Gloria Perpetua |
![]() ![]() |
| Searching [M]; Open | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 18 2011, 06:47 PM (852 Views) | |
| Snitch | Sep 20 2011, 12:56 AM Post #11 |
|
She seemed comforted in the fact that he offered no obvious reply to her statements, only a small smile to show that he had heard. At least he did not press her any further than she was willing to go - curious, considering the Guard's tendency to question anything and everything set in their path. She smiled faintly but contentedly to herself, her gaze straying from the window to eye her polished nails with feigned interest. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Marcus as he directed the vehicle through the seemingly impossible traffic with relative ease. As it began to become obvious that they were nearing their destination, Aemilia turned her focus to the young hound seated behind her again. She was ever-wary of the creature - its golden eyes and obsidian fur gave away far more than its outwardly cute nature. This was a creature that would be feared, not some pet to be coddled and stroked as if it were a furry child. Besides, Aemilia had never been much of a dog person - she prefered the grace and stealth of the feline. One of her many admirers had recently gifted her a half-grown jaguar. The rare cat was valued among her most cared-for treasures, and she guarded it jealously as if it were made of purest gold. They exitted the vehicle without any fanfare, a small relief for Aemilia who, for once, was not particularly keen on being the center of attention. A deep weariness had come over her during their short journey, and she knew not why. Ahead, the glowing statues of Mars gleamed threateningly from its pedestal, his red eyes seeming to follow the moves of the daughter of Venus as she followed her host obediently to the entrance. A son of Mars, she thought to herself as he muttered the words to his father. She cast another wary look at the peaceful puppy and silently hoped that it would not be sharing her quarters tonight. Aemilia was well aware of the relationship between Mars and Venus. She almost felt as if she were being judged by Marcus' father as she looked up at the Guard, now adressing her once more. Any worries that she may have had, however, were not revealed on her soft features. She smiled charmingly and nodded her head. "I would be most honored, son of Mars," she responded, using his father's name to identify him. "Quite the mansion you have here, Lord Marcus." |
![]() |
|
| Lucien | Sep 20 2011, 09:55 AM Post #12 |
|
Praetor
|
Marcus smiled faintly at her words and turned wordlessly, advancing towards a pair of gilded oaken doors which opened when they neared. Within, two slaves in ceremonial togas dipped curtseys at Marcus and Aemilia and, eyes down, closed the doors behind them. They emerged immediately in a long, wide hallway, lit by torches burning in brackets on the wall. No lights, then. Curious. The inside was pleasantly cool despite the flames and he led her past several pairs of torches mounted into white pillars, walls beyond them marking the edge of the corridor past the support columns. Portraits of men and women, as well as depictions of battles, adorned the walls. Text beneath describing great victories and glories for the Empire, as well as defeats. Curious that defeats would be celebrated. Ahead of them, a seat of marble stairs descended down to a halfway landing before splitting in a UU with balcony walkways diverging towards other wings of the house from the middle landing. The stairs arced down towards the level below. Turning fully to face the downwards staircase on the left as opposed to taking one of the side paths, Marcus moved down the last few steps and then paused, peering around the manor. Nothing met him but the sounds of servants cleaning or chattering quietly and what appeared to be ambient music coming from unseen speakers. Classical stuff, very old, very placid. Odd that a son of Mars would listen to it. They were within the mansion proper now, and rich carpets, drapes and paintings hung from every wall. Weapons adorned the marble interior and it was clear why Mars had chosen Marcus' mother. Every inch of the manse was immersed in the reverence of warfare, conflict given a place of high honour within the House. How proud the Lady Krasus must have been to learn she had been loved by Mars himself. To Marcus, such thoughts were irrelevant. What had been, had been. A moment's further pause and he led her past the manse proper and into the adjacent dining hall. A large banquet table sat prepared, but unset, instead a smaller two-person affair of black marble gilded with gold-scribed