Pax Romana: Iacta Alea Esto

[Gunther]

"All Roads Lead To Rome"
-Proverb

Noon, March 15th, 44 BC
Rome, the famed heart of the Roman Republic, was home to some half a million souls. Such was the grandeur of the Jewel of the Republic that it was fully believable that all roads did, indeed, lead to the great accomplishment of architecture. From the terracotta rooftops of regular homes and estates, to the hanging gardens of the massive apartments that loomed over the city streets, it was all designed for one effect: To express to the viewer just how powerful, and how glorious, the Roman Republic truly was. From the fountains that speared water into the heavens in defiance of the will of the earth itself, to the massive aqueducts visible beyond the seemingly impenetrable city walls for all their provision-granting glory. By simply taking water from the nearest reservoir and funneling it across countless kilometers with those magnificent stone pathways, the city's own massive series of storehouses, baths, spas, and more besides were kept perpetually watered, adding to the glory of the Roman people within the massive city.

Such were Rome's achievements that its inhabitants, traveling about the city in the day, could hear such a thundering of hooves and cart wheels that echoed across the entire city. While Caesar had lobbied to forbid daylight traffic on the streets of Rome for this very reason, the Republic persisted in the business of industry. Just as the massive fields along the fertile countryside bore grain, wheat, grapes, and more besides for the armies abroad, so- too- did the industry of Rome bear a cornucopia of manufactured goods. The industry of war fueled much of the business going on that day, master armor smiths worked in sweltering heat to produce Lorica Segmentata for the latest batch of recruits. Weapon forges produced gladii by the score, in addition to pilum and arrow. Yet war was not Rome's only industry, for no city as grand as this could survive on war alone!

Weavers plied their trade from shops and on street corners, turning rolls of linen thread into tunics and dresses. Shoemakers worked leather wood into sandals and other foot wares, whilst potters and wine makers worked in unison to ensure that the midday drunkards and tavernas never once found themselves without alcohol on tap. Life in Rome, for those eligible, could be described as a never-ending paradise, truly blessed by the Gods- with the only interruption between eternal peace and the present euphoria being the mild annoyance of death. For those less fortunate, however, Rome could be an ugly place. A city of crime and gluttony. A place where a slave's life could be measured in weeks under a callous master, or mere days should he be unfortunate enough to serve in the daily blood matches or hideously deadly races. Even everyday foot travel brought its own risks- with Rome forever expanding, death by shoddy engineering was a present threat. Fire was perhaps the most deadly risk a person in Rome could endure, and- unchecked- flames could very well consume an entire city block and the people within before brigades bearing pails of watter and whetted cloth could extinguish them. Be it death by robber, death by war, or death in the most exquisite lap of luxury, life within Rome was short and sweet- much like a cup of wine.

Aulus Atius Vespillo
The Tavernas of Rome are a place where a mercenaria such as Aulus could ply his trade. In the lantern-lit rooms, filled with the sweetly sickening stench of oils and body soaps of every price and odor intermixing in the air, men gambled away or into great fortunes. Bone, ivory, and even a few marble dice clattered in bowls at almost every table. Men cursed or praised the Gods according to their luck, faith being found and lost with the change of every hand. The mercenary himself was but a recent arrival in this den of iniquity and inquiry- the building's sign bearing its name having been long since removed. And perhaps with good reason! The people in this place were certainly not the ideal citizens of Rome, which was what perhaps made this an also ideal place for find work.

The building, situated along the waterfront of Rome's docks, was a common dive for returning sailors and Legionaries. Though the Legions had not returned from abroad yet, the pacification of Gaul and forays into lands beyond its limits taking up precious time, sailors delivering supplies and fresh recruits to the Republic's military machine were not uncommon in a place like this. Even now, a number of sailors could be seen carousing, proudly declaring that the latest quadrireme- the Victoria- would take a dozen enemy ships within the first four years of her sailing out from the shipyards. Feasting upon coarse wheat bread and goat cheese, mixed with watered-down wine, the men seemed that they were more likely to drink themselves into a stupor than start anything.

Which was probably fortunate. The Watchmen were out in force today, the Senate having decided to reward Caesar once more for the successful prosecution of not only Pompeii and his mad cohorts against the Republic's rightful dictator. Even now, ships could be seen gathering in the harbor, their crews standing at attention as the Hero of the People was preparing for the ceremony later that day. As was customary, there would be wealth freely passed down to the citizens of the streets, the denarii being cast like grain into the hands of adoring people. It was as sure a way as any to get coin.

And doubtlessly, people would be planning to take those wagons full of barbarian wealth for themselves. The idea was suicidal, no doubt, but people would certainly try it- and fail. Which hardly concerned the mercenary, really: At the moment, he found himself looking through the faces of the crowd. There were plenty of dice tables to join in on, not to mention the carousing sailors in need of a few last favors before leaving the land of men forever. There were also the usual meetings for places such as this: Poorly disguised servants and slaves of Equites and Patricians gathering, trading, and selling information available. The word on everyone's lips for the day was "Caesar", and an endless web of intrigue and social tension. The plebeians loved him, the Senate was terrified him, and people were becoming more and more rash the longer the lifelong dictator remained in power.

With any fortune, the mercenary could perhaps turn a quick coin tonight. With the wine on tap, a mixed-breed slave providing crudely shaped lead cups and plates to drink and eat from from behind the wooden counter, there was certainly going to be an interesting night tonight. The mercenary had never seen Rome so abuzz: Something, somewhere, was going to change the face of the Republic.

Forever.

Corvus Porcious Cato
Caesar will die. It is a fact commonly spoken of, and always in carefully measured tones amongst those of the wealthy upper classes. From his seat amongst the wooden benches surrounding the makeshift amphitheater, the Equites- and even a few Patricians- had come to the Forum to enjoy one of several shows for the day. It was one of the more frequent comedies portrayed by actors, a tale depicting the humorous misadventures of a Roman prostitute and a Greek hoplite (Whose 'wooden snake', quite literally a wooden effigy of a snake attached to his codpiece, led him in constant search for the 'Goddess of Beauty, of whom no woman in all of Greece may match!').

Plebeians laughed voraciously at the antics of the actors on stage, making merry with the urns of wine being carried about by the slaves of the privileged men sitting atop the stands. Corvus, having made it amongst this 'inner circle' by barely the skin of his teeth and economic wits, had suddenly become privy to a new layer of intrigue within the city of Rome. He had known for a long time that there were layers beneath layers of interwoven political mechanisms- with a city of half a million souls, such an event was practically foretold. Especially in the capital of a nation as massive as the Roman Republic! But this? This was something he could use! His house, weakened as it was by Caesar's civil war, had only a few estates left. A couple of apartment complexes for field laborers, an extremely profitable sixty acres of farmland in Sicily, and a small vineyard situated a few kilometers beyond Rome's walls, in the remains of the countryside estate of the Cato family.

But with the money he had gathered, and the support he had gained- through blackmail, charisma, and even a small amount of bribery- he was an ascending star. Feeling the gentle fanning of the slaves around him and his fellow socialites, he could hear their almost inconsequential deals going down, translating them in his mind as the comedy went on before them. The farm baron, his massive girth having caused the wood of the bench he sat upon to warp, now sprawled out with a pair of young, nubile slaves from the African continent feeding him grapes. Ignatius Septimus, a Patrician whose name could be found etched into the farmlands of Rome itself, was not a man to be pushed about- if only for his grossly indulgent lifestyle.

"If you wish for the eighth Legion to take over those wretches in Burgondiones, then I will not be providing my grain to you for less than twenty thousand denarii." He declared, beginning the negotiations in its earnesty. The man he was speaking to, Centurion Lucia of the VIII Legion's forces, had been dispatched in full armor to negotiate for provisions from the capital for their ground forces on the march. The stream of slaves heading in from the conquests of the people in Burgondiones had provided fresh blood to the streets of Rome, and there were likely already a number of the hard-faced and mustachioed slaves present in the Forum today.

"Fifteen thousand, and not a denarii less." The Centurion countered, folding his arms across his armored chest.

"Would you have me starve like a dog for such a price?!" The latifunda lord countered, his second and third chins wobbling with indignity. "I have to ship my product to Ariminum by ass, then land upon the docks of Aquileia-"

"Which," Interrupted Nauarchus Princeps Opiter, no doubt gunning for the favor of the merchant to provide a better rate for the ships under his command, "have been having a fair number of hassles from pirate spikers along their waterlines. It is quite a risk to undertake such a watery journey, quite a risk indeed. Were it not for Caesar's interest in keeping our naval lines pressing forward, we could have addressed such an issue with a battlefleet." He commented off-handedly.

The negotiations would doubtlessly continue on like this all day, but the mention of Caesar was one of several thus far. It was small remarks like this that hinted at a bigger issue. One that came to a head when, a couple of blocks away, a group of Watchmen could be seen beating down a plebeian attempting to climb a statue of the Roman dictator. A wreath in hand, the man had been attempting to crown the granite imitation of the general like some mock king of foreign lands. As it stood, a crowd of indignant plebeians were watching the man take a firm beating, jeering the men for following through on the Senatorial decree against such worship of the Roman leader.

Gaius Silvius
A howl echoed throughout the workshop as a mezzanine composed of timber collapsed under the weight of heavy stone gears. The inventor, charged by Legatus Hostus Accius with the task of improving the ballistas employed by the Roman Legions in sieges, had found his workplace quite hectic as of late. The slaves provided to him, promised to be of the utmost learning and brightness, had- in actuality- been proven to be little more than slightly imaginative field laborers. However, Roman law demanded that the inventor compose the weapon demanded of him, and so- with only a few months left to complete such a device- he had begun a dizzying pace of experimentation and crafting.

Coin had come fairly well enough, if not in the luxurious quantities that would have been preferred. The Quaestor's office had granted him precious denarii at the behest of the Legatus's contacts within the city, but coin meant little when he was forced to work with such an insufferable racket from the city at large! The clatter of hooves outside his workshop door had almost forced him to take his work home with him, but the workshop- situated along a major road to the Forum and the Senate chambers- had been the only one with enough available space to actually assemble and disassemble more than a single ballista at any one time. In addition, the workshop- having been reconstructed from a barn that dated back to the earliest years of the Republic- was the only place that could truly fit almost all of his working needs.

However, the right building all meant little if his slaves could not do the simplest of tasks! As the massive stone gear came crashing down through the floor, joined by the screams of the slave whose legs it crushed, it could only mean more setbacks for the inventor. The slave himself had not been very important- just a cheap little cretin bought from the docks, chosen only for his strong back and solid legs. Legs that were now a bloody pulp. As another two workers hooked the stone gear and hefted it upright, a third dragged the bloody corpse away, tossing him into the back alley along with the other filth. As the gear slowly rose upright, the true enormity of the operation became apparent for perhaps the first time in weeks. The interruption lent the inventor time to reflect at just what state his workshop was in: Hundreds of tools, most of which he had specially ordered from blacksmiths or had bought from carpenter shops, were lined upon wooden hooks. Planks of wood were set on sawhorses as improvised tables or stacked up in massive, chest-high piles for his use. Three ballista consumed the center of the room, the complex machines in various states of assembly and disassembly. Over the past three months, he had become practically married to the siege engines, learning their inner workings, their operation. Having used the workshop doors for targets, he had even watched one in action- before having to replace the door, of course.

