dxngerous-dxys - Tumblr blog

[dxngerous-dxys]

Sorry about being slow here ( and elsewhere ), I've just been struggling with depression.

I'll get over it. But right now, writing seems to be tedious and soul draining for me.

[dxngerous-dxys]

Moriamur, et in media arma ruamus.

- Vergil

Let us die, and let us rush into the middle of the battle.

[dxngerous-dxys]

Roman eagle, 1st century AD.

This superb sculpture, one of the best preserved of the legendary Roman eagles, was found in the foothills of the Baths of Caracalla in Rome, Italy, in 1742

[dxngerous-dxys]

One of the panels of a mosaic of a cheery skeleton uncovered in Turkey in 2016, probably dated to the Late Roman era Antioch. The word can be transliterated as EUPHROSYNOS (cheerful).

[dxngerous-dxys]

Facts about Quintus

Quintus was born to Mennonites in Chihuahua, Mexico.

Quintus is agnostic. Growing up, he practiced the anabaptist faith. When that was ripped away from him, he worshipped Mars. After the campaign against the hangdogs, he secretly abandoned his faith.

Despite his Legion indoctrination, Quintus still holds onto some of his old heritage. He still speaks some words of Plautdietsch.

Quintus carries an M1911, chambered for 45 APC. He maintains the pistol in working order.

The Denver campaign heavily traumatized Quin. He developed an uncomfortable, irrational fear of cold weather. 

He often misinterprets pre-war culture. He assumes “General Atomics” was actually some sort of army general. Regardless, he doesn’t care much to correct his ignorance.

Despite not being as aggressive with his misogyny. He still treats women as inferior. He simply views them being unable to fight. Thusly, he views The NCR allowing women into their army as barbaric.

[dxngerous-dxys]

She came to me one morning. One lonely Sunday morning. Her long hair flowing in the mid-winter wind. I know not how she found me, for in darkness I was walking. And destruction lay around me from a fight I could not win.

{ Muse - Quintus }

{ Tired Legionary seeking to escape his fate. }

{ Semi-Selective / Crossover Friendly }

{ Bio. } / { PSA. } / { Rules. }

[dxngerous-dxys]

A very Merry, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! I pray that everyone enjoys the holiday spirit.  I also pray that you find yourself in good spirits and good company.

The year itself has had some ups and downs. Regardless, we’ve nearly towards 2024. I hope the coming year will be kinder for everyone. That our dreams will be achieved and prosperous.

It's easy to get bogged down by the world. We become too hyper focused on what’s going wrong. Nobody’s immune to that. Regardless, there’s still a lot good in this world. A lot of good waiting for us in the coming year.

Once more, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

[dxngerous-dxys]

More and more, Quintus resisted the urge to shut Cicero’s mouth forever. The Decanus never suffered fools. Yet, he knew Cicero was no fool. Just someone wanting a reaction.

Grinding his teeth, Quintus frowns and nods. His knuckles turn white, then release. He felt the blood boiling. The heart pumping venom.

He imagined his hands around Cicero’s neck. Slowly squeezing the life from his miserable coil. The thought was tempting. But, being lashed to a cross for treason, even less so. Burying the hatred, he laughs. A cold, forced laughter, that never overstays it’s welcome.

“Mayhaps you will. After all, the slaves could only provide so little entertainment.”

He grinds his teeth once more. A tic that symbolized frustration and anger. More so, anger above all else. Quintus slouches, his eyes staring upwards briefly. Birds occupy his mind.

“Tell me, mouth, have you ever stabbed a man. Not from behind, mind you, but from the front. Just close enough to see his eyes. Have you?”

The Mouth . . . .

Cicero’s title hangs over Quintus, contemplating it. So, this one was close to Vulpes. The Legionnaire could only ponder what the other accomplished for that dubious honor.

No different from how he earned his rank, Quintus thought. Despite their titles, they’re murderers. Each and everyone.

“Yes, I’m sure he does.”

Quintus said, indifferent to the greeting. Still, behind those eyes was some . . . weariness. The Decanus was suspicious, paranoid even. He wondered why Cicero, “The Mouth”, was even here? Could he be on his way upriver? Or, awaiting orders from Caesar or Vulpes?

Could he be here for him?

Playing along, Quintus soon sat down. A captured NCR rifle crate served as his resting place.

“So, you’re staying here? Or heading upriver to The Fort? I’m only curious, I could less about where you’re going or staying.”

[dxngerous-dxys]

The Mouth . . . .

