What the Mask Hides

*Warning: Somewhat Darned Graphic. Kinda. A Bit.*

"Tell that doctor to shut his fucking mouth or I'll cut off his head and fuck his esophagus-!" Screamed Decanus Gula before the doc ceased his nearly endless noise.

The doctor had nearly collapsed at that, still not taking the whole scene too well and still feeling like the situation would be his end despite Aleron specifically telling him he was there fix Montano (According to Aleron). Dalton managed to shut the man up as another small fire was made by a few decani and legionaries from the Cohort allowed to witness. Aleron got back to work, and the other fire roared to life, illuminating the entire hidden wash by the flickering flames beneath the night sky. Montano on the other hand was all done, having agreed to keep lower armor on and take everything off his upper half.

Montano stood there in the center of the ring with the flames showing his exposed torso covered in freshly carved markings. On the inside of his arms and drawn into his skin by a sharp blade read the words, "FAILURE" and "SAVAGE." Both words carved in bold lettering and crossed out by an open gash going through each word. Surrounding those words, and all along each arm were more carvings of phrases like, "True to Caesar" "Blood for Blood" "I Deserve Hell" "Slaughter to Survive" and "Only Caesar Can Save Me." Across his chest, carved deeply and still dripping blood was the words, "Caesar Ante Omnia" (Caesar Before All Else). The fresh wounds covering his exposed upper half came with the pain and blood he wanted. How better to prepare for the potential of pain than by doing it to yourself and getting it out of the way?

As Aleron readied himself, Montano paced back and forth ready to begin, and thinking about the pain he was hoping to inflict upon his rival. He'd prepared for the fight in advance, having started most of the carvings throughout the day and only in areas that were normally covered or mostly covered by his uniform and bracers. He wasn't quite sure why he decided it necessary to make those carvings on his own body, but it came out feeling so good for reasons that were lost to him.

Montano had forgotten that he wasn't always under the Bull. Similar to so many others in the Legion, he was taken from his home in the earlier days of the Legion when he was around 13 years old. Although, it must be stated that it was incorrect to refer to him as a "Tribal" before becoming Legion. Montano was raised in one of the Sonoran Wasteland's many "Prepper Communes." Preppers were known across the Arizona wasteland as little more than raiders if not self sufficient isolationists. Descended from the many people that built their home bunkers in the vast desert of Arizona, the Preppers were what came from their ancestors who were ready for the 2077 apocalypse. The prepper commune Montano was born into was founded by a pre-war spiritual leader who had extreme views about what exactly it meant to confess sins to The Higher Power. Upon emerging onto the surface after the nuclear winter, the people of the commune passed on the tradition for generations. When one fails God, one is supposed to atone, and there aren't many better ways of saying, "I am a sinner, yet I am saved anyway" than by owning that sin, and wearing it for all to see, unashamed, and ready for the righteous pain that came with the admission of failure. The pain and scars of your sins being carved into the skin was only a reminder of how to do better next time.

It is because of Montano's origin, and the feud that consumed his world for nearly a whole year, that the strange ritual from his youth took shape in the carvings on his upper body. Covered in blood and still feeling the sting of that razor's work in every movement, Montano recognized that he was a failure to his new god, Caesar, and was more than ready to use that old combative spirit to kill a man he saw as unworthy to serve Caesar.

Aleron had in fact pulled a knife from the first box, making the doctor again scream as if the scene was about him, and was in turn silenced by Dalton once more. The rag in the doctor's mouth may not have been necessary since Aleron had removed his chest armor and shirt and moved the knife to his wrists. Pushing the blade into his arm, he opened the skin, expertly missing the lethal blood vessel, but still deep enough for the blood to come pouring out. As both his arms were opened, he raised his hands to the night sky, letting the blood slowly trickle down to his neck, reveling in the feeling, and cool sensation, despite the freezing night air. When Aleron was all done with his first act of reversion, he opened the second box, found the full jar of brahmin blood, and poured the whole thing over his head and face as well. Inside the second box was also the bag of ashes he requested, and he poured it all over his open arms and dumped the rest over his head, the ashes sticking to the blood all over him. When Aleron was as putrid as he was supposed to be, he cut two big holes in the bag of ashes and placed the thing over his head as he began to walk towards the ring.

