#more of a backline garrison force than a real fighting force

[deepspaceboytoy]

So are legionnaires enhanced in any way, or is it all just the armour?

I actually have a little write up about legionaries that I need to post but yes, legionaries undergo extensive biological enhancement during basic training. The Imperial military sets specific goals for recruits before they get deployed, including a mandatory 7’6 height and 320 pound minimum weight (achieved by surgical and chemical procedures, these minimums are necessary to fit the dimensions of their armor) and they also grow redundant organs and a secondary nervous system to render them more resistant to battlefield trauma and injury. Legionaries are like extremely extensively enhanced, although unlike their obvious parallel, Space Marines, there’s billions of the bastards because the Imperium has the resources and tech to maintain that many.

[visionofnoxus]

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// Here you go. A little peak into the past of both our characters. Maybe headcanon, maybe not?

“Have infantry brace for impact. They will throw themselves on us en masse, attempting to break our ranks” the noxian commander guided his officers, the messengers being deployed immediately. “The pikemen remain immediately behind the outer perimeter. Their infantry is chaff but those horsemen are lightning fast. Should they see an opening, they’ll break through and tear open our lines from behind” The man’s lips drew into a thin line at the thought. “Do not let that happen gentlemen or else these dunes will become our grave”. He cast his eyes on the far side of the battlefield, eyeing the enemy commander, the shuriman’s figure clear as he stood on the chariot, the blue sky as his background. Golden ornaments and colorful clothes made the leader stand out like an eyesore. “How pompous” Swain muttered to himself, glancing at his command staff. 

All of them wore loose robes of mute colors, tightened only around openings to block out the ever shifting sands. Their insignia’s and such were pinned on shoulders of the garbs but other than that, there were little differences between them and the shuriman soldiers. Likewise, the noxian troops, while wearing their armor to battle, had discarded leather and sturdy cloth in favor of local clothing, wearing only scarves of crimson and black to mark their allegiance to their nation. The fact was that while northeners’ weapons and armor bit just as well as before, their clothes, uniforms and most of the infrastructure had no place on the dry wasteland and the burning deserts of Shurima. As such, by the command of colonel Jericho Swain, the warband had refitted itself almost entirely, the heavy infantry the only ones still clad in dark iron, and even they wore light cloth on top of their armors, discarding them just moments before entering the fray, which day did only at the last possible moment to conserve their strength.

Crossing his arms, Swain let his thoughts for a brief moment wander to the next phase. Once this battle was won, the Noxians would have land access to the port city of Nashramae from their garrisons in Tereshni. With that, the empire would be uniting the entirety of northern Shuriman coast. The colonel smiled at the thought. With the entirety of the coast under their rule, Noxus could begin truly expanding southward and in a couple of decades the entirety of Shurima would be added to the empire. And all that stood between the empire and their conquest was some local chieftain controlling the city. “All too easy”.

“Colonel! Colonel Swain!” Came the alarmed shouting of a messenger arriving on horseback, eliciting a frown from the commander. “Take over. Maintain the defensive formation and charge when their offense breaks” He ordered his second-in-command, turning to resolve the new development, whatever it was. 

The courier stared at him, his eyes wide with shock, his voice trembling. “Sir! The rear guard and our reserves too, they are under attack!” He explained, fighting the inner turmoil to relay information quickly. “An enemy has broken through and is charging our command position. Lieutenant Grahan ordered a stalling action to buy time, but it’s tearing through our troops without slowing down”. Swain blinked a few times, confused. “What is the enemy like? Horsemen? Or some local beasts with infantry unit on the trail?” He guessed, trying to understand what was going on. “No sir… a single giant man. And we think he is a mage”. “A single man? A single individual soldier broke through our rear guard?” Swain asked with confusion, receiving a nod. Decisions had to be made fast. The battle had suddenly changed it’s nature and whatever this new development was, it warranted a change in strategy. “Captain, keep up the defense, do not break formation and do not pursue, should the enemy break. I am taking the heavy infantry to a special task”. His second-in-command overseeing the front line looked puzzled, but she was a veteran officer, nodding and not asking questions. “Yes sir”.

A few minutes later, Swain looked upon the backline of his army, annoyance and awe fighting for the main spot in his mind at the sight. It was as they’d said. At the eye of a strange miniature sandstorm, a single enormous man was cleaving his way through the loose formation of infantry surrounding him, advancing in steady jogging pace. The raging wind and sand made it a challenge to approach the figure, the flying sand razor sharp blinding and impeding the defenders. And those who made it through, the strange pole-arm weapon cleaved and swatted aside. “What are you..?” Swain wondered while staring at the hooded figure, motioning for the heavy infantry to discard their robes and prepare. 

