-

19th Century BNC

The height of the Age of Bronze

Continent of Jelin,

Somewhere on Canlita Sea's idyllic southwest shores

(Just east of the modern day village port of Tenor)

Well over two thousand years ago

The headhunter growled in his strange tongue, left arm stuck on his chest as the pilum had gone through the bronze shield and armour. Placidus, who had hurled it, got clubbed on the head by another long-haired brute, the Gallic-type Cassis denting and one of his eyes popping out of the crashed zygomatic bone. The legionnaire went down to his knee and the wild Germanic-looking native attacked him again.

"Sta terram tuam, Placidus!" Vespasian Naso grunted for his friend to hold his ground while he rushed his own injured opponent.

The Germanic warrior with the heavy bronze armour retreated towards the sea, but Vespasian dropped his Scutum and reached him, his worn-out Galicae sinking in the mud. He hacked with the gladius at his maimed opponent's half-turned back, the steel-infused iron blade tearing at the plate and slicing deep into the groaning man's spine.

Vespasian turned just in time to see Placidus getting stabbed in the neck, the steaming blood gushing out the color of the wine from mount Falernus and die with a hoary rustle afore his head hit the ground. Centurion Gaius Gabinius' patrol thus all but wiped out. All that effort through the desert and climbing the dry mountains, months of marching and fighting to reach the shores in vain.

"In nomine dei, Mavors Invictus!" Vespasian roared and charged the mindless barbarian warrior, who had stooped to sever Placidus' head with his heavy bronze two-handed cleaver. The barbarian turned with a grunt of his own, letting go of the cleaver and got a crude heavy axe out as he retreated. Vespasian slashed at him and missed, the headhunter retaliated, caught the Decanus on Lorica Segmentata's shoulder pad and shoved him back with a dislocated shoulder.

"Maledictus es!" Vespasian cursed him and stumbled back. The barbarian, square jaw covered with a wild red beard, roared at the top of his lungs seeing him falter and giving in to his bloodlust came at the injured Decanus.

Vespasian planted his thick left leg down, mud rising up to his ankle and when the axe came down grabbed it by the shaft right after the blade, using his injured arm. It hurt him and felt muscle and bone crackling under the skin, but he couldn't allow the barbarian to win this duel.

His ancestors in Rhegium surely watched this struggle with judging eyes.

A Naso never gave up as long as his could draw breath.

Be it back in his distant homeland or hither in this alien lands.

"Ugh?" The stunned headhunter growled seeing him react timely, as he stood much taller and imposing than his short-statured —almost tetragonal and just injured, foreign opponent, but also because the strength Vespasian had used to stop his brutal hack was otherworldly.

It wasn't really, just years of training and marching with the Legions. From Colonia Agrippina to bucolic Camulodunum in savage Britannia and from the mystic Berenice in Cyrenaica to ancient Thebae, Vespasian had seen it all.

The Decanus' painted in gore steel gladius punched upwards and plunged under the barbarian's chin despite the effort the brute put forth to stop him using his other hand. The sword's bloody tip sliced through flesh and bone, through the palate, shattering teeth and came out at the bridge of the barbarian's nose. It completely destroyed his face, the cranium cracking with a crunching sound.

Vespasian took a moment to regain his strength after the scrap was over, the shoulder screaming and swelling under the armour and then went to check on Placidus and Corvus. He gathered their name tags and weapons, discarded the pilums and the barbarians bronze weapons. Then he walked towards the shores to wash the gore from his legs and armour. He cleaned his hands thoroughly watching at the strange sun over his head moving and hearing the waves splashing on the pebbled beach. The water wasn't as foul as he'd expected, but he dared not drink it despite the thirst eating his insides.

He had to boil it first at the very least, but afore that the bodies needed to be covered not to draw near wild predators. As the tired Vespasian stood near the shores thinking on what to do next, he spotted a small boat appearing out of the misty waters. A man used two oars to row, the dancing on the soft waves vessel, towards the edge where the soldier stood perturbed. Half-elated to locate transportation so soon after discovering the sea, but also worried he had to fight again.

There were two women in that boat. They were dressed in long tunicae, in the indecent Greek manner, the thin fabric fiercely red revealing their bodies underneath. Both women were strikingly beautiful, but their painted faces reminded Vespasian of prostitutes.

Unless…

Vespasian took a step back when the boat's hull touched the ground with a splash and one of the women jumped out. She said something in the barbarian's tongue and then paused, her painted eyes showing shock as she took in the legionnaire officer's stern profile and armour.

"Mavors," she mouthed in her pleasant tongue, before she spotted the slain corpses about twenty meters behind Vespasian. Two legionaires and six barbarians laying butchered in mire and pebbles.

"Nomen meum est, Vespasian Naso, Decanus Tertius, Prima Centuria, 2nd Cohort," Vespasian grunted, certain the cultured-looking woman was of a higher standing. "Domina—"

She had stopped him touching the clenched fist Vespasian had placed under his injured shoulder. The woman glanced towards her friend —the man had remained near the boat— with a small smile and whispered something to her. It was hard for Vespasian to remain unaffected as he hadn't seen a woman in twenty seven months.

"The Goddess greets you, Vespasian Naso," she told him, this time speaking in a dialect that resembled Latin and Greek, both languages Vespasian understood. "I'm Priestess Valeria, this is Michal with the lovely Priestess Leukothea."

