Big commission for  luprand!

This is another, and possibly the final, Palamani commission; but this time, we're playing things a little different. Learn what became of the Palamani Dominion, and how the mighty, musclebound empire fell. Hint: a loooot of fat. Stay tuned for Part 2!

<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>

Yves ©  luprand
Everything else © c'est moi

---

“...so we’re getting to the meat of today’s lesson… why did the Palamani Dominion fall?” Professor Albert twisted his mouth into a smirk, rolling his broad shoulders. “How did a nation that was strength incarnate collapse? After the reported miracle of Roland, the Dominion became a nation of paradox; it was more practical, and yet more fanatically religious than ever. More merciful, but even more expansionary. It walked a fine line between liberal and tyrannical, ruling with an Iron fist, but rarely using that fist after initial conquests, which would soon begin chipping away at even its former ally in Da-Zhou. The Imperators that reigned after Renard and Claudia walked a tightrope for two centuries, maintaining a golden age that was slowly becoming gilded, and once the famous Jidou plant died out in its native Da-Zhou, it tarnished altogether. Although the Palamani had foresight, and had smuggled the plant out of Da-Zhou at great risk, Imperator Valentulus Maximus, crowned on the auspicious first day of the year 300 in the Fourth Age would be the last to rule a united Dominion; Jidou was increasingly a commodity hoarded by the rich and the nobility, hidden away in vast plantations guarded by private armies. After his death, his sons fought over his reserves of Jidou in a devastating Civil War that almost saw that most vital plant wiped out, as burning Jidou plantations was a popular tactic on all sides of the conflict, made easier with the introduction of cannon and artillery warfare. The war ended after fifty long years, and although the victor, one Grantulian Neptunus, was crowned with a golden laurel at the peak of Virtus before the Temple of the Strong, he ruled a Dominion that was a collection of petty kingdoms and half-starved city-states. The nascent Church of Heavenly Light struck the final blow not even three decades later by organizing a rebellion against the Dominion’s religion, and at last, the Eternal Flame that had burned in the Dominion’s capital for centuries,” the burly ram snapped his fingers in a dramatic flair, “was snuffed out.”

The projector changed to a slide showing a map of the Western continent, crowded with the borders of a hundred different kingdoms, city-states, and duchies all jigsawed together. “After the collapse of the Dominion, the Western Kingdoms and the lands of Al-Barrad in the South, free for the first time in over four hundred years, sought to reassert their national identities, primarily in Candaren, Remera, and Garenth. But their time in the Dominion had changed them, instilling a sense of admiration for brute strength, discipline, and individualism that remains with us to this day. Still, the first Hierophant of the Church of Heavenly Light, St. Basilieus, himself a massive man and former soldier of the Dominion, declared the beginning of the Fifth Age, our Age, in a grand ceremony in Old Remera. At long last, the Age of the Palamani was at an end.”

The lights came on, eliciting a collective groan from the class as they screwed their eyes shut. Professor Albert loomed over the first row; he had a commanding presence and a powerfully built body under his tweed jacket. It took nothing but a mere look of his piercing grey eyes over his spectacles, and a tensing of his thick, over-muscled arms to scare even the most rebellious student straight. Canting his head and rubbing one of his horns, he surveyed the class briefly to ensure he had their attention. “Now then, we know the ‘how,’ but we still haven’t hit on the ‘why.’ A thousand years after the fall of the Dominion, and historians are still not able to agree what was the Palamani’s fatal weakness. Was it the introduction of firearms, thus finally levelling the playing field in battle? Was it the gradual shortage of Jidou? Was it the rise of the Church, finally creating a worthy rival for the Palamani god, Roland? Or was it a combination of all three, or even more radical, none of the above? This will be your question to answer. You all have three weeks to give me a fully annotated, properly cited research paper ten pages long-- and no, Sanderson, that is not up for debate-- on why the Palamani Dominion fell. And use a 12 font size, Sanderson. Class dismissed.”

A few of the students grumbled, and a smaller number even took out their frustration on the class’s punching bag; Yves Luprand. The class clown towered over him, and the jocks, all from long lines boasting Palamani blood, took turns head-locking him, their thick, muscular arms digging into him each time before they smacked him on the back. Fellow academics and nerds sniggered down, letting their own thick and well-built chests puff out as they found someone below them in the pecking order. Even the cheerleaders took their shot at the short, chubby dog, teasing him with arm wrestling challenges and threatening to bench press him. Any of his bullies, however, had their sadistic joy sapped away with one steely glare from Professor Albert as they passed out of his room. Finally, as the last students left, Yves sighed deeply, brushing back his thick, curly hair, and collected his things, only to be stopped by the older ram, who was taking up the entire doorway.