Wrapping a scarf around his face in preparation against the storm the warrior would bring, Swain lowered down from his horse. “A halberd” He ordered, taking the offered weapon from his adjutant. The Noxian’s officer’s sword would do little against such a massive foe. The Master Tactician was absolutely convinced the warrior was coming for him. He’d felt the moment his attention had turned towards the colonel on horseback. “Crescent formation on me. We surround him and cripple him. Aim for the legs. Shurimans don’t wear armor there. Once he falls, finish him off” Swain ordered, seeing the storm so very close already, positioning himself at the center of the soldiers. Now then… Let’s see just how mighty you are…

And then the maelstrom of sand, wind and raw violence hit them. The enormous figure leaped through the last of the light infantry, entering the kill field Swain had prepared in stride befitting of any foolish demacian knight. The arcane powered winds struck at the men around Swain but he’d chosen carefully and they resisted the initial impact, moving methodically for the kill. A low growl like that of an angry drakehound reverberated from the warrior, yet this one so much deeper and potent than even the mightiest alphas of the warhounds. And then it struck, the strange staff swirled in the air, sending several armor clad men flying, shattering bones beneath the dark iron plate. From the depths of the hood, a pair of piercing eyes glared at Noxians in primal challenge. The stave came around for another strike, warrior’s reach so long the noxians had yet to attempt even a single strike. Another handful of northerners fell to the sands. First few men managed to step close enough though and brought down their war axes and great swords to cut down the warrior, but it was for naught, their weapons incapable of hurting the shuriman. By some sorcery, his skin was too thick, the blades not finding purchase. And with a mighty kick, both warriors were sent flying, the enemy’s focus turning to Swain, the colonel bracing for the inevitable, knowing he did not stand a chance. He did not know what this was, but there was no power that he commanded that could turn the tide against the warrior. His trap and the strength of his mightiest warriors had not brought him victory. The sheer brute strength and martial prowess had overcome his strategies and guile. Making peace with himself, he whispered: “For Noxus”, preparing for futile charge against the enemy. He’d die like a noxian should, with a weapon in hand. But that devastating blow never came. Years later, Swain still wondered if the creature came to regret it’s choice later on.

“You are the commander of the army. Seize your campaign, Noxian” Came the deep voice from the depths of the hood, the warrior staring down at him, the battle halted yet the sandstorm raging around the two, cutting off the intrusions of the lesser men. “You will find nothing but death, should you press your invasion” It declared, pointing it’s stave at his chest. “Shurima offers no riches or resources your empire desires, only sand, wind and death. Let it’s memory slumber in peace. Let it’s people go about their lives unmolested” It declared. Swain blinked, fighting the tears that the sandstorm was drawing out of him. The Master Tactician felt confusion and outrage at the bold  demand of the warrior, but he couldn’t help but trust it. The conviction with which it spoke was unnerving. It sounded like a promise and a threat. His mind ran calculations. A single warrior like this had undone his plans. If there were more… “If I pull my forces, what of our holdings?” He shouted to the wind, bargaining with the warrior. “I am not a general. Treat those you’ve taken well and you’ll not hear of me. Abuse them, or reach for more, and I’ll raise the very sands of the desert to swallow you and your forces” it promised him. There was no real choice in Swain’s eyes. “So be it Shuriman. Leave and I’ll withdraw. I’ll urge my country to seize the campaign” he promised, the creature staring at him, it’s piercing gaze scanning his very soul for a sign of treachery. When it found none, it nodded. “Remember, Noxian” came the last cryptic words, and with that, it was gone, like a mirage. 

The winds calmed, leaving Swain standing, surrounded by dead and injured, all power leaving his limbs, him dropping the halberd and falling on his knees with sheer exhaustion. The nearby soldiers ran up to him, crouching down. “Colonel, are you alright? Where is the enemy?” They all asked, confused. Wrenching the scarf from his head, Swain gasped for breath, staring up at the bright blue sky and the merciless sun, it’s rays painting the desert in golden hue littered by the fallen and dying. “We are withdrawing. Sound the retreat” He ordered. What a disaster. He’d have to come up with an explanation for High Command.