Now, with the parts placed in neat little rows along the tables and benches, and only three slaves left- as well as a dwindling supply of denarii- his work seemed no closer to completion. With the ruckus of Caesar's impending award ceremony outside, there was almost no way to find the revelation he had been working for! His mind clawed for answers, so close to accomplishment, but he could not find them!

Legionary Vibbius Attilius
With his Legion currently stationed within the walls of Rome, Vibbius Attilius had found a brief respite for himself and his fellow brothers-in-arms from the pandemonium of war. Burgondiones had been a tough fight, and even now the two sides had been at a rough stalemate with the siege. He and his fellow Legionaries had been fortunate enough to be relieved before the siege actually went underway- back when it seemed that the last cities of those pitiful whore-sons would be a simple task to take over! Now that the siege was drawing into its fourth month, he found himself somewhat thankful that he could enjoy the fine companionship of the plebeian women, rather than the joy of a shield line in the middle of a battlefield, blocking the probing spears and screaming arrows of a foe he could barely see beyond the shields of himself and his brothers.

But that was all inconsequential! To the people of Rome, they were returning heroes, men who had continued to press the borders of the Republic ever-onward as the great Julius Caesar cleaned out the Senate of the filthy, greasy aristocrats clogging the nation's arteries with their seditious filth! As they trooped through the streets of the city's mercantile and pleasure districts, a group of perhaps twenty men in total, their numbers slowly thinned. Women standing in brothel doorways pulled men inside with seductive glances, phallus markings upon the street and doorways alerting the men that good times were ahead, even at the expense of lightening their purses. With the laughter abounds, a group of the men even dropped into a nearby Taverna called the Sanctus Ferrum, Blessed Sword, including their very own Centurion Faustus. It was a fairly well-built Taverna near one of the avenues leading to the Forum, where Caesar was to later make his procession into the Senate chambers for a grand award ceremony. Even now the Urban Cohorts were patrolling the streets, their armor clattering as they worked to keep an iron watch over the people present on this day. Some of them even seemed to be unusually tense, responding with unsavory words to the Legionaries when one of them tried to invite him for a drink and a quick trip to one of the spas, citing duty as more important than 'idiotic revelry'.

Which, of course, brought unsavory gestures back from the Roman soldiers. Before the situation could build, however, the group- now thinned to less than ten- found themselves on the precipice of the Forum limits. Spas and bath houses called to them, merchants hawked fine wine in glass amphoras at tempting prices. Fine tunics and vestments made from freshly spun linen and imported cotton made more than a few men go green, then overjoyous at their burgeoning purses. Caesar's loot from Pompeii's death had been divided well amongst the men, even down to the regular Legionnaire and his promises that the veterans of the latest campaign would be rewarded with land and slaves- practically latifundas in their own right! There was much cajoling to be done before the day was over with, however, and coin aplenty to be spent in the markets.

Rabbi Tevye
To be a Rabbi in Rome is to be a rarity amongst rarities. In the capital of the Republic, where the faith of the Gods has found no stronger roots, an opposing religious view can be met with much superstition. The plebeians of Rome are nothing if not superstitious, after all! However, the former slave, rather than meeting outright opposition as he had with some of the more stern-faced priests of deities such as Mars, had found himself an abrupt niche in the massive city. With people from all around the world having gathered in the heart of the massive Roman Republic, there were doubtlessly many schools of thought being brought here. Dark-skinned men preached of evil spirits in the skies, whilst others still proclaimed that the Greek Gods were not so different from those that Romans feared, and were very well related to the pantheon. For the Rabbi, however, he had found himself working in the markets as- unsurprisingly- a translator. However, he was not translating the words between merchants, serving as some sort of dull mediary.

He was translating proclamations from the Roman Senate. The pay offered had been quite good, translating to about three denarii (Twelve Sestertius, or silver) an hour. Most of them were reiterations of past decrees- declaring which dock lanes were closed for military use, the mighty ceremony to take place in Caesar's honor, and descriptions and names of persons of interest that the Watchmen, Senate, or Legion are looking for. It was fairly cut-and-dry stuff, but the real opportunity came in speaking with Rome's citizens in person. With the last evident proclamation being made for the moment, the Rabbi- situated within the Forum of Rome- had found himself free to do as he pleased for at least a few hours. Bands of performers had set up shows all across the merchant's square, and in preparation for the entourage of Caesar casting wealth amongst the plebeians there were many merchants getting their wares out. When wealth was passed out in such a manner, the markets were awash with the bodies of people looking to get fleeced of their gifts of wealth, and it was the merchants that perhaps profited the most. As such, sales were put up in competition between groups of tradesmen, craftsmen producing their finest wares- and thieves and pan rattlers plying their trade before the show began in just a few hours.

The market was fairly open to the Rabbi at this point- contrary to most other people in Rome, his pressing issues for the day were his own to decide, a religious philosopher completely open to whatever inspiration hit him without the associated titles and insane ramblings before the Senate to prove their worth as philosophic prophets.

Doiros Segomari
Rome was not the glorious city these people made it out to be! Even as he heard the clerics of the heathen gods of this city cry out the glories of Caesar's war, and watched the plebeian masses go about their productive lives, he could see the wages of sin upon them all! Their weakness was evident to the Druid now more than ever, and while the Gods of the Celtic people had not yet seen free to smite the Romans, the wizened shaman could see through his god-touched eyes that a great cleansing would take place in these lands! He had seen it in the prophetic haze of meditation, albeit it ill-defined. Even though his fellow people were enslaved, their freedom was sure to come upon the fall of this wretched kingdom of filth and sleaze! Even now, as he traveled the streets, he could overhear his fellow Celts- bound into the shackles of servitude- murmuring their discontent. For whilst Rome may have bled gold and wine, its inhabitants disgustingly fat and content like common swine, its slaves were hardened by their experience. Rome may have claimed that its laws treated slaves fairly, that the codes for keeping Celts imprisoned were just and righteous, but Doiros was no fool! He could see through their lies, through their falsehoods, he could sense the very corruption that dared to overtake any who dwelt within these walls for too long.

There, a chain gang of men laboring in sweltering heat to forge weapons for the Roman invader-swine. Good warriors, formerly family men of the great barbarian nomad tribes, now worked like common horses to ferry the sickeningly wealthy Equites and Patricians of Rome atop great palanquins and personal trains. Dressed up with makeup and jewelry, they looked like clay dolls cast in bronze or bathed in white dye rather than living beings. Such idolization was sickening! But yet...there was little the free Celt could do at the moment. He was but a foreigner to these people, and with so little coin, he would need to be clever as how to proceed. Armed with sickle and stave, he found himself travelling through the slave markets near the waterside. Here...

Here he could start a revolution.

Walking the streets of the slave markets, he saw chain gangs of ten and twenty being marched off ships arriving from distant seas. Merchants, priests, Senatorial agents, and more besides could be seen bidding upon the fresh arrivals as they were marched off the shallow-keeled hulls of the slaving ships. While Rome claimed that its own people would never be enslaved, he could take some small measure of satisfaction to notice that some of those on sale did- indeed- appear to be Romans captured through unsavory means in the civil war recently ended. For the most part, however, they were slaves taken from various battlefronts- including his homeland of Gaul. Plaques were placed over their heads bearing information like their state of health, their age, their intelligence, and any birth defects or injuries sustained before sale. Prices varied wildly- some costing only five hundred Denarii, whilst others went as high as almost three thousand for one in peak health and high intelligence. Of course, to the people bidding on them, they were naught but meat! Left to rotate upon their pedestals as they came up to bid, the Druid was left to his own devices.

Within the slaving district, adjacent to the docks, there were countless ships coming in and out. A number of the piers, having been closed for Caesar's self-glorification in the eyes of the Roman Senate, were closed off for military ships bringing dignitaries from the nearby cities as well as wine and similar luxury items for the people to overindulge in. Elsewhere, the Tavernas were full to overbursting, the people within letting themselves waste away upon the crushed grapes they served as alcohol. However, the Druid was almost certain that there were seedier areas to visit: With so many warehouses and stockrooms built along the shoreline for the visiting ships, not to mention the massive drydocks servicing ships at all times of day, there was bound to be a means of helping bring about this image of a burning, destroyed Rome! A civilization so corrupt deserved nothing less.

But much like wine, it can become very sour, very rapidly.

But the time for talk has passed. Let the die be cast!

[RufusCorvus]

Aulus Atius Vespillo
From within the shadows of his corner table, Aulus stared into the dregs of his empty cup of watery wine, wishing they were something more, but knowing his previous four cups were more than enough. He set his cup down with a sigh and leaned back in his chair, scratching at his small growth of beard. He glanced around the taverna, at the raucous sailors, the slaves and servants, and the gamblers found throughout the room, studying the movement of all, wondering who he might join.

His pouch of denarii was as full as it had been in some time--he could afford to try his luck at casting the dice. Aulus scanned the crowd again, hoping to learn more about anyone else of interest.

[Thatguyoverther]

Tevye

Tevye lets out a sigh, stretching his writing hand, he scans the forum.

After a few minutes, he lets out another sigh and looks heavenward. What now? You saw fit to bring me all the way to Rome. So what is it you'd have me do?

Without any real direction Tevye begins to wander the forum. I'm a free man. If I wanted I could be on a boat back home to Alexandria tomorrow. He pauses for a second and frowns. What good did fleeing God's purpose ever get anyone? A close up view of the inside of a whale, if you're lucky.

Tevye continues thinking, twisting his beard in contemplation. Patience Tevye, patience. God will show you the path in good time, who are you to hurry him? For now, 'When in Rome...'

Tevye waves to a food vender, buys a meal, and searches the forum for one of Rome's renounced distractions.

[WhiteKnight777]

Corvus Porcius Cato

The young Optimate reclined, watching the back-and-forth of tradespeak through half-lidded eyes, giving off an air of bored indulgence. The pretense of being just another spoiled son of the nobility was one that had served him well in the past, though those who observed more keenly could see through it clearly enough. He smiled, the twitch of his lips betraying a hint of irony.

"Worthy Nauarchus touches it with a needle, noble Ignatius. Glorious Ceasar's Republic" he said the last word with a slight twitch of the lips "Is fueled by your grain - and also by conquest. But most of all, by the love of the plebs. How the mob adores our great father! See, they risk even beatings to crown him with ever more glory. Certainly, you can see the justice in this. If your profits suffer a little because his fleets battle in the far corners of the world, rather than guarding our Roman sea, that is surely a small price to pay. I have no doubt a firm patriot such as yourself would never dream of a return to the old ways, when some few Optimates ruled for the good of the nobility, rather than Ceasar's policy of serving the good of all Romans, no matter how mean of birth they may be. Why, his generosity extends even to the conquered Barbarians. I am sure you have heard the news that they, too, are soon to know inclusion in our glorious Republic. Representation in the senate included."

He smiled again, his eyes glittering with humor. "Under such august leadership, I have no doubt we will prosper. Perhaps even the pirates who prey on your ships will soon be our sworn and sacred brothers. Such a day that will be."

