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As Fate Would Have it; Bacchanalia Games - Meetings
Topic Started: Sep 21 2011, 04:39 PM (394 Views)
Alaura

A sickly glow of fluorescent light cast the woman's near perfect features with an unhealthy pal of light olive, the sort of thing that if she were to notice would strain the corners of her eyes. However, such an expression would already be lost for there was a pinched look on her face. She hated these passages beneath the Coliseum. The smell of disinfectant, the lighting, the cramped space, the ugly walls of white washed concrete.

It reminded her of a modern temple of Aesculapius, sterile and devoid of any charm at all. It didn't help that the space was cold, sending dimples of goose flesh along her arms in the chiton she wore. It was game day and the Highest of Games for her personally and her Ludus. As hosts of the rite her men and women were on show, as was she. It was important to impress, and so she'd gone all out with traditional wear; right down to her sandals which had been her mother's, mother's.

Soft silks of earthy green and warm gold fluttered round her as she walked briskly toward the 'pens.' She would address her men and women; her Gladiators and Gladitorix. Prayers and offerings to Bacchus would be given and then after all the proper rituals were observed she would once more ascend into the sun, to welcome all of Rome's elite to the celebration.

Behind her scurrying quickly was a small woman Drucilla, last name and family associations irrelevant considering the heavy band of iron that wrung her neck. In a smart business chiton of charcoal, her bespectacled face was illuminated further by the glow of a small data pad, on which she tapped a finger and sped through her Mistress's itinerary for the day.

"M'Lady, there are three state press in the briefing room, one from the Herald, one from Olympia Net and another from Titan Broadcasting. You planned to chose one to join the fighters to the main ceremony." Drucilla did her best to keep up with her mistress, hand gripping the little device while another fished about a pouch at her hip for a small vial of powder.

Latching upon it she ran forward deftly unscrewing the cap and handing it to her Mistress who took it with a grunt and a bare glance. With the fluid motions of a true addict, Alaura tipped up her free hand making a small bowl between her thumb and fore finger and shook out a healthy pile of white and green speckled powder which she lifted to her nose and snorted with out missing a step, or slowing her pace in the slightest.

"Let them know we're on our way, and do try to keep up Drew, I'd rather not send you to the pens tomorrow." Over her shoulder she tossed the vial to her 'assistant' as a rather feral smile began to form on her face, eyes narrowed and pupils dilated.

"W-well, also ... Mistress, it says here there are three new slaves to be reviewed and are awaiting you once we arrive, something here about one being a Spartan Rebel..."

The former priestess cackled, the sound edging on maniacal. "Oh? I see... well, good. We needed an expendable opener and now we've got one..."

As she came closer to the cells she encountered faces, those of her security forces and medics, and a few of the slaves who tended to her Gladiators. With remote eyes and demeanor, she nodded to them as she passed heading straight for the briefing room. Just three more steps and she turned a corner met by flashing light and mini-microphones all stuck unpleasantly into her face while milque-toast faces swam in the growing haze of her vision.

She simply smiled at all of them waving them off as her security parted the crowd for her.

"Lady Vespillo, is there any truth to the allegations your gladiators are drugged?"

"Lady Vespillo, we hear you may be facing an official inquest into the possibility your gladiators are using performance enhancing medicines..."

The questions continued and were continually ignored, shut out as she entered the "Off Limits" quarters of her gladiators and the quiet comfort of the conference and strategy room. As the door shut quietly behind her, and the din of the reporters dimmed behind the wall of beefy security who blocked the rooms entrance, she looked about at the 'sanctioned' state press and the few honored fighters who, due to laurels won and years served were allowed to the pre-game conference. Drucilla, as ever was at her elbow, data pad in hand and glasses hanging from the tip of her rather 'ethnic' looking nose.

"Good Evening Gentlemen and Ladies, welcome to Ludus Vespillo's Bacchanalia... "
Edited by Alaura, Sep 21 2011, 11:17 PM.
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Damarcus

The constant dripping slowly brought him to his senses as a dull pain thudded in the back of his head. As his eyes opened a soft groaned escaped busted lips while aching muscles reminded him of the savage beating he had received just a few days prior. A dim glowing light shined above him that seemed intensified by the pale white walls that encased his surroundings. Blurring shapes and figures began to focus on the faces of two others sitting beside him, both chained at the wrists side by side with him, great. The only place of escape was the door that led into the room which contained a small square window for peering in on them like caged animals. Flexing his wirst and jerking sharply a cry of discomfort came from his neighbor who glared over at Damarcus. Stripped of his clothing other than his pants, which were still considerably torn and ripped during his capture, Damarcus was just as attired if not overly dressed than his prison companions that wore only their undercloth which brought some sort of fleeting thought of superiority over them.

