Word had traveled through the whispering of the river that strangers had launched a war of unending bloodshed on their neighbor tribes. Julius Caesar had sent his Roman army to conquer the forbidding lands of the great north. The Ambivariti would soon need to end their seasonal harvest for the coming winter and prepare for war against an unknown foe with unlimited resources. They had foolishly believed in the security and strength of these larger, heartier tribes, that they could drive the alien invaders back to their homeland and war would not touch the Ambivariti in their corner of the world.
The days darkened until there was only night and more night. The Roman army pushed forward, found the Ambivariti people and began their ritualistic slaughter. The ancient warriors were prepared for battle and were far better suited to a war in the freezing lands but poorly notched and sharpened axe blades broke easily against Roman shields. It became clear to the horrified tribe that they would join their ancestors with no future generations to take their place. It was the end of their people. Their greatest hope was delaying the inevitable for as long as possible. In this effort, they aimed to hold off the Roman invaders until Spring.
Alaert was panicked. As an elder of the tribe and revered conjuror despite his madness, he gathered to the village with the other elders and magic users of the tribe. He was concerned about the weakness of the tribe's defenses.
"We must do something. Our warriors need help. We cannot sit idly by and allow these monsters to consume us!" he roared around the bonfire to the other elders and leaders of the tribe. Pacing with shuffling feet, his wild gestures and body ticks were more pronounced than in his calmer moods.
"There is not much we can do," stated Asynja calmly. Her old hands had been healing warriors for seemingly endless days and she sat, visibly tired, peering at the ranting conjuror through the smoke of the fire. She rubbed an herb in between her hands, a common mage trick to renew the endurance of the hands. Asynja's strength had been challenged by the task keeping the tribe's warriors healthy during the war. All the elders knew that her small band of healers were the only hope to outlast the Romans. "The warriors determine the fate of the war. If they cannot defeat our enemy, perhaps it is the will of the gods that our time is done."
"I refuse to believe that!" Alaert snapped at the healer. "Perhaps if I could help. There is more I can do..."
"...No, Alaert, I cannot allow it." Tyrnog interrupted. His leadership of the warriors and the tribe since his father's demise had been unfailing and unquestioned. His fur lined boots stepped heavily on the cold ground as he walked toward the fire, toward the center of the room, so that eyes were on him. "My father forbid you from conjuration for war with good reason and it is reason that I will not defy in a time as important as now. Our warriors will have this day or we shall all have eternity. It is for the Sun Mother to decide how we fare under her gaze once she brings us Spring. May the warmth of her grace embrace us with the strength to banish these invaders from our land."
While the other leaders and mages nodded in consent with their king's decisions, Alaert could not remain silent. Alaert was one of the eldest magic users in the tribe and had watched Tyrnog, Tyrnog's father and Tyrnog's father's father grow from small children into kings. His denial of death was a blessing from the natural use of magic but it had turned his mind. His madness clouded his decisions, erased his memories, and resulted in erratic bursts and deficiencies of power. But Alaert was sure he was not wrong now and could not allow the paranoia of a dead king to assure the obliteration of his tribe. "The Sun Mother sleeps in days of winter. We are at the mercy of the Moon Mother. What say you to her? What say you of our people dying while you deny the ability for us to save them!"
Tyrnog sighed heavily and looked the old conjuror in his twitching eyes. "May the Moon Mother grant us time in her extended night. She is a friend to us, not to them."
