As he stumbled around a corner, he tripped over a cold, armored leg. The middle aged man, filthy and dressed in dingy rags, mumbled to himself and laughed quietly, clutching a tattered cloak to his scrawny torso. The shadow hesitated, searching for anything out of the ordinary, and then vanished.Ī drunk staggered along a side street of Rome. What it saw was beyond its comprehension, as the silhouette of a person, laden with equipment, slithered from behind a tiled roof's peak, quietly and quickly descending the steep angle.
No Praetorian Guards patrol the streets, no revellers liven the night with their drunken carousing.Ī rat, scavenging among a trash pile, happened to look up for a second. The world sleeps, fearful, waiting for the dawn and the life-giving sun.