I am Lucius Artorius Castus

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I am the last Roman left in Britain.  The rest have all gone to flock around the ruins of the empire like crows around a battlefield, and here come the fucking Saxons.  Not long ago, they wouldn't even have been a nuisance, when we were many.

Oh, wait.  There aren't any Saxons, either.  There's just one lone spag standing on Hadrian's wall like an idiot, pretending that there's still something to protect, or an enemy to fight.  Passers-by, if there were any, would consider me mad.

I'm quite sure that my compatriots think so..."Look at the unbending fool, still standing on that damn wall, instead of living in a nice, comfortable metropolis that we can Like, where we can say and do anything we please, so long as it's within the character limit."

Well, good on 'em.  I wish them well.  But they aren't The Legion anymore (though they still remain Roman), even if they still wear the uniform and know all the right cadences.  That's not meant as an insult, just a simple statement of fact.

I am The Legion, in my multitudes.  And I shall continue to man this wall, to bray at the barbarians who aren't outside the gates, because it's what I do.  It's what I am.  So I wrap my cloak a little tighter, and try not to think about the winter.  And, you know, pray that the Saxons will get off their arses and give me a little purpose.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

What the fuck does a great warrior do, when the enemy's gone?

[The Good Reverend Roger]

What the fuck does a great warrior do, when the enemy's gone?

Stand on a wall and freeze his ass off.   

While his armor rusts, the wall erodes, and a new culture springs up to replace the one that he was supposed to defend.

[Suu]