“Mr. Luprand, is there any particular reason you let those idiots walk all over you?”

“I-I dunno, it’s not hurting me… much…” Luprand sighed, adjusting his glasses.

The Professor sighed. “I don’t understand it. You’re my most diligent student, probably my smartest, so how did you let this happen to you? If you worked half as hard as you did at your studies, you could easily outclass any of them in terms of strength.” To emphasize his point, the ram rolled back his sleeve and flexed his arm, his bicep rising up dramatically. “This is what separates the West from the rest of the world, Mr. Luprand. Every Western nation since the Palamani has sought to ape it, and it’s made us strong without Jidou. It’s in our blood. I understand, and support, multiculturalism, but the fact of the matter is, when in Remera, do as the Remerans do. Or things aren’t going to get much better for you here.”

The dog shrugged nervously, trying not to linger too long at his teacher’s meaty arm. “It’s just never been for me, Dr. Albert, sir…” He was visibly shrinking now, trying to suck in his gut and puff up his soft chest.

“Mr. Luprand, I’m prepared to make a deal with you. There’s a remedial weightlifting class that Professor Fredrickson teaches for free, out of the kindness of her heart. You promise to take that class, toughen up, and…” Professor Albert presented a key. “I will let you use my collection of Palamani artifacts being housed in the Student Center for your paper. You can have personal access to some of the most valuable pieces for research.”

Yves blinked his eyes, his jaw slack. Access to Professor Albert’s collection was something only given to his star pupils; it was a treasure trove for students serious about their academic careers. “You… you mean it, Dr. Albert?”

“Mr. Luprand, have you ever known me to make a joke?” He smirked, and jutted out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

He hesitated, but Luprand gladly shook the ram’s hand, even as it dwarfed his own.

“Excellent. Now, I expect to see you in the gym, on time, right on the dot. And for Light’s sake, boy, learn to shake a hand like a man.” Professor Albert stepped out of the way to let Luprand pass, handing him a spare key.

The pudgy shep mumbled his thanks again, and then shuffled past the towering ram. He had to admit, his curiosity was palpable… a quick peek wouldn’t be unwarranted, just to see what he was going to be working with.

Yves felt a small, illicit thrill as he felt the tumbles unlock in Professor Albert’s door. He quietly slipped in, and let out a low whistle as he took in the ram’s collection. It wasn’t, perhaps, on the same grade of a museum collection, but there were two long rows of pristine artifacts, tastefully arranged on pedestals and properly labelled. They ranged from works of art and jewellery to weapons and amphorae, all relics of a dead empire.

The student almost crept in, as if he hadn’t been given permission to be here five minutes ago, and his quizzical eye drifted over every artifact until he came to an ornate amphora, standing taller than him. The circumference of the jar was adorned with figures of impossibly wide, muscular senators, draped in robes and togas, laid down on massive recliners as slaves, identified by their smaller size, fed them.

His nose twitched; there was an odd smell about the amphora. Not a bad smell, but it stood out. The plaque alongside the jar identified the piece as coming from the later part of Palamani history: not late enough to be part of the Dominion’s fall, but late enough that the empire was feeling the crunch of a Jidou water shortage. Later on, it was used for something else before getting lost in a basement for a millennia or so. Yves swore he recognized the faint smell wafting from the jar. Was it olive oil? No, it was too pungent for that. Wine?

Yves looked over his shoulder, just to make absolutely certain he was alone. He searched the amphora, and there, along the rim at the top, was a faint stain. Standing on his toes, he stretched further, and then quickly brought a chair over to peer into the amphora. He held out his hands, and flexed his fingers into a faintly coaxing gesture, until tendrils, like smoke coming off from burning embers, slowly drifted up into the palm of his hand. He frowned; he had the smell, but he couldn’t place it just yet. He held out his hand again, trying to recall the scent, but he over-reached; at the bottom of the ancient jar, a liquid was slowly bubbling up. He had summoned the long-lost contents of the amphora, and in a moment of panic, he forgot how to stop it. Trying to reach down, he lost his balance. The canine let out a small yelp as he felt the chair fall behind him, his legs dangling as he tried to right himself and keep the amphora from tipping over; he’d be a dead man if Professor Albert knew he broke such an expensive artifact.