The tone of his voice seemed sincere - but underneath, there was a tinge of irony - Just enough to convey his meaning to those listening, but not enough to implicate him. It was a delicate tightrope to walk. And one he was used to treading. For all Ceasar's supposed mercy and benefice, Corvus knew what lay beneath: A mind as sharp as an assassin's blade, and just as eager for the blood of its enemies. It was a dangerous game he played. But if he was to see the Republic restored, it was one he would have to chance.

[Privateer]

Gaius Silvius


The cries of a dieing worker barely dissolved in the warm March air when the engineer's upset words lashed out at the three remaining slaves.

"Idiots! Haven't I told you to be careful with the gears?!"

The loss of a man, and the mess they've made would delay his prototype even further. That was a major annoyance. Gaius wasn't even sure that the gear modification would work how he envisioned. And if it didn't, he had to know it soon, to try something else.

Not that he had another idea in line. Unfortunately, deadline or not, this particular problem was tougher to crack than he anticipated. The original plan, on the basis of which he took the contract, did not work. Now he had to scramble, improvise.

And this incessant ruckus! Caesar is a great man and all, but why did he have to have the celebration today?

"Clean it up," Gaius threw to the slaves. "And finish what I told you to do. Do this and I may give you the evening to rest. Else you will all pay for what happened to him!" He gestured towards the door through which the dead man was carried out.

With that he stepped out of the shop. The streets of Rome were busy at this hour, but he knew one place where he could find peace, and it was not very far. Hidden among lush trees, beyond the cobblestone alley and two beautiful fountains was his escape: the temple of Minerva. It was in the shade, a gorgeous building, worthy of being counted among the city's architectural jewels. Most importantly, it was quiet. A temple of wisdom was no place for idle chattle, but for thought, contemplation.

Gaius placed a coin at the feet of the diety's statue as a sacrifice and sat, leaning his back against a wall. He watched old, full trees and listened to their rustle, running a quiet prayer through his mind.

"Oh, wise Minerva, help me solve this challenge."

He sat at the side of the temple for a while, watching the trees and fishing for ideas. One had to keep quiet to get them, like a hunter stalking forest critters. He listened to his own thoughts, observing as they took on a life of their own. The state was almost trance-like, deep and free of distractions, allowing thoughts the freedom to roam like wild horses on the planes of Scythia.

"It will not hold," came a voice.

The engineer came back to reality and stared at the rude fool who dared break the enchantment of Minerva's grove. The man was old and looked ragged, insanity in his eyes.

"It willn't hold! It always breaks where it's thinnest! And the elephants! The elephants... The elephants are going crazy! Big, big, crazed beasts! They destroy!"

Soon other men kicked the old fool out and the grove grew peaceful again. Gaius returned to his thoughts, but the idiot's words put a seed into his mind. It always breaks where it's thinnest, he said. Gaius went over the designs in his mind again. By now he had each machine memorized together with every optional modification he has considered. But there was one part he has not considered, and he has not considered it because it was always the same in nearly every design he's ever seen.

"This can't be," he whispered to himself.

Could the frame itself be the limiting factor in his designs? Time and time again, he found the weakest part of the machine and reinforced it, in order to be able to put more stress into the sinews. Time and time something else broke, until the machine was so heavy that the frame would not bear it. Then he had to lighten something and in doing so weaken it. But if the frame itself was to be thicker and stronger, then he could make every part reinforced at the same time!

Excitement ran through his veins as Gaius imagined the sort of machine it would be if it combined the strongest parts he has tested so far. He literally ran back to the workshop, colliding with a few people on the street.

"Take it apart!" he yelled to the slaves, who were almost finished putting together the prototype he asked for.

Gaius then realized that in his excitement he forgot his promise to give the slaves an evening off if they put the machine together how he asked. Of course, these were slaves and he could make them work as much as he needed, but it still wasn't right, he thought.

"You," he pointed to one of the slaves. "Go take a break. You have one hour. This is the free time I promised. When you are back another of you can go have his hour."

"The rest of you come with me," he grinned, as if given wings by his idea. "We are going to build a machine so big and precise, it'll shove an oak trunk right up a barbarian general's ass!"

Time flies fast when one is inspired and, luckily, most of the components Gaius already had completed. Soon, the giant frame was done and the ballista assembled upon it. If his calculations were right, the range and power of this thing should be impressive. The custom-made missile alone weighed at least twice as much as that of a standard ballista, and the sinews held so much power that slaves were afraid to approach them.

Now was the moment of trial. The door would no longer do for a target. Gaius ordered the slaves to turn the weapon and aim it at the stone wall of the workshop.

"Fire!" He commanded, cautiously standing way back of his creation.

[Guardsman]

Legionary Vibbius Attilius

Appearance

Vibbius Attilius is a Plebian with a strong chin, blue eyes, short cropped brown hair, a well shaven face, and tan skin. He is well built and the soldier stands at 5'9 and weighs 164lbs, a decent height and weight for a Roman man. He wears the uniform of the red Julii and the issued armour and weapons of a Roman Legionnaire.



Vibbius Attilius a true Roman son and one of the many soldiers of Caesars grand Legions was doing what he was supposed to be doing while on relief, drinking wine and carousing with women! This soldier of many battles was with his fellow brothers with a cup of wine in hand and bread in the other. What hero of the 7th Legion wouldn't be with his brothers-in-arms drinking the night away and being immensely grateful in Caesar giving his soldiers and veterans the chance of rest? Of course though Vibbius was quite intoxicated.

Standing up from his wooden bench with wine cup in hand and sloppy grin on his face while in the company of his brothers he spoke out. It sounded a little melodic what the soldier was going to proclaim but he was quite drunk.

"Eh' you bastards and bitches you better to listen that the Seventh Legion is here to for now! But when we be killing with all that bloody we are spilling all of Rome will cheer! But every time we return the whores will stare outdoors because they want the best Legion and that's the Seventh! The moaning and groaning of the Gaulic whores will be heard over the clash of the sea because everyone can agree the Seventh is the best! So you bastards better remember the heroes of the Seventh are Rome favored sons you lot!"

With that....drunken song he sung to the entire taverna he took a large drink of his wine and threw the cup on the table, letting out a cheer to his brothers.

"Now...someone bring me a woman to destroy, I think Mars has given me a blessing of stamina today!" Vibbius said while stumbling out of his seat, the man trying his best to stay damned up to not look like a drunken fool. The drunken soldier slammed his fist on the table and basically just by gesture told his brothers to follow him so they could find a good bed with some slave women!

[Gunther]

All across Rome, the city came alive with noise. Trumpets in their hundreds began a triumphal beat, the first of Caesar's long procession arriving within the city gates. With the 7th Legion having finally returned the day before, a more formal ceremony was being held- a ceremony that would be crowned with Caesar's long line of titles and awards for his civil war against the enemies of Rome. The man himself would likely be making an appearance in a couple of hours, before the sun finally set. In the meantime, however, the great gates of Rome could be seen opening- more trumpets blasting away as the first of the performers contorted and spun their way down the central avenue of Rome's streets, on a direct path towards the Senate. The first of the procession moved through with the trumpet of fanfare, bearing massive banners marked with the symbol of the 7th Legion- once loyal to Pompeii but now sworn once more to the reformed government of Rome. When the trumpets finally subsided, suitable alert having been given for the upcoming celebrations. Now all that was left was for the citizens to gather, and for Rome to become awash in a new era! An era of Roman unification!

Aulus Atius Vespillo
With the bleat of horns in the distance, the crowds began to shift, but important characters began to appear amongst the men present in this seedy little Taverna. There! A slave to a Patrician family, the fine linen the man wore marking his origins in wealth- and the tattoo along his neck marking him as a slave. The man was also from the African continent, his dark skin making him stick out like a sore thumb as he approached the countertop, passing a thin tube of parchment to the man behind the counter.

There, gambling at the tables with one of several dice sharks, was a Centurion of the 7th. The Legion's few loyal men had been given dispensation to return to Roman society, as the traitors amongst their ranks- the surviving men that had decided to side with their founding leader Pompeii rather than the rightful leader of Rome- were made an example of in the procession even now heading down to the Senate for public execution. Despite this fact, or perhaps because of it, he was having a particularly rough string of luck. The bearded man he played against had a wide smile on his face, constantly stroking his chin as the man next to him egged the Centurion on, encouraging the Legion warrior to bet that extra piece of coin.

A rough string of luck, Aulus noticed, due to the fact that the dice shark was using a loaded hand. Instead of rolling the dice fair, he had a set of pre-loaded dice concealed in his hand. The man sitting next to him would hand him appropriate dice according to his guess. Every time his turn to roll would come up, he would seem to scratch his chin, the thick beard there serving to conceal the dice...and allow him to withdraw the pre-loaded ones in a sleight of hand. It was a fairly complex cheating method, but otherwise worked fairly well for the game, provided you didn't see the handoff behind their backs- as the mercenaria did.

But that was not the only thing of interest going on: A group of Equites aristocrats were attempting to comfort a woman amongst their midst. Normally, a woman would not be caught dead within a place as seedy as this- where men were abundant, it was viewed as immodest at best for a non-prostitute to be seen within. After all, it would be a great dishonor for a family of esteem were one of their daughters to be caught alongside common street whores!

However, upon looking the woman over closer, he realized that this was not some street whore attempting to appease the kinks of Equites- rather, it was a noble woman, who was supping from a tin cup of diluted wine to calm her nerves. To little effect, it should be noted. Even as she sobbed into the red elixer, the four men around her trying to calm her, the young lady's condition became quite clear. The collar about her silken dress was torn, her hair wild and knotted. Mud was smeared along parts of her blue dress, and whilst the others seemed to think that the situation was well in hand with the lesser noblemen attending to her, the mercenary could tell otherwise.

Tevye
Buying a fine meal of ground meat wrapped in a wheat shell, in addition to some watered-down wine mixed with a pinch of vinegar for flavor, Tevye found himself traveling amongst the crowds. There was a play going on in the Forum, and as the procession began to make its way from the city gates to the Senate house, people began to crowd along the cobblestone pathways. Urban Cohorts had come out in force here- the elite Watchmen of Rome. Dressed like Legionnaires, the men moved through the crowd, picking out a few pickpockets but otherwise simply ensuring that nobody had any wise ideas of starting fights.

However, as he found himself drifting towards the play, he felt someone place a hand on his shoulder, politely trying to grab his attention. "Pardon me, Reb Tevye?" Said a familiar boy's voice.

It was Mordekhai, the weaver. A kind man, who had found himself fortunate enough to actually find a business position in Rome. The followers of Yahweh were, unfortunately, not smiled upon very well in Rome: Above slaves, but not treated like the Plebeians. For Mordekhai, being able to weave clothes- a fairly honorable profession in service to Yahweh- was quite the accomplishment in the biased markets of Rome. However, he was a meek man at heart- perhaps why the Romans saw no threat in letting the man ply his trade. "I have a small problem, Rabbi, and I would like the guidance of Yahweh in the matter...I would rather not discuss it with any other man, who would not understand the situation!" He declared, his head bowed as though he were a dog that had piddled on the carpet. Mordekhai, the thin, back-bowed young man, having done something wrong? It was almost preposterous to think!