Aleron grew up knowing about the Legion, and though he too couldn't remember, there was in fact a time he hated the Legion. His tribe occupied the northern plains of Arizona and the remains of the prewar town called Winslow, the town his tribe originated from. Largely a civilized tribe, the "Sons of Winslow" were absorbed into the Legion around 2251. Erased from existence, the Sons of Winslow were not too aggressive when compared to many other Arizona tribes. Even though they had to remain tough due to hostile neighbors, the tribe survived off ranching, but being a friendly and relatively civilized tribe meant that they occasionally had to enact wasteland justice on those who disrupted the community's peace. Aleron saw the act of justice done many times in his youth, something that usually took shape in a display similar to what many may know as a "Tar and feathering." Lacking in tar and viewing feathered creatures like the region's eagles as sacred for unknown reasons, the condemned of Winslow were covered in the blood of their many brahmin, and ash was poured over their heads. There, the condemned were paraded through the streets of town straight to the gallows on the corner where their heads were covered in a bag before the short drop. To ensure the perpetrator was dead and grisly enough to serve as a warning, the wrists of the hangman were opened, and the body was left to hang for a whole day on the landmarked corner where the gallows stood. A truly fine sight to see for would be troublemakers who arrived in the normally easy going Winslow tribe.

As Aleron stepped into the ring, Aleron saw himself as a condemned man, not by Montano, no. Aleron looked at his rival and remembered his failure to Caesar, and how he was about to fail him again with this next battle against his brother in arms. Aleron accepted the role of a condemned man from Winslow if it meant that Montano, who he saw as a complete failure to the Legion, would die.

Montano looked around the ring at all the maskless Legion faces as both men drew their blades. Montano saw his rival standing ten paces, holding his blade, and his arms still dripping blood onto the ground, wearing that sack that only had two black holes in it. Aleron adjusted the grip on his blade, breathing deeply in the nearly toxic atmosphere his mask created by the smell of blood and ash trapped inside. Before anyone could shout the opening command, Decanus Gula had taken his spot in the ring, saw the two standing with blades at the ready, and ordered;

"Stow those weapons."

The two turned to Decanus Gula who'd been referee for the past 3 other fights since the Ajoans fell. Gula tossed two dulled machetes onto the ground beside each man;

"What's these toys?" asked both men nearly at the same time.

Decanus Gula said, "Orders. This time is different" and the men complied, tossing their sharpened blades outside the ring,

Both men thought, "Good. It'll make killing him that much more fun" as they studied their new dulled blades.

The two stood by with dulled weapons at the ready, and Montano looked behind Aleron to see Dalton sitting outside the ring restraining the doctor. Montano knew the strange Prime would free the doctor's hands by the time he was done, so he wasn't worried. After all, "Aleron's going to need him," thought Montano.

Both men stared each other down as Gula spoke the only law of the fight: "Till one of you can't fight anymore" Whether that included death or not was just semantics.

Finally, it was time, and Decanus Gula shouted the opening word, "Begin!"

The surrounding Legionaries started their howling and cheering just as the blades clashed, but the crowd might as well have been nonexistent as the two started.

Aleron again played on the defensive for Montano's vicious assault. The sparks flew as the blades met one another over and over, Aleron stepping back and parrying each swing expertly despite the toxins of his chosen mask. The ash and blood trapped in Aleron's mask creating a form of high as his heart beat faster and his breaths became heavier. The sweat that started forming added only more poison inside the sack mask, and just as he was pushed to the edge of the ring, he had breathed in just enough poison to become completely feral. In an instant, Aleron's eyes widened and he felt himself shoved roughly forward by the legionary behind him straight at Montano. As he was shoved forward, he stepped to the side and clotheslined Montano near the edge, bringing him straight at the ground.

Montano knew his opponent was one to use the environment to his favor but was still surprised to find himself on the ground after his assault was ended so abruptly. Just before Aleron could slam his dull blade into the head of his floored opponent, he lost his grip but caught it just in time to complete the blow, just not to Aleron's satisfaction. The flat steel of the machete bent on Montano's head as opposed to lodging the edge into his skull, the injury still causing Montano to become concussed. As Montano collected himself in the few milliseconds he had, he was surprised to have his vision completely taken. Aleron had removed the bag from his head and forced it onto Montano's as Aleron slammed the edge of his dull blade into the collar bone of Montano.