Vespasian stood back bewildered. "Domina, you mentioned Mavors. Where did you come from?"

"There's an island at the center of this big lake. But we don't serve the god of war, although we much appreciate him," Valeria explained, a hint of philandry in her voice. "Like you do."

She then searched in the opening of her considerable bust and brought out a gold chain that had an ivory statuette dangling from it. Pulling gently she snapped the chain and offered the pendant to Vespasian with a warm smile.

Vespasian stared at the naked figure resting in his calloused hand and felt tears forming in his dark-green eyes after years of despair at the familiar sight.

"Venus Mefitis," Vespasian gasped and Valeria, who was from an island at the center of what wasn't apparently the elusive sea —the latter what Centurion Gaius Gabinius' had promised them— corrected him in her pleasant voice.

"In this realm, dear Vespasian, the Goddess of lust's fervor name is Naossis. The patron of lovers in every form they might come. Not everyone here is hostile."

Vespasian closed his rough fist around the slender figurine and then eyed the comely priestess soberly.

"We speak the truth. The village you'll encounter walking east from here, is very friendly with our temple. You should be too," Valeria insisted sensing his hesitation.

"That's for the centurion to decide and we must notify all other units, as well as the commander. I'll march back to the Castrum and report what happened here. Inform him, I found the sea… this Lake of yours and the island of the friendly Priestess Valeria. But be aware, everyone associated with the savage men that attacked us shall be heavily punished, their homes, livelihoods and families cast to Dis Pater's hells!"

"Surely not!" Valeria gasped covering her mouth in shock. "Who is the commander then? Where are you from Vespasian, who speaks the gods tongue? How did you built a castle in the desert?" A now worried Valeria asked him and Vespasian told her about his fatherland, not revealing any information about the army.

His outlandish stories greatly amused the priestesses and Augusta Penelope when they returned to bring her the news. Priestess Leukothea, the temple's archivist, who had heard their whole exchange, called the richly adorned foreign soldiers that came out of the desert Lorians, because 'everywhere Macer's boys went, they built castles.'

Lucius Alden,

'Bloody Tiger',

Lord Lucius Aldenus the Third,

Praetor Maximus,

Legatus 'omnis Legionis'

King Lucius III

Old rusted blade

Part I

-Or any other place-

The Lorian Bloodlines

Extended to modern antiquity:

-As depicted in the ending stages of the Bronze Age*-

*known in the Lorian mythology as the 'struggles of the sons of Latinius Macer*1

__________________

*1 Lucius Latinius Macer, also 'pater familias', Primus Pilus*. Mythical commander* of the 'Legion', an unidentified military unit that appeared during the height of Bronze Age* on the continent of Jelin either out of nowhere —or [sic] 'out of the desert' without further details— and terrorized the native-controlled lands for many centuries. Despite gradually losing its cohesion through the years and the heavy splintering caused by infighting, civil wars and crashing defeats in the field after their initial advantages waned, the core characteristics of these brutal, very militant -surely nomadic- peoples who curiously 'built Castles' remained with their numerous descendants despite mixing with the local populace.

The three major branches of the 'Castle Builders' are generally accepted to be the Lorians of the South that slowly settled/conquered up to the shores of Regia, the Lorians of the East that eventually tamed Lesia's wilderness up to the Far North, and the smaller branch of Lorians of Metilus 'Vincite in Agro', who ambushed and butchered the numerous Horselord warbands near Yeriden River on Eplas, eventually creating the Duchy of Raoz.

The Lorians eventually forged Jelin into what it is today, forcing their language, most of their customs and many pagan gods to the locals —until the arrival of the Issirs and despite the heavy influence of the Imperial Zilan— and built many great cities, beautiful temples and sturdy fortifications coupled with life-altering public works, where at first only settlements and burgs existed.

Latinius Macer's 'fictitious' and impossible to fully assimilate into the native culture sons —despite initially being overwhelmingly insignificant in numbers— were the three surviving branches of his descendants after the dust of infighting had settled and not his direct family. Mainly the later Regia-claimed Manius Alter 'Latinus', the Lesia-claimed Aulus 'Latinius' and the Raoz-claimed Opiter 'Macer', Metilus' ancestor. Other smaller Lorian clans survived, as those peoples in the Free Isles, generally accepted either descending from Opiter 'Macer' or an even lesser unknown branch of Lorians with island origins and 'tanned' skin. The islands themselves were previously thinly populated by natives before the Lorian invasion.

*2 Bronze Age/the Age of Bronze, a lengthy period of time lost in antiquity, mostly documented by the Imperial Zilan who had witnessed it, but also verbal with few exceptions mythic era of the history of Jelin that ended around 109 BNC with Laran the Wrathful —King Lucius' very distant ancestor, but extended back in time at least two thousand years. Lorian scholars and archaeologists out of Cartagen's Academy in Regia under Liburnius Romus and the University of Armium in Lesia under Axius Bato, had worked tirelessly towards the end of New Calendar's 2nd century to unearth, prove and even justify some of mythology's more persistent claims.

