51 BC
Raging firelight in the distance guides young Gannicus, stumbling exhausted in pursuit of his brother, Amelcor. The cool fall air burns in his lungs as he struggles to make up ground. Not an hour ago he had grown tired of arguing with his parents about the power the Druids and knowing their place. They had taken his brother, as their father sat eyes fixed on the glow of the hearth unable to challenge them. His spirit was pure they said possibly passed down from the Tuath-de. Mother wailed in the distance outside their thatched hut, banished to the dark when she wouldn't stop begging at the druids feet. They arrived as a group, twenty or thirty of them in brown robes with heads half shaved from ear to ear. Tangled dreadlocks rose up in a crescent manes framing their expressionless faces. There were three women with them in green cloaks their faces and features obscured. Gannicus sat in the corner terrified as his father ordered Amelcor to dress and go with the Druids. Gannicus's brother is led away and one by one the procession empties from their humblest of homes.
The bonfire clearly illuminates a clearing at the top of the hill. Panting but ever careful Gannicus makes his way around the edge of the glade. There are others there, not just Druids and he recognizes them as leaders of the other tribes, the Belgae, Eburones, Helvetti and his own Arverni. Climbing a top a rock up hill of the ceremony the young boy watches heart pounding. The Druids chant from inside a stone enclosure which magnifies their voices. Their voices overlap rhythmically in an orchestrated wailing building up into hypnotic crescendos only to die down again and seethe. In a maelstrom of flaming red firelight one lone hulking figure disrobes and the entire proceeding grows hushed. Vercingetorix himself, unmistakeable wreathed in flames of red hair. His beard is parted into repeating knots in the same style which adorns his leather breastplate. Standing a head above every man around him, the living apex of his people. The fissures of his muscles cast shadows as firelight illuminates his physique. The sword strapped across his back could barely be raised and swung by two men, let alone two hands, yet their King only required one. Vercingetorix, the greatest of all Gauls, the one man who could unite a people against Rome. Even unto their doom.
The red haired giant knelt facing the fire, on the other side a crude stone altar. Amelcor is ushered to the base of the altar and held fast by three Druids. Two of the women remove their robes to reveal full robust figures, large round breasts and hips. Their proportions are both perfectly symmetrical and yet unlike any other women's. Gannicus realized he was laying eyes upon the Twin Sisters of Fertility, the most power priestesses of his people. They were said to be able to bless any union with a child. In a practiced gesture they turn to the third woman and slowly remove her clothing. She is much younger than they, her girlish figure not yet touched by a child. Small breasts heave in terror, her legs shake and knees buckle as she becomes aware of her nakedness in this strange gathering. Two men seize her, delicately holding her arms behind her back while the other squeezes her jaw to force open her mouth. The darker haired of the two women raises a gourd to the girls lips and large draught is forced in. Firm hands hold her mouth shut and she swallows choking on the foul brew. Drusilla who Gannicus now recognizes by her auburn hair lifts the same bottle to Amelcor and he accepts it willingly. His robes are pulled off him and Drusilla kneels infront of him. Opposite the stone altar her sister Alesia mirrors her twin and slowly lowers herself infront of the young terrified girl. Gesturing and chanting, both sisters watch intently as their subjects swoon. The intoxicating brew has worked its way through their veins, pushed fast by fearful hearts. Their eyes glaze and their heads roll swooning in the chaos of overstimulation. Drusilla leans forward and takes Amelcor into her mouth, carefully working his manhood with her hands and lips. Alesia runs her hands over the girl's body, wildly flicking her tongue between her virgin legs. The two sisters stand in unison dragging their fingernails up each supplicant's legs. Expert hands work at their willing bodies, preparing them for the ceremony ahead. Alesia whispers in the virgin's ear, and her eyes rise and lock on Amelcor across the altar. The young girl's eyes take on a fixation that grows into lust as Alesia works her fingers inside her untouched body. Drusilla squeezes Amelcor's testes, toying with them while she runs a hand up and down his length. She squeezes it and sizes it up and declares him ready to the silent gathering.
Mounting the altar the girl bares herself as commanded, emboldened by the words of the Alesia. Amidst the fire and chanting Amelcor's purpose is clear he seizes her from behind and enters her. The chanting changes pace and wild hollers and shouts punctuate the night air. All eyes burn with focused intensity on the two lovers bodies. Their bodies writhe and eagerly greet each other with every thrust. Amelcor clutches at her hips face drawn tight in a grimace of ecstasy. She grits her teeth and moans, clutching at the stone beneath her, leaning back into Amelcor's embrace. Muscles strain and sweat covers both their bodies and they lose themselves completely. Amelcor closes his eyes and does not see the Hunter emerge from the woods. Hern has appeared, the god of the hunt to claim his prey. The chanting accelerates to a fevered tempo, masking the footsteps of the druid, masked with the raiment of a stag. Horns silhouetted in firelight, he stands silently behind Amelcor and slowly raises a kris blade. The heat from the fire warps the outline of the obsidian blade, accentuating its deadly serrations.
At the moment Amelcor cried out in climax, the blade was run across his throat. His body quickly seized and ruthlessly rendered into the fire. Still convulsing the girl is fallen upon by the entire throng. She is splayed out upon the rock on her back and held fast. Drusilla locks her lips on the girls mons and brings her to climax again. The Druids chant and take turns running their hands over the girl, while Alesia kneels whispering commands, grounding her in the moment. Drusilla inserts her finger and pushes the seed in deeper. Again the girl convulses and thrashes against their restraint in violent abandon, howling with pleasure.
The young Gannicus could only run away that night. The images seared playing themselves out inside his mind and eventually seeping outside of it as well. In one morbidily purifying moment Gannicus learned the grotesque duality that is life. That the most exhaulted of pleasures can readily and wretchingly give way to the most entropic of agonies. Life is tenuous at best and our own physical forms remind us of this daily. The very medium through which we feel pleasure is the same as that which causes us pain. Gannicus learned that night that his body was all that he was and ever would be. It wasn't really his anyway and some day they would come to claim it. The Druids, The Romans, The Lanista, The Gladiator. Until that day arrived then Gannicus decided his cock would rage on.