Trying to find his balance, Yves felt himself slip further into the jar, the opening only just big enough for his soft middle, and he fell through. He screamed, but after a few seconds, he soon realized that he had been falling for far longer than should be possible, and the screaming stopped, replaced with a sullen dread. Just what had he literally fallen into? The air rushing around him, faint sounds and a lightning-flash of colors all seemed hollow as he slowly grew anxious, even as the falling sensation gripped his stomach; he had no idea what to expect at the bottom; that was, if there even was a bottom.

It was more than a few minutes until he finally landed with a heavy thud. Luckily for Yves, he had landed on a pile of what appeared to be flour bags. The shepherd groaned, staggering to his feet and rubbing his aching back.

“Oh Light, where am I…?” he moaned. He blinked into the dank gloom of where he was, and started staggering towards the first light he saw in the distance. As his head cleared and he began walking off his aches and pains, he squinted.

This wasn’t the unviersity. He was in a corridor, leading from the storeroom he had fallen into to parts unknown. The walls were plaster and stone, decorated with a simple red border and illuminated by torches in iron brackets. As he staggered his way through the corridor, he collided with a large mass coming from around a corner.

“Hey!”

Yves winced, and spun around. He spotted an extremely burly bull with black fur and cruelly sharp horns, filling the hallway with his wide shoulders and pillar-sized arms. He only wore a plain tunic and a leather apron, the straps digging into a strong, meaty chest. “What are you doing back here, boy? Where’s your father?”

“Uh… back home, probably?” the dog finally answered.

The bull lumbered forward on powerful thighs. “Wait a minute…” He narrowed his eyes, and brought down a torch to get a better look at Yves. “You’re no boy, you’re just… small. What’s wrong with you? You look like you haven’t touched Jidou since the day you were born.”

“Jidou…?” the gears in Yves’ head began to turn. The old clothing, the huge proportions, falling through the amphora… “I’m sorry, I think I’m a bit lost. Where am I?”

“My inn, little man. You’re trespassing in my storeroom.” The bull crossed his arms, biceps digging into his sides.

“Uh… which is in…?”

The bull snorted in exasperation. “Nova Remera. It’s the town of Orestes, isn’t it? Are you drunk?”

“No! No, no, believe me, I- I… I am definitely not drunk.” Yves was in a state of shock. His university was in a town called Bois Tilleul, but in the age of the Dominion, it had been called Orestes. “I… I know this won’t, uh. Do much for my story, b-but… but is there an, ah, an Imperator around?”

The innkeeper blinked. “Yeah, Valentulus Maximus. Were you expecting someone else? Renard the Just, perhaps?”

Yves put a hand to the wall to steady himself. “W-w-what… what year is it?”

The bull narrowed his eyes. “Are you joking? You sure you’re not drunk? You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“Just- just please answer the question.” Yves said, a little harsher than he meant to.

“...It’s 310 of the Fourth Age.”

Yves swooned, the bull’s answer doing him in and sending him into unconsciousness. When he came to, he was lying on a straw mat in a dark room. He slowly tried to sit up, and his head swam, making him groan.

“Oh, look who finally decided to join the land of the living.” The bull grumbled. He lumbered over from his spot in the corner, where he had been chopping vegetables; they looked fairly irregular cuts, but at least they were still edible. “I’d hate to have a dead man in my storeroom. Rumors spread like that.”

“I…” it was all coming back to Yves, and he groaned. “I-I don’t belong here.”

The bull snorted. “I’ll say.” He offered a meaty hand. “I’m Taurus, by the way. My parents were the most unimaginative people in the Dominion.”

“I’m Yves.” He gave his hand, his grip limp, to Taurus’ eye-rolling disdain.

Taurus nodded curtly. “I gather you’re lost, Yves, and you don’t have any place to go. Am I right?”

The shepherd nodded quietly.

Taurus sighed. “Well, here’s the issue; I’m not Roland’s Temple, so this isn’t a charity. I’d ask you what you could do, but looking at your twiggy little arms, I’m guessing that’s not much. Give me a reason to keep you around.”

“Uh…” It was a lot to take in. Somehow, he had been catapulted back seven hundred years into the past; his family didn’t exist yet, he had no phone, no electricity, and he was surrounded by people a lot bigger, a lot stronger, and more than likely a lot meaner than him. For now, he needed to keep calm- and find a way to survive. “I- I can cook.”