Cicero’s title hangs over Quintus, contemplating it. So, this one was close to Vulpes. The Legionnaire could only ponder what the other accomplished for that dubious honor.

No different from how he earned his rank, Quintus thought. Despite their titles, they’re murderers. Each and everyone.

“Yes, I’m sure he does.”

Quintus said, indifferent to the greeting. Still, behind those eyes was some . . . weariness. The Decanus was suspicious, paranoid even. He wondered why Cicero, “The Mouth”, was even here? Could he be on his way upriver? Or, awaiting orders from Caesar or Vulpes?

Could he be here for him?

Playing along, Quintus soon sat down. A captured NCR rifle crate served as his resting place.

“So, you’re staying here? Or heading upriver to The Fort? I’m only curious, I could less about where you’re going or staying.”

@dxngerous-dxys

Continued from here.

“Not for long, I hope.” Quintus narrowed his eyes to Cicero. Searching, he tried deciphering WHY this Frumentarii was here. He guarded his suspicion, lest Cicero become aware of his weariness. Shaking his head, Quin turns and grabs an oil skin. He tossed the skin to Cicero, which contained water. He would be far from a “welcoming” host. Drinking once more, he walked away and peered towards the rocks surrounding Cottonwood Cove. “The Rangers have not visited us in some days. Then again, no reason to let our guard down. I'm sure they come again. Soon." Quin turns to Cicero once more and finally greets him properly. Introducing his name. Though, he suspected the other might already know that. “I’m Quintus. Veteran Decanus in service of Caesar and Mars. I know what you are, except for your name.”

The various holsters and pouches on his belt clatter as Cicero shifts from one hip to the other. Obviously irritated with this Decanus' questioning and all around presence. He didn't have time to deal with the masses. But he supposed if he was 'imposing' then he owed some sort of 'pleasantries'. As unpleasant as they were to be.

The skin tossed to him is snatched rapidly from the air and looked over. Liquid. Water he presumed. Uncorking it and taking a sniff, it betrays his caution of all things. Even offerings from 'comrades'. He takes a small sip and closes it once more, watching the other willingly turn his back to him. Obviously he didn't know exactly who he was. As made apparent by his admission.

"They always do. Like lambs to slaughter they return to our borders where they don't belong."

The NCR coming to them is of little to no consequence. After all, he was not typically on the front lines. And regardless, it saves them the trip of walking to them didn't it?

"Decanus Quintus. 'Quin' if I recall correctly. Always a pleasure to put a face to a name I suppose.

Frumentarii Cicero. Cicero Sinclaire. 'Mouth' to Master Vulpes, who always extends his greetings alongside my own."

@dxngerous-dxys

[dxngerous-dxys]

“Not for long, I hope.”

Quintus narrowed his eyes to Cicero. Searching, he tried deciphering WHY this Frumentarii was here. He guarded his suspicion, lest Cicero become aware of his weariness.

Shaking his head, Quin turns and grabs an oil skin. He tossed the skin to Cicero, which contained water. He would be far from a “welcoming” host. Drinking once more, he walked away and peered towards the rocks surrounding Cottonwood Cove.

“The Rangers have not visited us in some days. Then again, no reason to let our guard down. I'm sure they come again. Soon."

Quin turns to Cicero once more and finally greets him properly. Introducing his name. Though, he suspected the other might already know that.

“I’m Quintus. Veteran Decanus in service of Caesar and Mars. I know what you are, except for your name.”

{ Noticing Cicero, Quin becomes weary and suspicious. Canteen in hand, he drinks before welcoming the other. Quin was 'slightly' out of uniform, with his chest bare of armor or cloth. Scars and healed wounds decorated his chest. } "A Frumentarii in our camp? What a joyous . . . occasion. Do I even deserve to stand in your presence?"

One 'Quintus', 'Quin' to friends from what he has gathered in his small time spent at Cottonwood. In truth, Cicero was merely passing through on his way to the Fort. He'd been walking for a good long while and figured he'd take a small rest here before reporting back to his master.

But it would seem that he is a bit... unwelcome.

Not that this one could turn him away even if he thought he could.

A lot of the foot soldiers didn't like the Frumentarii. Sneaky snitches with little honor. One's who would have no qualms or question of said 'honor' while stabbing you in the back. Plus, they had plenty of perks that most wouldn't be afforded. But this one's distaste didn't feel like jealousy.

