The Legatus

(OOC note: Sarus stepped down from his role as Legatus last night, but OOC he will still remain an important member of our OOC council and will continue to play in Ar. Who knows what the future will bring!)

Marcus Flavius Sarus strides into the central cylinder with a sheathed and tied sword held in display position at his left shoulder. He stops a regulation five paces from the Ubarate, claps his right hand to his chest, and salutes sharply, "Hail Ubar!"

Savir flicked his gaze over Sarus, it had been awhile since he had seen the man, doubtlessly kept busy with the war, he tipped his head to the man, after he last remembered a paga fueled night at the tavern.

Primus holds up a hand, waiting for the constant buzz of the busy court to fall to silence... "Ar recognizes Marcus Flavius Sarus, Legatus of the Imperial Legions. Hail Legatus!" he returns his salute and motions him closer.

Uriel Ashbourne gave a respectful nod to Sarus in his passing, "Greetings, Legatus."

Melisande (melisande.moisant) arched her brow and then waved her off, "Silence, slave. The Legatus is here... We will speak later on the matter..." Melisande remained quiet as the two men greeted one another. She gently used the chair for support as her arm went down, and took another sip from her other hand as she eyed the leader of the legion. It was the first time she had seen him since the return of the men from Tentium.

Marcus Flavius Sarus (sarus.rau) takes two steps forward and extends the sword forward, holding it between outstretched hands. It is a simple but finely made weapon, conforming to the standards of a Legion-issue gladius. The hilt is wrapped with fine sharkskin cording and the rivets and metal reinforcements running up the length of the scabbard bear the distinctive sheen of pattern welding. The many scores and small cuts on the wooden part of the scabbard make it obvious that this is no display piece, but a weapon of war, an officer's sword. Sarus proclaims proudly, "Legatus Flavius Sarus presents the campaign sword of Tyros. This sword was forged on the day war was declared on Tyros and carried by the battle commander who led the assault on their land. The scabbard was wrought from wood taken from a tur tree growing within Tentium's central square. At war's end, I retire it to the archives, to join its brethren there, as a symbol that Ar has conquered." His nose flares almost imperceptibly at the last phrase. It was a ceremonial saying, part of Legion custom, but it left a sour taste in the old warrior's mouth.

Tiberius Servilius Gemellus (forgotten.eleonara) cut short a chuckle which escaped him, his gaze lingered for a moment as the girl's fingers kneaded his calf. His bored gaze seemed to linger upon the Legatus, a man he had not seen in these many days since his return from the disastrous assault upon the Isles of Tyros. A dark brow seemed to shoot upwards as he noted the man's speech though he did little but watch the proceedings.

Primus (primus.moisant) recognizes the blade that rode the Legatus's hip and drew enemy blood through the many battles of the recent war and formally acknowledges it "Let the steel find its rest." The short ceremonial phrase which enters it into the archives. Not all leaders choose to retire their swords at the end of a campaign. In fact, many choose to carry the same blade throughout much of their career. The fact that the Legatus was retiring this one now seemed to be full of portent.

Savir (soren.davidov) watched ceremony take place before him, and found it to be of interest. He had never observed this particular ritual before and it was foriegn to him. He often did not follow the codes of the red caste, but tried to at least understand them, for in his business knowledge was everything. He had heard news on the war and wondered if tyros had performed a simliar ceremony among its leaders.

Marcus Flavius Sarus (sarus.rau) reaches up to his left shoulder and undoes the ties there, letting the row of phalerae and rank insignia droop over his chest. He pressed his lips together and took a deep breath as he composes his next words. With a tug at the stays on his right shoulder, Sarus whirls the cloak from about his shoulders draping it over his right arm. The motion was odd - even a novice fighter knew that soft cover, such as cloaks, are best kept at one's left arm where they didn't interfere with the draw of a sword and could intercept the killing stabs delivered to the heart and kidneys. Two more ties came loose and Sarus collected the row of brightly colored strands that were his rank insignia in his left hand. Finally, the words left him, "When last I spoke in this court, I promised that I would return with victory in hand. Every strategist faces defeat, every warrior faces peril, but it is the foolish who would proclaim themselves above it. I take responsibility for the deaths under my command and for the shame that defeat has brought. Ubar, accept my resignation from the Imperial Legion, that I may no longer endanger the lives under my command, nor tarnish the honor of Ar."

Abandoned fingers slowly danced up over her Masters leg, she wiggled about so that her thighs were on each side of his foot. Adding her other hand she rubbed his thick muscular lower thigh, the tender pads of her fingers running over the hair roughened skin. As the men spoke of Tyros a frown slipped over her lips and the fingers massaging stilled, her nails biting into her Masters flesh.

Melisande felt her stomach drop at the words of the Legatus, though she had heard whispers from her spies that some suspected he might lay down his mantle because of the defeat. Of course, they were always the same murmurings no matter what had happened. That when Kasra was taken, Sarus would claim Ubar. And when the city walls were breached, Sarus would fall on his sword. And when the Ring of Galahad was discovered, Sarus would ascend to the throne, and when Tentium rose up against Ar and defeated her in the last battle, he would resign. But even so, she never gave much of these whisperings credence until she saw the look in his eye as he took off the cloak. Melisande lifted her chin at the honor of the words being spoken, and she gestured towards Savir, "You may stand in honor, or you may leave us."

Savir tipped his head to the lady, he had always respected Sarus in his dealings with him, only choosing to sit at the Ubara's inital command. "It is no secret, that there is no love lost between those of the red caste and my own" he told them. "I find Sarus to be honorable and will stand and honor him among you, should he find my presence to be acceptable" he waved his hand towards Sarus. "I do not wish to enflame, or irritate, but I come with my own reasons here, and humbly honor those that stand for Ar, as I have even partaken in one of the battles of the war" he noted. "If all the red caste were as honorable as Sarus, I would fear and honor them more than I do" he admitted honestly.

Tiberius Servilius Gemellus's leg flinched as the girl's nails bit into his skin, it caught him off guard that she should react in such a manner. Instantly it roused his ire, so intently had his attention been centered upon the little drama presented before them, that the momentary reprieve from the scene instantly made his eyes flash with annoyance. Kicking the girl, shaking her off of his calf his lips turned downwards into a grimace though for what purpose it was uncertain.

Sara froze, with effort not allowing her gaze to drift to him. She had only once been nearer to the man than rumors, having once watched over him while he slept in the clinic of the House of Bernard. She knew him to be a man of courage and honor, but also of uncommon compassion - with more concern for his men than for himself - it was all he had spoken of. She lifted her chin slightly, perfecting her form, a slave's poor way of honoring excellence with mirrored excellence as she waited - hoping there would be some change of heart and mind.

Primus pauses, thinking things through, considering all the foreseeable implications of this sudden move, those military as well as political. "Sarus of Ar, while it is certainly true that you are responsible for the blood of the men of Ar, there is no dishonor in an honest defeat. War is an unpredictable art, with its glories as well as its setbacks, as you well know. Ar does not consider you a tarnish upon her honor. " he pauses again, considering further... "That said, however, you did make a promise, a solemn oath, and you have ever been known as a man of your word. As you have failed to deliver upon that word, freely given, I accept your resignation and release you from the office of Legatus. You may serve as Emeritus until a suitable post is found for you."