"You fucking cunt watch it." The prisoner spat as he jerked back the other way towards himself with a vigorious grunt.

"Where are we?" Damarcus asked, rolling his head back to rest against the rough stone while bringing a knee up as his other leg extended out in a stretch to find a comfortable position.

"You're a fucking idiot. We're in a cell and only the Gods themselves know when we'll get out." The neighboring prisoner said as his buddy beside him added, "Why'd we get paired with a slow one?" He said with a sickly chuckle.

Damarcus only closed his eyes as he felt exhausted and beaten, "Sounds good to me." A smirk crossing his lips which was quick lived when loud echoing stomps of Imperial boots marched down the hall from them. As eyes snapped open Damarcus swore under his breath, "So who's ready to die?" The groans of his chain-gang was all the answer he needed.

As the door swung open four Imperials stormed in and before Damarcus knew it was thrown to his feet. Marching between the Imperial escort downt he narrow white hall Damarcus suddenly realized where he was and what was about to happen. Passing similiar cells and pens the Spartan's jaw tensed as he awaited his fate.
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Alaura

Around the room were arranged in pleasant groupings oiled bodies, male and female mixing with suited sorts, who ogled and ran their hands along the flesh of her gladiators. The very stench of violence and sex filled the space, though this was just a teaser for the wall of it that would hit the fighters and their keeper when their feet met the dusty floor of the ring.

"I trust you're all prepared and ready to enjoy the days games for the glory of our beloved patron Bacchus?" Gods but she could toss around a winning smile, one hand rising almost self-consciously to her highly piled curls of mahogany.

"If you like, I've a few moments before we enter the ring to answer questions..."

And they were off, the press got out their data pads, began to query the fighters, query their mistress. The room was suddenly a buzz of low-level conversations, most of which circled the same issue, she'd been harangued about by the 'free' press outside. The issue of 'doping' was broached and she with all the flair of a P.R. graduate, assured the state run media outlets that there was no doping in her Ludus.

"Performance enhancers?" She laughed softly and shook her head in a rather 'awe-shucks manner.' "I am not sure just what that means, honestly. Training, diligence, and sacrifice are their own reward and it seems rather clear to me that my Gladiators exemplify those things... and if their performance is enhanced as it were, the answer may just be as simple as their inspiration." The last words were spoken with the heat of her former life; priestess of pleasure and excess. She pursed her lips and fluttered her eyes, casting her sensual magic upon all present.

The audience ate it up, hook line and sinker, laughing at her coy remark, her sexualized expression and even the slight sway of her very lovely hips. "Now, if you don't mind, there is a crowd waiting for their celebration and I intend to give it to them."

The small gathering broke; Gladiators and Gladiatrix lining up in formation and stepped toward the large steel doors which lead to the walkway out into the ring. She was proud of the human specimens she'd lifted from the dirt and turned to walking gods. Each body was admired with a slaver's keen senses, noting their perfect forms, scarred and sleek.

A hush grew over them all, and two of her security moved toward the doors, opening them into the walkway to allow the fighters to advance. As the doors opened, they heard the roar of the crowd, smelt the dust as it wafted down the open passage, and like horses who smelt freedom ahead, they twitched in unison. The crowd loved them, they loved the crowd, but more, they loved the fight.

The phalanx of Gladiators, their handlers and Mistress strode down the hallway at a measured pace, the bright light of the surface pouring in from the wide archway toward them, shown four men in stark relief. One, a security man, with tazer baton in hand, stood above three prisoners each shackled together with iron chain.

They were rough looking, each beaten, dirty and ragged. They were just the sort of hoodlums that the crowd ate up with their disdain. Alaura nodded at their appearance, though took no time to really inspect them before motioning for their guard to draw them into the procession before herself and her assistant.

With a grunt of orders, the phalanx continued on, through the bright portal and out into the dust of the arena. Alaural loved these moments, she watched with growing excitement the firm glistening bodies pick up the pace, till they were trotting before her like so many pampered horses. Right over the heads of the three prisoners she looked, they were no one, nothing and in-consequent to her for now.

