The Ancient

        Prologue:

It was not the best time to be alive. But at some point it had to pass, time that is, and all would be over.

Not that he would celebrate. Not him. He was only a filthy slave to the Romans, brought from the northern lands, Dacia. And he had his skin color to prove it. He was white as a sheet, even whiter than most of the people from where his parents originated, with raven-black hair and ocean-blue eyes. He was standing out from the rest of the slaves like a sore thumb. 

But that would be the only reason why. Otherwise he was a nobody. No name. No recollection of his past prior to when he had been bought into slavery. Except, maybe, for his birth day. That, he knew, because it had been exactly seventeen years to the day, Kalendae of Martius in the year 509, that consul Publius Valerius Publicola celebrated the first republican triumph(*).

 He was now sitting together with other ten slaves in a cage pulled by two horses, carried on the almost invisible roads through the wild forests that only slave-traders used anymore. They all had been sold, and bought by the same master. So now they were on their way to their new keep.

Seeing as it was only the first hours of a spring morning, the air was chilly and the slaves were not given any means to warm up. They were guared by six mercenaries and a head-guard. One of the mercenaries was stearing their horses while the others each had their own horse.

The sun was hiding behind a cloud, almost like sensing that something would happen.

All of a sudden, howls were heard all around them. Wolf howls. In a second, every mercenary had his sword and shield ready, just as about twenty wolves attacked them.

They didn't have a chance. No more than two minutes later, every mercenary lay on the forest floor in pools of blood, their own and their comrades, with severed throats, disemboweled bodies and torn limbs.

But the wolves didn't stop to eat. Instead they started tearing at the wooden cage, not phased by all the terrified screams the slaves let out.

He wasn't a coward, but twenty or so wolves that attacked would frighten even the most steeled man. He didn't know what to do, what to think, anymore. But one thing he knew. That day he would die.

Breaking wood could be heard everywhere and he saw as every slave was dragged outside the cage by at least one or two wolves, not seeming to care that the poor humans were hitting them with all their might. They just kept dragging them deeper into the forest.

When he thought they had forgotten about him, one lone wolf appeared in front of him. But this was no wolf he had ever heard tales about. It was at least five feet tall, with rust-colored fur and blood-red eyes. The wolf was looking straight into his eyes and to his utter shock jumped onto his chest, claws ripping skin and flesh, an unearthly scream escaping the slave's mouth. The beast then sunk his razor-sharp teeth into his neck and just stood there, for what felt like hours.

After a while, he felt himself drift into the hands of death, his eyes slowly closing. He was too far gone to be shocked when the wolf started to shake violently for a couple of seconds, before turning into a mountain-of-a-man.

The man kneeled besides his head and said" Now you are like me. Now you are free. Free to do what you want. Take revange if you want that."

After that, he fell into unconsciousness, ready for his final resting place.

......... 

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a/n : (*) - it's fact, not fiction. I don't know if it makes sense or if it's historically accurate, but the terms, dates and people exist.

                 Here's the link : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/509–500_BC 

Sooooo...... what do you think?

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