Tobi72 wrote: ↑Sun Jan 25, 2026 7:56 pm
Prologue: Brennus
A small backstory imagined by me – how it all began (fictional)
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The fog lay heavy over the hills as the Clan of the Ram made camp, and even the elders spoke more quietly than usual that morning.
Brennus stood at the edge of the fire, young in years, yet with a gaze that carried more weight than his age suggested.
Many already followed him, others only reluctantly—for not all accepted that a man without a gray beard should lead the Ram.
The loudest among the doubters was the Wolf Clan, proud, ancient, and dangerous as the beast whose mark they bore.
Their chieftain, a man scarred by countless wars, saw in Brennus not a leader, but an insult.
He himself had claimed the right to rule, and worse still, Brennus had once humiliated him before the clans.
What began as a dispute became a feud, and what became a feud turned into a sentence of death.
In the night, wolves slipped through the camp—not of flesh and blood, but armed with spears and hatred.
Brennus escaped only by chance, awakened by the barking of dogs and the metallic whisper of drawn blades.
By morning, bodies lay in the dew, and all knew there could be no turning back.
The Wolf Clan had broken the old law.
Blood had been spilled, and blood demanded an answer.
Brennus gathered the warriors of the Ram, not with shouting, but with a calm and steady voice.
He spoke of honor, of strength, and of how a clan that murders in the shadows must fall in the light.
Many nodded, some hesitated, yet none spoke against him.
The war between Ram and Wolf burned fast and fierce.
Villages changed sides, banners fell, and new ones were raised.
Brennus fought not like a youth, but like one who knew that every victory might be his last.
When the Wolf chieftain finally fell, it was not by ambush, but in open combat.
The Wolf died standing, and even his enemies could not deny him that respect.
What followed was not a slaughter, but an offer.
Brennus spared the survivors and gave them something greater than revenge: plunder, glory, and a march to the south.
Many of the Wolves swore loyalty to him that very day.
Others followed out of pride, some out of fear—but all marched.
Thus, from two clans, an army was born.
And as the fires of the north burned low, Brennus turned his eyes toward the mountains.
Beyond the Alps, so it was said, lay rich lands and soft cities.
There awaited the Etruscans.
And farther south waited something that did not yet know its name would soon be feared: Rome.