Now affectionately having been dubbed the nickname 'Teuto', our hero reemerges in the second installment of this little-known Celtic saga.
In my second regression session, my inner eyes adjusted on the scene back in war-torn Britannia and we found my ancient self situated at a table, surrounded by colluding members of a movement that had been assembled to rise up against the foreign Roman invaders. Teuto barked orders and fomented insurrection, and as any good leader should, accepted any new ideas posed by his trusty followers. Thusly, a plan was slowly developed.
My intention in returning back to this scene for a second session was to see where this ancient memory would take us. In the session prior, an excessive amount of time elapsed which made it impossible to conclude the journey in one sitting. We had established that this ancient version of me was a natural, competent, and tenacious leader, behind whom a small nation would follow.
Naturally, my excitement and anticipation could scarcely be contained.
As Teuto and his obsequious followers hatched a plan that would no doubt be considered both intrepid and impetuous, I listened for any details I could perceive. It seemed that our courageous hero would send a fake message to the nearby Legate who was in command of a rather sizable number of Roman troops just to the east of Teuto's village. The subversive message would alert him to the fact that a large band of angry, blood-thirsty celts were assembling at a location to the southwest of the Roman position, about 20 miles south of the village. Teuto's ingenious plan called for a routing of the unsuspecting Roman forces by ambush on their way to meet the fabricated force. A large stretch of forest some 15 miles deep would be the perfect staging ground for the offensive.
A smile once again grew on my face as a flood of purpose, dignity, and direction washed over my body. I was fully immersed in this memory and dedicated to seeing it through to completion, no matter the outcome. As we continued in earnest, I clenched my fists, ready to vanquish the foreign devils that had subjugated my people for far too long.
Teuto aligned his men along the tree line of the dense forest which surrounded the road leading to the false coordinates, eagerly awaiting the approaching Roman army which was not yet in sight. As I scanned the horizon seeing no sign of a small army, I worried for a quick moment that the communique was perhaps discovered to be spurious, neutralizing my efforts, when then I saw it - torches, men on foot and horseback, and a small carriage crested the hill in the distance - at last, they had come! I drew my broadsword as we laid in wait. I commanded my men to hold their attack until the band had fully entered the forest and the archers positioned in the trees were able to take their first shots.
As the band approached, I noticed the peculiarly small number of men, somewhere around 20, but a swift task given that my group was made of over 60 men. They slowly entered the forest, and just as my plan dictated, they fell into the trap. Arrows rained from above striking the men on horseback with lethal and gruesome accuracy; those who were left were quickly executed by my competent footmen, with two Roman soldiers falling victim to the devastating downward blows of my heavy sword. I felt the warm blood of their fresh wounds spray onto my face and chest as I arose from a crouched position after a successful strike, licking my lips and welcoming the vitriolic taste. I then focused on my men slaying the last of this group of unlucky Roman swine. We made quick work of their bodies, looting with voracity. We then turned our attention to the carriage, which we assumed housed the Roman Legate, who at this point must have been terrified. With bloody weapons in hand, we excitedly threw open the wooden door to find the carriage completely empty!