*3 Latinius Macer was probably the mentioned 'commander' under the moniker/rank 'Primus Pilus' in some of the surviving texts of the era narrating the mythology of Jelin —with copies existing only in the Academy of Senses Library on the island of Valeria, which document in some panache the visit of a mythical 'lover of the Goddess' named Vespasian and in Cartagen— a detail often disputed by the absolutists aka those believing the 'legion' was an already formed and perfect military unit from its inception/appearance under the Lesia scholar Bato, and the Aldenus family influenced scholars under the Regia born scholar/archaeologist Romus, who attribute the current shape of the Legion to Lucius I, as his own grand accomplishment, the first Caesar had to cultivate from a lesser, mythical or perhaps much smaller in size unit.

Here follow the two better documented semi-fictitious Lorian branches of Regia and Lesia, but also the smaller branch that eventually had to settle in Raoz to survive both the warring with everyone 'fellow' Lorians and the other equally brutal natives of Jelin.

Regia's Branch

Manius 'Alter Latinus', around 550? BNC (Before New Calendar) returned to Canlita Sea to free the settlements that had fallen under native control.

Decius Latinus -500 BNC

Tiberius -460 BNC

Julianus 'the sun-kissed' -415 BNC, returned to the desert in an attempt to reach Regia's shores.

Decius son of 'Mavors' -380 BNC, successfully completely pushed the Northmen away from Canlita Sea.

Gaius 'the herder' -345 BNC, 'settled' the lands near Asturia

Decimus -320 BNC

Titus 'Pillar' -292 BNC

Valus 'Scale-skinned' -240 BNC

Placus Hortolanus –190 BNC, started rebuilding the destroyed settlement of Asturia (continues into the bloodline of the Holts/Horts)

Gnaeus 'the Butcher' -191 BNC, retook Aldenfort (?) from the 'peoples of the lake' and 'cleansed' and 'salted' the earth from 'vermin'. The first of the three 'violent' rulers of known antiquity.

Titus 'Interfector' the Slayer/killer -159 BNC

Laran the Wrathful -109 BNC settled near the city of Alden

(Continues into the large Aldenus bloodline.)

Lesia's branch

Aulus 'Latinius', around 540-550? BNC

Aulus 'Gaul' Latinius, 494 BNC

Spurius 'Greco' Latinius, 457 BNC

Spurius II Gratius, 440 BNC

Quintus, the 'Cursed', 410 BNC

Tertius or 'Lecius major', 396 BNC reached Alesian Lake.

Agrippa 'Lecius minor', 355 BNC

Secundus 'Lecius', 330 BNC

Appius 'Platea', 300 BNC

Sergio 'Martirius', 288 BNC

Mario 'Apollonius', 250 BNC, settled near Rochestab River

(Continues into the Lennox bloodline)

Augusto Bato, 245 to 257 reached Andalus River

Flavio 'Divinus', 224 BNC started enlarging the settlement that was to become Armium

Vergil 'Davenius' 193 BNC

Damocles 'Davenius', the 'Pius'. Around 146 BNC attempted to bring back the pagan gods. Poisoned during a summer feast and died in agony, plunging his domain into anarchy for fifteen years after presumably [sic] 'lapping the syrup from a priestess' toes'.

Arian 'Davenius', 'the sickly' -131 BNC

Ireneo 'Davenius', 123 BNC etc.

(Continues into the Davenport bloodline)

Duchy of Raoz

-Or simply Raoz

Opiter 'Macer' – also 'the Boatmancer'. Opiter and his followers 'finally tamed the seas, went over to the isles and beyond' around 555 BNC, which probably means he either reached Free Isles or even Eplas by that time, which was almost a millennia after Latinius Macer's descendants started exploring the lands.

Sextus 'Macer minor' -503 BNC

Sextus II Caelus -479 BNC

Pullus 'the Wretched' -458 BNC. Survived getting 'dragged through the fields by a big horse' and lived to be gruesomely wounded three more times in different occasions and different raids. Famously he was maimed beyond recognition, 'left almost skinless and in constant pain' for most of his adult life.

Demus 'the Persistent' -440 BNC

Metilus 'Vincite in Argo', aka 'win in the field' – Metilus took control of the communities trying to survive near the now-a-day Rida against 3 major Horselord tribes dominating the area around 399 BNC. He manifested a spectacular triumph near Yeriden, defeating all three tribes in quick succession and stopped over a hundred years of raids and abuse.

Lars Vinargo, or 'He who stood on the pyramid', 340 BNC, started uniting the settlements around the ruins-covered plateau that turned into the city of Rida.

John Vinargo, 309 BNC

Paul 'ultra flumen', or 'Beyond the River', 301 BNC, famously managed to bravely cross Yeriden River before the prehistoric bridge was fully repaired and chased the 'little people' from Altarin's fields to take the lands for himself. Those that followed him elected (making him a Reeve/Lord/Bailiff) the still young Paul to lead them against the elements and the natives.

(Continues into the Reeves bloodline.)

Lars II Win-Argo, -Finished the bridge repairs during his time having taken over around 285 BNC. Probably drown or killed when it collapsed yet again from an earthquake or wyvern fire around 239 BNC.

Sabor -238 BNC, probably a freed Horselord that took control for a brief while. Considered an Imperial Zilan pawn, but the records don't support this.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Valerius -234 BNC, won the nasty war and tried to repair the bridge at the end of his reign so they can reestablish contact with the Lorians that had reached Altarin with Reeves.

