The Cold of Carnuntum
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The year is 174 AD. You are at Carnuntum, a fortress on the Danube. Outside the heavy flaps of your imperial tent, the wind howls across the frozen river. The drums of the Quadi tribes beat in the distance, a rhythm of impending war.
It is dawn. Your body aches with the stiffness of age and the damp cold. The warmth of the furs is seductive. You feel a heavy reluctance to rise, to face the petitions, the strategy meetings, the plague, and the mud.
A voice in your head whispers, "Just a little longer. It is too cold to be Emperor today."