Corvus Porcius Cato
The men around him, barring the Centurion Lucia, all gave a polite level of laughter at the joke. The underlying message was caught by all- and all of the wealthy men present smirked smiles, pardoning the Centurion and the two Lictors that escorted him. Those three men simply stared at Cato, before the Centurion finally spoke up. "The matter of piracy is being handled by my brothers abroad. These pirates will suffer the fate of all those who oppose the Republic." The man stated sternly, rising from his seat. He had put extra emphasis on the last word, to counter Cato's point. However, with the fact that the merchant had agreed in his favor, the military man did not decide to press his luck further.

The latifunda owner, seeing on just what side of the political line Cato stood, waved the Legion representative away. "Fine, fine." He declared, gobbling down another plump grape from the slave's hand. "Go on, I shall martyr myself in giving you your price." He declared with a melodramatic sigh. Languishing back against the bench as the play went on, he turned to Cato. The Centurion, for his part, simply shook his head in disgust before walking away, a foul mood descending upon the man for some odd reason. Ignatius simply gave a titter of laughter as, in the play, the Greek hoplite hefted up a chamber pot to search for the woman- only for a large amount of filth to come pouring down on his head.

"So, young Cato." He began, giving a pearly smile to the rising star. "You know of the Senatorial seat being offered to the barbarians? My, what long reach you do have."

Next to Cato, Opiter- in contrary to the Centurion's reaction- seemed more inclined towards the anti-Caesar feelings of the reserved place. Of course, when one was being fawned upon by gorgeous dark-skinned women from the Persian continent, it was hardly difficult to agree with whatever was being said. "That is little to worry on." The officer stated, "It is not as though the Senate would ever allow Caesar to do such things- dictator or not! He would be...overstepping his authority. Caesar should neither have to even think of doing such a thing- what with piracy along our very-"

Ignatius silenced him with a wave of the hand, "You have drank too much, my dear Princeps. You speak of what the dictator of Rome cannot do! That could amount to treason in the wrong ears." He stated, before turning back to Cato, "But come! This silly talk of treason and betrayal would do us no good. We should come and watch our glorious dictator, Caesar, leader for life! He will be heading down the Forum shortly, and the beginning of the award ceremony should start then." He stated, rising from his prone position with a groan of creaking wood. Down below, the play continued on, the whole affair having only just reached midway through the first act.

It was a bit of an odd remark to make- the celebrations would not reach their full bloom until a few hours, when the ceremony was finally over with, and Caesar's latest awards had been bestowed upon him for his conquest in foreign lands.

But today was going to be an odd day, Cato could tell. And whilst watching the plebeian, beaten and now dragged off, it had just begun.

Gaius Silvius

With the new, super-heavy ballista constructed in almost record time- the slaves having been worked almost to the bone to set the wood right and get the twine sufficiently strengthened- it was finally time to test the device. Loading one of several crude bolts he had crudely shucked, little more than a large staff with a sharpened end for imitating a ballista's iron tip, the two remaining slaves not on break pulling back on the gears. Sinew sang as it was stretched to the snapping point, the two men heaving with all of their might as the scientist's eager mind expected results.

The slave on break did not roam the streets as one might expect- rather, enamored by his master's work, he sat atop one of the crude sawhorse-tables, having set the tools back into their proper positions before doing so. All watched expectantly as the locking mechanism finally kicked in, the bolt seeming to vibrate with potential energy as the men waited for that inevitable order to pull the lever.

Gaius's command, given from a safe distance of at least fifteen feet, was followed by a firm tug on the release lever.

Which did not give. The slave gave another sharp, quick tug, the lever not budging in the slightest. Outside, the armored footfalls of the head of the procession could be heard, the performers blasting away on their horns. It made a terrible ruckus, and the rattle of chained men replaced the dying bleats of wooden horns.

In the end, one of the slaves- perhaps attempting to show how brave (or foolish) he was- ended up leaping onto the rear of the ballista. Grabbing the lever with both hands, he swung it back, the whole thing finally giving with a sound that could only be described as a series of thunderclaps. Glee filled Gaius's heart as the prototype ballista fired, sinews snapping as the kinetic energy within drove the much larger bolt forward. Whilst stone was stone, and wood was wood, the effects were better than expected...and perhaps a bit more terrifying.

Wit a mighty explosion, the entire ballista went sailing back, its improved weight- combined with the recoil from the increased overall power- making it much more powerful as a battering ram than a launch platform. The slave atop it let out a howl as the sinews snapped in the wake of the bolt, one loose strand crashing into the face of the slave on break...and the other whipping towards Gaius himself.

Reflex save: DC 15
Damage if failed: [roll0]

The rest of the weapon, regardless of the results of Gaius's attempt at evasion, rolled clean through the wooden wall of the barn, the slave screaming all the while as wooden splinters plucked his back. Eventually it came to a rest in the filth-encrusted alley outside, the procession going on heedless of the events.

For the bolt, the effect was much more glorious: Rather than simply going clean through the wall, the sharpened- and therefore weakened- wooden tip splintered like clay pottery. Splinters went spraying around the point of impact as the entire point collapsed inward, as though hollow. The shaft of the bolt, however, was not as yielding. Like a projectile battering ram, it punched a hole clean through the stone wall before crashing through the plaster of the nearby home. Spinning wildly, it punched a hole four paces in diameter in the plaster of the abode adjacent to the workshop, prompting screams and more than a few curses directed to the inventor. However, the victorious forces of the parade- not to be stopped by a bit of Rome's pandemonium- simply marched past the scene of broken wood, dust, and broken stone.

When the dust finally began to settle, the inventor could see a very unhappy looking potter next door, holding up a piece of what had once been a very fine painting frame before a certain bolt went crashing into his home's guest room.

He could remember that painting quite vividly, all of a sudden.

Legionary Vibbius Attilius
His fellows Legionaries cheered Vibbius on as he sang his drunken song. The wine had been considerably less diluted than what it had been on the field- considering that soldier's drink usually consisted of barely-palpable vinegar stirred with enough wine to make it bearable, the drink he now enjoyed was the cheap nectar of the gods!

At the Legionary's final proclamation, the men had laughed, several reaching out to grab nearby women from the streets as they emerged from the Taverna. The owner's sigh was probably one of regret! It was not often that one had the honor of serving the loyal men of Caesar's army! Or, at least, Caesar's best army! The incorruptible! The undefeatable! The VII Legion!

Staggering out, a few of their number having to be helped out on slightly jittery arms, the drunken soldiers made their way across the Forum's Tavernas, stopping in here or there whenever their cups ran thin. None of the Watchmen on the streets wanted to cause trouble. After all, were they not the heroes Rome so often demanded? They most certainly were! And no Watchmen, armed with club and stave, could possibly match the gladii that they all were allowed to carry! Indeed, how could such cowards hope to lay a hand upon the superbly skilled men of Rome? It would be an indignity just to see them flail about like mewling kittens!

With the men shouting the new, improvised war-chant that Vibbius had invented through the streets, the returning soldier finally found an object he could really sink his gladius into. It was a Roman woman, dressed in white and doubtlessly returning from the market. But the way she wore her dress! She could certainly be nothing other than a whore. After all, she even bore the stylized strut of the lower-class woman, and had the same basket they carried their rugs about in! Oh, how she so obviously wanted him, with those beautiful, almond-shaped eyes glancing towards Vibbius- and Vibbius alone!

At least until Flavius stumbled forward, trying to get his mugs on the woman first. From her reaction of shoving him away with a cry of "Get away!", it was obvious she didn't want him. It was the unlimited prowess of the Attilius line she craved!

[Anders Celsius]

Doiros Segomari

Walking down the streets of the cursed city, Doiros frowns in disgust. This people have no respect for the sacred, they defile nature, steal the gifts to the gods in the ponds, enslave their good servants, grow fat and lazy, glorifying the pig's style of life. Something has to be made.
Cesar's parades, could something be more disgusting? What an atrocity, to revere a man like he was a god. That could not meet the gods approval...
But what could he do? Doiros starts looking at the bird's flight, hearing them, looking for a signal. How could this pig-people not notice that life is worth nothing in itself, being only the carrier of a greater mission: to bring the soul to it's perfection, until the next reincarnation.
Finding a way to free the enslaved men from his nation, or simply starting a fire in a warehouse, there were many ways to sabotage this corrupt empire from within. But what did the gods want?
And that way Doiros kept wandering, searching, listening for a clue, a small hint, anything that could indicate what the gods wanted from him.

[Privateer]

Gaius Silvius



The moment has come, but... why was the weapon not firing? Ah, but of course. The extra power of the ballista would make its trigger much tighter and in the rush to put his newest idea into wood there was no time to install a more powerful lever as well. No matter; they would trigger it one way or another even if it's not convenient.

Gaius was about to join the slaves pulling on the rope, but another one jumped on the back of the ballista. Luckily for the inventor, as the next seconds showed.

The sinew flying towards him was a terrifying sight. Noticed at the last moment, Gaius didn't know if the swift dodge he attempted succeeded. A moment later...

Reflex save: [roll0]

He felt a sharp pain. Thankfully, it was his left shoulder and not his head, and so he was still alive. It hurt badly, though, and his tunic began showing red stains. Since his life was not in danger, there was no need to panic.

Feeling nothing but excitement for the results of his experiment and a mild annoyance at the delay his wound caused, Gaius spent the time he needed to treat his wound and get it bandaged up. He then saw to the slaves. Sure, he saw at least one of them get hurt, but perhaps it was not so serious as to permanently disable them. He still needed labor. So, having handed the one unharmed slave several coins, the inventor sent him and his wounded friends to see a medicus.

Then came time to gleefully inspect the stone wall. Gaius marvelled at its width and the size of the hole. He saw many a city wall no wider than that at its highest section, the very part defenders used for cover. His monstrosity of a machine just proved that it could take out those defenders together with the top of the wall!

Oh, surely, it kicked back, the lever was still too light, and the sinews flew, but those could all be fixed easily. The weapon could be bolted to the guard tower's top, or supports dug into the ground if used in the field. All of that was trivial by comparison to how difficult it was to concieve such a machine. Now he was sure he would complete the contract.

The potter was dead last on his list of concerns. How could a pathetic mudhut's damage affect this moment of triumph?! Gaius simply nodded at the cursing man.

"This experiment is being carried out on behalf of Caesar's Legions under the charge of Legatus Hostus Accius himself. Speak with him if you wish to claim it more important to keep your wall intact than supply our Legions with the best war machines. I can only offer to lend you my remaining slaves to help with rebuilding after my work is done."

With that, Gaius returned to his papirus. All the modifications had to be recorded and necessary improvements designed. Then, once they are well, slaves can finish making the final, polished thing to show the Legatus.

Strangely, Gaius was relieved by his success. Much as he liked research, this particular project was stressful and long. To have it, for all intents and purposes, completed made him feel at ease. Perhaps now he could go back to enjoying life for a while rather than living in the workshop.

Yes, it was decided. As soon as he recorded everything he needed, Gaius would head out to watch the parade!

