Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20160716191324/@comment-5543592-20160716203154

Weeks ago...

''Don't know how many times I've been crossed off the list and left for dead... so this, this aint nothing new.''

He’d spent the day crawling, fighting wild dogs.

''There are bad days, and then there are legendary bad days. This was shaping up to be one of those.  Whole damn planet wanted a piece of me.''

They circled him now, and he waited for them to try their hand. His leg was busted, so there was no way he was getting up from the spot against this rock.

''Can't stay in the open. Can't risk another attack. It's always the punch you don't see coming that puts you down.''

The pack leader snarled at Randall. Probably because he’d already killed half of its pack. The man narrowed his eyes at the creature in return, and held up the small knuckle blade, daring it to attack.

''But why didn't I see it? Of course they were gonna try and kill me. Death is what they do for a living. So the question ain't "What happened?"''

The pack leader yipped and let forward, jaw’s wide to tear out Randall’s throat.

The question is "What happened to me?"

He rolled to the side and slashed upward, slicing open the dog’s artierty. The animal whimpered and hit the ground. One of the two remaining dogs launched forward now and Randall held up his arm in a defense. He roared in pain as the animal gnawed on his arm, the Caesar’s Legion armor the only thing saving him from becoming an amputee. The dog was stupid, thinking Randall was done. The human fixed a grimace onto his face and buried his blade in its eye. The third came forward now, latching it’s jaw around his ankle. Randall grunted at pain shot up his leg, but managed to lock the animal between his calves and snapped its neck.

He grunted, shoving the dead body aside with his heels, and went about binding his leg.

The Legion… they brought me out here.

They had a navy of triremes, comprised out of the scrap hulls of ancient boats, and sent off the Mexican coast south of the Arizona border. Randall had risen in the ranks, although he wasn’t welcome. He’d just managed to fight his way to the top, defeating anyone who stood in his way. Before then he was a criminal, and before then he was a nobody. They wanted him gone. A no-good, criminal Legate was never something anyone wanted. They told him they’d found the place he was looking for. The Paradise. It was obvious they wanted him gone. Fine. Randall’d go if need be. Better that way anyway.

But he’d let his guard down. On the cliff, when they’d landed, and he’d overlooked the island, he heard the click of their guns and went for cover. When his knives were out he killed two of them before they even knew it was happening, and then repurposed one of the bodies as a shield. The Frumentarii who’d brought him this far solved the problem by simply collapsing the cliff.

And then the dogs had come

6 days ago…

So now I’m back where I started.

He abandoned the legion armor, the weapons, everything that marked him as a civilized man.

I have to get back to the basics.

So he climbed the mountains of the island with not even the clothes on his back, starting his life over again…