Duty Came Knocking. It Is Time To Answer ((Elijah))

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Duty Came Knocking. It Is Time To Answer ((Elijah))

Post by Sarpedon Illicon on Fri May 01, 2015 4:36 pm

Saar tossed his backpack onto his bed. The bag wasn't required for guard duty, but beyond being more of a workout it allowed him to be prepared in the event of an emergency. Some people called him paranoid, but Saar saw it as being safe. It was his duty to be vigilant, especially while on duty. If someone died because he'd left his needle back in the barracks, unable to sew a wound shut, it would be his fault. Giving his armour the once over in a mirror, he grunted in satisfaction, seeing the metal gleam and shine from the sunlight streaming through the open windows.

It was time. He'd given the Praetor's more than enough time to get their act together. Rome could not be ruled by the same two people for this long. It was not right. Ultimate Imperium had to rotate, or you would get Caesar and Pompey all over again. It might not be this year, or the next, but it would come, and it would bring with it the deaths of far too many Romans. The battle of Pharsalus had been even more costly to the Roman senate and leadership than Cannae. Consuls had rotated, it was how it had to be. It had worked for over four hundred years, establishing Rome as a nation never to be forgotten. The position of Praetorship had originated as a compromise for the people; the only way the Senate would let a Plebian leader be Consul was to instill a Praetor to take upon himself some of the Consul's original duties. Now there were no Consuls; Praetors ruled, but they didn't rotate as their once superiors had done, and they were in all but name Consul Infinitum, practically a pair of Princeps. The thought of that sat sour on his stomach. Things had to change. The way the Romans were governing themselves was not sustainable, and their attitude towards the Greeks was far worse. Things were hostile, things were frosty at best. A Greek may have been in part responsible for the destruction of Camp Jupiter, but his actions didn't speak for the whole people, especially when it was the Greeks who'd helped Camp Jupiter 2.0 up and onto its feet. If the Romans were ever to rise again, they had to either collaborate with their Hellenic neighbours, or conquer them. The latter was both practically impossible, and not required if a peaceful solution could be found, and it definitely should. Else there was a most vicious poison at the heart of the matter. It was only hurting both camps to continue this passive aggressive relationship, and it boggled Saar's mind that the Praetor's allowed it to develop and flourish. Saar had seen the raw hatred, the bitterness, the prejudistic and almost animalistic fury of Calla Torquatas - Centurion of the Second - directed at the Greeks. She may be a veteran, but her judgement was clearly impaired and biased, only a blind man could miss that. Either the Praetor's were completely ignorant, or they willfully turned the other way, choosing to let one of their leaders spread this racist and destructive attitude. Both options were just as bad.

Saar had been searching the old archives, searching for something about his family, his parents, why they'd left Rome. He'd found it, an old battered leather tome had sat dusty in a corner of the Library.

It was the only book he'd ever burned. And hopefully it would be the last.

It was sad seeing Calla's rage devouring her; little flashes of memory had come back to him and Saar had remembered playing with Calla as a boy, his size making up for his age. She'd been so happy back then. Things changed, and not always for the better. People and situations evolved, never to return to what once was.

Rolling his shoulders, Saar headed for the Principia, the offices of the Praetors. It was almost like the pair hadn't even bothered hiding that similarity to Augustus' title, Princeps, taking it as their mantle instead. He stood in the doorway for a moment, letting his eyes adjust before entering. The door was half open, and the blonde demigod rapped his regular knock, before stepping smartly inside. Saar was well aware of how rigid his body was, how tightly his fists were balled behind his back and how tensely his muscles were coiled, ready to spring at a moment's notice. Praetor Emmanuel certainly was no traditional Roman leader. While that was not in itself reason to right the man off, especially since the Camp was ran relatively competently, Saar couldn't shake the feeling that here was the source of the chaos at Rome's beating heart, and not because of his ancestry. Here was the source of conflict and continuing divide between the two camps. Here was a man who refused to lay down his Imperium. He couldn't back up those feelings, but Saar was a good judge of character. It didn't feel like Elijah intended harm to Rome in any way, at least not yet, but harm he would bring. The precedent Elijah was setting was deadly for Rome. Greetings Praetor Emmanuel. Saar made sure his greeting was as crisp and sharp as physically possible, one hundred percent protocol. There would be nothing to punish him for in that respect. There is an issue that must be resolved. It can wait no longer. He'd planned out every phrase, every word. Careful steps had to be made. If this was to work, Saar had to remain in the right, remain within regulations, no matter what Elijah threw at him. It was not well hidden that Elijah used to settle disputes with his fists, and while force was sometimes required, Saar got the feeling that in his case it had not been done with regret, pause or restraint.
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Sarpedon Illicon
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