[WhiteKnight777]

Corvus Porcius Cato


The young nobleman had returned the Centurion's words with a cool smile and his own parting comment. "Fear not, noble Centuiron - I, of all people, will not forget what happens to the enemies of Great Ceasar, wherever they may lurk. Indeed, that is a lesson no one in my house could forget."

As the centurion left, he accepted the smiles and laughter of his fellows with a gracious smile and an inclination of his head, stretching out slightly and letting his eyes briefly wander over some of the dusky-skinned beauties before focusing his energies once more on the business at hand. "I do my best, noble Ignatius. It gratifies me that some still remember my Grandfather's loyalty to our Republic, though the tides of battle proved that the favor of the Gods lay elsewhere. And in honor of that memory, many old friends are willing, at least, to speak with myself and my house of a time, and pass along these little tidbits. I do try to keep up with the latest news and be aware of affairs of state, for I seek to follow the example of my grandsire." He paused, an enigmatic smile on his face. "At least, insofar as I would seek to serve the Republic in any capacity that I might be deemed fit for by our worthy leaders."

At Ignatius' last, puzzling remark, Corvus held his enigmatic smile, slowly standing and following a respectful step behind the heavyset man, a curious gleam in his eyes. Something was afoot, and he meant to know what it was.

[Thatguyoverther]

Tevye

"Of course!" Tevye does his best to put on the face of a patient, caring rabbi. A face he hasn't hasn't had many opportunities to wear since leaving Alexandria.

Tevye follows Mordekhai through the crowded forum, slowing his gait to give him time to think and in the hopes that a more sedate pace will give Mordekhai a chance to clam down a little. Taking a split second to cast his eyes heavenward. I knew I wouldn't have to wait long.

Tevye remembers his meal, quickly scarfing it down and running his hands through his beard to make sure he didn't leave any left overs.

Still rubbing his beard, he takes time to examine Mordekhai. What could be bothering him? A problem with the law? Mordekhai doesn't seem the criminal type. A problem with The Law? Mordekhai always seemed to be a good Jew.

Or was it something else?...

([roll0])

[RufusCorvus]

Aulus Atius Vespillo

Aulus shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench, taking note of the various parties milling in the taverna. He went to take another drink from his cup only to find it empty. He set it down in disgust before getting up. He took care to gather his things before moving to the center of the taverna to get a better look at the gamblers. He had to admit the bearded man was a skilled conman. He lost just enough that he lulled the Centurion into believing his net loss was simply the will of Fortuna, and not a combination of the bearded man's guile and generous offers to refill the Centurion's wine. Aulus shrugged--to out-think and out-maneuver an opponent on fair ground was well and admirable. If the opponent fell into a trap by their own ineptitude, they had only themselves to blame. That the Centurion was fool enough to accept the bearded man's "generosity" in paying for his drinks was his own problem. Let whatever fate the Parcae had in store for him come to pass, Aulus thought.

Losing interest in the long-ago foregone dice game, Aulus turned his attention elsewhere. He attempted to spot the Patrician's slave, but it seems the African and the bartender had both slipped out while Aulus had watched the dice fall. He remembered the disconsolate woman and edged closer to her and the noblemen. There might be some coin in this, he thought. Better to learn the nature of her plight before offering his gladius. He edged through the crowd, closer to the distraught noblewoman and the four Equites around her. He took the nearest seat open to the five and ordered a new cup of wine. He leaned back and eavesdropped on their conversation.

[Guardsman]

Legionary Vibbius Attilius


Vibbius Attilius of the Seventh found the woman's denial of his advances strange, why would a street whore deny a hero of the Seventh? Of course, it was because she wished for his coin! How silly he could be at the moment to think even a street whore yearning for the manhood of the seventh would not ask for coin in return! He was sure such coin would do her well to buy better clothes...if they didn't seem so blurry.

The Legionnaire stumbling about and using a wall to keep himself up, grinned stupidly at the woman while being so obviously drunk. He tapped his coin purse and made the rather drunken statement to his mates and then to the woman.

"Brothers...seems the woman won't have us lest we give her some good Roman coin, eh'? No matter Brothers, no matter...cause we're the damned Seventh! The...the best!" Turning to the woman he tapped his coin purse once more. "So how much my dear..don't want to go hungry when I'm done with you right?"

[Gunther]

The mighty blare of fluted pipes and beast-headed horns filled the air as the procession reached the halfway point in the Forum. Crowds, held to either side by the Urban Cohorts and almost the entirety of Rome's Watchmen, cheered for the men now marching down their streets. Clad in full armor, the men beat out a triumphal tune with the clatter of their feet upon the stone walkways. Over a hundred men were present at the forefront of the parade, each of them either carrying a standard or instrument. Banners fluttered in the evening breeze as countless solid-gold eagles loomed over the crowds, their full majesty easily seen by all who looked upon them.

Behind them were the slaves, freshly branded and yoked to massive wooden platforms. Aboard each platform, the traitors of Rome had been chained to wooden platforms styled in the form of fasces. These were the last few remnants of Pompeii's rebellion, the former hero of Rome having been demonized in the wake of the civil war. For his surviving lieutenants, each man had been stripped naked and bound, their bodies covered in burning red welts from where they had been branded, slashed, or bruised. Quite a few showed since of recently being castrated, the words "Hic Supplex Proditor de Roma" being cast in scrolling ironwork over each man. Their bodies had been chained in such a way as to kneel, their heads pulled back by crude ropes so their necks would be exposed.

Here Kneel The Traitors of Rome.

At the edge of each platform, there being four platforms in total, wicker baskets had been filled with treasure from the barbarian lands. Foreign coin brimmed from clay pots, into which laughing soldiers- dressed informally at this point- tossed them into the crowds standing before their doorsteps. Larger treasures, such as silver candelabras and even a solid bronze wheel engraved with barbarian writing, were tossed overboard by teams of three or even four. Yet as the army advanced to the Forum, so- too- did men in the Forum prepare themselves for receiving this army. The Urban Cohorts had erected their own banners in reception, ten-pace-wide banners streaming wildly in the increasing winds. The eagle standard of Rome, set against a black background, declared to the crowds just what power had graced Caesar's victory. The temples of the Gods were alive with singing and sacrifice; goats, rabbits, food, and more besides being given up to the Roman deities. Caesar's own train would soon be arriving, bringing the dictator for life into view for the people of Rome, and beginning the Senatorial gathering together in earnest.

But as Caesar got closer and closer to the Senate chambers, the city of Rome became more and more strange. Something odd was afoot, something that would transform the great City into something...else.

Doiros Segomari
Birds flew overhead as pigeons were released from cages, filling the sky with song as people began to move from the docks. Looking up, one such bird seemed to purposely divert course, soaring low over the city streets before eventually doubling back to the stone piers. Another joined it from amidst the flock, two pigeons circling after one another over the length of a docked trireme, blocking the burning light of the sun in their passage. Those two quickly became four, then eight, a small ring of birds hooting and flying about to the amusement of a few of the short-sighted Romans around the druid.

But he? He was no fool. He knew a sign from the Gods when he saw it, could derive meaning where others saw chaos. Peeking through the ring of birds, he saw the sun, which attempted to blind him with its burning fury. It took but a split moment of looking, however, to notice something irregular with the sun, visible only through the halo of shrieking birds and falling feathers.

A smaller discus of light, one seeming to part ways from the great ring in the sky. Averting his gaze at the last moment, he watched the flock of birds begin to migrate, their circle pattern being repeated in several areas across the city. Over a Taverna, several spots in the middle of the city...

And there, over the Senate of Rome, was the largest flock forming. Hundreds of birds, released by the Romans as some sign of peace and prosperity, moving with some single-minded purpose. The Gods would cast their judgement upon Rome with an absolute authority.

Gaius Silvius
The potter looks at Silvius for a moment, the inventor feeling eyes boring into his back as the slaves began to clean up the mess. Eventually, upon mentioning the Legatus's name, the potter left with a crude gesture towards the inventor, visible as he ruffled through his house to save what could be save and curse Silvius for the misfortune brought upon him and his shop otherwise.

Quickly scrawling down the modifications necessary, the inventor watched as his remaining slaves rolled the device back inside. They had pried the dead slave from the back of the machine, the broken lever quickly being pried out of the man's dying hands. The slave in question, a man from Africana, let out a low whine as blood slowly leaked from his tear ducts and ears, his lower lip quavering as he held a hand towards his fatally compressed stomach. The bulk of the crossbow had hit him with far too much force, slamming him against the wall and flattening his legs into flatcakes. When the ballista was finally rolled away, and the slaves having begun to repair what was damaged and make the directed improvements, the man died at last. Collapsing to the back alley, the slaves labored away on the massive siege engine without a batted eyebrow towards the two dead slaves in one day. Half their number, gone, and they couldn't care less.

Likely because such a level of concern had been lashed, beaten, or burned out of them.

Thus freed to step outside, Gaius found himself amidst the crowds outside, oblivious to the series of events that went on behind the in lieu of the parade. As it was, the inventor found himself present right when the wagons bearing Pompeii's last loyalists came rolling buy, coinage spraying across the crowds of plebeians. Whilst he himself was of slightly higher standing than the masses around him, he found more than a few denarii land by his feet, the shining gold coins marked with Roman script- this was, after all, an army of fellow Romans that they had conquered.

Armed with only his papyrus and quill, he watched as the Watchmen- clad in red robes and armed with flexible wooden shields and spears- keep the crowd at bay. Whilst none seemed interested to go running towards the well-armed and marching men, it was more of a formality to ensure that people did not try and scrabble for the coin that landed scant inches short of their intended targets.

However, as he emerged, he felt something was amiss...something in his gut was awry. Parts of his brain reeled as he heard the blare of reptilian-headed horns only feet away. Sound washed over him as he soon smelled...

Smoke?
Search DC for coins is DC 5 beginning, with success rates going up in increments of 5.
Intelligence check (Using INT mod for modifier) for "Amiss" is DC 10.

Corvus Porcius Cato
The slave women returned Cato's glances, and as the two walked- soon joined by Opiter in the flank- Ignatius looked to the forefront of the army, now reaching the Forum proper. Banners were so proudly displayed in vanity, the Watchmen beating the man near Caesar's statue eventually relenting upon putting the man in shackles. Men looked out from opened shutters, street whores pausing their rounds about the streets to look upon the incoming force. Caesar himself would doubtlessly be towards the flanks of the army, only making himself present when all the ritual and fanfare was done. As it stood, Ignatius paused at one of the temples of Mars, the God of War and martial strength almost empty. Only the clergy were there now, raising a sacrificial bull upon a wooden platform, one of the priests of the faith holding forth chalices as one of their number prepared to hack open the throat artery of the massive, laurel-wreathed beast.

Braziers burned incense, the heady chemical smoke collecting along the stone floors of the massive temple. The stone doors had been thrown wide for the noise of the outside city to filter in, and it took Cato a moment to realize why Ignatius had chosen the position he had-

With the large stone steps leading upwards, the temple had a commanding view of the parade below. With so many of the wealthy crowding around the edges of the parade grounds to collect the wealth falling below, Cato realized that- much akin to the intrigues of Rome- this position was far in superior to the one they had in the stands. It was also reasonably more secluded, with Opiter taking up a position on the opposite side of Cato, the navy commander accompanied by a pair of household slaves- armed household slaves. An unusual practice, to say the least.