“You?” Taurus didn’t look terribly convinced.

Yves nodded, more vigorously this time. “Yeah- yeah. Give me a chance. Here, name your favorite dish, and I’ll prepare it for you. Absolutely anything.”

Taurus still looked skeptical, but he stroked his strong chin. “You get one chance.” He glanced around at his inn’s small kitchen; it was messy and disorganized, but at least it was clean. He glanced back to the vegetables he had been chopping up, and his thoughts drifted back to a dish from his youth. “Cook me a vegetable stew- no meat. That’s expensive, and I don’t want to be wasting it on would-be chefs. Extra onions. Give it a kick.” He loomed over Yves, still sitting on the mat, eclipsing the shepherd with his meaty chest alone. “Think you can handle that?”

Yves wagered a faint smile. “I think I can manage that, yes.”

Taurus snorted. “You got a couple of hours, then that’s it.”

Yves mumbled his thanks, and moved around the kitchen. Looking over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, he turned to the kitchen’s cauldron, held his hands over it, closed his eyes and concentrated. He could see the dish in his mind; a nice, hearty stew with a bit of a punch to it. He saw carrots, celery, extra onions, plenty of potatoes… something to give it that extra spice. Jalapenos? No, no, might be too exotic for the Palamani… Paprika? Yes, that would work… and just a touch of pepper, too.

He took a deep breath, and let the vision of the stew flow through his body, and into his fingers; a small, persistent vapor trickled down, and then slowly, the stew broth materialized in the bottom. It started to fill the cauldron, and the vegetables plopped in, with a small cloud of spices hovering over the surface of the stew like fog until it was enveloped by the slowly rising broth. As soon as the broth reached the top, Yves dropped his hands and sighed, rubbing his forehead. He looked down at the still-bubbling concoction and grabbed a spoon. He took a sip, and slowly nodded. A solid, good stew, with just that right amount of spice. It wasn’t his flashiest creation, but for a first impression, he was certain it would win Taurus over.

He took a deep breath and poured a big bowl for the innkeeper. Yves looked to the door Taurus had left through, took a deep breath, and headed out. The inn was packed with burly men and women; broad shoulders and thick arms crowded every table, and suspicious, disdainful eyes peering over massive backs and looking down at Yves over cliff-face pecs. Well, at least he was used to this sensation… if not the intensity of it. He found Taurus pouring a soldier in full armor a goblet of wine. A stag with massive antlers that were eclipsed only by his mountainous shoulders and a back wide and vast enough to be a geographical landmass thick with bulging muscle, he seemed terribly familiar as Yves drew closer, and the soldier gave him a look of disgust.

“You let that little fatling stumble about, Taurus?” the stag snorted.

Taurus looked over his shoulder at Yves. “Ah… don’t get too upset, Prefect, he’s just stunted- from the provinces, you understand. Never touched Jidou.”

“Looks lazy,” the stag muttered.

Yves stared up at the monumental deer, and although he shivered, he was wracking his brain. Why was this thousand-year old deer, or at least, a thousand years to Yves, so familiar?

“Fatling!” the stag barked, slamming his fist down on the table and splintering it, with Taurus quickly snatching up the goblet to keep it from shattering to the floor.

Yves yelped and flinched, almost dropping the stew, and then something fired off in his mind.

“Hey, fatass!” the huge captain of the wrestling team, Davey, shouted at Yves. “Where’s my essay?” the stag demanded, hoisting the chubby little shepherd up in the air with little effort.

“I- I just need to finish citing the sources, Davey!” Yves sputtered.

“...What?” the stag and the bull exchanged looks.

The Prefect shook his head, his antlers bumping against the corners of the wall as he stood to his full height. He tensed his arms, his biceps swelling and digging against the straps of his armor. He shoved one meaty finger against Yves’ soft, narrow chest. “Stay out of my way, fatling, and I won’t chew you up and spit you out like the dog meat you are.”

Taurus sighed deeply as the stag stalked out of the inn. “Making friends already, little man?” He glanced down at Yves, still shaking, drops of stew splashing on to the floor. The bull rolled his eyes and snatched the bowl out of the dog’s hands. “Try to show a bit of backbone.” He grumbled. He sat down heavily at the table, and took a few first tentative bites.

He showed no emotion but raised eyebrows. Slowly looking up at Yves, he nodded. “This is good. Better than good. Alright, little man, you’ve got talent. At least with stew. What else can you cook?”