Liam Winfield, 202 BNC,

Peter Winfield, 'the Evil', later 'the Duke', etc. 149 BNC, scorned for murdering the gullible independent Lord Decius Reeves, he'd invited over to discuss a border dispute. Peter then placed Lord Decius' younger son Michael on the throne of Altarin after making the teenager swear fealty to him threatening to kill his captured mother. Thus Peter created the Duchy of Raoz.

Duke James Winfield, 'the gilded phony' -108 BNC, attempted to repair his family's image using his riches. He travelled to Jelin using two new ships in order to impress the still warring with each other Lorian Lords, but failed to do so and left shocked at the violence he witnessed.

This shameful story, either half-myth or half-truth, was very close to recorded history to be forgotten, and made the Winfield family undesirable to the other Lorian lords. So when the victorious but still greedy for territory Issir Pirate Lord Reinut, who had been forced to leave Free Isles alone, asked for Raoz in order to 'guard the Shallow Sea from the emerging Khanate' the Lorian Lords of Jelin wiped their hands clean with them.

(Continues into the Winfield bloodline.)

-

11th of month Lucius (previously Tertius) 196 NC.

The Lorian month name Lucius started being used sparingly at first instead of Tertius in order to signify the start of Spring due to its archaic meaning (bathed in light, glorious etc.), but also due to the fact this name was traditionally associated with one 'of kingly qualities', a King. So the usually auspicious season of spring months –after the gloomier winter season- started with the 'kalends of Lucius' or 'the King's first day' in a sense, and so forth.

The King left Luciopolis for two weeks at the end of winter. He traveled to Aldenfort via the Bonosus Tunnel pass and after a brief halt to visit the Marble Quarries. The official reason for his journey was to meet with Legatus Merenda, who had brought the First Legion back to Sabretooth Castle, then travelled by himself to Vinterfort according to some sources, or with Robert Van Durren, according to others. Since Lucius arrived first, he spent his days visiting old Tenor to behold the place where his youngest brother King Jeremy had stayed before his murder, but also catch up with his cousin Baron Reynard Alden of Aldenfort and Brutus his firstborn son, before they returned to the nearby lake city. Near the end of his first week of stay at the lake port, Lucius spent time sightseeing and speaking with the elderly scholar Liburnius Remus the 2nd, probably to inform him about the unfortunate passing in Cartagen of his own tutor, the man who had been Liburnius the Elder's most famous pupil, the famed Pompeo 'the Calligrapher' Di Cresta.

The army's journals, record the incident simply with the brief following note, 'six days after the kalends of Tertius, Praetor Maximus inspected the old ruins.'

A delicate mist was draping itself over the surface of the lake. The wispy clouds danced gently in the light breeze blowing from the north, while the humidity made the otherwise sunny day feel chilly near the open window of the palace. Lucius stepped back and then made his way across the spacious hall to the east side veranda, where Reynard remained by the marble table, a glass goblet of wine in his hand.

His older in age very-distant cousin was staring over the short marble and column-shaped rails at the sprawling water expanse —the opulent veranda had a northeastern bearing compared to the window that faced in a northwestern direction— and despite the chilly breeze he was dressed in a simple toga.

"Some days you can see Valeria in the distance," Reynard Alden commented when Lucius sat across from him on the comfortable divan. "The large peak, Naossis Seat, touching the clouds. Of course, the view is better from Islandport. Then again, one has to deal a bit more with the Issirs of Tollor there and it is never a pleasant interaction, I'm told."

"How is life under Duke Holt?" Lucius asked with a small smile, taking the expensive glass goblet they had left for him in his hand.

"The old Duke is not faring well," Reynard started, then grimaced thinking he had entered uncomfortable territory by reminding the King of his own tragedy.

Running from grief offers little comfort as you carry the burden with you always, but while not comforting it can sap at one's strength just the same, Lucius reasoned pursing his mouth and then tasted the honeyed wine. The taste, while familiar, never to his liking. Reynard had been influenced by the habits of the priestesses, even standing further away from their island than Asturia or Islandport.

"He's getting up there in years, I guess," Reynard continued changing the topic upon witnessing the king's thoughtful silence. "Bigger is the worry about the Diadochi in this instance."

"Bernard is sharp. Clever men strive to avoid mistakes," Lucius noted and returned the glass goblet on the polished table. "I had to give Asturia something they wanted, but also difficult to hold onto without the king's permission and its local rulers' support. Asturia wanted control of all south Canlita for years."

"Was this a backhanded compliment, your grace?" Reynard jested in a friendly manner.

"It wasn't a compliment, Reynard," Lucius returned the jest pretending to be surprised. He stood up and approached the marble rails to stare towards the gulf of Tenor, over the walls of the city port.

"What troubles mind?" Reynard asked reverting to the local more archaic Lorian dialect. "Speak freely cousin, so I can offer much-needed assistance."

"How did the legion tame the land?" Lucius asked turning to stare at Reynard, who stood up in his turn and approached him. "Why did it fail initially?"

"You wish for honeyed tale to please curious ear? Or the unvarnished truth, I don't possess?" The Baron asked.

"Give opinion Reynard, since the tale is well-known to me," Lucius retorted in the same manner.

