Cullough cheerfully gripped his rifle and tapped the hilt of his Gladius very lightly with his other hand. Getting to kill Romans, every Celts dream in the occupied territories in Alba. Cullough continued to grin like a young boy who just discovered women are easy on the eyes. One of the two Goths, to be precise, the rather tall one, was in fact named “Theodoric”, after a great warrior/king of their tribe. Cullough suspected Theodoric was just a nickname due to the man’s proficiency with a broadsword; but, then again, it was of no concern. Sigmund walked towards the Welsh-Celt looking exceedingly happy about the prospect of killing Roman infantry.
Sigmund put a rather heavily scarred hand on Cullough’s shoulder and said “So then celt, what kind of firepower can we expect during the charge, any armored cars?”. Cullough looked a bit terrified at the prospect, but then steeled himself for what his chosen course of action has and will lead to. Cullough started to enlighten Sigmund to the terrifying fact that the Romans were bringing about fifteen armored cars and the “Heracles” Legio XXV from Sparta. Sigmund clenched his hands into fists, the combination of hearing his knuckles crack and the leather from his gloves creaking made a rather potent shiver run up Cullough’s spine. Sigmund had what could only be called a “grimace” as an expression, as he went back towards his telegraph dugout and began to relay this information.
The Goth nicknamed Theodoric came by, his rather “choppy” welsh proved quite grating as they both just dropped back to Claudian Latin (the Roman common tongue) and the strangely tall Goth introduced himself as in-fact an Ostrogoth, named Octulf Unwodz, and , oddly enough, the other man he thought was also a Goth was in Fact a Norsevolk, named Sigibald Bjornsson. Having learned this, Cullough then asked in a semi-dumbfounded way; “So, Octulf, why are you named after Theodoric the Great?” Octulf chuckled and said in a very chipper manner “It’s because of how many I’ve put to-ground with my broadsword.” As Octulf finished that sentence he patted the somewhat long hilt of the deeply fullered broadsword sheathed at his hip.
Cullough grinned and said in a somewhat childish manner “Can I hold it, I mean, the gladius pattern they issue to the Legions are absolutely pitiful, the blades are cast forged, yours, I take it, are layer forged?” “Ja, that they are.” Cullough drew his gladius (MK XXIV Pattern) and tapped the crossguard, “This is alloyed brass, who gives their infantry such garbage?” Octulf looked as if he was about to burst with laughter as Sigibald came around the corner of the trench-wall leading to the telegraph dugout and said “I overheard this news about Roman swords, I find it quite funny how cheap the empire has become over the centuries; but yes Heafodmann Rauzwisen just got an ETA on the charge, apparently our Ullermen (reconnaissance) did quite a good job; actually, here he comes.”
Sigmund saw the short-ish island Celt talking to both of his Hunda-faþs and said in a somewhat loud voice so that the other drengr (warriors, due to the type of post-tribal imperialism running the konigsrik, they loathe the term “soldier”) in the trench could hear him “Alright, according to the Ullermen, we have a very large and very determined assault that is going to hammer this entire front.” This statement brought something of a cross between “Nidhoggr’s balls......” and “Well shit........” responses from the assorted drengr. “Lads, I compel you to embrace a significant part of Volk-Stáiga (folk-way), take to heart the All-Father’s blessing, you shall need the rage in the next half hour."