Rome was lost - Medieval short story
Rome was lost - Medieval short story medieval stories
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The dawn had begun, the sun did rise as if by the hand of Apollo or Ra or at least the day would decide this. What blissful sleep was had was interrupted by a clan of warriors chanting as they march. As they march steadily and animalistically past the hermit cave. This hermit from the northern lands.

Rome was lost - Medieval short story

The dawn had begun, the sun did rise as if by the hand of Apollo or Ra or at least the day would decide this.

What blissful sleep was had was interrupted by a clan of warriors chanting as they march. As they march steadily and animalistically past the hermit cave. This hermit from the northern lands.

This man far from his lands had little of anything left to his name and on his person, his sleep his only release. So, to interrupt this would be the least wise.

The barbarians charging past were looked upon through an opening in the cave. Their battle dress was unfamiliar, yet their harrowing songs were not. And the hermit despised these songs of evil.

His anger began to rise but his humble spirit remained reserved. Though his blood began to boil.

Although, this was not his land and held no allegiance to their soil, other than what he had worked for. He pondered on the notion of this being his shelter and not his home.

And this tribe of barbarians could destroy what he was growing to love. And pondered on the days of battle. The monsters he had faced. With the harrowing song sung on his doorstep.

He felt it was a call to arms by God. As, fate had called him to interrupt the course of their evil.

Battling them was not his goal he had grown wise in his years and was aware his clansmen were far away and over land mountain and waters.

Although he did hold a reservation in his mind that it would be better to stop the rivers of blood and clash of steel, before it begins.

He began to search his limited belongings and called his small number of hermits to council. He found his armour though it was only leather.

The steel he had was taken by the authorities , removed from his possession. When he crossed the border into the new land.

The imperial army had known nothing of him and soon they would know everything.

The group of hermits assemble and adorn their armour. The folk music echoes from the guitar of one of the hermits as they place their helmets firmly on their heads.

The music was of upmost inspiration and enticement to justice and the honour of love and equality.

The herbology hermit gathered the rations and made suitable concoctions great healing creations made with a flare and innovation and sense of ease.

The fierce beserker hermit Pigramtooth was rested and injured with a great sense of anger, this was not his fight, though he was the most ferocious and called upon by the others.

Our hermit whom once was a great member of the Nordic guard was now more accustomed to tending to his goat and buffalo.

Now, he faced what he didn't want but felt obliged to honour the ethos of his homekin.

He attached his elven chains to the rusty metal discs on the buffalo goats. Shielding them from predators. And even arrows!

Attached basic supplies; water, sustenance, ale and herbs and spices of a healing quality.

He walks back into the cavern and shouts "What of you men, are you ready for the righteous actions you are to take." All the men were frail and weak from battle and celebration.

He released mana and the Men were filled with strength and confidence.

Our hermit was to travel alone to assess the dangers that the barbarians posed to the peace of this the land.

If the fight was worthy of Valhalla. The vandal tribe were absent of the notions of peace and equality.

They were a beastly tribe and headed by the evil wrong doers These leaders had no desire to benefit anything or anyone only themselves the tribe overwhelmed with a culture of intolerance

for anything from another island. Whipped into a hysteria of hatred against the xeno. Xeno being a word for people from another island.

Our hermit feared the ancient temples would be targeted and he was well aware they would follow the scent of blood and bone.

And anyone who they did see as a threat against their warped existence.

He was preparing to set on his travels and rolled his elven tobacco and had his first smoke of the day.

As, his pipe was an elven relic he could not take it on this most testing quest. Especially when he had little knowledge of his foes might and numbers.

These men had entered the new land legally and had given their steel in but they did carry large wooden beating sticks that they banged down the streets as they walked.

Threatening seeking people of a different skin. With little care for the human within.

There belligerent chants echoed the city. As they chanted that the land had been theirs for a millennium. Their corrupt overlords had told them so.

The leader Dawnder King and his charisma had rallied the barbarians into a focused rage.

The naive minds of the barbarians had been stirred into anger further by the desolate lands they had come from in the north after a failure in agricultural policy after Rome abandoned Britain.

Ironically, they relied on the New empire for sustenance yet hated its subjects.

All the lies you can imagine were fornicated into a destructive propaganda.

The leaders seeked a scapegoat for their own mistakes.

When the hermit arrived, the barbarians had gathered outside the city building.

He listened to their hateful speech. Listened to their lies, their generalisations all the propaganda and he wondered how anyone could believe this.

The barbarian behaved like beasts urinating all over the city and moving in a unhuman manner. Dignity was most absent.

The crowds dispersed and so did the hermit. Rome was long gone but the international globalisation as limited as it was remained. Here at least. He feared for the safety of this city.

As he walked down the road, he noticed a xeno. A xeno unaware of the barbarians visit. He was old and frail with a stick. A loved man in the community.

He fell to the floor as they screeched kill the xeno. In that moment the hermit lost his rage and pulled out his metal glove and placed it on.

He turned to the barbarians charging towards the xeno. And screeched we are all human you will not take this man. And instead of charging into battle. He walked.

The wind was silent, and the echoes of their hate rallied up the walls of the buildings. He carried on walking towards them.

They armed with weapons out numbering him to a point that death was certain. He carried on walking a lifted his fist against the goliath barbarians charging towards him.

His fist wrapped against the face of the first barbarian. Our Hermit decreed for Valhalla and all that are equal under it.

The crowd of barbarians like a wave against the streets flowed menacingly towards him. When all of a sudden at the exact moment a sword was hurtling towards his humble frame.

The imperial guard intervened as they had evidently seen the swords and the xeno lying in the road. Our hermit survived yet the imperial army could not hold back the Vandals.

He lifted his Shepard stick and staggered a way post haste. The xeno was lifted by one of the imperial soldiers to the horse and was carried away.

Our hermit staggered down into the millennium oracle temple and barrel rolled over the wall. As he landed, he found some herbs of a healing quality that would save his day.

He staggered into the temple and collapsed from the severity of the situation. Collapsed to his knees and said If you are real my God, I owe you a great debt this day.

He smoked his herbs on the incense holder and settled for the night as chaos ensued the imperial army expelled the Vandals though some remained. And night was upon the city.

The hermit looked out of the temple and could see a glistening moon. The gravity of being alive was insurmountable. And his quest not yet over.

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