Breathing in the ash, blood, and sweat of his rival inside the mask, Montano swung his blade from the ground and blindly smacked the edge against Aleron's head, removing his opponent's weight. Montano ripped the bag off his head, taking several hairs with it, and saw his opponent staggering to his feet. Just before Aleron was out of reach, he'd managed to smash his dull blade against the calf of Aleron hard enough to draw blood and make the man scream in agony or amusement.

Aleron felt this, and threw the direction of his stagger back on top of Montano just before the man could point the blade upward to skewer him. Back on top of Montano, Aleron lost his grip on the blade once more and felt his arm caught in Montano's grip almost ready to break. Panicked, Aleron jammed his head into Montano's face, smashing his head against it and feeling Montano's nose burst at the incessant pounding. Montano couldn't handle it anymore, and released his grip from Aleron's arm to deliver a merciless punch to Aleron's head right in the spot where his dull blade landed earlier.

Aleron was removed from his spot on Montano and used the blow to crawl away and stand again. As Aleron stood, he felt his left ear where the blade and punch landed, and felt the blood pouring down the side of his head. He felt the bloody mess and believed Montano had pulverized or cut off his ear, but just as he turned back around, he felt Montano plow into him. Somewhat expecting the attack, Aleron had anchored himself in place and swiped the leg out from under Montano who in turn kicked the legs out from under Aleron. Both men floored once again, they realized neither was holding a weapon. As each man searched around the ring for their weapons, the area was too dim as the flames flickered, and their weapons were probably buried somewhere in the tussles that took them all over the ring.

Montano was the first to realize he didn't need a weapon and used the ground as a platform to throw himself into Aleron who again met the full force of the man as he stood. Both men found themselves locked in each other's iron grips. Both men completely bloodied and destroyed but still pouring all their strength into ending the other. The left half of Aleron's face and head was pulverized and jammed into the mutilated face of Montano. Montano and Aleron punched and kicked one another, flailing their arms and spattering each other in the freshly opened and pouring fluid from their self inflicted injuries till both men were covered in the other's blood.

Finally, both men had caught the other's arm in a grip that would break the limbs of both men if either got the right movement. Breathing and bleeding on one another, the two were locked, standing, and unable to move. Exhaustion had finally caught up to them as Aleron's headbutts were getting weaker, and Montano continued to kick Aleron's shins. Though neither would ever let the other win, the two stood in each other's grips completely immobile, and what little harm they could do from the locked position were becoming weaker and weaker as exhaustion consumed them more and more.

After nearly two full minutes in that locked state, the only way either one could beat the other was if one was willing to have his arm broken as well. Just before either man could finally muster the strength to part with their arm, Aleron was floored by Decanus Gula. Before Montano could seize the moment to break Aleron's arm, the blunt grip of Gula's machete cracked against Montano's head in an instant. With both men on the ground, Gula stood over the two and commanded;

"It's finished."

Both men laid there breathing heavily and staring at the night sky, battered into oblivion, and the Veteran Gula had determined that neither man could fight anymore since they'd never admit it themselves.

Gula looked down at the two mangled men for a moment, looking at them in disgust and admiration under the night sky before raising his head and pointing towards the doctor.

"Healer! Get your ass over here! Now!"

Aleron stared at the stars, breathing heavily and feeling the cool blood running down the side of his head, exhausted and satisfied until the doctor entered the top of his vision accompanied by Dalton. Dalton had sat Aleron up, and upon seeing the doc withdrawing some instrument from his coat, Aleron threw his fist straight at the doctor's head, nearly knocking the man out. As the stars began circling around the doc's head, Aleron sputtered with a mouth full of blood, ash, and sand;

"I said HE'l need a doctr!"