"They didn't clearly," Reynard said, made a face and finished off the rest of his wine. "The land stands yet untamed, and your own efforts revealed as much. Be that as it may, there was no legion per se, or whatever they fashioned back then was utterly destroyed by the time Manius reached here, is my personal opinion. This is naught but tales, Lucius."

"Why?" Lucius insisted not satisfied and Reynard glanced his way unsure. "Why was it so difficult to retake the lost territory after the Northmen and dwarf tribes united, or even against the lesser local enemies, these barbarians living by the lake, when we have been so much more successful in the past?"

"Numbers? We are talking Bronze Age armies here," Reynard shrugged his shoulders.

"An army is an army, its advantage is not lost against the same foe unless something significant changes," Lucius argued.

"You seek illumination in the past's mythology?" Reynard pointed north near the edges of the port where the ruins of the older city stood. "The water levels keep dropping clearly, but this lower level they had afore, yet again, in much older times, so it is not a novel development but a natural cyclical event. This is the current theory."

Lucius could barely make out from so far away what the Baron was talking about. His last visits to Aldenfort had been after or during his campaigns and the king had no time then to sightsee the old city's locations.

There is never enough time, Lucius thought. But there is opportunity.

"Liburnius is still in the field?" He asked Reynard and the Baron snorted, then returned to their veranda table.

"Old fool goes back to the site each morning," Reynard replied. "Always hungry for more coin to finish unearthing what was buried in mud, under the lake's waters. Each swing of the pickaxe costing me more coin," the Baron paused to stare at the amused King. "I sorely wish to have back inside thinning and starving purse."

"You wish to talk of tax-exemption? It is a social visit Reynard," Lucius cautioned him half-jestingly.

"It is a partial social visit, the king's words were, I believe," his cousin argued and went to refill Lucius goblet. "And I shall add here, you still stand the King, dear cousin. The favorite cousin and most cherished king of mine," Reynard continued thick with the praise much as he had always done in the past and offered Lucius the goblet. "To not seek to extract valuable profit from the occasion, it would be a case of grave malpractice. And the people shall point to Reynard in the market and cry at the top of their lungs, there stands Reynard who loved the King most of all, yet never asked for naught!"

Reynard had used the same exact line twenty years in the past to shame the young Lucius into assisting the Baron in his then 'amorous escapades' and efforts to woo an elusive Asturia beauty.

"Honeyed wine soaked thy tongue, Reynard," Lucius countered, maintaining a light tone. "I should have guessed it, when the honey-bowl was placed next to the wine by your mistress so early in the morning. But I shall write to Duke Holt to give you twenty-four months of tax reprieve, until you get your affairs in order."

"Gratitude, great Caesar," Reynard thanked him.

"You shall continue funding Liburnius though, else the taxation shall resume," Lucius continued and the Baron's face fell. "Now, wipe protest from lips and point me towards the old man. I wish to have word with him."

Less than three hundred meters from the stone docks and the port's storerooms, looking to the west and following the incline ending at the fortified walls of Aldenfort, the ruins of the old settlement stood. Built very near the shores, the rising lake waters had covered most of the buildings and roads after a series of earthquakes or other catastrophes, but for the original port they haven't discovered yet. It was probably still buried at the bottom under layers of thick mud further inside the lake, Lucius and the archaeologists working on the long-term project believed.

The foundations of the old buildings had been unearthed slowly, some still maintaining their shapes, part of walls and façade. The nicely cut and paved streets screamed of Lorian architecture, the old city cut in interconnected squares forming a much larger but still rectangular shape. The north side of the ancient settlement facing the lake was still missing, but about half of the old ruins had been uncovered.

As the maniple came to a stop and the legionnaires rushed to secure the premises, the workers paused to behold the King's entourage approach the raised ancient columns of what looked like an official building. Its insides revealed through the restored entrance and the scaffolds securing the cracked columns upright.

"Caesar adest!" Decanus Marius Virilis barked raising his clenched fist in salute and the spread out maniple quickly formed up in two long rows and stood in attention energetically for Lucius to pass through.

"At ease, Decanus Virilis," Lucius ordered the officer waiting at the end of the row of soldiers, and halted right after to speak with the two knights following after him. Sir Aesop Sabinus and Sir Roman Valgus. "Roman wait here and bring Ramirus inside when he returns from the Cohort's Castrum."

The 3rd Cohort had camped outside Aldenfort as there was no space inside the walled city for such a big body of men and Centurion Dilus Gratus had decided to camp the unit at the legion's old site less than a kilometer from the walls.

Lucius walked over the cleaned old floor of the collapsed building, the stained marble and masonry showing signs of age and corrosion from the waters. At the end of what was once the floor of a hall, or an auditorium he could see a set of stairs leading down into an opening where workers disappeared inside. An old scholar with a younger colleague of his were sitting on a wooden field bench talking with each other in an argumentative tone. They also both watched as the workers came and went bringing out dirt and crushed rocks from the dig.

Hearing Lucius' heavy step echoing inside the ancient ruined hall, Liburnius Remus the younger, turned his well-shorn and shaved face to gaze upon the approaching king and Sir Sabinus.

"Here comes a great king. Noble in character and with a poet's mind," Liburnius commented, both hands grasping a cane he had planted on the old floor, his words causing the younger Lorian to jump from the seat surprised. "But wearing army boots that pound at the hapless old tiles carelessly, so his presence is well-announced in advance."

