Forgotten Heroes

A morning breeze silently blew between the trees as it snaked around the trunks of mammoth oaks. The grim world under the towering canopy was dark and full of gnarled branches, mold, and sprouting fungi through thick layers of leaves that had been compiled from several years of seasonal changes. Other vegetation such as ferns and bushes also claimed the jumbled real estate and made any movement quite difficult. A lone warrior dressed in heavy armor designed for the toughest Centurions of Rome moved nimbly through the underbrush, despite the bulkiness of the armor on his shoulders. No ordinary tribesman clumsily bounding through the shrubs; he was a highly revered warrior and an expensive mercenary. His dark brown hair seemed to be almost black as it barely clung to his shoulders and matched the color of his distinguishable goatee covering his chin and lined his lower lip. Breathing heavily, he took a few lengthy bounds up from the entangled vegetation onto an old distorted root of an ancient oak birthed from the Earth centuries ago. Peering off in the distance he scanned the area for any visual signs of his prey. There were no sight of them yet, but the faint voices and horse shoes clanking against the stone of the Roman roads was barely audible, and the location of his intended target was now revealed. Luchief jumped to the ground and inched his way for the break in the tree line where a small road traveled to the distant icy north of his home country. Creeping quietly along the edges’ of the road he saw the distinctive outlines of men emerging from the broken foliage. Standard Roman Numerii guards escorted an oversized carriage pulled by two horses, and behind the vehicle a lone rider mounted on his horse was handsomely dressed in officer attire. Slowly squatting down in the debris beneath his knees, he drew his favored gladius from its sheath. Examining his armor for any noticeable flaws, he thought silently to himself; to be dressed in Roman armor doesn’t make you a Roman, those poor fools. A dark blood feud had risen between Luchief and the local governors of Germania. The persecutions of thousands of civilians over mundane laws that seemed to be only held against the barbaric tribes of the north had grown tiresome over the years. The nobles were well known to have tortured men in front of their families, to incite the population to abide by their rules. But to command authority, the reigning lords needed a hand to their destruction, and the soldiers were the muscle used for their voices. The fine line between entertainment and punishment was blurred at best when it came to disciplining the natives. To stop the mindless torture against the accused, they often gave a false confession whether it was for criminal or religious persecutions. By the animalistic actions of their owners, the populous had grown an undying hatred for Roman rule. Forced to revert to gorilla fighting tactics, skirmishes had drawn to a stalemate between Rome and the Germanic tribes of the North. Roman nobles living on the outskirts of their imperial rule forfeited money, man power, and supplies for a stagnant campaign with no clear winners. Left with any means necessary to reestablish order in their lands, lords were free to use their power and morbid brutality as long as it got results. The outlying barbarian villages were too remote for the wealthy citizens of Rome to settle in the chilly highlands, nor would they care to live beside these dirty animals who dared to call themselves human. In the end, the Roman citizens were left in the dark about the atrocious acts their beloved city bestowed upon the helpless thousands of tribesmen. Most of the locals slowly began to submit to the tyrannical rule of their governors to stop the suffocating pressure of the mighty arm of Rome. Living under constant fear of murder, rape, theft, or their sons being drafted into the Roman army, they humbly put aside their differences and obeyed the commands of their ruling nobles. However, many more would not allow Rome to go unpunished for their deeds. There was always a need for weapons and armor in these lands, and a skilled warrior could make an easy fortune by raiding small patrols. The conflicting differences between the Northlanders and the occupying invaders were at an all-time high; soon the tension would break and plunge the entire continent into war. It just needed a catalyst, and Luchief often desired to be that spark.