One of the legionaries picked up the doctor who needed a moment to remember where he was after a blow like that, as Gula tossed another bag of healing necessities at the doctor's feet. Aleron laid back chuckling to himself as Dalton the Prime began assessing the damage on Aleron. The doctor stumbled to his knees, mouth bloody, and began working on Montano who also nearly laid out the doctor before Gula put a gun to Montano's head with the words, "Let. Him. Work" seething out of his mouth. Montano complied as Dalton withdrew some healing powder and began rubbing it onto the side of Aleron's head.

Over the next few minutes, the legionaries dispersed or chatted with one another, commenting on the fight while Aleron and Montano were patched up. Aleron had drunk the terrible concoction of healing powder and water made for him by Dalton as the side of Aleron's head was covered in a bandage. Dalton had commented that Aleron's ear was nearly unrecognizable, and though it still worked, a dull machete and a direct punch to it from a guy like Montano had done worse things to lesser men. Montano on the other hand, had the doctor push his nose back into place and the spot on his cranium where the flat side landed was still pouring blood when the doctor addressed his cracked collar bone. As more of their injuries were examined, cleaned, and treated with what was available, the two had collected themselves enough to stand up. And even though neither man was nearly done with the other, it was over for the night.

Previous fights had been worse, but both men were satisfied, at least for the moment by what they'd done to their rivals. In the end, and as damaged as both men were, what they did to themselves before the fight was the only damage still lingering. Still, around ten minutes after the fight, both men were sitting across from the other, marveling at the injuries they inflicted, and feeling better than they ever had despite the foul taste of the tribal healing powder in their throats. More and more water was guzzled by the two as their breaths were still being collected until Gula stood between them once more. By this time, the doctor had shuffled back over to Aleron who he was still terrified of, but at least more familiar with. The duelists stood themselves up, and the doctor started packing up his tools with those shaky hands of his when Gula asked;

"Where did you get those injuries?" the question aimed at both men, but mostly to Aleron and the group he arrived with.

Aleron grew a murderous grin, "You mean when those highwaymen tried to jump the doctor for helping Caesar? Look at the man, he's a mess."

Gula nodded and the doctor felt his bruised head as he asked, "What do you mea-?"

Just like that Aleron threw his fist into the doctor's face again, feeling the man's cheek crack as he slumped motionless to the ground. Aleron lorded over the man and gave the doctor's head a swift kick for good measure, as the remainder of the tools scattered over the ground. Aleron knelt down to check the doctor's pulse to ensure he hadn't killed the man, and was relieved to find his life was still intact as Gula asked Dalton;

"What about you, Dalton the Prime? Where were you during the ambush?"

Dalton cracked his back with a stretch, "I used my trusty 12.7 to chase off the ruffians who knocked out dear old doc here."

Gula grinned, unsure if he should let the Prime walk away unharmed since the man was so… "Close" with the strange Elite. Gula decided to leave the man be as he turned to Montano, "And you? What happened to you this evening?"

Montano spat one of the last remaining bits of blood out of his mouth as he said, "Piss break. On patrol with the prime watch here when a crafty gecko got a good grip on my head…"

Aleron grinned at being compared to a vicious gecko before Montano added, "… Creature's still good as dead, just doesn't know it yet."

That nearly started another fight outright, but Gula was the only uninjured man of authority standing, and those words, "It's finished" echoed in the duelist's minds again. At least now there was a new reason to schedule themselves a next fight.

The work was done, the fight was over, and the conflict played out in a manner that allowed for the return to duty without much more to say. Gula, Montano, and the group of legionaries who knew about the fight left out the other side of the wash as Aleron's small group left as well. Despite his injuries, Aleron was the one who carried the unconscious doctor back the way they came from towards the main road back to Two Sun.

The Next Afternoon

The Interfector finished assigning quarters to all the new gunslingers of his brand new unofficial auxilia around midday. He exited his command residence feeling accomplished, and he almost couldn't believe how he managed to hire around 130 gunslingers, mercs, caravan guards, and wasteland toughs from Two Sun for the job. He felt as though he had achieved the impossible as his large band of misfits made themselves at home in the Long Shadows fort.

