Failure. Failure again. Legate Marcius was sitting in his tent by himself. He and his forces had been defeated, and were on the run again. Legate Marcius was drinking some cheap beer that tasted like piss and did nothing to help his mood. The taste of failure was fresh on his tongue, but the beer was not meant to relieve him from the taste but to ward off something more disgusting. He was examining the report and status of his last battle. The data made him take another gulp of his piss beer. "Damn it all." he muttered. He lost more men than he had wanted to. His force was one of the last remaining Legion forces after caesar's defeat at the second battle of Hoover Dam. The other main force still left was Legate Cyprian, who has declared himself as the new caesar. Legate Cyprian was a man of greed and self indulgence, he would not be a good leader and would ruin any chance for the legion to rebuild. That of course Marcius could not allow, their forces battled twice, and twice Marcius lost. The last battle would seem to be the final nail in his coffin.
Legate Marcius lost over 30 men and roughly 20 more were injured. That leaves only 45 men ready for the next battle, that was if there was another battle. It felt like his army would blow away in the wind at any moment. And the last hope for a stable world would die with it. "Damn the NCR" he cursed. How dare they ruin the dream he had. His dream? Marcius had been drinking for a bit, he realized, as he began to remember days of his youth. He had lived in a small tribe in the forests in Arizona. His tribe had been in a constant state of battle with the other tribes of the forest. He was a boy when he saw his father captured and killed. He was powerless to stop them from killing his father and again he was powerless to stop them from stealing his sister and mother. He was barely a man when he got his revenge. But for what, for what reason had he been subjected to the horrors that he faced growing up? It was for nothing, nothing but scraps of food and moments of pleasure. He had his whole world torn from him and got nothing in return but pain. Unlike most of his tribe men Marcius could read and write. He had been taught by his mother, how she knew, he could only guess. But this gift she had given him, that made him the man he was, was now a curse. For through his intelligent mind he could fully grasp just how meaningless his life really was.
Then everything changed, the endless cycle of meaningless violence ended. The Legion came, and with them their power and purpose. Conquest. Plain and simple conquest solved everything. The violent world he lived in had been destroyed by even greater violence. It shook his soul as he watch the legion swallow one tribe after another. Nothing could stop them and It was not for meaningless pleasures or pitiful scraps. It was for ownership and control, The legion had destroyed the past and was forging its own future. That was the legion in his eyes, a force that could right the world. He had done his part, as a slave he showed potential and as commander he showed unwavering determination and skill. He gave his all for the legion and for the man he idolized, his king and his god, caesar. But now he was lost, the purpose he had was dying and his master was dead, and at this rate he would follow suit. Legate Marcius stood up, his shorter stature never gave off the feeling of power, but his presence was domineering to those that stood near him. If anyone could see him now, they would say that he looked like a monster ready to kill. The beer had done little to intoxicate him, however the memories of his past had reignited his soul. He exited his tent and looked out to his men, they were in the middle of changing shifts for watch at the time he ordered. His men are loyal to him and they trusted him with everything, yet he had failed them. His anger was swelling within him. It was directed at none other than himself. "I swear I will give these men the victory they desire. I will not rest until rebuild the Legion into the force that will unify the world.I will stop at nothing and do anything to achieve this or Mars strike me down for I am a failure!" As he swore this on his soul scouts were returning from their mission. As if the god Mars had answered his prayers the scouts had some interesting information.
They rushed over to the legate's tent and kneeled before him. He received their report with astonishment. Legate Marcius looked up to the sky and stood still for a moment. Looking toward the horizon he knew what he needed to do.