Rome: Sword of the Legion

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The wind moaned over the sand.

It was an endless wind that scratched the powder from the tops of the dunes to feed the red cloud churning across the desert floor. The roiling wind searched for something to catch it, something that it could make dance or knock down. The wind howled, lifting the malleable earth from one spot to another in its desperate quest, but its piercing breath found nothing, only endless plains and more burning sand. Not a tree, nor a scrap of desert shrub, not even a blade of grass could be sought out in this accursed land.

The wind fought with the sun for mastery of this plain, but together they protected it from all trespassers, greeting the unwelcome with sand-choking thirst and death. For countless millennia, they had guarded these lands, burying the kingdoms of frail men who dared try to usurp them. Bleached bones and buried ruins stood stark still as their trophies – forewarnings to those who might try again.

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