"Joyous for you, I'm sure," He rolls his shoulders a bit, "I'll allow you to bask in it. "

@dxngerous-dxys

[dxngerous-dxys]

Statues in the Tuileries gardens being protected from air raids, 1940

[dxngerous-dxys]

january 25, 2022

[dxngerous-dxys]

Crested Butte, CO

[dxngerous-dxys]

In the coming days, I’m gonna write about Quintus’s experiences during The Colorado Campaign.  That ‘meat-grinder’ cemented his hatred for Lanius and Caesar. It also broke his indoctrination, just enough to allow some self-reflection in.

Also importantly, writing about The Legion’s ‘winter war’ in Colorado just sounds grand. Lots of good stories to tell there.

I have one story, where Quintus and his men go toe-to-toe with a Rouge Brotherhood Paladin, styling himself as a “technological warlock”. The savage fight goes down inside what remains of the National Center for Atmospheric Research.

But more importantly, I just wanna write the grit, horror and savagery of that campaign. How Quintus nearly lost his sanity in the biting cold of Colorado. Or how he witnessed things he cannot explain.

[dxngerous-dxys]

{ Omertas? The name was strange to Quin. On Gabban’s frustration alone, they were troublesome. Debased and consumed with misrule. Though, Caesar sees some sort of value. Cannon fodder? A sacrificial lamb to distract the bear? }

“I’ve never met an Omerta. I doubt they would survive me. I’m impatient with such filth.”

{ There was venom in that last word. Quin’s green eyes narrowed somewhat. Then, they cooled. The eyes were consumed with that lazy haze, once more. Slowly, he rises. He rolled his shoulders, stretching. He leaves the shade and embraces the sun. Pondering, he scratches his chin. }

“I cannot imagine your burden, Frumentarii. To be sent into the den of thieves and murders. How will you survive?”  

@dxngerous-dxys

“Doubtless an easy task.”

{ Quintus quip while resting in the shade. Lazily, he rises, standing tall. He looked upon Gabban with weary curiosity. He was not fond of Frumentarii. They did not shed enough of their blood. }

{ Though, he wanted to know what troubled him. If only, to amuse himself. He was curious on who troubled Gabban. }

“Tell me, Frumentarius, what profligates trouble you?”

It was rare to see Quintus resting like a tired and sun-beaten dog. They, like many other soldiers, worked tirelessly for the bull. Always busy, their hands hard at labor. Yet there he was in the cool shade, easing the hardship of his days with the simple reprieve of a desert tree. 

The strangeness of this lazy appearance was what made Gabban speak. In fact, it was only when the other responded that he noticed he´d actually voiced his thoughts. 

The frumentarius shook his head and idly popped the joint of his wrist as he stretched it. “Profligates I must work with, orders from above. Omertas. Worse than raider filth, sicker than most outsiders I´d say. I doubt you've met any. Or if you have, they must not have survived their encounter with you.”

[dxngerous-dxys]

{ Quintus recognized the emblem stitched on her sleeve. He knew about The Followers. The concepts of ‘charity’ and ‘humanitarianism’ were foreign. Weak, even. In this world, might makes right. That was what he knew. All he knew. }

{ Trusting Kira, he lowered his gun. Though, he kept it close by. Slowly he sat down, while his eyes watched Kira wearily. He hated being in this situation. He hated . . . helplessness. }

“A wound. What do you expect woman.”

{ Annoyed, he sneered at her. He tensed up, feeling his wound throb with pain. He suffered worst before, but pain was pain. }

“I was shot. That’s what you will find. A bullet wound.”

{ The Decanus was wounded badly. His mangled arm bleeds through his meager bandages. The healing power was not strong enough. Regardless, he trained his gun on Kira. He was weak, but capable of violence. } "You . . . help me."

It wasn't a totally uncommon situation. She really needed to stop wearing identifiable markers on her person. The dirty white coat under her ragged coat wasn't the culprit this time, but the Followers of the Apocalypse emblem pinned to her sleeve.

Guns made her nervous, but it was the wolfish eyes deep set in the man's face that put her on edge. He meant business.

"There's no need for such extremes-" She mumbles, stopping in her tracks and opening her bag. Digging for supplies.

"Sit. Tell me what I'm going to see under the dressing."

She pulls out a kit and a baggie of bandages. Might as well get this over with as soon as possible.

[dxngerous-dxys]

"The profligates are testing my sanity!!!"

“Doubtless an easy task.”

{ Quintus quip while resting in the shade. Lazily, he rises, standing tall. He looked upon Gabban with weary curiosity. He was not fond of Frumentarii. They did not shed enough of their blood. }

{ Though, he wanted to know what troubled him. If only, to amuse himself. He was curious on who troubled Gabban. }

“Tell me, Frumentarius, what profligates trouble you?”