17 April 2012
It was winter in the wasteland, and the blood had stained the snow. Bodies frozen into statue, in the 33 below.
He was a Roman Legionary, his discipline ingrained. He'd fought in many battles, and between each fight he trained.
Now his lorica segmentata gave no protection from the frost. His scutum and his galea during battle had been lost.
His pilum was embedded in a frozen corpse nearby. He stared at his dead opponent with a certain sense of pride.
His gladius was clutched still in his cold, frostbitten hand, And he knew his wounds would kill him, if he where to try to stand.
He was a Roman Legionary. He died bleeding in the snow, Along with the 3rd Centura, In the 33 below.
33 3rd • Opuss № I