Lucius halted at the mild rebuke —a trait all Lorian academics shared following the teachings of Tacitus, and glanced at the spurs-wearing Sir Sabinus, who pursed his mouth in turn before glaring at the old scholar, not sharing the king's affinity for the nation's academia. "All those cracks were there before I stepped a foot on the flooring, Liburnius. While seemingly old and decrepit-looking to the untrained eye, it isn't, but still stands firm and unyielding under foot, which is a praise to the stonemasons that placed it here," he argued offering enough counter-arguments to the scholar's deictic query, and Liburnius nodded in agreement.

"Nicely put indeed. Also a weak floor couldn't have supported so many columns," Liburnius added with a pleased smile. "This excited young man, is Onorio Bato, the rude Axius Bato's second cousin," Liburnius introduced the Lesia scholar to him. "Heh, nepotism runs deep in their schools," Liburnius added half-in-jest half-serious, despite himself famously receiving his later father's vacant position in Cartagen's Academy without serious contest whilst sharing the same name to a T, hence why his father was known as Liburnius, the Elder.

"My sincere salutations, King Lucius," the around twenty something years old Onorio said with considerable pathos, raising a fist to his heart and lowering his golden-haired head sharply. "Accept the warmest greetings to thee and yours, your grace and fellow academic, from Master Bato and all his colleagues in Armium's University."

Lucius had a lengthy thesis complete with diagrams on alternate army bridge supports and other field constructions published in Lesia, when the king was around fourteen years old, by his then tutor Pompeo Di Cresta, who had also written an enthusiastic prologue.

"Inform the professor that I pray to Tyeus for his health to improve and wish him good fortune for years to come," Lucius replied and reached to touch the moved Onorio's shoulder in a friendly manner. Axius Bato suffered from lung-sickness the last couple of years, also known as 'grave robber's lung', probably induced by Bato's years of involvement in similar digs in Lesia.

"Had the King informed us of his arrival sooner," Liburnius intervened crooking his mouth. "We would have halted works and prepared the site for him."

"That would have been unfortunate for much work is left to be done," Lucius argued.

"Indeed, your grace," Liburnius agreed. "I couldn't help but notice Reynard hasn't graced us with his presence. Which stands a mystery given I've written him twice this month alone to discuss finances."

"It was a last moment decision and the Baron had other urgent obligations."

"One can only wonder what could this Sardanapalus more-pressing affairs might be," Liburnius retorted soberly. "If one stood bereft of any imagination."

Reynard had a known affair with the rich Favonia Helvia during a festival, the late merchant Helvus' widow, much to the Baron's legal spouse's chagrin, Atia Severlina, who was the daughter of Polus Servius, a local Judicar. The furious Atia had banned Reynard from their bedroom for almost a decade now.

"I brought news about your old tutor," Lucius said changing the topic.

"We were informed of his passing," Liburnius replied and shifted the weight on his cane. "Most unfortunate news. Was he killed during the siege then?"

"Pompeo perished by the collapse of a scaffold he'd installed to repair his glass dome," Lucius informed him.

"A certain poetry in this," Liburnius commented sadly. "Ruined by one's own creation."

"I wouldn't go that far, Liburnius," Lucius noted. "It was an accident."

"Even so, your grace. Pompeo would have seen it thus," Liburnius argued and pressed his wrinkled mouth tightly, clearly affected by the topic.

"Where does the stairs lead?" Lucius asked to lighten the air.

"It's a corridor right after," Liburnius replied and raised a hand to wipe his teary eyes. "Continues for a while, through a semi-flooded passage we are still clearing."

"The waters are receding, are they not?" Lucius asked curious.

"Every year," Liburnius replied. "The lake grew in size when the ice melted up in the north, but since then we had better seasons and Canlita is steadily losing volume."

"You are saying it wasn't a sudden event?" Lucius probed.

"Nay. Completely natural, a cyclical period of colder weather, followed by warmer seasons."

"When did the last flooding occur?" Lucius asked, interested in his theory.

"Thousands of years, I reckon. Almost two millennia," Liburnius replied with an austere glare at Onorio to keep his arguments to himself. Liburnius sighed, then added. "Lesia believes the events were closer, but it's just semantics over numbers and four hundred years plus or minus offer little to change the core of this theory. His colleagues appear to be winning the argument either way, your grace."

"More of a disagreement, King Lucius," Onorio intervened politely.

"Eh, just extract balls from shrunken scrotum and speak with clear tongue, Onorio!" Liburnius blasted the younger man.

Lucius stopped the old archaeologist with a warning stare. "Leave our guest be himself, Liburnius," and immediately noted. "Anyways, this means the settlement had been built before the flood."

"Obviously, they wouldn't had constructed anything under water or too-close to the shores," Liburnius licked his lips. "We haven't found the docks yet, so this means the flooding was immense and perhaps even occurred very-fast."

"So our ancestors lost the site; was it taken over by the lakes people and then reconquered when Manius returned?"

"The ruins tell a much different story," Liburnius replied and stared at the stairs leading inside the dark opening, then at the banks of the lake less than sixty meters away. "Do you wish to see what's at the end of the corridor, your grace?"

