Woe to the Conquered – Vae Victis

As General Aureolus stood upon the cliff-tops, he knew the battle was all but lost. The smell of blood, his own men’s blood at that, lingered about his nostrils as a constant reminder of his failure. Bodies lay in their thousands across the battlefield, some men unlucky enough to have only been maimed and not dispatched properly still wailing in agony, pleading to be killed. The once green lands that had stood before were now stained red with the blood of Roman legions. Like lambs to the slaughter they had stood no chance against the sheer force of the Celtic armies.

Aureolus knew that the death of his men was his fault. Even a soldier of his standard, who had seen war on three continents, who fought against multitudes of enemies, a soldier who bore the scars of his victories could not ignore the facts. As the Celtic armies approached the final Roman formations, Aureolus could not stand to see another man die under his command. Thrusting his broadsword up to the Gods, his booming voice shattered the sounds of the hooves clunking towards his men. “Vae Victis!! We are defeated, I am defeated and I have failed you. Retreat!!”

This concept of retreating was not one that Roman soldiers had ever experienced in training and yet, a basic human instinct in the face of almost certain death was to run. Aureolus could see the Celtic archers slowly removing arrows from their quivers, placing the shaft against the slack bowstring. War was all he had ever known, bringing him glory and fame throughout the Empire. He thought back to his meeting with the Emperor, surely the greatest honor in his life; a life that was entering its final moments. As the archers loosed their arrows he knew it was time to die. Staring the arrows down, tracing them as they headed towards him, Aureolus spoke two words, “Forgive me.” Then everything turned cold and dark.

Written by: Richboi0
Edited by: Rocky Martin
Coded by: Hoof Nooberina