depictions of war was ready, complete with lit candles and two plates. Marcus grimaced at the sight, not feeling his appetite. "I beg leave to change out of these clothes and see Phobos settled, Aemilia." He said cordially, lifting the pup indicatively in his arms. "I shall leave you to dine or explore the villa, should you wish it. One of my servants will act as a guide if you so wish, though you are free to roam alone." He dipped a bow, "For tonight, my home is yours and all under its roof at your disposal." Another smile, dip and then he was gone towards the stairs again, Phobos in his arms. Up the flight to the landing and then right onto the mid-level walkway, vanishing around a corner towards his rooms. When out of sight, he heaved a sigh of relief. Gods, the woman was stunning, but he had a feeling she'd been toying with him just to see if she could. Women! Heaven help him, but they were a troublesome lot. Woe be to the man that married Aemilia. Red eyes scrunching as he yawned, Marcus pushed open the doors to his bedroom and placed Phobos on the ground, the pup sniffing the air before padding over to the fireplace and promptly curling up beside it. His new owner couldn't help but to chuckle at the creature's laziness. "We'll see that out of you soon, little one." He pushed open the door to his bathroom and smiled at the four waiting serving girls. "Shall we see me cleaned then?" Marcus barely spared a thought for how fast they shed their clothing. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Snitch | Sep 20 2011, 10:13 PM Post #13 |
|
Aemilia noted his lack of response, save for the smallest of smiles. Certainly not one for conversation, this one, but this was to be expected considering the man's line of work. Praetorian Guards were, after all, trained in the art of combat, not of conversation. The daughter of Venus followed obediently like a child as he lead the way into the massive villa, her chocolate brown gaze never once ceasing in its roaming of their surroundings. The villa was nothing like her own, that much was for certain. This one was much grander, but, again, this was to expect from an elite soldier such as Marcus. As her feet glided over the marble floors with care Aemilia could not help but wonder once again what had possessed her to follow the man in the first place. Perhaps she merely enjoyed the challenge of seeing how far she might push him, though it seemed by now that Marcus was as immovable as a rock. Likely a futile effort, but still, it was too late to return home now. It was with a slight jolt of surprise that Aemilia noted the extravegant feast laid out on the dining table, with places set for two. She could not help but raise one fine eyebrow at this display - how in the world had his servents known that he would not be returning home alone tonight? Perhaps he often brought women back to his villa with him. He certainly seemed the type; used to getting precisely what he wanted. Very similar to herself, in fact, despite their clearly different mindsets. Aemilia made no reply as Marcus excused himself, barely listening to his courteous words. She was far more interested in surveying her surroundings for any hint of something that might be of interest to her. Of course there was nothing. This was a Guard's home, after all. She listened as the sound of his footsteps receded down the hall, before carelessly shedding her cloak and draping it over the nearest chair, smiling faintly to herself as if at some private joke. There were a few soft gasps from the servants standing on duty in the corner of the room, but Aemilia payed them no mind. She was out and into the hallway within seconds, her soft sandals making nary a sound against the cold floor. Her fingertips trailed the length of the walls, occasionally pausing in their journey to run over a tapestry or painting. Aemilia had at this point given up on finding anything that may be useful to her work and was merely exploring the villa. She climbed elegant stairways and slipped through doorways into rooms filled with fine furniture. She ignored the stares of servants as she passed them in her wandering, opting instead to avoid them and their obvious attention as best she could. No one dared speak to her. Finally, after perhaps an hour of exploration, Aemilia came to a set of oaken doors, leading out onto a small balcony. Small though she was, she managed to push them open and slip outside, resting her faintly olive hands on the railing. Perhaps she ought to leave while Marcus was otherwise occupied. The prospect of spending the night here was becoming less and less appealing to her as the minutes crawled by. Edited by Snitch, Sep 20 2011, 10:49 PM.
