Showing results for "Clay" in Ancient

Rome, 260 AD. Marcus is a baker who watches his world collapse one coin at a time. The silver that once bought a sack of wheat now buys nothing. The emperor debases the currency. Prices rise. The legions grow restless. And Marcus does what ordinary people have always done in extraordinary times: he works, he loves, and he tries to survive. Seventeen centuries later, archaeologist Elias Harrington spends his last savings on one final dig in the Italian countryside. What he uncovers is Marcus's story—and a warning that arrives too late.

"Jealousy is but one road to the preordained," Hektor offered. "Are you a seer, now?" Alerio challenged. "No, sir. I'm a youth who worries about how you're being treated." "Colonel, we're all apprehensive about what fate their jealousy is driving you towards," Centurion Pelle added. "I've sworn a Tribune's Oath to a God and a General," Alerio informed them. He tugged the crested helmet down over his head before saying. "We can sit with bowls of camp stew and talk about our feelings later. Right now, I have a battle to win." Welcome to 255 B.C.

Alerio Sisera had made killers out of a handful of guardsmen to win over one Captain. The other three Captains were in their regions and hundreds of miles away. And each would require a different task to give Alerio an endorsement as a Military Attaché. Tribune Sisera prayed for an opportunity to get all four Captains in one place. He should have remembered Aesop's warning, "Be careful what you wished for, lest you get it."

There are anxious words to describe being in unfathomable trouble. A feeling of pressure, an emotion of being in over-your-head, and a sense of being smothered. Legion Centurion Alerio Sisera was drowning in the sea and experiencing all of them. From black, to gray, to green water overhead, Alerio transitioned through the ocean layers as he swam upward. Lungs screaming for air, and his chest heaving, his body threatened to take in a breath. It became a competition between the urges of his lungs

Welcome to the spring of 258 BC. The expanding war with the Qart Hadasht Empire is changing the Republic's military supply structure. Supplying scattered Legions and far-flung naval squadrons is overextending the provincial quartermaster system. Growing awkwardly to handle the needs, the military organizations are evolving, slowly. Now evil men have found a way to profit from the disorganization.

Infantry tactics at a sea battle offer dangerous options. Run the boarding ramp into the tips of the enemy's blades. Or fall into the gap between warships. Welcome to 260 B.C. Death waits at both, but if you make it to the enemy's deck you have a fighting chance. With the sea, you are doomed by the weight of your armor as soon as you splash down. There is another option: Be the first Legionary to board an enemy ship. You might surprise and disrupt the Empire soldiers. And win medals and accolades. Or you might die as an unjust sacrifice.

Welcome to summer 258 B.C.

Una expedición de paleontólogos y científicos descubre una isla sin cartografiar en mitad del Atlántico con restos de una civilización muy antigua. En ella hay una cueva y en el centro de esta una inmensa columna con unas inscripciones en una lengua ya perdida. Cuando el grupo que entra en la cueva regresa a sus respectivos hogares comienzan a tener visiones de una grotesca presencia. Uno de los paleontólogos mata a su familia y reproduce en la pared de su salón las extrañas escrituras de la cueva antes de suicidarse.