And slightly worrying.

"You seem a perceptive sort, my young friend." The latifunda master commented, "And whilst you speak like a fellow Roman of the Republic, and you bear the wealth and lineage of such a person," He continued on, "I must wonder, aloud, where exactly this places you. Rome shall be undergoing changes quite soon. Tell me, how do you see the future of Rome panning out? We are alone but for patient ears, what shall Rome's fate be on its current course?"

And with that, the first bird over the temple of Mars fell, the white pigeon's body collapsing to the marble steps with a loud crunch. The slaves behind Opiter made signs of warding, the clerics too involved in their ritual to notice the lone, white bird. Looking up, entire flocks of them was circling over the temples about the city. Before, they had just been random circles, but now? The fleet of birds released with the head of the army took on strange flight paths, and as Cato realized this more of the birds began to fall- seemingly stricken dead mid-flight- from their circling groups. A second bird hit the stone, its neck snapped on impact.

Ill omens, for those who cared to believe.

Tevye
Mordekai seemed to calm slightly with the relaxed walk, the weaver scratching his beard as they walked along the crowd. The muscle-slaves of the higher nobility shoved their way through for their patrons, the absurdly rich Citizens of Rome making their way to see the soldiers march. Not for the coin they tossed about- for such money was barely worth a glance from them- but for the mere prestige of such positions. For the two Jews walking through, however, it was naught but another sight on their travels. Mordekai looked up as the birds flew overhead, the sun blazing down on them both. Life had treated the two men fairly well, all things considered, though they certainly were not rich...neither were they paupers.

"I have always been a faithful servant of God." Mordekai began, chewing upon his thumbnail as he walked, clearly lost in thought. "I married as I was told to. I took my wife in thanks, as the status of my parents before me had- I learned my trade as a weaver from my father, as he had before him." He declared, looking to Tevye with a curious glance, as though the Rabbi might judge him for stating such simple facts. "I rarely partook of drink, I always measured my meals, I worked the full day and never declared false illness. When I was apprenticed to Pater at the weaving house, I had been an attentive student, even though it was strange for me- a Jew- to have an apprenticeship for a Roman."

His rambling became more focused as they bisected the outskirts of the crowd, children being hefted upon the shoulders of their fathers to see the men marching through the streets, young men with wooden swords dueling in mock praise of the soldiers but scant meters away. "And yet for all my praises to God, I still find myself on a-a-a path." He said, letting his thumb free from the thresher of his mouth. He looked towards the Rabbi with a worried shake of the head, "I fear I...I may have strayed from the Law of Yahweh." He stated, looking to the holy man. He paused his walk, turning to the Rabbi as they paused near one of the many fountains of the Forum, situated outside of a public bathroom.

"There is a woman, Rabbi, who enters my store at each morning, standing outside my door each day I open up. She is the first daughter of a Roman Centurion...but she always seems more interested in visiting I than her household duties. She...she is a citizen of Rome." He said aghast, "And I think I may be growing feelings for her, though I am married! And I fear she may be falling for me as well, for she-"

There was a sunken sucking sound, and Tevye watched as the cobblestone under Mordekhai's left foot seemed to give way suddenly. This elicited an unheeded cry from the Jew, as the cobblestones around his feet seemed to collapse into the sewers, the stench of which was quickly rushing upwards. Sinkholes such as this were not uncommon in Rome- but to be caught in one, like the confessing Jew was, was almost a sure death should the sinkhole not close abruptly.

As it should have.
DC 10 Reflex to save Mordekhai from falling in
DC 15 Balance to not fall in as well

Aulus Atius Vespillo
The Taverna continued on with business as usual as Aulus took a seat at the table across from the woman. She didn't seem a noble, but the makeup running down her face indicated that she had enough money to smear pigeon crap- or whatever it was that wealthy women wore- on her face. The wine had calmed her a bit further, adding a slight slur to her words as she spoke.

"And-and, he just jumped me!" She sobbed into the lead cup, the men around her bearing a faint similarity to her- family? Brothers? Slaves? It was not unusual for the lesser sons of a family to, effectively, be remanded to the tasks of slaves- including protection of the family's daughter in public. A gross breach of their duties would likely result in her castigation from the family, should she be defiled, and the likely execution of the brothers for failing to protect their sister's honor.

Unless...

"I used the- the knife pater gave me." She said, a full head of golden locks shaking as she spoke onward. She was pretty, in a patrician way, and probably destined to seal the future between two wealthy families. "But the man still took it. It was a give from...from mother!" She declared, before breaking down into sobs once more, "Why do the gods curse us still, but for- for-"

Her accusation was sunken amidst a fresh cup of wine being given to her, the men around her looking exasperated to varying degrees. The least worried was leaning back in his chair, his hair wild. The most worried had his head buried in his hands, his golden hair ruffled as beads of sweat formed on his face. He looked to the listening Aulus, his gaze piercing as the mercenary drank from his cup, as if accusing him of peeking in upon the women's chambers of the bathhouse.

Unfortunately, any accusation the man would have voiced towards Aulus was silenced by an abrupt, sudden shake of the ground. It was not a prolonged tremor, but the intensity of it shook several from their seats. The tipsy woman fell from her seat with a scream, crashing over the table and right towards the floor before the mercenary. His own drink went spilling back into his lap, the patrons of the building cursing and howling. In the background, the dice shark's concealed pair of bone dice clattering forth and landing in the dice bowl. A bloody battle would doubtlessly ensue in the bar over that fact alone, and the disappearance of the slave tending the register would cause problems in itself.

But the major issue was the sudden, bloodcurdling scream outside. It was more than some scream of alarm- it was a scream of pure terror, the sort of which reminded him of his time in the Legion. The scream of women when arrows rained down upon their homes, riddling their sons and children with death-bearing spearheads.

Legionary Vibbius Attilius
For Vibbius, as he staggered about, he and his fellow Legionnaires could not help but laugh. The drunk, the abundance of coin, the day in all. It had been a good day for the loyalists of the Seventh, even as the survivors of their traitorous elements were even now being dragged towards the Senate for execution! Hail Caesar! Hail the Emperor! Hail...

No. That was wrong. Caesar wasn't the Emperor...was he? Bah! Who did it matter to? The Republic lived, and as long as the Seventh existed, the Legionnaire had work to do! And that work involved the particularly sultry beauty before them, who now was playing hard to get as she-she shoved him back! The little skank! She thought herself too good for the Roman's mighty gladius! Obviously she thought she could save herself for some more rugged man in their Legion. Maybe she didn't even care for Roman men? She certainly looked like a whore for the barbarians! She probably split her legs for them upon the slightest command, rutting with them like a common animal!

"I have no interest in your kind." She assured him, taking on a haughty air. A haughty, barbaric air. "I am a woman of some dignity, and I assure you, I have no interest in...in..."

Her further confirmation of the Legionnaire's drunken assertions was cut off. Looking around, he realized that they had somehow found their way into an alley. How fitting for a barbarian whore...and a- a spy! Yes, a spy, she had to be one. Gaul had those everywhere, wouldn't you know it? Pretty faces, and shapely thighs, and bosoms, and all those other things picked out to make Roman men weak and wag their tongues! Vibbius was likely not the only one to think this, for the man next to him- Atius- attempted to draw his gladius, only to find his hand slipping on the grip every time he tried to grasp it.

It only took the men a moment to realize that the woman had stopped talking for another reason. All around them, the world was shaking. Their drunken status made the whole world already a bit jittery, but this was more than that. As they looked about, some absent-mindedly dropping their brothers with a heavy clatter of stone on flesh, they realized that the walls were coming apart. A few gave startled cries at this, drawing their weapons only to wildly brandish them at the falling-apart plaster. Backing up against one another, the men looked for some demonic entity attacking the walls. With a creak of timber, a pair of wooden supports fell out of the Taverna they were behind, slamming against the opposite wall to create a makeshift barricade at thigh-height. Overhead, a hanging garden came crashing down but feet away from the woman, who let out a shrill scream. Chunks of plaster rained down on the Legionnaires' heads, one large piece turning to powder upon contact with his hair, painting his face white.

Danger was present, and looking up, he could see...smoke? Fire? Something, somewhere to the west, was burning with black smoke, clouding up the skies. But why did nobody notice? It was strange...it was odd...

It wasn't Roman.

[RufusCorvus]

Aulus Atius Vespillo

Aulus cursed and stood, glad to have been wearing his armor, but still sending a silent prayer that the wine wouldn't seep through to his tunic. His eyes darted around the taverna, from the drunken, sobbing woman and her glaring brother to the general disarray throughout the room. Seeing most of the patrons paralyzed with shock (or too drunk to notice), Aulus gathered his sword and shield and raced outside to the dock.

[WhiteKnight777]

Corvus Porcius Cato

The young optimate cast a sidelong glance at the rotund man, his expression undreadable for the moment. There was a chance - a good chance - that this was a trap of Ceasar's lackeys to catch him speaking disloyalty. But, then again, perhaps Ignatius was what he seemed to be after all. And if he was truly against the tyrant, then Corvus could not afford to squander this chance. Besides, it would be good to speak his mind, after so long being muzzled.

"That depends, friend Ignatius, what you mean by Rome. If Ceasar continues as he is, as a Tyrant - then Rome the Republic is dead in all but name. If he keeps his current course, by the time he is dead he will be not a dictator but a king, and Rome will fall to whomever he names an heir. Antony, probably, though if he lives long enough, his nephew may instead by our next tyrant in his stead. If Ceasar is not stopped - if he is not killed, and soon, then there will be no more Rome.

Oh, the city might continue. Indeed, if Ceasar can continue to push out the edges of the map, the kingdom of Rome may well prosper. Ceasar's wars feed the hearts of the people, and plunder and slaves and, above all, new lands are what Rome needs to survive, as much as we need the Egyptian grain."

He looked morosely at the falling birds, his lips pursed. "If the tyrant dies, however, there may still be a chance for the republic. So long as whoever ends him moves swiftly to sweep away his changes and steps firmly on any heirs of Ceasar who might arise. Such people would have to tread carefully, however - our king has the hearts of the people well in hand. The commons are fickle, but while their affection yet lives it burns bright indeed. In the immediate aftermath of Ceasar's death, some sacrifices would be necessary - scapegoats and sacrifices for the mob, preferably someone utterly appalling. A barbarian might be ideal, actually - make it look like the Gauls seeking revenge, or some other foreign enemy who could then be made the target for a new war. And in such a war, those who vanquish the tyrant could cover themselves in glory, if they had the skill, and thereby assuage the hearts of the mob and restore the power of the senate and the holy republic."

[Thatguyoverther]

Tevye

As soon as Mordekai mentioned a woman Tevye's brain began reflexively constructing a sermon. Mordekai, as any good Jew, knew what The Law said about adultery. What he needed wasn't a lecture on adultery but a source of inspiration to restore his resolve.

Tevye begins to open his mouth, preparing to begin with a story of how Lot managed to stay righteous despite living in the evil town of Sodom, when the sink hole opens.