Yves had finally recovered, and looked up to Taurus. “Anything, really. I-if there’s one thing I’m confident in, it’s my talent with food.”

Taurus paused from tucking into the stew; he really, really wanted more. “Hm… that so? Alright. I want something sweet… call it dessert. Do this, and I’ll take you on as my cook. Do you agree?”

“Uh… yeah, yeah of course. Shall I get started?” Yves asked.

Taurus nodded, slurping down the last of the stew. “Yeah- and if you got more of that stew, bring more out.”

Yves smiled softly. He didn’t know how he was getting home, but this was a step in the right direction- a roof over his head, at least. He returned to the kitchen, ladled up another big bowl of the stew, and turned his attention to the kitchen’s brick oven. Something sweet… He could do that. Something big, too, in case Taurus wanted seconds of that, too… Yves snapped his fingers. A pie would do it.

He looked for a suitable pan, and focused his attention on it, forming the picture of a delectable pecan pie in his head, with an extra dash of cinnamon. Soon, the sweet aroma filled the kitchen, and he smiled, satisfied.

Taurus immediately scorfed down the extra helping of stew, and then looked at the pie with some suspicion. “What is this?” He asked, wiping his mouth with his apron.

“It’s, uh…” Yves was kicking himself. Pecans weren’t native to the Dominion. “It’s- they’re called pecans. They’re from… a far-off land. They’re just nuts, don’t worry.”

Taurus muttered something about showing off before he took a bite. His eyes went wide, and he nearly gagged, and Yves blanched. How did he mess up? “W-what’s wrong?”

Taurus coughed, clearing his throat. “Hoosh. I… have never tasted anything that sweet before.” Taurus smirked, and took another big bite. “Yer h’red.” He said through a stuffed mouth. He gulped, already shovelling up another big bite. “What else are you gonna need, little man?”

“Uh… just a place to sleep, really…” He thought back to the storeroom he had fallen into. “And, uh, just a question…”

Taurus nodded. “Ask anything. You cook like this all the time, and you’ll make me rich.”

“Do you… store anything in amphorae back there?”

Taurus stopped eating, and arched a brow. “Why?”

Yves looked away, not wanting to meet the gaze of the muscular bull. “N-no reason, just curious.”

Taurus grunted, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “It’s my private stash of Jidou. I’ve been squirrelling it away ever since Valentulus started restricting the rations. It’s not… entirely legal, so keep yer mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.”

“Could I have some?” Yves quickly asked. An opportunity to try Jidou? If he ever did get back home, Professor Albert would be blown away. His daydreaming was cut-short as soon as he saw Taurus’ angry look. “I- I mean… I’ll take that in lieu of pay.”

Taurus sighed. “I can’t let you go without pay altogether. Tell you what- I’ll give you a cup a day, and half the regular pay.” He thrusted out his hand. “Fair?”

Yves took the hand, trying to give a firmer shake. “Fair.”

Taurus’ Inn, which Yves eventually learned was called “The Legionnaire’s Rest,” quickly became the most popular venue in town when Taurus announced that his new menu only had two items listed: Anything and Everything. Taurus was not a stupid man; he knew he had a very unique asset at hand in his new cook, and he needed to capitalize on it. He certainly was reaping the benefits; he normally liked visiting the other taverns in town, but for the first time in a long time, he actually enjoyed eating at his own inn. And eating, and eating. Taurus took seconds at every meal, and dessert was almost a necessity. Why not? He could have anything, absolutely anything he wanted, and as much as he wanted, too. Just like all his other customers. Lines were forming around the street as people packed into “The Legionnaire’s Rest,” everything they ordered exactly the way they wanted it.

Of course, all of Yves’ rich food had to go somewhere- Taurus was still an exceedingly impressive specimen, but after a week of Yves’ miraculous cooking, his stomach had filled out considerably, a thick dome from his pecs down to his slightly thicker thighs.

As for Yves, Jidou seemed to agree with him; exceedingly so. With only one cup of the legendary concoction a day, he had grown bigger than he had ever dreamed. He wasn’t up to Palamani standards, not by a long shot, but if he kept growing at this pace, it was only a matter of time. His shoulders had broadened, his chest had developed, and his arms were thicker, actual definition in his biceps. He even felt that he was standing taller. His gut wasn’t going anywhere; he had to eat, too, and if everyone was eating their favorites for every meal, why shouldn’t he?