|
![]() |
|
| Lucien | Sep 20 2011, 10:53 PM Post #14 |
|
Praetor
|
Marcus, bathed and smelling faintly of some pleasant scent that might or might not have been lavender or vanilla, appeared behind her on the balcony. His hair was a darker shade of blood, still damp from his bath. He wore a simple white tunic and baggy leggings, without any shoes -- the Vanilla was meticulously cleaned. Wordlessly he watched her for a moment, examining her curves and the fall of her hair, the unabashed manner in which she analysed every inch of the grounds as if taking it all in, claiming it. This was a woman used to getting whatever she wanted, acquiring it however necessary and feeling no shame in the act. In her own way, she was a soldier -- albeit of quite an alien battlefield to Marcus. Stepping forwards and into the light cast by the grounds illumination, he placed his hands on the marble railing, standing straight-backed. He was about six feet six, not bulky, but quite well-built all things considered. Toned, but not intrusively masculine. He was more one for speed, then. Though in power armour, none of that truly applied. Smiling quietly at her, gaze directed to the woman out of the corners of his torch-illuminated crimson eyes, he spoke. "Are you enjoying yourself?" The question hung for a moment before he saw fit to continue, flowing into another sentence. "The grounds are free to be walked, if you desire." Marcus nodded to the statue of Mars. "Respects can be paid, prayers given. Perhaps you were surprised by my parentage? No matter." Above, lights from Divum Vectoris filled the sky. "You look weary after the day, Aemilia. Would you like a scented bath?" He worried he had said too much, but did not show it. He had taken his bath already precisely so that she could not try to entice him to join her. It was not that he found the woman unappealing, no indeed, were it another he likely would have taken her to his bed already. Such things were simple matters. But this one was something else; if he did take her for companion, he would lose a battle he had not known he'd been fighting. Aemilia was a demi-goddess of love itself, intimacy was as easy for her as breathing. If he wished to win this contest, he would make her realise he was not some boy to be teased, nor a weak man to be bullied or led. Every turn would have unexpected results, each word a second meaning. Let her see that he was not a man who could be used and dispensed at her leisure. He was a Son of War, a Praetorian Guard. The ideas of normal men fell short of him. A life within Bellicus Palaestra Schola had left him scarred, inside and out. Marks dotted his flesh from battle, yes, but so too did they stain his soul. Marcus was his father's son, but so too was he a man. A man, and one of self-respect. She would not see him easily broken. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Snitch | Sep 20 2011, 11:13 PM Post #15 |
|
A frown settled on her fair features and her mind wandering with thoughts of escape, Aemilia almost let out a cry of surprise as Marcus spoke up behind her. She managed to keep her mouth clamped shut, however, resisting the urge to reach for her dagger in defense. The daughter of Venus did not take well to being surprised and was ready to defend herself should it become necessary. After realizing that the voice belonged to her host, however, she relaxed, turning her head to observe him as he came to stand beside her. A strand of lush brown hair fell across her face as she watched him, the ghost of a smirk playing at her lips. "Grounds...?" she repeated softly, glancing out over the landscape at which she had been gazing. Aemilia had not even noticed the sprawling grounds beneath her - she had been watching the stars, paying little to no attention to anything else. The smirk grew ever so slightly as he mentioned prayer. "I thank you for your kind offer, my lord, but I do plenty of my own type of prayer at the Temple. I believe our parents have very different ideas of worship." Here she glanced at him again, peering through her lashes at the man towering above her petite figure. Something about the way he was counteracting everything that she did was intruiging to Aemilia. Though this man was no son of Minerva, he certainly had a mind for tactics. The faint smell of perfume wafted to her nostrils, and once again Aemilia strayed into deep thought, so much so that she barely heard his next question. She tilted her head slightly, and the smirk widened even more into a rueful smile. She turned to face him fully, the light material of her garb fluttering in the faint evening breeze. "My lord, if I did not know any better, I would have to say that you are trying to get rid of me," she purred, amusement dancing in her eyes. "You must understand that simply because I am my mother's daughter does not mean I lack self-control." |
![]() |
|
| Lucien | Sep 20 2011, 11:50 PM Post #16 |
|
Praetor
|
