V- Agricola's Memory
Vacomagi Territory, September 11th, 140
The brilliant blanket of starts that stretched over the Highlands was of little comfort to its new inhabitants. On a patch of sparse grass and lichen-covered rocks, thousands of refugees huddled around peatfires. Some stood watch, on the surrounding hills or among their families, ensuring order was kept. Surrounding one fire near the center of the camp, the head chieftains of nearly all the major Caledonian tribes sat with eachother. There was little to talk about while they waited for the last of them to arrive, the state of their peoples, a few informal trades between them, but the mood was grim. "Took you long enough old timer!" One of the chieftains called out, as the long sinced grey haired, seven fingered leader of the who the the Romans called the Cornavii wearily took his place at the fire. Drest, as his people called him, had ruled the Northern edge of Britain for 40 cold years. More significant, Drest was one of the last Briton survivors of Agricola's grand victory another 20 years prior. The man may have lost his physical prowess, but the man knew the Roman ways of war better than any other there.
He gave a cold stare to each of the other men around the fire "So... you're the men who wish to kill themselves." A chorus of outraged platitudes rang out, only to be silenced as the old chief stood. "How many spears, how many chariots can you hope to put against these red demons?" Talorc, leader of the Vascomagi stood to speak "30,000 spears and swords, 3,000 riders, and 50 chariots." He informed his peer sternly. Drest laughed "Not bad, they may actually send in the legions this time." "Keep your voice down damn yo-" Drest jumped up "None of you can understand! You'll never stand a chance! These Roman soldiers are a people within a people, war is a way of life to them!"
Another chief stood, furious "So tell me Drest, what would you have us do, roll over and kiss their pricks while they destroy us!? You've gone soft old man!" Drest shook his head, as he tried to throw off the memories of cold iron and wood smashing around him on that old terrible day "They don't care for us, they just want tribute, and after a generation they'll have some other rubbish to deal with, and they'll forget they ever came this far, all we have to do is hold out until then." "And be at their mercy?" Talorc asked "When they get hungry, they'll take our crops. When they lust for war, they'll take our sons. When they lust, they'll take our daughters." Several chiefs hollered in support "We'll accept your neutrality Drest, but we're going down after them in three days." Drest gave his counterpart a pitying look "May you triumph then. I have 500 spears with me, they can guard the women and children for a week after you leave." "Thanks for that." Talorc said genuinely "It's nothing, I don't want you to have to have them come along, and trust me, neither do you." Talorc wouldn't sleep well that night...