272 B.C.E.
The rain was persistant, it came from the hands of the gods and fell an awful height into the village, where it churned the passes and fields to mud, and mingled with the liver brown blood that flowed through every walkway.
And death was equally persistant, as it showed itself everywhere in cohesion with the storm, a fearful recognition of Barae's clan.
For the obstructions of his power were now purged in the gutters of their own homes, and the Casse were causing such a noise of celebration that they challenged the triumphs skyward.
But it was now the earliest beginnings of a new day, and a new position of responsibility that this tribe had yet struggled many years to achieve.
Barae and Cinciorix, one of his many vassals (Of which he had hundreds to the awe of his followers), were waiting the permission of the sun.
He, still adorned in armour and the stench of hours of fighting, suddenly boasted beamingly, and so loudly that many of the men began to twist unconsciously to his shouts.
'Harken to the silence, Cinciorix, they work from the night unto the day, fight from the day unto the night!' He grinned so proudly that Cinciorix was compelled to turn and view the town, 'Our men ravage the foe with the strength of beasts, and rejoice with the mischief of the devil!'
Then he pointed to one of the naked men who was slung over a dead and beaten woman, 'And in these hours of the morning, not even I can tell they who are corpses from they who have drunk themselves unto oblivion!'
And he laughed so brilliantly and so wildly that, even in these grimmest times and under the depression of the rain, the men began to wake and continue the pleasures they had indulged the night before with the heartiness of their leader.
Bookmarks