Side-Note; I completed this in about five hours, and it is a short-story after all, so forgive me if isn't the greatest piece of writing you've ever read. I tried to paint the Legion in a morally grey area, where while they do conquer they also offer peace and unity.“

The Eighty-Seventh Tribe

Eighty-Six Tribes. Eighty-Six different concepts of humanity, of life, and of culture. Stripped of their identities; stripped of their brotherhood. Their beliefs no longer became their own. Their will were no longer their own. And yet, each one of them united under the same flag, for a purpose that was bigger then any sole individual could understand. Some fought for the continued existence of humanity; for the rebirth of a new-world, instead of the constant destruction and chaos that the Pre-War brought upon itself. These men wished to rise from the ashes of their ancestors and fight for something truly worth fighting for; the reuniting of all of mankind. Peace, and unity.

However, there are others under the flag who fight for their own selfish desires; greed, covetousness, hatred, and even lust. These men do not represent what the flag stands for; whether they exist only to cause destruction and bring hatred, or fight out of fear for the almighty Caesar, these men will never truly understand the significance of the flag they carry. These men are simply tools to be used, nothing more, nothing less. While Caesar may try to inspire these men to fight for the good of humanity, they will never understand what they are doing. They follow blindly; and yet, in the end, they will still benefit from the wisdom and guidance that Caesar will bring upon the wastes.

Eighty-Six Tribes; a true Legion, followed by both men of faith and men of greed. And mine.. Was the Eighty-Seventh.”

Seneca Encampment

Yellowstone; Wyoming

4:48 A. M.

“Askuwheteau, go and help your brother with the rest of the equipment. We must be gone before sunrise, lest the invaders find us,” One of the tribal mothers stated, motioning upriver where Askuwhetau’s brother attempted filling the canoes with what was left of their belongings. He nodded towards the tribe mother, sympathetic of her attempts to lead the people in their time of need. He jumped down from the tree where he had laid in wait, watching the paths for any sign of activity. The mother smiled at him, and he returned her smile.

As he moved towards the river, Askuwheteau glanced up at the moon, admiring the beauty and light that it brought his people. He stated a small prayer under his breath, thanking the gods for what they had given him. He arrived just in time, as his brother had lost his grip on one of the crates and had almost destroyed the contents inside had Askuwheteau not stopped his fall.

“Brother,” He stated, “Why do you attempt to lift things much heavier then yourself?” His brother smiled, his crooked grin and yellow teeth visible thanks to the light from the moon, “It is nice to see you too, brother. How long have you been standing watch?”

“Far too long, my friend, far too long,” Askuwheteau said, “These invaders.. They are unlike any of the other tribes we have faced. They attack in numbers ten times our own, and for every man slain, two more take his place. Tracking their movement is not difficult, but eliminating them proves far too great a task for any lone hunter,” His brother shook his head, loading one of the last crates onto the canoe. “I still cannot believe they took the southern village. It was our last stand; all of our greatest warriors, slain in a few mere minutes.. How can any tribe be that powerful?" He responded, a look of horror crossing his face as he spoke of the invaders. His Brother had been with him through it all; the first scouting party, the first battle, and even now, during their retreat. The Seneca had taken to calling Askuwheteau “The Guardian of Yellowstone" because of how many invaders he tracked and killed, and his little brother the “Prodigy of the Guardian" because of how he often assisted his older brother in battle. They were the greatest hunters their tribe had ever seen, and yet they were still no match for the invaders. These men fought with a ferocity that Askuwheteau had never seen before, and their tactics far exceeded the Seneca’s in every way possible. They were a threat that was defeat, but seemingly not unreasonable. From the shadows, Askuwheteau had watched as his captured people were given care by the invaders, most being shown compassion after their defeat, and wounds being treated. They weren’t heartless, but they sure weren’t peaceful.

“It was a massacre for our warriors,” Askuwheteau said, “But I trust that our non-combatants were given hospitality. These invaders don’t seem focused on exterminating us.. They have another motive, I simply don’t know what” His brother spat at the thought, shaking his head, “They aren’t men, Askuwheteau, they are beasts. Their only motive is destruction.. You’ve seen with your own eyes what they’ve done to us. Their monsters,” Askuwheteau sighed, his brother so oblivious to everything within reason. He acts on feelings and emotions, instead of rational thoughts and logic. Not wishing to debate any longer, he hurried up and finished loading the cargo, then returned to his post within the trees.

