"Steady, men," Octavius advises in a whisper to his officers.
They made the journey, climbing to the top of the exhibit and quietly slipping past the boundary of the Old West diorama where the townsfolk are engaged in an assault on their eardrums.
The words are meaningless, the song gibberish.
The townspeople are certainly odd, each wearing the strangest-looking headgear Octavius has ever seen. They must be simpletons. They don’t even notice the invading army. Barbarians.
Small numbers. Easy prey. Regardless, the Roman Empire will acknowledge no boundaries. They will expand their territory at all costs.
When the majority of his army is in place, he lifts his sword. “For the glory of Rome!”
With that call to arms, his men race forward, their battle cries a roar not unlike the fires of hell.
A man sitting astride a speckled steed jerks his horse around sharply at the sound and gapes at the approaching horde.
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