"Watch your step," Liburnius warned them strolling ahead with the use of his cane with Onorio following him with the oil lamp. There were torches placed on the walls but the floor had wet spots and debris, with the tunnel like corridor only partially supported by wooden beams. The workers moved aside for them to pass through. Lucius counted thirty meters in a slight northeastern direction, before the corridor led them into a domed room, where a round altar was constructed out of fine marble. With a diameter of about two meters, it appeared like a round table bolted on the tiled floor.

"A tomb? Behind the auditorium?" Lucius asked in a quiet voice, carefully approaching one of the workers sweeping the dirt from the cracked table. The whole underground room looked quite unstable, with roots and water leaking from the disintegrating walls. The weight of the lake pressing the ground behind the north-facing round walls.

"Where are the statuettes?" Liburnius queried and the worker brought them a large box packed with hay, where several fragmented figurines had been placed inside.

Lucius had stooped over the flat surface of the marble altar and examined the carved a finger-deep circle at the raised and flat walls of its circumference, the carved out center evenly divided with twelve triangles as if this was a time-measuring device. His finger traced the dirt away from the Lorian capital letters, very familiar despite the fact these engravings were extremely old. Each part had its own markings carved on the marble's surface, mostly worn out or even cracked from time. At the smaller side of the triangle facing the outer edge of the table's/circle's, a hollowed out portion could be observed.

"Each statuette had a bulge at its bottom," Liburnius said and gave Lucius a figurine that was once covered in polished bronze. It had corroded away, mostly green rust remaining over the marble core that still showcased the identity of the depicted person. Lucius' thumb run over the bulging breasts and worn-out covered in rust long-haired goddess. Then he stared at the shrine in front of him and stooped to place the figurine on its outer edge, inserting the protrusion in one of the holes, before he paused unsure.

"An altar to the gods looking at the realm at its center. Concealed to resemble the months of the year," Liburnius said, noticing the hesitant king. "Not any gods, but the gods we know today for the most part. Some of them at least. Not any number of gods also," the academic continued and used his cane to tap on the various parts of the divided equally circle. "But twelve of them exactly."

"That's Mavors," Lucius pointed out recognizing the Lorian letters. "Tyeus. A spear and a helm carved on the stone underneath it. Did they fear time would wear out the letters?" Liburnius nodded and instructed the worker to give him another figurine. It was partially broken, missing an extended arm. Lucius who had stooped to discern the worn out writing, noticed the carving under a cracked portion of the surface. "A lighting. Uher's Light," he told Liburnius who passed him the figurine, the King slotted on the table carefully. He traced a finger across following the lines and cleaned the dirt from the hole on the base of the triangle. "Oras? Rex infernus for Oras hells?"

"We don't know. Some of the symbols do match rather nicely. Others, not at all. Here, Naossis can be placed next to Mavors. The trident could be Abrakas, paired with a strange Valkyrie, but it is clear these gods deviate too-much from the Five Gods of the Issirs, the expanded pantheon of Jelin, or even the Old Gods of the Zilan. We have the latter in writing and paintings. The long-eared Nesande. The Wyvern-shaped beast that is Eodrass. Strangely Abrakas is probably present, somehow. There is no sign of Luthos at all."

"So what?" Sabinus asked.

"They are already codified. This took some effort to create very early in our history," Lucius translated what Liburnius was saying for Sabinus, who snorted not very impressed. "If this is the older part of the dig, since it stands deeper in the ground," Lucius expounded. "Then this Dodekatheon stood before and time diluted it, influenced by the pagan northern gods."

"This is paganism also. It must be, but it stands too well-formed. There are pagans still in Lesia," Onorio pointed out, while carefully removing dirt with a cloth from the altar. "Dwarves also, who refuse to accept the Five, but their gods don't match what we have here."

"Why is that?" Lucius asked.

"Because they are pagans and believe in anything impressing them, your grace? Rocks and rivers, even crocodiles and old-whales?" Onorio replied.

"The problem is, some distinct facts of our current realm must always translate into a religion born of it," Liburnius argued. "Even for those of us who stand less pious. Alas, as of yet we have found some very important Jelin facts absent."

"Wyverns are missing from this pantheon," Lucius noticed and Liburnius nodded.

"And Magic. Also no God has long ears or appears as a gnome. This… makes them strange. Names don't matter, as they could change with time, but such a striking fact can't easily fade from memory and when this was carved in stone, the wyverns ruled," Liburnius continued. "They were still around a couple of centuries ago and we are pretty knowledgeable today about events that happened as far back as five centuries, even seven. Not everything in mythology is accurate, but the wyverns are mentioned aplenty. Everywhere, but on this altar. You'd think if this was built to preserve knowledge of the world after the flood for fear Jelin would be gone, then big parts of our realm, important details, where completely ignored."

"How does a people so involved in this realm's affairs," Lucius asked the obvious question the two scholars had been debating about. "Secretly worship these gods and seek to preserve them for an eternity? Why was it important? Why do the tales leave this vital part out?"

"Fear," Liburnius replied his hypothetical query. "Of what people don't understand."

Lucius frowned and taking a step back, returned the figurine to the worker.

"This is an impressive knowledge of stonemasonry," he finally said after perceiving the ruined underground shrine for a long moment. "Not in here, but out there. In the columns and the roads. The frescos still visible on the walls. It appears our ancestors had a full grasp of architecture for a nomadic nation. An army on the move, doesn't care about art and marble decorations."

