God, it felt good to burn something. Especially after the day he'd had. Alaric looked at the burning remains of Rome and nodded with a small smile. The silly Romans deserved it, after all. Yes, true, his maps might be the tiniest bit wrong -- something he'd discuss with his cartographers when he got home -- but that was no excuse for the Romans to go and build this monstrosity of a city that did nothing but block his way. Didnt they realize he just wanted to get home? He tried to explain to Triple A that he wanted to go home, and instead they seemed determined to send him to Rome. Why, he asked himself for the fifth time that hour. Rome is not home, not even close. Home was north. Rome was west. Big difference -- even the stupidest Goth knew that. But apparently not the folks who answered the phones at Triple A. He looked at the burning buildings once again. God, it felt good to see that wastebin of a city going up in smoke. Someone should have done it a long time ago. It wasnt personal, after all. He had no grudge against the Romans... well, not really. He was perfectly happy to maintain his death-grip on Corinth and Sparta, but somewhere along the way back to Germany, he turned left instead of turning right, and then he missed the freeway exit, and that took him at least four or five leagues out of his way, and then, when he tried to double-back, there was all the construction work through the Thermopylae... and it all went to Hades from there. By the time he hit the Italian border, he wasnt in a good mood, not one bit. Damn those cartographers. Damn them all. Here he was looking forward to a nice quiet winter, with plenty of snow and maybe, if the missus wasnt looking, a few Rhinemaidens as well. Instead, he had to deal with Rome's rush hour traffic. Chariots, litters, tumbrel wagons -- no wonder nothing got done in this city! He thought he was gonna get through it okay when someone flipped him the finger and shouted, "Go home, ya rube!" -- and that's when Alaric lost it. The Romans simply werent prepared when he stopped traffic on the Appian Way and his Visigoths started hacking and slashing and burning and ravaging. "That'll show 'em who's a rube!" he thought as he ordered his men to pile up as much gold and silver as they could find... which turned out to be quite a lot. Well, he'd need it to explain to his wife why he was late getting home, that was for sure. And when he was finished appeasing her, he was gonna call Triple A and give them a serious piece of his mind...