Marcus lifted an eyebrow and then smiled back in return, allowing a low laugh to crawl from him. Get rid of her? Ah, that was amusing. Turning to rest his back against the railing, he tilted his head and regarded her curiously, smile still in place. "I do not seek to be rid of you, Aemilia." He paused for a moment, before continuing. Perhaps in this, the truth would be better than further convolution. "I simply do not desire to be a plaything." He shrugged politely, ignoring the crimson tresses falling over his eyes. "Such things as that bother me rather more than even the thought of five men in a dark alleyway." Marcus' gaze softened and he looked behind him towards the statue of Mars. "Pride runs strong in my veins, Daughter of Venus. Your siblings are famed for their ability to convolute the senses make muddle of the strongest men and women." A quiet smile and he turned back to her, "I would simply prefer to be treated as a man, and not a puzzle to be undone, nor a gift to be unwrapped." He stood straight once more and offered her his hand, "It is past due for my nightly offering to mine father. Perhaps you would join me in the giving of the sacrifice?" This was his laurel wreath, the olive branch. He was giving her the chance to set aside the competition and embrace companionship for the time they had remaining, perhaps even to enjoy herself. After all, what interesting things could hold for an offering to Mars? The god of War and Honour often enjoyed many different forms of sacrifice, but to which would Marcus hold? Garbed as he was in loose-fitting silk, he seemed utterly incapable of dealing death. Despite the aura of primal death radiating from him, he smelled and looked as gentle as a lamb. Truly a wolf in sheep's guise, then, to appear to harmless and hide such deadly purpose. His hand, offered, was calloused and strong as only a lifetime of wielding weapons could make it. Firm to its purpose, but not so unyielding as to be unpleasant to hold. Warmth was a great part of who he was, and what he was. A son of Honour, a progeny of War. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Snitch | Sep 21 2011, 12:07 AM Post #17 |
|
She watched his reply for any hint of weakness. His laugh pleased her in a strange way, and she could not help but smile in return, pristine teeth glinting in the moonlight. His reaction told her that he was at least vaguely interested in her company. A good thing, otherwise this would have been quite the boring evening. Aemilia listened patiently as Marcus finally spoke his mind, eyes glinting dangerously. "My dear man, if I desired a plaything, I would've left the moment you saw me in favor of some corrupt politician. It is not for lack of entertainment that I am here." She paused moment, eyes roaming every inch of his form, before continuing. "But I do love a challenge." She was not sure if he knew that his words only further enticed her, proving that he was exactly the type of man who would prove to be difficult, if not impossible, to seduce as she had so many others. "You should not put me in the same group as my brothers and sisters, Lord Marcus," she added. "My father was a military man, you know." Aemilia turned her gaze back to the heavens, waiting for a long moment to answer his next question. Her curious gaze roamed the midnight blue sky for the tell-tale red spots of Mars and Venus, and her well-manicured fingernails tapped against the railing. Patient man or not, he would have to wait for her answer for a while as she pondered it. Finally, she straightened and turned to him, effecting the most charming smile she could manage. "I would be honored, my lord," she replied in a sweet voice, ignoring his outstretched hand and opting instead to take a step independently of him towards the door, her gown rustling softly as she did so. "Lead the way." |
![]() |
|
| Lucien | Sep 21 2011, 12:43 AM Post #18 |
|
Praetor
|
Marcus smiled faintly again and moved past her obligingly, leading the way back into the mansion proper. Their destination was the grounds and a certain area within it, under the shadow of the statue of Mars. The journey there was a simple enough affair, with servants pausing to bow before returning to their duties, chatting amiably. They seemed to enjoy themselves, as if understanding that service to Marcus was far better than what many of them might have seen elsewhere. The occasional child was even seen running around the villa with toys, chased by chiding women who beamed at the young lord as he went past, earning one of his quiet smiles in return. Marcus had never grudged the servants their pleasures, neither the joy of children nor the more physical enjoyments that produced them. So long as they met their quota and kept up their efficiency, he cared not what enjoyments they pursued in their free time. His personal guardsmen, legionaries as per his station, flanked most of the mansion and surrounding grounds, standing sentry at intervals and garbed in the power armour of their company. Steel titans with glowing eyes that surveyed everything from under their emotionless visors; lethal power weapons at their hips and tower shields on their arms. The pair guarding the open doors saluted as he came past and he waved to them, descending the front steps towards the villa grounds. Here, light illuminated the greenery, hedges cut in the shapes of chariots and beasts, with pegasi and hydras and all manner of strange and exotic beasts on display. Great heroes of battle were in prominence, along with the more conflict-inclined gods. Jupiter, Neptune and Pluto had places of honour of course, but only Mars had a statue of note -- a fact that only a demi-god could get away with, most likely. The garden path they walked from the villa steps had several divergent paths along the way, spanning out into the gardens. The