It would take many months of trials and victories before even the simple truth of their faces stood out in the crowd of her 'Honored Gladitorae,' let alone their arena given names. Drucilla scampered at her side, all a flutter, tech pad gone replaced by another vial - this one of pure white crystals which she handed to her mistress as the 'reporter' from the state run television channel panted and ran to keep up with the Gladiators.

"No, Gracius we don't dope our gladiators... look at them, they are healthy and perfect specimens who represent the favor of our gods upon my Ludus..." The reporter didn't even bother to look back, too caught up in the pre-match fervor, and his chance to document the moment. If he had, he'd have seen the feral smile on her face as she took the vial from Drucilla and tapped out it's contents on her hand before inhaling the full of it.

He might have noted the sudden change in her disposition; tight jaw, wide and watchful eyes, the ripple along her arms where her muscles suddenly bulged and flexed under her flawless and creamy skin. But he did not.

As the first pair of Gladiators emerged into the arena the crowd stopped its stomping and chanting, roaring instead with near orgiastic delight. The sound in the tunnel was deafening and for a while there was nothing but ringing in the ears of those still within. The pairs of seasoned Gladiators split their pairings and ran to make a wide V into the arena - each line growing with the passing of their pairs into the sun. When all six pairs had finally taken their positions the three slaves where thrust out into the dirt and kept to their knees between the long lines of veterans.

Alaura made ready to enter, waiting for a lull in the roars of the crowd while Drucilla clipped a wireless mic to her chiton and dabbed at the caked white dust that rung her dainty nostrils. Fussing, always fussing was the slave, but then... where would Alaura be without her. Snapping her jaws tight, Alaura nodded to Drucilla as the moment came and pushed past her into the sun, hands lifted in an invoking gesture as she began the long verse of appeasement to her god; Bacchus.

"O'Great Bull
friend to man and beast alike
I invoke thee this night
Bringer of joy, good cheer and ectasy
Great Bacchus I invoke thee!

Spread your fertile seed
acorss the land
giver of life
patron of duality
I invoke thee!

Spiritus of the vine
Bacchus of wine
from your chalice let life flow free
O'Great God I invoke thee!" *adapted from this :Source

Her voice rang out over the crowd, which in respect fell silent as she spoke the words of invocation. A palpable ripple of power surged through the crowd, seemingly centered on the former Maenad. A scent of wildness and rank wine filled the coliseum, turning the crowd mirthful and strangely unsettled all at once.

Further out she continued walking with a dramatic pace, body swaying to the music that began to pour through the speakers that broadcast the announcers and analysts voices throughout the games. ( Music ) Keeping the ancient ways of her family, she began to dance the ritual steps. From the North entrance of the arena a group of well scrubbed and beautiful children approached. Each wore white chitons, heads wreathed in blood red flowers, their feet bare like farmers.

In their midst was a perfectly white bull calf, also pristine and wearing bloody red garlands of roses and columbine. The music swelled, and Alaura chanted out the the words of further invocation until the calf stood before her and the children lined themselves up behind her.

"To you Great God of the Grape and Vine
To you Wild Father of the ancient blood of life we offer"

She stopped then and knelt, hands smoothing down the calf's sides patting the creature that stood between herself and the three captives. Carefully, almost tenderly she picked up the bull-calf and held him in her arms, cooing in low words to him, perhaps in the ancient greek from which this rite had first arisen. And then, as she lifted her head, eyes wide with heat and intoxication, she flexed her arms.

With more strength than seemed natural to a woman, or anyone, she broke the calf's spine, well muscled arms knotting, body tense till the cords on her neck stood out and her skin dappled in the sweat of effort. Seconds later the calf was halved; torn in two by her own hands and arms, it's front and rear quarters held up as a steady flow of bloody gore poured from its rendered body onto the arena's dusty floor.

"Life for Life!
In Vino Vita!"

For a moment the crowd held it's breath, and then surged with wild delight at the show and the goodness of the ritual. The music wandered away, as the crowd over powered it, and then bloody yet satisfied Alaura turned and led the children from the arena floor, shrugging off her gory chiton and disappearing into the darkened entrance of the coliseum's lower chambers.

The moment had come, and somewhere in the distance the heavy sounds of gears turning under-pinned the roaring of the crowd and three more groupings of three captives were tossed out into the arena, looking as filthy, ratty and beaten as those who'd accompanied Alaura and her troop. Terrified and uncertain these others ran to the center of the ring, spinning and fighting one another in their triads for control of their direction.