The very people Caesar's spies in the Frumantarii were worried about starting insurrections were still lining up to shake the Interfector's hand, and now ready to throw themselves at the Legion's regional enemies for a price he considered small. Even though many communities around the region refused Legion gold and merely tolerated the Legion municipal forces, the Elite had managed to turn the people of Two Suns completely towards his side once he showed them who he was. Despite the many people who still wondered how their town's "Savior" a few years back ended up in charge of a Legion fortress still remained a mystery. However, that mystery didn't matter to the kind of people who met the man and gladly accepted his offer to bolster regional forces.

The Murderer was still waiting on Legate Marius to return, and still had little to do, but the newest report he received from Centurion Galio's explorers the previous evening again only hinted that Legate Marius's forces took a beating in their Hidebark Campaign. The Killer was under the assumption that the forces of the 4th Cohort, would be moving out soon, likely to continue the campaign upon the return of Marius. With access to the bulk of the Front's auxilia, he felt that leaving the fort would end up being disastrous if something wasn't done. He had just finished delivering his orders to the gunslinging mercs for which targets to move on before the Legate arrived, and were prepping to set out. After careful vetting of the Two Sun hired force, he felt confident enough to send them out with two contubernia at their backing. Even though the local raider strongholds across the region had been getting repelled by the Two Sun municipal garrison and town militia, he preferred to have the more troublesome holdouts dealt with in the event the force has to move. This ended up being a life-saving plan, but more on that later.

After delivering the order to some of the more settled groups of gunslingers, the Interfector was making his rounds when he saw Aleron, Dalton, and the doctor return through the gates. The doctor had a bag of necessities, and upon closer inspection, the Killer noticed the battered face of the doctor standing beside the completely masked ones of Dalton and Aleron. As they stepped up, the Interfector asked,

"Take any hits out there, fellas?"

The group stopped, and the doc looked to Aleron whose slit wrists were just barely peeking out from under his bracers. Aleron made no movement or noise and Doctor Stinson felt his bruised and swollen head again before saying, "I- I think?... Think so?"

The Interfector smiled beneath his large feathered helmet, "Afraid there's still lots of people out there that don't much care for those who help us..." and two more aurei were placed into the doctor's hand.

Doctor Stinson accepted it with a confused nod, still not sure how to handle becoming so rich so fast, for doing so little. The Murderer then said, "Dalton, Aleron, go see to Centurion Lucania about bolstering our new friends against the Oro raiders…" as he handed Decanus Aleron a folded paper with the order's details.

The two walked away as the Interfector motioned for the doctor to follow. He did so, and the Killer entered his tent with the doctor by his side. Both men took their seats in that circle around the fire pit. There, the two sat in silence, the doctor still occasionally rubbing his head before his eyes met the Savior/Killer's face who was still smiling. The Murderer only raised his eyebrows expectingly before the doctor said;

"I'm about 90% sure your guys beat me up last night after…" the doc hesitated, and the Interfector's face never changed. "I got knocked out last night and woke up on the back of 'Al-er-on' outside my house… I…" the doctor didn't know what to say.

The Murderer asked calmly, "After a duel, correct?"

Doctor Stinson rubbed his head again and glanced back at the opening, seemingly ensuring Aleron wasn't there, "Ye- Yeah…" The Murderer stayed silent as the doctor added, "I thought you told them to be on their best behavior?" still trying to piece together the previous 24 hours.

The Murderer let out a light chuckle as he said, "You and these men have very different definitions of good behavior. You're still alive, and they returned you on time without tossing any of your patients out any windows, so that about met their standards… Why do you think I gave you those two other gold coins a moment ago? Also, I trust everything went fine on the home front?"

"... Well my old lady certainly liked the kind of cash I brought home even if she didn't care for my personal escorts… Wait..." the doc again struggled for words as more memories of last night merged with the conversation;

"So you knew about that duel last night? The way they were talking made it seem like they didn't want you to know?"