mansion itself could comfortably house dozens, so of course the Gardens themselves were built to entertain as many. Indeed, several minor nobles and aristocratic figures dotted its lawns, some soldiers and servants relaxing as well. They waved as Marcus came past, and stood up one by one as if realising something. Some were already waiting, almost excitedly. Marcus knew why, but deigned not to inform Aemilia. Let her see first hand how he made his tributes. When finally they reached the end of the central walkway, they emerged from hedges and shrubs, designed to hide private activities amongst the smaller garden offshoots, into a miniature arena. It was about four hundred metres in diameter, with three levels of rows surrounding it and a small box for Marcus himself. Within its sanded floor stood four legionaries in power armour, with five prisoners between them. "Please see miss Aemilia to my box," he instructed one of the waiting servants, before begging the woman's leave himself and bowing away. Unhurriedly, Marcus strode into the armoury beneath the arena, nodding to the Quartermaster and taking a moment to observe the interior. Ancient armour reforged in vulcanium littered the walls, with an assortment of weapons and shields dotting pegs. Lights lit the room in a sterile white, cool mist rolling over the equipment to stave off rust or decay with its special mixtures. It felt as if he were standing amidst clouds, feet hidden beneath the whiteness roiling the earth. "What are they using?" Marcus inquired, moving to a wall with weapons. "Two gladius, one Halbred, an Ashandarei and a trident with net." The quartermaster replied gruffly. "I hope you know what you're doing, milord." Marcus smiled back in response and picked a spartan-style gladius from the wall, along with a Roman gladius for his right hand. He strapped them to his waist and followed through with two bicep braces, each containing two knives. "I always do, Hammar." Shedding his shirt, he simply tightened the cord of his trousers and nodded. "I'm ready." The Quartermaster, Hammar, grunted. "One hit and you're done, dressed like that." Marcus laughed, "I have to make it fair, don't I?" Only another grunt came in reply. A few moments later he left the armoury, striding out to anticipating silence in the arena, filled three quarters with servants and guests. All were allowed to see the nightly offerings, regardless of duties. Holding the spartan blade in his left and the gladius in his right, he flourished the swords in whining arcs. They did not have power blades and thus, were simply sharpened vulcanium. Nodding to the Legionaries to withdraw, he faced his opponents. "This is your trial by combat. Know that I am Marcus Krasus Bellus of the Praetorian Guard. Best me, be it through death or rendering me unconscious, and you shall be deemed blessed and free to leave and pursue new lives. Fail and you will not live to wish you had tried harder. Am I understood?" The five men glared at him. Two spat. One snorted. Marcus did not seem phased. "Then let the tribute to Mars begin." He braced himself while they charged as one. |
| |
![]() |
|
| Snitch | Sep 21 2011, 01:06 AM Post #19 |
|
Aemilia strode through the gardens behind her host with the same sort of balance and grace she had displayed in his halls. The way she moved through the winding paths, glancing now and again at the various scultures and statues, almost made it seem as if she were the master of these grounds, not Marcus. Of course, Aemilia was accustomed to getting what she wanted, no matter how difficult it may be. As far as she was concerned, anything she set eyes on belonged to her just as much (if not moreso) than anyone else. The barest hint of surprise lit her features as she realized where he was leading her. Upon noticing the other observers, her interest was immediately piqued. Here were the type of people whom she usually chose as her targets, and her keen gaze scanned the small crowd for any familiar faces. Before she had a chance to mingle, however, she was led away by the waiting servant, her lips creasing into a frown as she was. Aemilia wasn't exactly keeping score, but it seemed at this point like Marcus was winning. The demi-goddess barely noticed her extravegant surroundings as she was led into the box by the servant, who bowed low and exitted when he was certain that she was settled. Few men and even fewer women enjoyed being in the solitary company of a daughter of Venus, and it seemed they were doing their best to avoid her for the time being. She hardly payed it any notice. Moving across to the seat nearest the edge she draped herself across the cushioned chair, her legs dangling over one armrest, revealing an alarm amount of leg from the slit in her grown. Aemilia seemed catlike even while resting. The opponents walked onto the field, looking fierce with their weapons and heavy armor. Aemilia was unimpressed. She had spent quite a bit of time in the Coliseum, as a guest of some obscure nobleman or on her own. She enjoyed watching the men battle; enjoyed watching them die even more. The primal nature of mortals fascinated her. Now Marcus entered, shirtless and armed with what seemed like minimal weapons compared to his adversaries. Aemilia snorted in a rather unladylike manner. She was not fooled. These men stood no chance. The daughter of Venus rolled her eyes. Of course he was going to make a show of it. Men. |
