This is Dacia. The year is 77 B.C.
This is Gunoi, a village on the western banks of the Danastris River. For the most part, it's a nice town; few empires have ever found it interesting enough to conquer.
Pulvus, a young Dacian male, sits alone, in the woods beneath the town. His back is towards it. He closes his eyes, and absorbs the sounds of the Danastris. It's always better out here than in the village.
By now, Pulvus's skin is calloused. He's usually famished.
A ladybug crawls across his arm. He grins, lowers his arm, and lets it wander onto a blade of grass.
Maria, a local girl, attends to him. She reminds him that society misses him in the village. He doesn't miss them. He thinks they're annoying.
She tells him they need his gifts. He's a very important part of the culture up there.
He doesn't want his own gifts. And he can't give anything away he'll miss.
From behind, Maria puts his arms around his shoulders, and tries to beguile him. She tells Pulvus that the ladies up there would LOVE a man like him. His body is developed, but his soul is confused. Hurt, perhaps even; and that's what a beautiful maiden from town could do for him.
He pulls away her arms, and reminds her that there are other men in town who actually NEED wives. Pulvus isn't one of them; he can barely handle the responsibilities of himself without having a breakdown.
Sadly, Maria bids her adieu. She reminds him that if he changes his mind, all of the single women in town are always recruiting.
Pulvus tries to ignore her. It's tempting...but he's done the whole courtship thing before, and most women are too clumsy to keep him obsessed.
Time passes. Pulvus closes his eyes, and tries to relocate Zen...
Through the woods, a strange wind blows. The clouds in the southwestern sky darken.
From town, Pulvus hears a lot of screaming, shouting, and swords clashing. He wonders if he should attend to any of it. He's unarmed; he wouldn't last five minutes against the invaders. He sighs, and mellows back.
"Town gets conquered by the Romans," he mutters. "Not my problem."
From out of nowhere, Pulvus's face is broadsided by a sandal-clad foot. Dumbfounded, he falls over on his side.
He starts to get up. Spears surround him, and point at him. Their owners are Roman warriors, clad in armor. Pulvus sighs.
"NOW it's my problem," he stumbles to admit.