From his location, he had an astounding view of the natural beauties in his lands. The waterfall, the trees, and the river; all were truly things worthy of defending. His homeland was just that; his home. And he would rather die then see it fall to another..

“THEIR HERE! THE INVADERS!” Askuwheteau snapped his attention away from admiring the landscape and back to his village, where a single man was running from the main path to the north. “THE INVADERS! THE INVA-” The man was cut off, a spear piercing the back of his head and dropping him to his knees. Askuwheteau, quick to react, grabbed the horn from his side and quickly blew into it, alerting the rest of the tribe that it was time for them to leave. He leapt from his his tree to another, drawing his bow, and quickly made his way to the slain scout. He then saw them, the invaders, emerging from the forests and onto the path. Only a few of them as of now, scouts most likely, but off in the distance Askuwheteau could see the impending army. With a swift pull of the string, he dropped one of the scouts. Pulling another arrow, he dropped another. He quickly picked them off one by one, and soon, they all lay dead. He turned his attention back to the village, trying to see if the canoes had set adrift yet. Even with all his squinting, the huts were blocking his view of the canoes.

The army had reached the path, and looking down, he saw at least seventy soldiers, all marching forward towards his small spec of a village. This was the first time Askuwheteau had seen any of their men dressed in what appeared to be shinning garments, who was directing the troops and was situated in the center of the formation. Askuwheteau dared not engage and give away his position; there were far too many of them, and even his archery skills were no match for such large numbers.

He quickly dashed from tree to tree, trying to outrun the invaders and reach his village before they could, but it was too late. They both reached the village and saw the exact same thing; Three canoes, sunken from the weight of their cargo, and Askuwheteau brother with at least two quarters of the tribal’s remaining population attempting to hoist them out of the water. The other 1/3 were, thankfully, gone.

The invaders surrounded the group, weapons drawn. The shinning men moved forward from the back lines and spoke.

“Children of Yellowstone; The Seneca, I am Gaius Magnus, Centurion of Caesar’s Legion. I come to offer you our hand in cooperation. The almighty Caesar extends his warmest welcome, and asks for you to join our Legion of Eighty-Six tribes, accumulated over years of conquering and expansion. He wishes for your tribe to be his Eighty-Seventh,” The Centurion said, Askuwheteau watching as his fellow brother and sisters cowered in fear of the shinning man.

“Do you accept our humble offering of peace? The rest of your tribe’s people have already agreed to our arrangements, and have been shown kinship and kindness. The same can be done for you,” The Centurion was cut off by Askuwheteau’s Brother, who moved forward from his position behind the group and challenged the shinning man, “We spit on your offering of peace, Invader. You have taken everything from us, and yet you expect us to just lie down and join your pathetic excuse for a legion?” Askuwheteau cursed under his breath, wondering what was going through his brother’s mind. This was the best chance our people had of living, and he was turning it all away for pride?

A member of the invaders stepped forward, yelling at his brother, “You unworthy Profligate, you dare speak to a Centurion with such disrespect?” The man un-holstered some sort of bladed weapon, seemingly ready to cut his brothers throat, when the Centurion held him back.

“Does this man speak the truth? Would you all rather die then join the Legion?” He asked, none of the tribe brave enough to step forward and speak. He sighed, seemingly disappointed that things couldn’t be resolved peacefully. “Very well,” He turned to the rest of the invaders, “Execute them,”

Askuwheteau eyes widened, the soldier escaping the Centurion’s grip and lunging at his brother with the blade. Within the blink of an eye, he drew an arrow from his quiver and set it loose upon the invader, piercing his skull. All eyes turned towards the trees, and they drew their weapons.

“Stop,” The Centurion stated. He looked closely within the height of the trees and, for a moment, met eye-to-eye with Askuwheteau. His gaze terrified the young soul, as if he knew exactly who he was.