![]() |
|
| Lucien | Sep 21 2011, 01:49 AM Post #20 |
|
Praetor
|
Marcus met the first foe that came at him, a sword-wielding Asgardian, without pause or hesitation, Roman Gladius meeting Roman Clashing in a flash of sparks. The man sought to bear down upon the Praetorian, thinking him weaker, but Marcus responded by slamming his fist into the other's gut and kicked him away. A second later he ducked, a whine of steel passing through the air his neck and head had occupied a moment earlier. His left hand drew a knife and he rolled forwards away from a downwards thrust of the Ashandarei, coming up in a twist and flinging the knife. It caught the second sword wielder in the throat, and the man went down gurgling. Marcus could feel the fire building in his veins and focused on keeping himself grounded, flourishing his sword expectantly. The remaining four men were making a mistake he had seen a thousand times; they fought separate, and not as one. As one, he would be hard pressed simply to survive. But fighting four opponents who did not trust each other made it as easy as having patience. They charged him again, this time diverting as one got smart, the Ashandarei wielder, and tried to come in from the flank. In response, Marcus threw himself forwards, surprising the three frontal attackers long enough to slap aside the trident and sword and grab the halberd as it streaked past and drew a line of fire on his ribs, drawing his right arm back to elbow its wielder in the stomach and shoulder him from the grip of his weapon. With fire now pumping through him, Marcus snapped up the polearm to deflect the trident and parried the sword in his right hand, kicking the unskilled sword wielder away and hurling the polearm to impale him in the chest. The crowd screamed in approval. Marcus wiped blood and sand, muddied into a disgusting mixture, from his mouth with a stained arm. Two steps back and he drew his Spartan Gladius, reversing the grip and stabbing it down into the stomach of the halberd wielder who had begun to rise. The man spat blood and spittle on Marcus, but the Praetorian ignored it, focusing on his last two foes. Three knives came to his left hand and he re-affirmed his grip on his bloodied Gladius. With a roar, they charged, pounding across the sand towards him. Ashandarei came stabbing in lightning fast and Marcus dodged to the side, but not without a slice on his right side to match the one on his left. The crowd groaned, but he paid it no heed. This was battle. This was home. Divine bloodlust began to overtake him, his father's divine energy filling his veins. The world began to blur, yet become so much clearer. His senses heightened, his heartbeat filled his ears. He could see the weak points, the scars on their bodies, the slight weight on stronger sides. He could smell the blood and sweat and shit from loosened bowels, see the muscles in their arms tensing for movement. The Ashandarei came in again, as the net was about to fly. Marcus moved. The Ashandarei was taken as a large cut on his hand in return for grasping its shaft. The wielder looked confused, but Marcus was not. He yanked the man forwards and used him as a block, pushing off from him as the net came down and trapped the poor fool within it, slamming him into the sand. The crowd screamed and Marcus charged, eyes burning with the fire of Mars. His opponent hesitated, thrusted. Marcus leaped up and onto the tip of the trident, then leapt again in the same breath. His blade whine. The man's face, and skull, were hewn in twain in a spray of blood and grey matter. Landing in a small cloud of sand, Marcus exhaled, turning towards the final prisoner. His blade dripped blood, his nostrils filled with the scent of death. The man struggled, flailing in the net and attempting to roll, scramble away. Marcus threw the first knife and impaled him in the calf. The second knife into his hip. The man rolled over, staring at the advancing Demi-God. Marcus threw the third, the man shifted, it hit the sand. Unphased, Marcus continued his slow advance and the prisoner, screaming, grabbed the knife and hurled it at him. It stuck into Marcus' chest, but he ignored it, stepping closer and tossing his sword away. THe bloodthirst was on him now; Mars demanded tribute. The man flailed uselessly and Marcus slapped his hands away, punched him once to send him back into the sand and then pulled the net away. The fellow blinked groggily, and then Marcus straddled him as if a lover, before beginning to hit him. Fist to face, over and over and over again. Bone cracked. Again. His screaming turned to gurgles. Again. Blood frothed from his mouth, and Marcus' knuckles split open. Again. Blood and grey matter dripped from his broken skull. Again. All that was left was a broken ruin of what once was a face. Above, the cloudless sky rumbled the moment Marcus stood, the fires in the arena blazing high for but a moment. "They have been judged," he began in a calm voice. "And found wanting." The crowd roared. |
| |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
![]() Our users say it best: "Zetaboards is the best forum service I have ever used." Learn More · Register for Free |
|
| Go to Next Page | |
| « Previous Topic · Mercatus Copiosus · Next Topic » |
| Track Topic · E-mail Topic |
1:05 AM Jul 11
|










1:05 AM Jul 11