As the ground opens up and a chasm forms Tevye reaches out to Mordekai, snatching a handful of the weavers tunic. With groan of effort, Tevye pulls Mordekai towards himself and to safety.

But the effort was too much, the Rabbi pulled too hard. The cobblestones of the street give way under his feet and he's already too off balance to save himself.

Tevye falls backward into the sinkhole, eyes facing heavenward. Mordekai is safe. A faint smile plays over the Rabbi's lips as he disappears into the hole.

[Anders Celsius]

Doiros Segomari

"Something is about to happen" Doiros noticed, "something big. But what should I do? Be present to witness the action of the gods? Or flee the effects of their wrath?" He considered his options for a moment, and then reached a verdict: "I'm a chosen of the gods, who forbid the sacred teachings from being written. It's clear that the knowledge of their power needs to be passed on to the future generation, so we, their children, never forget it, and dare defy them, like this people have. I should witness it all and carry the message for all of those who wish to save, if not their bodies, at least their immortal souls. And my body will be safe, for it's the god's will that my message is carried on, my story told, and their power feared".
And so he followed the pigeon's biggest concentration, to the Roman Senate.

[Privateer]

Gaius Silvius


It was good to finally be outside again. The sun warmed his skin and Gaius smiled, despite his hurt shoulder. The loud sounds of the parade were suddenly a lot more pleasurable than annoying when one was a spectator rather than a busy engineer rushing for a deadline.

He dove eagerly with the rest of the crowd, hunting for Caesar's gold. There was one coin he grasped, then another. Gaius saw a third as well, but some street rat managed to sneak in and grasp it just before Gaius' hand got there.

He stood up, laughing, and checked his belongings, making sure nothing was lost in the scuffle. Oh, the simple pleasures. Sometimes even a great mind needs them.

Gradually, though, the euphoria in his head was replaced with worry. At first it was only in his mind, Gaius though, but then physical signs came to back it up, growing stronger and stronger. The noises, the smells...

Gaius stood frozen for a few moments, and then, suddenly his mind put all the happenings together and a guess formed.

He set off running like he never had before. Back into the shop, rounding up the two surviving slaves with shouts.

"Fire! Get the buckets! Quick!" He directed his two slaves as he himself grabbed his daggers, bow, and most importantly his backpack with the precious books and gear.

As the slaves rushed off to get the water, Gaius himself went around the back, where the fire seemed to be to examine the situation. He was cautious, mostly because fire itself presented a big threat in the city, but doubly so because something did not fit. There was simply no way for a fire to start that quickly and no source that could've sparked it. Something did not fit.

[Guardsman]

Legionary Vibbius Attilius


Vibbius Attilius feeling immense drunken anger for the woman gave him the idea of simply dragging this whore of a spy by her obviously barbaric...yet strangely gorgeous hair towards a Centurion of the Seventh to show the spy he just caught! Of course this plan had to be acted out with everything he had without being killed under the falling debris.

The Legionnaire put his plan into motion by lunging at the woman and swinging out with his sword hand and using the balled fist to strike her seductive face. If it would go as the legionnaire thought then when her body staggered he'd immediately grab her hair and begin dragging her with his well honed strength of a legion. Truly she'd be taught a lesson for spying on his beloved Rome!

If he could capture the woman the next step in his plan was to meet a Centurion of the Seventh immediately to give the spy and receive further orders over how to deal with this non-roman oddity...it was strange how the courage liquid in his body was giving him the drive to not piss himself over such strange occurrences. The Legionnaire began to move onwards, giving the motion with his sword am for his brothers to follow him to safety. He moved onwards as quickly as possible so he and his prisoner wouldn't be found dead under rubble and with him as well.

Whatever could be happening it would be certain the Roman gods would protect them....right?

[Gunther]

As Caesar, riding atop the back of a massive white stallion, came into view for the plebeian masses so- too- did the strangest event to occur in the last century. As the crowds grew in density, so- too- did the speed of the burning discus in the sky increase. No longer was it a few select individuals that saw it: As the second sun of the world became larger than even the sun that spawned it, so- too- did its speed increase. For every score of folk that looked upon Caesar and his parade, a quarter of that number were also casting glances skyward, storms and violent waves beginning to form on the outskirts. From a clear day to encroaching pitch black clouds, omens were abundant.

Yet where a normal parade may yet be called off, Caesar- riding alongside his comrade Brutus- was not deterred. Marching forth even as the skies continued to darken, the man pressed forward to the Senate, the soldiers of Rome seeming all the more imposing and haughty even as the weather soured. Along the docks, men could be seen attempting to salvage ships suddenly loose of their mooring. Even as some crashed against their piers, more still seemed to be dragged out to sea by unseen hands. Many sacrifices to the Gods were made on-the-spot, men attempting to cast coins to the ground or purchase beasts of supplication. Men hurried bulls into Rome for rapid sacrifice, to cast off the sudden ill omens. Women grabbed their children and fled inside, bowing their heads away from the skies as though the Gods might seek them out with bolts of distilled fury for doing otherwise.

Rome was beset by a siege of omens.

Aulus Atius Vespillo
The mercenary swordsman, rushing out the front, was joined by a few men emptying from similar areas. The sailors joined him, their military training causing about half a score of fellows armed with basic knives and gutter wretch's hooks (Particularly notable for the jagged bits of metal worked through a wooden handle). The sailors looked around as the full scale of the minor tremor began evident: Wagons had been overturned, the ships docked in the piers having swung back and forth violently. A trireme had broken free of its moorings, nearby soldiers and sailors attempting to grab hold of the loose ropes and keep the ship docked amongst the wild currents raking the ocean.

It was, perhaps, one of the more fortunate ships. From the violent upheaval, several ships had crashed into the stone piers of the waterfront. Even now they greedily sucked in water, the sails of merchant ships fluttering weakly as they quickly began to sink below. In the numerous drydocks, restraints had given way, the delicate hulls of suspended ships undergoing maintenance and repairs crashing to the ground below to shatter into splinters. As the sailors began to break off to save the drifting vessel, the former Legionnaire found himself rounding around the Taverna to an avenue of panic. Rome, so unfamiliar with tectonic shifts as violent and sudden as this, had its citizens in disarray. Men with buckets of seatwater moved to extinguish minor fires as women dragged their children from play, expecting further such outbursts from a displeased earth below.

However, as he neared the source of the noise, he heard the roll of distant thunder. The scene he stumbled onto, however, was a bit more pressing- about a dozen Roman Legion soldiers in a half-circle around a bleeding, unconscious woman. Her face had been pounded in, her nose and jaw obviously broken as the man holding her hair was cheered on by his fellow men. They did not wear the armor of the Legion, but the standard robes they wore- in addition to the swords at their sides- clearly marked them as men in service. The side-street they stood in was littered with filth and rubbish, and the earthquake had damaged both the Taverna and the buildings around it- wooden planks and broken plaster having cascaded to make the ground fairly course and difficult to trod on safely.

Unfortunately, he was interrupted as a man seemingly materialized from thin air, spilling over the rooftop of the damaged Taverna. The man's arms flailed wildly as he fell into a large pile of refuse, interrupting the scene with a slightly comedic note.

Which quickly evaporated as, upon looking upwards, it became evident that there was a second sun in the sky. A much brighter, and rapidly moving, sun that arced over Caesar's parade in a sign of favor...or warning. Still many leagues into the heavens, it was becoming larger with each passing moment.

Corvus Porcius Cato
The nobleman's words seemed to resonate with the men well. Ignatius smiled widely now, the fat merchant patting the young Cato upon the back, and clasping his shoulder with his right hand as he gestured to the entirety of Rome with his left. Opiter relaxes slightly, his slaves standing to either side as the merchant speaks.

"You do not speak lies, young man." Ignatius declared, "In fact, you speak the sentiment of many of those who participate in the Senate and other such offices. If Caesar is to become dictator for life and- perhaps- even Emperor, as many people proclaim, this will be a grevious blow to the Republic. Even now, he rides down the city streets upon his white horse, seeking to present himself as a man of the people, untouchable in his personality. And it is indeed a nearly untouchable personality- many Senators would have otherwise been swayed by his words, if not for the immediate threat he poses to our Republic."

Firming his grip upon Cato's shoulder, even as more birds began to fall dead in greater amounts, "But his threat has been recognized- and now? He is a tyrant that will soon wet the ground he now rules over. Even now, as he rides upon the Senate, the last few loyal sons of Rome stand vigilant and ready to ensure the Republic's survival. It would be a disgrace to kill a fellow Roman with anything else but a fellow Roman." The agricultural baron stated, "But a scapegoat? That we have found easily enough...someone that Rome would be all too eager to be relieved of."

With his hand outstretched, one of the falling birds smacked flat into his hand, the fat man's curse vivid and sudden as he protectively withdrew his hand. "Infernal rats!" He declared, "I cannot wait to see them all poisoned with next year's decrees...but that is a matter for another time, young Cato. Tell me, when Caesar finally falls, what do-"

His next words were cut short with a stream of curses, Opiter's eyes tranfixed on the distant waterline. Several ships could be seen drifting out to sea, as well as a number more having flipped silently as the men spoke. "The Victoria!" The naval commander nearly shrieked, storming down the steps. From afar, several large waves could be seen rolling down the coastline, miles out- but fast approaching. "She's drifting out to sea! To sea!"

But that was not the only thing awry. Looking up, Cato could also see storm clouds gathering miles away, conjoined by perhaps the strangest thing of all.

A second sun in the sky. Visible from the raised platform of the temple's stairtop, the second ball of bright light could be seen parting from the sun's fiery embrace, growing larger as it parted.

That...put a much more dark bent on things.

Tevye
Mordekai's thanks was cut off as Tevye tossed the young man out from the brink of the sewers. His realization that the stones underfoot would give way was a bit too belated, however, as he heard a distant scream. A scream of the damned! A scream of damnation to come! It was perhaps the rushing filth below him, but as Tevye went into the pit with the resignation only a fulfilled life can bring, he could hear the distant sound of...shouting?

His eyes burned slightly as- with the continuing sensation of falling- he seemed to overhear some echoed conversation, spoken between outraged men with venomous tones.

"...You may wish as you will. We yet have all the Senate behind us and all the men of quality."

"...And I have an angry mob, that will roast and eat your 'men of quality' in the ashes of the Senate House!"

A sudden, wretched burning sensation filled the Rabbi as he continued to fall, seemingly forever as these words seared through his mind- in one ear and out the other. The sudden sensation of drowning was mysterious to say the least: The water level of the sewers shouldn't have been this deep, but as he sank below he could feel an abrupt riptide threaten to yank him further down. Yet like any true Jew, he did not give in to the temptation of drowning!

And then, just like that, the water seemed to vanish, Tevye suddenly feeling the sensation of vertigo resume- only, this time, with much more solid air to give him heed. Opening his eyes, he saw a large pile of hay and filth below him, the non- sensical juxtaposition from the sinkhole to what appeared to be just a few feet out of reach of the lip of a rooftop.

Gravity resumed her cruel control as he fell upon his back onto a pile of unfastened timber. Cushioned by the broken plaster that had fallen over said timber, his rump was sore- but nothing broken or sprained.

