Prelude
The rain lashes against Caius's exposed face, bitterly cold. His unit had been on the hunt for weeks and the weather had been against them the whole time. Rain, sleet, and snow to wear them down, but never a break to recover. They were close though he could feel it. The tracks were fresh and the guides from the village where unusually nervous. The celts were usually made of sterner stuff. Hard to believe some wolf had been giving them so much trouble.
A fortnight prior orders came down from the centurion that action was to be taken. For the past month the legion encampments along the southern Britannia coast had been harassed constantly. Some sort of beast was attacking nearly every night. Men sent out foraging would never return, sentries would vanish from their post, or worse be found torn limb from limb come morning. As one of the most elite decani in the Britannic legionary forces Caius was tasked with finding and killing the monster. Taking his eight men he set out into the pounding rain.
As Caius's force neared the treeline of the woods they had packing through the past three days he finally spotted the cave the guides had told them about. The lair of the wolf they had been hunting these past weeks. The leader of the celts, a stocky man with long blond hair and a bushy mustache approached him.
"As I said, this is as far as we go. Gods be with you decanus"
"Fair enough, my men and I can handle it from here. Safe travels" responds Caius.
"Alright men drop your packs and prepare your weapons. Time to slay the beast!"
Forming up into a loose V formation spears in hand the men creep towards the cave opening. As they cross the clearing to the rocky opening the wind picks up, whistling through the trees and chilling them to the bone. A few yards from the cave mouth Caius calls a halt.
"Alright lads, get out the oil and torches. We're going to smoke this beast out"
Flint strikes steel as the torch is lit. The lead man tosses the oil-pot, the sound of it shattering rings out from within the cave as it releases its flammable payload. The torch follows close behind. Nothing happens at first, but before long black smoke begins to seep out of the cave mouth. The slow burning grease doing its work.
"Steady now. Keep those spears at the ready"
The freezing rain patters off the legio's armor, dripping off their spear tips. Thoughts of home and a warmth leave their minds as they prepare to fight the wolf that has kept them in this miserable land.
A thunderous roar breaks the silence. Brilliant gold eyes flash within the smoke as a massive shape bursts from the cave. It was shaped like a wolf, but larger, nearly the size of small horse. The men were stunned never having faced such a monstrosity. The beast closes the gap in an instant, sleek black fur still smoldering from the fire. Rearing up it reveals a pair of massive hands tipped with razor sharp claws. Easily slapping the spears out of the way it rends two men in half in the blink of an eye. Another legio manages to catch the beast in the neck with his spear but is only rewarded with a quick disembowelment. Claws and teeth flash in the rain, every blow lethal.
"In Christ's name!" Caius cries out
Charging the beast Caius knows there is no escape. This is kill or be killed. The wolf pounces on him as he runs his spear through its chest. Knocked onto his back the spear digs into the dirt beneath him. Holding the monstrosity just high enough to keep it from reaching him. The beast throws itself forward, its jaw gnashing and snarling. The spear finally rips through the back of the monster as it sinks down the shaft. It's burning gold eyes are the last thing Caius ever sees as it brings its claws to bear.
Chapter I
It is the year 405, with the death of Emperor Theodosius I ten years prior the Roman empire has divided itself in two, never to be reunited. While the wealthy and fertile east flourishes, the west is in its death throes. Emperors are killed off like flies. Thrown away whenever their subordinates no longer find them valuable. While the political center is setting itself alight the borders begin to crumble. Without strong leadership Rome's once mighty legions have grown soft and complacent, savage raiders cross over from Germania and Brittania almost at will, sacking, raping, and pillaging before legionnaires can throw them back.
On Rome's western frontier life is less complicated, the folk are more worried about taxes and this year's harvest than which buffoon happens to be sitting on the throne in Ravenna. Autumn is coming and nights are growing longer in the region of Pannonia. The summer's harvest is at its end and winter's relative safety from German raiders is near. Life is slowly winding down in preparation for the cold months ahead.
*
Having finished the day's chores early, Amala takes a look at the horizon and notes there are still several hours of sunlight to enjoy. Her pale hair sways in the light evening breeze as she considers what to do before retiring for the night. Having completed the hard labor of the year's harvest already Amala's day to day life was growing more sedate, performing minor repairs that had been put off and preparing the soil for winter made up the majority of her duties these days.
With a sigh of content Amala decides to take a walk. With the hussle and bussle of the summer she hasn't had much time to enjoy herself as of late. The nearby woods are beautiful this time of year and it would be nice to have a few more herbs for her winter meals.
The farm is Amala's pride and joy. Passed down to her from her father it is not enough to make her wealthy, but it is something of her own. Her father was born into a poor family in the peaceful region of Hispania. At the time of his youth Rome was quite rewarding for people willing to settle in the dangerous frontier regions, he was given a plot of land and expected to settle it. Through his time he met Amala's mother Hulda. A fierce Germanic woman, she was tall, powerfully built, and fair of skin and hair. They loved each other deeply. The other people of the village that was built around her father's farm certainly were not approving. The Germans are a savage people and any good Roman citizen should have a healthy distrust of them. Hulda tragically died bringing Amala into the world, her father would die when she was a young woman, slain attempting to defend the village from a German raid. Amala was left alone in the world.
Despite the loss of her father and the ostracization from the village for her German heritage. Amala did very well for herself. The powerful build she inherited from her mother allowed her to keep the property running herself without much trouble. She traded with the other villagers when needed and paid her yearly taxes to the Empire and kept to herself.
Crossing through her fields, now empty and ready for winter. She can already feel a light chill in the air as the wind whispers over the grass. As she approaches the treeline she can see the leaves are already beginning to change color, leaving brilliant streaks of red and yellow through the forest. Breathing deeply she takes in the scent of the forest.She sighs quietly saying to herself.
"Ahhh, I think i'll head to the river today. A few river lillies would really brighten up the house. "
For most of the year the Danube river is a dangerous place to live. Serving as the border between the wild German lands and the Western Empire it is bitterly fought over as raiders cross over to take wealth and women back across into the dark German forests. As winter settles in though raids become rare and people settle down to try and survive the cold.
The fall leaves crunch under her feet as she carefully picks her way through the forest trail, it's an unusually quiet evening no birds singing or insects chirping, just the rustle of trees in the wind. She slowly makes her way down the trail, enjoying this peaceful moment
By the time Amala begins to near the river the temperature has already began to drop. Her normally thin clothing providing little protection her skin begins to flush, her cheeks turning red, and her nipples poke through her thin blouse. The thin cloths are comfortable to work in, but wouldn't leave much to the imagination where she not alone. Due to her regular solitude Amala doesn't try to hide her full figure. Her round, perky breasts fill the front of her blouse, her nipples starkly contrasting in their achingly hard state, her arms and core almost ripple with muscle, hard earned from years of labor. Her pale hair normally kept up would flow past her shoulders if she let it. Muscular thighs flow into broad hips and a tight full rear that fill out any pants enticingly.
As she walks her pert nipples rub against the cloth of her shirt, she sighs
"God it's been a while..."
Living in relative isolation and being half German has kept Amala from ever receiving much attention from the men of the village. As a youth she learned how to indulge in her passions. When she was young and less burdened with responsibilities her private dalliances with her body where frequent and energetic, she couldn't keep her hands off herself. Now with the farm to herself there never seems to be enough hours in the day.
Approaching the river bank the she could feel the passion rising in her stomach, the constant teasing her nipples where receiving was getting to her, there was no denying how hard she was breathing for such an easy walk, or the wetness developing between her legs.
"Maybe i'll just sit for a moment, that looks like a nice place to watch the river..."
