I remember that day as vividly as if it were only the day before. It was the third day of the third month, half a year since the preceding Month of Darkness, 1371-2 P.S. To say it has changed my life would be an understatement. It was the day I went from a Legionnaire in name to one in truth. A Legionnaire from Valaast of all Fiefs. It yet still boggles my mind to this day.
Vuvitsky looked up from my bunk, his writing interrupted by someone entering. Was it his bunkmate?
It wasn’t. It was someone else, one of the many he couldn’t recognize. He was a short Human, and that trait seemed to apply to everything else about him. Short of breath, short of brightness.
He said, in a wheezy voice. “Private Vuvitsky. The…the Ensign.” A wheezing breath. “The Ensign wants to see…you.”
Vuvitsky stood up, putting away his writing implements. “On my way.” He marched out of his resting place, Barracks Nine-J, thinking all the while.
What had he done wrong this time?
The door to the office opened, admitting the Legionnaire hopeful from Valaast. Ensign Koutov looked up from her desk, where she had been looking through paperwork. The Human woman’s face did not change in the slightest at the sight of Vuvitsky, giving no indication of what she could possibly want from the young man.
A few things about Vuvitsky. One, he came from a…divisive background to say the least, Valaast being the black sheep among the other Fiefs of the Steel Kingdom. Two, said background had spawned many conflicts between his fellow soldiers—and then Legionnaires when he had been promoted—many of them instigated by himself after provocation. And finally…
Three, he was not on good terms with the Ensign, mainly due to the above.
Which was why it was terrifying that after a moment of her inspecting him, as if taking one good look at a rotten piece of meat before discarding it, her lips slightly lifted in a smile. Never had the Private seen Ensign Koutov smile.
“Congratulations, Private.” She finally said. “One of the Steel King’s own has seen fit to induct you among their ranks.”
Vuvitsky’s heart raced at the very welcome, if sudden, surprise. Truly? The Ensign continued.
“You are being assigned to Kinujitev’s Squad, four Legionnaires, two of them Senior.” She slid a lightweight clay-like tablet over. “In here is everything you need to know. The Captain is waiting for you in Barracks Five-B. Dismissed.”
Vuvitsky arrived at the barracks, walking past the wall of mounted weapons inside to reach the common room. As he entered the room, his eyes alighted on four different people sitting there, having a convivial conversation from the looks and sound of it.
There were two Humans and two Orcs, an even split. The one that immediately caught his eye was a large, broad Human man with a large beard and an even larger smile. For someone who looks to be in his forties, he looked to have the energy of someone entirely too young for his age.
The Human woman he was speaking to with fraternal familiarity was similar in some respects. She was well muscled just like all other men and women Vuvitsky knew, but not quite as broad as the large man. Hanging from her hip, off a belt, was a masterwork of a crossbow. Her hand always seemed to find an excuse to lightly touch it, as if reassuring the woman that she indeed still had her crossbow.
Then someone said a wry comment—Vuvitsky didn’t quite catch what was said—prompting the laughter of the two Humans. This one was an Orc, an older woman. She had the leanest build of the entire group, excepting Vuvitsky himself, belying her age. Her voice was deep and rich, like one of those professional singers that occasionally came by when they weren’t at war with any of the Brass nations. Her tusks were about the usual size, reaching only up to the level of the tip of her nose. Her most striking feature was her dark blue skin, marking her as someone from Stalle. Vuvitsky tried to tamper down an instant surge of disdain and contempt for Valaast’s neighbor.
The last one, the one leaning against a wall and watching the conversation silently, was an Orc man as shown by his shorter tusks. His build was large, though far from the Human male’s stockiness. Unlike the Human duo’s jovial faces, and the other Orc’s almost bored demeanor, this one had the look that Vuvitsky had come to recognize in his time as a soldier. He had the look of a leader, one hardened by conflict and tragedy. He was at rest, but should the sky collapse and the dead raise from the ground, the young Legionnaire was sure that this man would be among the first to take action where others were still orienting themselves. His skin was a bright red, which Vuvitsky took to mean that he was from the capital Fief, Vol’nya.
At his entrance all four people turned to look at him, sizing him up just like he had done for them. At the nod the two Humans gave, Vuvitsky assumed he must have passed some sort of test. The Orc woman raised a brow, while the man just continued to look him over.
After a moment of silence, awkward in the new Legionnaire’s case, the big man broke the silence.
“So you’re our new medic?” He spoke in a thick Nikkan accent, nearly incomprehensible but for the fact that Vuvitsky had served with a lot of soldiers from Neyanik.
The medic realized the man was waiting for an answer. “Yes, I am. You are the squad I’m assigned to?”
“What do you think, Zuvistov?” The Human woman said to the large man, Zuvistov, in an equally thick Nikkan accent. “Is there another Laastian medic called Vuvitsky around here?”
Zuvistov shrugged. “It’s a large world, we could never know.”
Vuvitsky nearly turned red from embarrassment. When the woman turned back to look at him, both she and Zuvistov burst out laughing. In between gales of laughter, she spoke. “Sorry, sorry…we just couldn’t resist. Yes, you’re with us.” She stood from her seat and offered the medic an outstretched hand, which Vuvitsky then took. “Ulovistin, the sharpshooter around here.” She patted her crossbow. “And this here is Sharpy.”
Vuvitsky’s blank look at her nickname for the weapon made her laugh again, prompting her to reassure him. “I got you again! No, this is just a crossbow.”
Zuvistov, the big man, came to the medic’s rescue by standing up and offering an outstretched of his own. When Vuvitsky went for a handshake, Zuvistov pulled him into a bone-crushing bear hug. “Ah, I am Zuvistov. I am a big man with big weapons.”
Ulovistin piped up. “And a big head, too.”
“You flatter me!”
Zuvistov released Vuvitsky from the hug, allowing him a moment to breathe again. He nodded as he finally replied to the introductions. “I am Vuvitsky, your medic.” He felt like that was the only sentence he could say, repeating himself.
“Yes, we know.” The Orc woman said. “Sudogostin, Talented.”
Talented?
Vuvitsky was about to ask what she was talented with when he noticed the emphasis she put on the word. She must have the Talent, that near supernatural power that comes from the Brass Empire.
“Really?” He said, taking an interest. “What kind?”
“The killing kind.” Sudogostin unhelpfully replied, the blue Orc not giving any indication she cared for the subject.
At that, the last man left his position by the wall and came to Vuvitsky. He introduced himself. “And I am Kinujitev, but it’s Captain to you. I’m the leader of this squad.”
He smiled.
“Welcome to the team.”