Though, to be fair, he was still quite sopping wet from the whole experience, not to mention the sudden disorientation of being casually moved about in this way.

However, he would have little time to recover before he saw half a dozen Roman men looking at him, one of them- carrying a woman with a bleeding face by the hair- looking particularly authoritative for this gaggle of soldiers. And soldiers they were! Few could wear the togas of the military caste, or bear their swords, without a very quick and public censure for being an imposter.

Doiros Segomari
The Gods did indeed seem to have a plan for the druid. He, who had come to this city of sin to witness just what it was that had let the Romans succeed so much. Traversing the crowds like a leaf carried aloft on the winds of fate, he found himself confronted by the noise and bluster of Rome in its full "glory". What it was, in fact, was just a massive city of people packed together like common rodents and dead fish! With the foulness in the air, Doiros Segomari- Druid of the Gods- found himself quickly maneuvering through a solid throng of people.

Was it Rome's martial prowess that made them victorious against the fine men of Gaul? Unlikely! Few were more fanatical than the half-naked warriors that went screaming into battle against their legions, or more skilled than the noble warriors that rode upon horseback! The people of Rome were so easily flustered, too! As he moved forward with a single-minded purpose, the Romans had mentally divided themselves. Some were hailing their king, Caesar, as some sort of absolute monarch. Others were staring agape at the ships drifting out to sea and sinking within the harbor, their shoddy craftsmanship dooming them to inevitable consumption by the vengeful, fey spirits of the seas!

But that was enough of a tangent- the Roman Senate was only a short while ahead. Making various signs to ward off the evil spirits that only Roman politics could conjure forth, the druid could feel the shift in seasons in his bones. Being far more acute in reading the flows of fey energies than these heretics he found himself amongst, Doiros could easily foretell a great upheaval. A great storm was coming, one that would consume all of Rome. What these people would dismiss as an insane urging, he knew to be something primal, something pure and raw to be unleashed rather than harnessed.

Nearing the largest concentration of birds, he found himself standing before the massive parade of Romans, a fire- amusingly enough- having broken out along the edge of the parade grounds at some old wooden barn. A barn that was being consumed not by flames but...

Ah. Yes. There it was: The touch of fey things. Evident not as a physical event, but a spiritual surge to those so perceptive as he. Its only physical sign was in the fast-growing flames, flames that sought to do nothing else but suck in air with a geedy thirst and gather more and more fuel! It was, looking up towards the second sun now much more rapidly moving across the sky, at the zenith of the trail. This was...ominous? Foreboding?

Or perhaps fortuitous?

Gaius Silvius
With the shout of "Fire!", the people around Gaius quickly diverted attention to the workshop as smoke began to pour out from the small alleyway behind the workshop. Normally meant for chamberpots and similar trash to be emptied before the rain swept it into the sewers, the threat of fire was unbearably real in a place like this. With the parade going on, however, it was down to Gaius and his slaves- the Watchmen were too busy ensuring people didn't tear themselves to shreds over the money being tossed about, and with all the noise going on? There wasn't a likely chance of too many people hearing the inventor's cry of alert.

So thus, with only two active slaves to aid him, he was first to collect his things as the two servants began dunking wooden buckets into the small cermic tub of water reserved for just that very purpose. Water sloshed about the ground as Gaius himself sprinted out and around the perimeter of the house, his feet thundering as he found himself reaching the back alley.

To a growing firestorm. A pile of discarded waste had, upon drying, suddenly caught on fire. No torches were present, but a cloth blanket was the centerpiece of the growing inferno. The two bodies of the dead slaves had somehow ended up here as well- the disgusting, cloying odor of burning flesh making the man's eyes water. He had seen, and created, much worse in the course of his career. However, what happened next made his scientific mind reel, and fanned the flames of the scientist-theologist rather than the pure logical scientist.

The fires, suddenly rushing out to consume what was left of the body on top, seemed to sweep forward towards the side of the workshop. Timber ignited almost instantly, as though soaked in oil. This flame was far more fast-spreading in nature than anything he had seen before. Almost supernaturally so, in fact!

Legionary Vibbius Attilius
Vibbius's heroic punch plowed through the female spy's face, the mighty muscles in his arm whipping out to crash into the woman's face. From the sudden stinging sensation in the soldier's fist, he could tell that he had hit her perhaps a bit more hard than intended. On the other hand, she was obviously a barbarian whore-slut, intending to subvert the kindness and generosity of Roman men!

So, when her face sprayed blood across his knuckles and her jaw suddenly snapped back at an unnatural angle, the woman's shrill shriek of pain fell on deaf ears. His fellow Legion warriors, brothers-in-arms in all things, quickly cheered the apparent hero of Rome. Grabbing a handful of hair and preparing to walk out with the now-unconscious harlot being dragged behind him, Vibbius found the path ahead...blocked?

A man, dressed in armor and armed, stood at the exit of the alley. He said nothing, but the fact that he was armed indicated one of two things- either the personal bodyguard of this harlot slave...or a fellow Roman soldier.

It didn't do well for the wits of the men that it was at this point that another contestor entered the alley. Appearing from over the lip of an adjoining rooftop, there was a brief thunder of timber and plaster as he landed amidst a pile of the aforementioned materials, the man- bearing the beard and toga like one of the Jew Rabbis so graciously allowed into Rome- looking rather peaceful for the fact that he just went tumbling down a full three and a half meters.

Aulus Atius Vespillo, Tevye, and Legionary Vibbius Attilius are now in the same area and free to interact if they wish.
Doiros Segomari and Gaius Silvius are now in the same (approximate) area and free to interact if they wish.

[RufusCorvus]

Aulus Atius Vespillo

Aulus was dumb-founded by the panic and madness hanging over the docks. What had Rome done to earn Neptune's displeasure so? He remembered the woman's scream and bounded around the corner, thankful to get away from the turbulent seas. Aulus was no callow youth. He was no stranger to violence--he had seen battles, and the carnage that they wrought. He had served for a time in Gaul; fought for its conquest under the man who even now was parading to the Senate. However, something about this scene before him struck him from his gut to his spine--the unconscious woman moaning through a broken jaw, her breathing halting as she inhaled blood and tears through the misshapen lump of flesh that was once her nose. Hearing her piteous moans as the men surrounding her laughed and jeered, congratulating the youth whose fist was now stained with blood... It set Aulus' blood afire. He gazed at the scene, his teeth clamped together so tightly they threatened to chip, stepped forward with his shield ready. "Explain yourselves!" the mercenary demanded. The men only just turned to notice him. Aulus stepped forward again, minding his footing among the debris, punctuating it with the draw of his gladius.

Two things cut Aulus' advance short. The first was the appearance of a man on the roof and his subsequent fall into a refuse pile on the alley floor. The second was far more ominous--the appearance of a second sun above Caesar's distant parade. Infinitely bright and expanding by the second, Aulus could only stare.

[Privateer]

Gaius Silvius


At first it seemed their battle with the flames was going well, but when the fire rose up, charged forth as if alive, Gaius knew he lost. Such overwhelmingly powerful and swift was the inferno, as if it embodied rage of an angry god. He has never seen anything like this before. Even the liquid fire of his Greek friends did not take this quickly.

Intrigued, he yearned to learn the secret of this power, but also knew that a fire of this size will destroy all traces of the substance that caused it. He spat angrily. Not only was he not going to learn what tricks were used to start these magnificent flames, but his tools and the beautiful war machine inside were now going to be lost for certain.

"Curses..." he dropped. "I've never seen anything of this magnitude before."

He called the slaves back and put a bit of distance between himself and the fire. Then his attention was called away from the burning shop and to all the other oddities that went on around them. The stormy water, which was usually so peaceful this deep inland, the fiery discs in the sky...

"Sweet Minerva!"

Though not as supersticious as most commoners, Gaius was still a Roman, and to see such omens terrified him. Something was not right. Not right at all!

[Anders Celsius]

Doiros Segomari

Doiros could hardly contain what would seem by those around like a madman's maniac laughter. The gods indeed didn't approve such corruption of nature, and they were showing it crystal clear, not only for the enlightened ones to know. Cursed be, the roman scum, for they would pay for their insolence! No mortal can defy the gods and leave unpunished.

Now they would have to face the god's wrath... to no good. For what would a man's action work when facing them?
Ah, but he was no mere man! He was Doiros Segomari, a chosen of the gods, who spent years and years learning the secret rituals of his gods, all the forbidden knowledge to those not graced by them, and which the foul romans, who loved to petrify knowledge into writing, would never have access to! Knowledge, they didn't know, cannot be frozen, like the winter fields of the northern lands, for it's something alive, that changes with time. So should we, creatures of the divine, change, and so should our knowledge. Writing it down, that utter defiance of nature, would mean this: fire raining from the sky!

But, how could have they been so blind? How could they have not seen this happening? Didn't they even hear what the god-touched ones had to tell them? No, of course not. They simply called them madmen, and disregarded their precious messages. As he walked without much higher objective than seeing it all, in order to be able to deliver the warning to the future generations, he started to look into the people's reactions. Many men, in episodes of catastrophe and disaster, become more aligned with the gods, and have short possessions which grant them the bliss of knowledge, for those that can understand the mysterious language of the gods, of course. Blessed them, for they wouldn't die without first knowing, like the rest of the rats that crawled in floor, looking for the dirty gold thrown by their god. What good would it be to them now? What would their mortal-god do when faced by the true ones?

[Thatguyoverther]

Tevye

Tevye staggers out of the filth and hay, head still swimming. His mind works at a fevered pace. What happened? Where am I? Tevye straightens himself, taking a second to take stock of himself. Who's voices where those? They talked about the Senate, Senators? Great God in heaven what's going on? Praise be, I'm allive!

With a slightly idiotic smile Tevye focuses his vision outward, taking in his surroundings. Seeing Roman soldiers his first instinct is to get out of the way. The instinct is immediately reinforced by the fact that one of them already has a weapon drawn.

But then there is the woman, Tevye heart pangs with sympathy at her state. With all the blood, Tevye can't tell if the woman is one of the chosen of a gentile. Either way Tevye has an obligation to help her, or at least figure out what she did.

Tevye does his best to clean himself hastily and don what he hopes is a pleasant and non-threatening smile. "Hail,..." Tevye's mind blanks for a second searching for a proper honorific "sons of Rome."

[WhiteKnight777]

Corvus Porcius Cato

Corvus was smiling, at least at first - it was a small, secret smile. It seemed that his gambit had paid off. The fat man did indeed have a plan - or, more likely, had caught wind of one and was preparing to take steps after it had been completed. There was going to be a chance for change, for salvation, a chance to rebuild the republic into what it should have been. He started to answer in a humble voice.

"well, noble Ignatius, I think that in the event you speak of, I should-" and then he, too, broke off suddenly at the cries that arose around him. He was frozen to the spot as the birds died like poisoned roaches and the eldritch storm clouds rolled in over the waves. But when he looked up towards the second sun sailing across the sky, only his Roman stoicism kept him from screaming. The world had gone mad, and everything around them was crumbling.

"Gods above and below." he said in a tone of fear and wonder. "Even Ceasar's blasphemy cannot be so great that the gods have determined to wipe Rome from the face of the earth..."