"And then you tattled on them, interesting..." said the Murderer, only making the doctor more confused about the definition of being "In the right." The Murderer continued, "Of course I knew. I just didn't want too much attention on the matter. Many around here don't know, even some of the centurions. Although, even the highest officers around here would never deny something that I allow. You see, unlike 99% of the men in red and black around here, I actually know Caesar. Met him quite a few times…"

The doctor waited;

"… His forces idolize him like a god. They know no other life than serving him. However, I have noticed that there is a spirit inside each and every man behind each mask out there that only wants to kill, enslave, and terrorize the enemies of Caesar. Those men out there do not have souls and hearts. You can see it in the way they talk and even walk. Those men don't know any other life outside of savagery and spilling blood. Even if those actions are for a reasons that are almost lost to them, their purpose is irrelevant when it's in the name of Caesar.. That said, it can sometimes be hard for those men to get out their frustration when they're ready to die at a moment's notice for a man they never met. I suppose what I'm getting at is a bit hard to explain, but... Caesar isn't out here. Caesar doesn't want his soldiers fighting one another, and neither do I. However, something interesting happened between those two dueling enthusiasts that I couldn't seem to break. Now, if those two were killing each other over some girl, or some parcel of land, I'd have had them killed long ago. But, I watched the past two duels between them and I know of their savagery, and I know how that savagery is only towards the other man's dedication to Caesar or supposed lack thereof…"

The doctor stayed silent;

"… I broke them at the whipping post several months back, but I've also seen the spirit of combat rise in the ranks and seen the way my legionaries and auxilia look at them outside of the battlefield. What I see is inspiration. What I see is two men channeling the inner soul of a life they'd all but forgotten after years of indoctrination, merciless discipline, and warfare manifesting into an energy that is only for the love of the Legion. I have no intention of killing two of this Cohort's best warriors for their love of Caesar… So, if I can harness that energy and monitor it; those men, well, what you saw last night is a lot like what I'm doing with those guns for hire outside. Where I've used money and reputation to channel the gunslinging mobs' energy towards love of Caesar, I'm letting those two's hatred for the other channel itself into an inspiration for the other legionaries who are occasionally selected to witness the kind of thing you saw last night. You see, I don't care how much brainwashing goes on in Legion soldier camps, thankfully, my reputation allowed me to skip that part in Legion servitude. However, I can only imagine it gets hard for certain legionaries to understand what they're fighting for when they never have and likely never will meet the man himself. What better way to show the legionaries under my command that Caesar is worth following than by letting two of my best express their love for him in the only way they know how? Savagery."

The doctor finally asked, "So, the Hero of Two Sun really does love Caesar too?"

The Murderer let out the briefest laugh, "I don't know what love is. But I made a choice over a year ago that I can't come back from. I tried to fight what I was my whole life, but right or wrong seemingly had nothing to do with my choice that gave me the title 'Murderer of Phoenix.' No matter what good I did across the southern sonorans or in the Civilized Valley, in the end, I always was Legion. So, to answer your question, no, I don't love Caesar. I don't even admire him sometimes, but I'm just a slave to him like every other masked face out there you see. Got a bit more power than most of the slaves and soldiers you'll happen across, but in the end, a slave is all I am."

Both men stayed silent for a long time after that until the doctor asked, "I'm not a slave… right?"

The Killer let out another brief laugh as he said, "Indeed you are, Doctor Stinson…"

Doctor Stinson started sweating as he looked around the tent for a group of legionaries ready to pounce and throw some shackles on him before the Interfector tossed him a small sack that made a jingle as it landed in the doctor's lap;

"… You're a slave to money. Don't worry, I won't judge you as a 'Profligate' like the others around here, but those 16 denarii should cover any of the tools you lost when those 'highwaymen' jumped you."

The doctor gave a worried but relieved chuckle as he pocketed more of the money. Then, the Interfector stood to his feet, and three healers from the 5th, 9th, and 11th centuries were escorted into the tent almost on cue. The doctor turned to the commotion and saw the slave women enter, he glanced back at the Interfector as the Elite said, "C'mon time to get up and earn your keep doc. Perhaps you can teach these healers a thing or two about true medicine."

Doctor Stinson stood, and watched the Elite extend a hand. The doctor shook the hand, and went forth to the 6th's healing tent to take ownership of the Grama's old establishment.

A/N: Some may know the reference in Montano's origin. Fun Fact: I have tattoos similar to what is on Montano's arms. (I was only "Sorta" inspired to get them by the reference. Long story Lol) Also, you're a cultured smarty if you get the reference in Aleron's reversion :)