[ RF ] A high profile Roman legionary and his battalion are driven off course during a storm and find themselves in Scandinavia.What happens to them ?

Sergius glanced down at his artificial hand. It had been a month since he had lost it to a maneuver of his own arrogance. His tactics and war strategies had been well-received throughout all of Rome. The hand was crafted masterfully from wood and the joints of the fingers had been fully articulated. He could even grip a sword with some effort. Technology was an incredible thing. The hand increased his reverence from the battalion. They looked upon him and perhaps more-so his artificial hand with awe and respect. 
 
 Sergius was Centurion, Kentarch, the hand to him was no more than a symbol of his failed pride and past mistakes. He vowed not to make another. Every cohort of the legion took the rear behind Sergius and his cavalry as snow began to fall. Sergius was old, approaching his 40th year. He was no stranger to cold; but he had only read of snow. Could the legion have wandered off the war path during the dusk hours of the morning? Sergius wondered this to himself; but often he kept himself reserved from his men. 
 
 2 weeks ago they were in Germania. Sergius was sure that this degree of snow was not appropriate. It did n't fair well for the embassy of Britannia the army was meant to meet further west some time in the next several days. Something was wrong. Sergius was sure of it. He could n't just turn back. He could n't announce to his army yet another mistake. They would mutiny his leadership. 
 
 On the crest of a hill past a powdered sea of infinite white stood a man. He was large, indicated by the distance and his significantly visible body. He brandished a large staff with a head of metal at its top. It looked much like the weapon of a barbarian society's executioner. 
 
 Flowing white hair and a steel helmet became visible as the unit converged on his location. He also seemed a battle-hardened soldier, no stranger to the harshness of winter. I took the lead up the hill and ordered the legion to remain some distance behind me. `` Where are we? I asked the man first in Latin and then in a Barbaric tongue. He snorted. Frozen air flowed from his nostrils. I witnessed an army of equal stature in the valley beneath the crest of the hill opposite my unit. He made a threatening gesture. I paled to the warrior and no more words were exchanged as I unsheathed my sword and began a backward walk to my unit. `` Enemy!'' I shouted. `` HOSTES!'' The winter warrior roared and I began to hear the petrifying earthquake of footfalls rushing up either side of the hill.