Damarcus, and his compatriots were kicked, prodded up into standing and shoved toward the center of the ring, with rowdy jeers of the Gladiators nearest them, who then without adieu marched off to their "Viewing Cage" security forces girding their procession.



Edited by Alaura, Sep 23 2011, 01:23 PM.
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Damarcus

Damarcus was nearly blinded by the radiating sunlight pouring into the open circle of the coliseum which made his right hand raise to block the sun's rays into adjusting eyes. Being pulled and dragged he felt his left ankle being grinded to the bone from the tightening grip of iron on flesh. Thrusted into the middle of the arena a swift blow brought him to his knees instantly along with the other condemned men beside him. Light blue eyes sought the sight of a woman in green and gold who spoke with a well versed ornate tongue, began her blessings to the God Bacchus. The ceremony was not unusual to behold as he had seen such rituals performed before, however, in such a situation he found himself in the notion unnerved him.

As the ritual concluded the Gladiators and Gladiatrix headed into their cages which struck Damarcus as odd untill the three groups of chained individuals marched out with feral rage and confusion. Guards lifted Damarcus and the other pair before throwing them to their feet matched by a violent shove towards the others. The deafening cries and shouts from the crowd made his ears ring and his blood pound rapidly through his veins. The people's insults and yells showed just how they hated and despise them, a comforting thought for someone about to die. The trio of the three-man chain gangs stood in a small circle facing one another while heads turned to marvel at their present condition. A voice boomed from the top balcony which quieted the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Today we shall witness blood, gore, and violence!"

A pause was made to allow the frantic audience to roar with animalistic hunger for action.

"Nine men shall battle to the death with nothing but bare fist!"

More roars of satisfaction uprooted and rippled through the crowd like an infection. A distinct yelled caught Damarcus' ears, "Fucking die already!"

"Ladies and gentlemen! We've gathered only the best bottom scum the Imperium had to offer! Theives, rapist, and even a Spartan rebel! Watch as these beasts of men fight and bath in their own blood for our entertainment! Now in the almighty words of the Gladitory salute!"

Silence permeated through the coliseum.

"Morituri te salutant!"

Cried rang up and the crowd jumped to their feet as the large flat screen broadcasters zoomed the images of the combatants. Banners and flags waved as you could feel the need and anticipation for blood. The hollering hoots and slamming of the Gladiators on their cages tried to inspire fear into their hearts, which, was almost successful. One pair turned on the closest group that squared up into a heat of flailing fists and kicks leaving Damarcus' group out of the picture for the time being.

"We need a plan." Damarcus said to the man at his right who gave a cold stare.

"Fuck your plan!" The fugitive replied before he and the other charge into the brawl, nearly tripping Damarcus who had no choice but to follow.

Confusion stirred as dirt was kicked high into the air that threatened to bring tears to the eyes. Damarcus could already see one man on the ground, violently having his face smashed into the sand repeatedly leaving a bloody pulp of a face behind on redden sand. Another bleeding from the mouth, but still standing with his fists raised, entangled in a deadly struggle with a towering Roman whom delivered a bone crushing kick to the man's chest sending him backwards and causing his bound brothers to fall in turn. A sudden fist found Damarcus right in the pocket of his right eye. Stumbling back he caught the wrist of the second blow and bent the attacker's arm up and with a swift jerk dislocate his arm. The attacker screamed and fell to the ground grabbing his dangling limb.

"It looks like three have already caught the boat to the afterlife!" The annoucer commented with vigor.

The man to the right of Damarcus still moved, but with further inspection the one at the end of their chain lay dead from reasons Damarcus could only conclude as a kicked in skull. Each trio now had a dead or injured in their gang and exhaustion was taking hold. Bloody and bruised knuckles ached as his eye started to swell shut from the eariler strike he received.

The crowd then started to shout and yell once more in the sudden pause in figthing as the prisoners gasped for breath. "Fucking cunts!" A voice rang as debri of rotten vegatables rained at them. It was evident he was going to die, either by these worthless criminals or by the people, a fate he gladly accepted.

"Let's give them what they want! Bring out the tigers!" The announcer roared before being drowned out by screams of fascination and glee as sand flew up while the six surroinding trapdoors sprung open with the soft sounds of mechanical pistons performing their function.

