Never, Ever, Kneel
Maximo Vindictus watched the men assembling in formations before him. Up on high, the sun shone on the field that was soon to be covered with blood. Bellow him, his horse was uneasy, sensing the battle coming. A soft wind blew, bringing the smell of the abandoned campfires as they grew cold. His armor was shiny and clean, polished by his slaves, and as the Legion formed before him in the field, he seemed to reflect partially the sun above, like if he was somehow chosen by Mitra.