“Look carefully, men. For hidden within those trees is the The Guardian of Yellowstone. The slayer of over twenty legionaries.I was hoping I would run across you,” He turned towards Askuwheteau’s brother, griping him by the neck. “And this.. Must be your little brother. The “Prodigy of the Seneca” . Quite a catch, the both of you. A lot of my men have died by your hands,” The Centurion turned his attention towards his men. “Guardian. I offer you one and only one chance to show yourself, or my men will strike down both your brother and your tribe,” He stated, motioning towards his fellow invaders. “You will have until the count of three,”

“One”

Askuwheteau quickly weighed the options. He could turn and abandon the tribe, allowing himself to live on and bring vengeance for his tribe.

“Two”

Or he could show himself and die alongside his kin. Both options seemed like losses, but as he debated what choice he had in this situation, his time ran out.

“Thre-” Askuwheteau leapt from his position in the trees, tumbling towards the Earth and landing on with a roll. His bow slipped from his grasp during the fall, now on the ground a few feet behind him. He stood straight up, staring onwards towards the Centurion with as much courage as he could muster.

“Ah.. There you are,” The Centurion said, throwing his brother from his hands and walking forward. The large brute of a man towered high above the young tribal, but yet Askuwheteau stood his ground and did not bend. “The Guardian of Yellowstone, a simple boy. Well, speak up child! Do you not have anything to say to us “invaders”?”

Askuwheteau thought for a moment, and then spoke his mind. “You are not invaders. While you have come to our land, I have noticed that through your actions you do not wish to conquer. You only wish for us to join you, as made evident by your offer. A offer, might I add ,that my brother was foolish to refuse,”

The Centurion appeared impressed by the young tribal’s words. “You may appear young, but you speak with the wisdom of a man three times your age. Tell me, child, do you accept our offer? Do you wish to save your people?” The Centurion asked, gazing back at the rest of the tribals. “Yes. Me and my people will.. Join your Legion, so long as you guarantee our safety,” The Centurion nodded approvingly, placing a hand on Askuwheteau’s shoulder. “Very well.You and your people will be guaranteed safety and security,” The Centurion stated. “But there is a more pressing matter that must be attended to,” The Centurion stopped from a moment, and turned back to glance at Askuwheteau’s brother. “It seems that your brother still opposes our offering of peace, and has shown me great disrespect. Since you and your people are now followers of the almighty Caesar, it is your duty to remove troublesome tribal’s. My first order for you, Guardian, is to execute your own brother,”

Askuwheteau’s heart stopped. His eyes widened, and his mind began racing with thoughts. He didn’t know who Caesar was, why these invaders wanted his tribe to join theirs, or what exactly they were fighting for, but only seconds after agreeing to help them he asks Askuwheteau to kill his own brother. Why would they make him do this? Why? What was the point of any of this?

But Askuwheteau didn’t state any of this out loud. He let the thoughts pummel around inside his mind as the Centurion led him to his brother. Another invader was holding the boy in place as they approached. Tears were dripping down his brothers face, he was shaking his body relentlessly in an attempt to tear free. Askuwheteau’s eyes watered up when he saw his brother like this, but he dare not cry. He simply focused on the task at hand; saving his tribe.

The Centurion handed him one of their bladed weapons, and Askuwheteau reluctantly took it. With the weapon in his hand, and his brother on his knees before him, crying for mercy, Askuwheteau could only wonder why these invaders would want to make him do this; to experience such pain and loss at his own hands. He bent down to his brother’s level, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered in his ear “I’m sorry”. He stood up, held the weapon with both hands, and in one swift motion, plunged the blade into his brother’s neck.

The Centurion removed the shinning headgear from his face, placing it at his side, and stepped forward. He spoke to both the tribe and his people, “And so, the great Guardian of Yellowstone has sacrificed his own brother in the attempts that peace may be brought between his people and Caesar’s Legion. From this day forth, the Seneca’s no more! They are the great Caesar’s Eighty-Seventh Conquest!” He shouted, the invaders cheering as he spoke, “Long-Live Caesar! Long live the Legion!”

Askuwheteau knelt at the body of his brother, saying one last prayer before his soul drifted off into the afterlife.

“Yeah,” He muttered, “Long life Caesar,”