"Could a Legion be birthed out of such a culture?" Onorio asked with a grimace of fear, then added respectfully. "Your grace?"

"It can't," Lucius replied. "No organized army can form without a structured nation behind it, Onorio. Which is why we have called the story of the 'sons of Macer', a mythology." It was Lesia's argument that the Legion story wasn't a myth or a 'misinterpreted early army formation' living in their ancestors heads. "But what Liburnius has unearthed here, appears to point to a peoples who knew much more, which makes the story of our struggles so strange to believe. Have we gone backwards then? For we had to come back from the brink of defeat in the tales, hunted down across the continent and constantly under attack by our enemies or even the elements! The Legion doesn't retreat gentlemen, it redeploys to fight anew!"

Liburnius accepted a folded item, the worker had dug out of the box and then proceeded to place it on the altar.

"What is this?" Lucius grunted still heated from his earlier rare outburst, knowing the archaeologists loved keeping small surprises for their 'influential' guests to further fuel their excavations. He could see why Reynard had difficulty to accept the constant drain of his treasury by the willowy scholars.

Onorio went to unfurl the object or objects. Something clanged on the marble when he handled it which brought a frown on Liburnius face. When Onorio finally left everything there over the crumbled dirty cloth and moved away not to obstruct the king's view, Lucius realized he was looking at three different pieces of rusted metal. Brick-red in color. The first was the front part —including the pointy tip— of a cracked and broken gladius and the other two parts, the metal insert piece of a dagger's handle missing the wooden grip and another piece of rusted portion of a blade, he couldn't narrow down.

The king reached to take the ancient steel metal in his hand and his fingertips turned red upon touching the blade. "You found them dropped in here?"

"Not dropped. A young digger found a loose tile and put a shovel in the crack. Before anyone could stop him, he'd plucked that thing out. Then he went digging furiously despite efforts to restrain him. He managed a couple of good heaves in the loose soil looking for gold, but hit a fused pile of rusted junk instead, just under the chamber's floor," Liburnius explained and showed him a covered with a sheet and long planks part of the tiled floor, hidden behind the table-like marble altar. "The ground beneath our feet had taken in water over the centuries, as all this was flooded at one point and whatever they had secured inside this hiding place, slowly dissolved and turned to dirt."

"Under the floor tiles," Lucius grunted, with a hard stare at the nervous and at the same time elated Onorio Bato.

A cache of steel weapons hidden inside an ancient temple and the story of Manius 'one of Macer's sons', who finally returned after centuries of struggle to Canlita Sea's shores to get back the lands they had lost. How he spent 'a week bathing in the lake's waters' after he had succeeded, almost drowning twice in order to cleanse himself from 'the onus of the old defeat.'

There was no intention of cleansing anything even if a modicum of cleanliness had been achieved unintentionally, Lucius thought. The ancient warrior was searching much more than that in the then still flooded ruins.

"It is as old as the structure above it, at least," Liburnius had replied to his words with a deep sigh. "The lad can be very annoying with his constant gloating," the scholar added with a grimace of anger directed at his younger colleague.

"It's not gloating," Onorio protested unconvincingly, whilst beaming with pride. "But this means our ancestors knew of steel weapons since the beginning."

"How did they do that when the iron mines hadn't been discovered yet?" Liburnius grunted.

"We found an old gladius stamped with a Legion's logo in the desert, some kilometers away from Luciopolis," Lucius informed them and the two archaeologist turned silent. "It was by pure chance, as it was probably buried in the sands for quite a while and a patrol happened upon it."

"Units escaping after the battle of the Lorian Plains?" Onorio asked.

"I said 'a legion's logo' and not one of our legions because we have no idea what this unit was," Lucius grunted and then added, much to the young academic's elation. "Or where it came from."

'It could have been here, I suppose,' the Zilan Galadriel had told him sympathetically some months back, and she meant 'out of the desert', or 'any other place.'

'But no one bothered to ask, and it's been a very long time since then.'

Any other place, a troubled Lucius thought staring at the lowly, ancient piece of broken blade. Fully rusted, and brick red in color, like the colors of Regia. The colors of the Legion.

Like the fabled land of rabbits.

"Praetor Maximus," Sir Valgus reported, stooping to enter the underground chamber, earning the ire of the two archaeologists who glared at him in order to lower his echoing on the ancient walls voice. "Ehem, the Legatus and his entourage arrived," he added in a calmer manner.

"His wife made the trip so soon?" Lucius asked a little perturbed, since she had just delivered a boy, and expected Antonius to arrive at the end of the month. The Lorian knight furrowed his brows, afore replying in the same restrained voice.

"No sire," Valgus said. "I believe, he left her behind."

"Sounds like our Legatus, Sir Valgus," Lucius commented returning the piece of ancient blade to the worker hefting the box.

"Certainly does, sire," Sir Valgus agreed.

The King departed soon after, but not before casting one last glance at the ancient chamber with its weathered walls, the marble altar adorned with just two figurines out of the twelve, and ultimately the box that held what their forebears deemed equally vital to safeguard alongside their deities.

Not gold or other treasures, but rather a collection of aged steel weapons.

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