The Celtic Resistance

The struggle in the Sea

We had reached the white walls, the cliff edge. Magnificently elegant and clean; polished by the Gods.

We stared out to the sea and saw 70 ships approaching at a steady speed. Two legions were spread on them with their red sandaled king in the midst of their greed.

We waited for them. Coldly staring at their fleet. The archers sat, legs hanging off the edge of the world, as the wind started to pick up. The chill caused the men to wrap themselves in their cloaks as they shielded from the cold breath of the heavens.

These distant imperials were coming. These Hellenic people.... They pride themselves as being "better than all" but they are just ignorant Greeks for all I care. Forced to learn their tongue and now forced to face their might!

Rage circled round our Celtic brothers.

We marched away from the cliff edge and formed a war footing at the beach. We were standing, quietly and peacefully staring at the approaching evils. Each ship carried 200 of the most equipped and professional fighters we had ever seen. Black spots on the deck, covered in chainmail. Plumed helmets and ironically skimpy sandals.

The ships finally got to the beach, but they could only go to shallow water. In unison, the Roman army jumped out seemingly unimpeded by their armour. They shone as these men clad in heavy armour seemed to somehow treat them as if they were light woolen clothes; so heavy how could it not weigh them down? These midgets with their armour and well-crafted swords, yet so disciplined, or that's what we all thought until...

Taking two javelins each as they jumped off one by one, they landed in the sea. Their once weightless armour must have been an illusion and their discipline a joke!

Our bows were loosened. A soft patter of evil heads splashing into Lir's ocean.

There was no formation in the water, the imperials scattered and divided. Wading through, yet being pushed back by every pound of the waves bouncing off the beach. A rip current knocking the men over. Refusing to go shallower than knee level the soldiers looked at their caped lord and then to the imposing cliffs to their right and their left, then they looked at the Celts.

That was until... Their "bearer" came. Leaping from his ship he gracefully landed into the sea's grip and as he cut through the waves in his path and splashed everyone around him; he cheered.

When I set eyes on him, I swear, he glowed. Absorbing the rays of the dying sun behind his back, shining through the calm mist.

He had the skin of a wolf, a mythical looking creature. "Leap Fellow soldiers!", he screamed. You do not want to betray your eagle!". He held a staff, golden in the Gods' light, balanced by a bulky imperial eagle. He drew his gladius and kept running through the water headlong at our advancing army. Staggered units fought our warriors one by one. Felled by our axes, spinning blades, a searing heat drove all who fought these imperials into a blood rage. These invaders will be vanquished. We ran into the water, weapons raised, our shields left at the shore, our armour ripped from our chests, the Gods decide if the tip of the enemy's blade has your name on it.

Our almighty God of the sea - Lir - pushed these bumbling broken spirits to our bloody blades. The waves hurled themselves against the soldiers, they fell in heaps over each other. We screamed in ear bleeding frequencies as we impaled the clumsy soldiers of the Republic. Bloody puddles were revealed from where they once stood, handles and shafts were sticking out of the water.

We screamed in ecstasy slaughtering the struggling chain-laden invaders. So tunnel visioned, our blades even slew some of our own men.

We fought with every man we had. At times we would hear our weapons snap from clashing swords and we would push them over, their armour pulling them down under the waves. Struggling up the imperial would be slammed by his enemy and military cunning and skill would be lost as we brawled under Lir's ocean with our foes.