he only enjoys the way this dashing Lucius uses his mouth."
Vulpes could hear snickering coming from the man still lying in the dirt. "And what marks you as funny," he snarled. "Truly, I only came down here today to see if the stories are true. And it appears that they are," Lucius whispered consipitorially to Vulpes. "And what stories would that be," Inculta asked sullenly. "Come now, fox. Surely you know what I mean. Well, the way the Master talks, for one," Lucius explained. "I mark no strangeness in his words," Vulpes said defensively. Who was Lucius to mock the Master, scribe hand of Caesar himself? The Praetorian must be jealous, Vulpes concluded. He was not chosen with this great honor, so he makes a mockery of it to comfort himself. How incredibly childish. Lucius rose from the dirt, knocking dust from the seat of his kilt. "I shouldn't be surprised these things go over your head," he said with a mocking regret. "You're too literal for your own good." And with that, the Praetorian sauntered off, as unaffected and cool as you please. Vulpes vowed to teach that man humility one day.
Vulpes put the practice equipment away and left the field. He walked to the center of the camp, where the community cistern was located. As he quenched his thirst from the field, he noticed with disgust that Aurelius was approaching, grinning like a loon. "Ave, Inculta," Aurelius hailed as he came within hearing distance. Vulpes gave a reluctant ave back. "I came to report the conditions of the Cove to Caesar. How lucky I felt, then, when Lucius came along and told me the Debug Centurion was afoot, and trailing the great Mr. Fox at that." Vulpes gave a noncommittal grunt in reply.
"Another admirer," remarked Testiclés. "Inculta sure is popular with men."
"This is the man who taught me how to crucify with great skill," Aurelius told the scribe while clapping Vulpes on the shoulder. Testiclés nodded. "I have heard that Inculta is quite fond of that punishment. What say you, Phoenix?"
Aurelius nodded. "Aye. I'd say he's done at least three hundred men that way."
"Truly, Vulpes Inculta is well hung," Testiclés agreed gravely. "Boy, did you get all that," the Great Scribe asked vexingly to his inattentive slave. As Testiclés chastised the boy and repeated what he wished to have written, Aurelius turned to Vulpes. "When Lucius told me of the Great Scribe, I knew I had to hear it for myself. Certainly, I have not been disappointed." Vulpes felt his irritation rise again. What meant these men? He marked no strangeness in the scribe's words. For the first time, Vulpes wondered if he was indeed missing something. "Well, I'm afraid I must take leave of you now," Aurelius said. "I must return to the Cove."
Vulpes noted that the sun was beginning its decline in the west. He had yet to set down with the Debug Centurion and recount his history. "Testiclés , the hour grows short. Perhaps we could sit down together. I could tell you all of my great conquests and you could choose what you like for the Conquestum."
Testiclés waved the proposition away. "I think I have all I need."
"What," Vulpes interjected, forgetting his place. "Master, we have not touched upon my military exploits, nor my work in furthering Caesar's cause!"
Testiclés waved a hand. "Unimportant. I can fill in the rest."
"But…" trailed Vulpes.
"Come," Testiclés said to his slave boy, "I grow weary and my eye patch is chaffing me something fierce. I would return to the tent and have a chilled glass of fruit juice and a rest."
"But, sir…" Vulpes trailed again, but it was too late. Testiclés and his slave were already walking away. Vulpes sat heavily upon a bench beside the cistern. Numbly, he removed his wolf hood and wondered, what the hell had just happened. Vulpes heard footfalls near him, and raised his eyes to glare at his visitor. Lucius, again. What did that man want now? "I overheard your fair plea," Lucius said, half teasingly. Vulpes cursed the taller man, and cursed his own luck that Lucius should be afoot at such an inopportune moment.
"Ah, well. That's the Debug Centurion for you," Lucius commented. "You never know what you're going to get."