"Get the fuck ou-" Damarcus' chained companion said before the rumbling growls cut him off. The vicious white tigers then leapt from the open hatches onto the arena. Elegant furs of white and black stripes graced these fearsome predators as ever watchful eyes stared hungrily at their prey, him. One of the tigers from the left entrance sprinted and lurched forward only to be ripped back by the leash at its neck. Growling and rolling on its backside did the animal roll to all fours and paw for the fallen man with the beaten face. The dead man's companions realized what was to befalen them should the tiger take grip as they tried pulling themselves and the fallen brother from the monster's claws. However, their attention had been dimmed and hadn't noticed another tiger stalking up behind them before pouncing onto one of the shoulders of the middle man. Their bloody screams and fight for survival were drowned out by the crowd's insatiable cry for blood.

It was now two on two one entire chain gang gone to the tigers and now they were pinned in the middle were barely enough room to maneuver without risking being gripped by pawing animals whose bellies ached for food. The towering Roman his surviving companion, the one whom Damarcus had injured remained against them. Luck shined on Damarcus as a well aimmed throw hit the injured man in the back of his head spurring him to turn his head long enough for Damarcus to close the distance and throw a sound right hook that connected strong enough to split teeth. The injured man's companion however countered with a swift knee to Damarcus' cheekbone which sent him sprawling back.The criminal chained to Damarcus striked at the fallen opponent while his ally was busy with Damarcus. Sending several kicks and stomps tot he man's throat the injuired prisoner was no more.

Attempting to rise Damarcus was greeted with a swift kick to his ribs which felt near to breaking as breath was now hard to find as his lungs burned. Falling to the sand Damarcus weakly pushed his hands up under him, his muscles trembling from exhaustion. A cry went up and chains rattled before a second scream was heard before Damarcus rolled to his side to see his chain-mate ont he back of the towering Roman, sinking filed teeth into the man's neck. Blood gushed as the Roman desperately tried to seperate the scrawny lunatic from his back. The Roman's leg then crossed chains while stumbling about, wary of the watching tigers now sitting patiently awaiting their meal as the lucky ones feasted on organs and bone nearby.

Standing once more Damarcus was about to attack before the Roman wisked the man from him and drove him into the ground with a sickening crunch. The crowd gave hushed sounds of disgust of the noise before giggles and chuckles arose shortly after. Seeing the Roman loom over his fallen comrade the Spartan charged with a vicious roar before connecting his foot to the Roman's face knocking him over. Not wasting a second Damarcus mounted the giant and forced his thumbs into the screaming Roman's eyes as pus and cornea soaked his fingers while his forearms fflexed and pressed further and further untill the man went still.

A heavy sigh escaped Daamrcus' lips before slowly standing from his defeated foe. His chest rsiing and falling in heavy pants as blood covered his chest and neck whiel fingers still dipped of the gore from the Roman's eyes. The crowd had gone silent in either shock or horror of the killing blow Damarcus gave which was neither honorable or heard of. Azure eyes looked over the fallen and half-eaten that just stood as men moments ago. Now the arena was a place of carnage and death.

A soft groan came up from Damarcus' right, "You fuck 'em? We win?" The fugitive asked, quivering on the arena floor, his back crooked and obviously broken.

Damarcus walked over, looking down at his fallen ally, "Yeah, we won." he said softly.

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Alaura

As the fight commenced above, Alaura, in the company of the children and Drucilla made her way back toward the conference room. Naked, as she’d shed her bloody chiton, she walked with no self-consciousness. She was physically as perfect as any wellborn and well-tended Roman woman would be, maybe more so considering her life and genetic make-up.

The adoration of the human body, crafted in the likeness of the gods was nothing to be ashamed of. From the youngest tot, to the eldest in their dotage; Roman’s had no fear of judgment in their pristine and born form. And so there were no titters of amusement or blushed cheeks at her state of undress, even from the children, for this was the norm.

Alaura still carried the halves of calf, one in each hand as the beast’s blood and organs hung out the garish wound down it’s middle. She was near to frenzy, a state in which she might sing or dance, or just as quickly, kill. As the door of the conference room loomed she turned, holding out the slaughtered animal to Drucilla, offering the young slave a chilling smile.

“Drew, take this to the commissary, and order it cooked to perfection. Which ever of my Gladiators who finishes first in the games shall have it as their meal, a fitting reward for having honored the Gods so well.