“Ah, there’s my favorite cook,” Taurus tipped his horns as he lumbered into the kitchen. “Busy day, very busy… mind getting me a snack?”

Yves raised a brow, glancing down at the bull’s middle. “Uh… sure. Did you have any idea what you wanted?”

“One of those meat pies? A big one!” Taurus chuckled, holding out his thick arms for emphasis.

Yves grinned. “Heh, sure. Though… I don’t want to stay here forever, Taurus. I’m glad to help you out, and I’m grateful for giving me a place to stay, b-but… I need to get home. Eventually.”

Taurus slowly nodded. “No, I understand. Of course you do. But here… I bought this inn on a loan, and I’ve only just begun making progress paying it off. Could you stay until it’s paid off? At this rate, I’ll have enough iin a few months.”

Yves bit his lip. “Sure. But, mightn’t I… get a little more Jidou?” He had to admit, the light, fresh taste of that magical plant was nice. And the feeling of strength, well… it was an exhilarating, new experience.

Taurus slowly nodded. “I can afford to, certainly. It’s strange… I haven’t thought to drink some for the past few days… they say that happens, you hit a natural limit.” The bull shrugged. “Anyways, I need to get back to customers. Don’t forget the meat pie!”

“I won’t!”

Taurus’ visits to the kitchen grew in frequency; always for an extra snack, but soon he began asking questions about the food. What was this spice, what made that taste, how did Yves get that color. No one had taken much of an interest in his skill, but he soon saw that Taurus was taking notes. Weeks passed, and both of them grew evermore; but in exceedingly different ways.

Yves was still getting used to the very concept of having muscles; his shoulder bulging, his bicep rolling against a newly thick chest as he cut vegetables… even as his gut stubbornly refused to go away, it was invigorating.

“Ah, master cook!” Taurus shouted, his gut coming in ahead of him. There was a film of flesh covering his thick muscles, and his gut had grown into a black, cast-iron cauldron mass. Everything was softer on him; his chest, his widening hips, even the features of his face. He looked cheerier, friendlier even. “I had a few questions for you…”

Yves looked up, grinning. “What can I do for you, Taurus?”

The bull rubbed the back of his head. “This might be silly, but… if you’re going, I don’t want this place to die off when you do. Could you show me what you do? I regularly volunteered for mess duty when I was in the legion, I know how to make food well enough.”

That struck a chord with the shepherd. No one had ever asked him how to cook. His smile perked up a bit. “I, uh. Sure. What did you want to start with?”

Taurus frowned, thinking for a moment before he snapped his fingers. “Your stews, definitely. The soldiers love them, and they’re my most reliable customers. They practically inhale the stuff.”

The canine chuckled. “Well, let’s start with the broth. You want to make sure it doesn’t overpower the natural flavors of the ingredients. Come here, and I’ll show you.”

While Yves began his cooking lesson, the Prefect, Davus, was fuming. There were indents in his desk where he had pounded his fists, his biceps ready to snap the leather straps holding his shoulderguards to his monumental musculature. “Explain yourselves.” He growled.

He was staring down four soldiers of the garrison, all of them out of uniform. Not a single one could fit in their armor anymore, but not in the usual way. All of them had become soft, plump, and were sporting pot-bellies the size of shields. They all looked down, not daring to speak up.

Davus snorted, lowering his antlers at them in anger as he stood to his full height, powerful thighs stomping his feet into the ground. “What have you been eating? Answer me, pig.” He snarled at the fattest one, a fox that, until recently, the Prefect had been grooming for leadership.

“U-uh… b-bits of everything, Prefect. I’ve been going to the Legionnaire’s Rest.” the fox blanched, trying in vain to suck in his gut.

The massive stag growled, and moved on to the next one, a portly badger. “What about you, swine? What compelled you to become a disgrace to the Imperator’s Legions?”

“...the food at the Legionnaire’s Rest is really good and very cheap, Prefect.”

Davus stomped his foot down, leaving an indent in the stone floor. “You?” He reared on the third one.

“...Legionnaire’s Rest, sir.”

“And you?” The deer loomed over the last one, a hand clamping down on his gut.

“Legion-”

“Don’t say it!” Davus snapped. “Get out of my sight! All of you! You take another step in the Legionnaire’s Rest, and I’ll have you all flayed alive!” The deer roared, and all four soldiers stumbled over each other getting out of their Prefect’s wrath.

Davus slammed his fist down on his desk, splintering. “I’m going to have Taurus’ little pet cook mounted on my wall by the end of this.”