Drucilla gagged, and reached out to take the dripping beast by its hooves, watching as her mistress then ran bloody fingers through the hair of two children who stood to either side of the priestess, looking up at her with nothing short of awe. “Y-yes, Mistress… right away…” Alaura nodded, and then motioned for one of her darling little entourage to open the door.

“Quickly now, we don’t want to miss the fights do we?” She smiled at the children with a conspiratorial air, then herded them through the door and away from Drucilla who stood, much vexed by her task.

Once inside the conference room, the children were gathered up by a slave and returned to the upper stories and to their parents while Alaura met with another slave, that once more dressed her. Not once did the former priestess stop moving, she was in flight, to the fights she would go quickly, while the slave struggled to replace her ritual ruined chiton with another in a dark red color – that of the thick wine used in all rites to Bacchus. Atop her head was placed a wreath of narcissus.

Further on she walked, not bothering to speak to the many staff that lined their path toward the elevator that would deposit her into her own personal booth above. A bowl of water was ran to her, a young female slave naked, shackled and collard carrying it, as Alaura herself dipped her hands and quickly washed them and her arms till she was once more suitable for the public.

The whole walk and process of dressing took less than three minutes, so that as the elevator doors opened, she stepped into it, looking as perfect as she had upon arrival to the coliseum an hour or less before.

Seconds ticked, and already she was bored, the two slaves with her nervous as they watched her head swing one way and then another looking about the small steel box, as if for prey.

“Stand up straight cur, before I beat you…” She snapped at the naked girl, eyes narrowed and almost snake like in appearance. But before she could press her advantage of birth, and strike the girl, the doors opened with a hiss and the three were once more drown in the roar of voices and the screams of battle below.

Out in the light Alaura moved, slaves in tow till she could take her seat, at the edge of her box, watching the video screens with avid interest as the two with her dashed to get her refreshment and provide a sunshade to keep her fair skin from darkening or taking on the freckles she so hated.

The opening bout had just finished, as Alaura was able to dedicate her attentions, and watched the surviving prisoner be led off the field. She scanned his form, smirking as she saw the fresh raw brand of P for prodito, burned into his neck just above his jugular. "That one, bring him to me... after he's cleaned and with Brencis.

The smallish nude femme slave bolted to the elevator and disappeared to relay the message.
Edited by Alaura, Sep 25 2011, 11:30 PM.
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Vitelli

Aemilius Balbus Quintus, or more commonly known as DJ Flax (Falcon), watched the preliminary matches from his dimly-lit dressing room in the lower reaches of the Coliseum. A relatively new figure in the musical industry, the nineteen year old's freshman and sophmore endeavours produced a few smash hits; though critically the reception was mixed at best and less then kind at worst. Despite the overwhelming failure of his third release, he somehow managed to recieve the honor of performing at the Bacchanalia. It was an opportunity for the young lad to catapult his lack-luster career to new heights, and with any luck stop all the likening of his stage name to that of the vastly more successful Aquila who all but vanished from public eye. The thought of the older musician made Flax's unmarred visage contort with barely controlled rage. A popular magazine once interviewed Aquila and the older Roman was quoted to have said, "I can see the appeal meandering zombie noise has to the braindead." Just three weeks later, his third album dropped and subsequently, tanked.

Flax's arrogant features brightened like a child's at being able to thrash Aquila's condemnation with this blow-out performance at the Bacchanalia. His tasteless, brazenly loud stage toga harkened back to Rome's more ancient years... only with more tacky tassles and frilly fringes. Personally, the boy thought it was a smashing fashion statement, though it was of course the opinion of a whelp ignorant enough to call himself the, 'Voice of a Generation'.

Elsewhere in the Coliseum, directly beneath the center of it's ring, infact, a slim individual in a modest white suit stood in the pitch blackness before a set of turntables and mixer. His hair, slicked back and streaked with a few strands of grey was trimmed immaculately and gave him a professional's appearance. A lone, lithe index tapped the blackened chrome surface of his turntable and from within a monitor rose up and his clean-cut image transmitted directly into the skybox of one Alaura Vespillo.

Over the speakers the man's gentle, ear-pleasing tones filled the room of the Bacchanalia's hostess, "Lady Vespillo," Began the Roman with hauntingly pale yellow eyes and handsome features so without flaw, they could've been carved from marble. After a moment spent fine-tuning his instruments he continued in a leisurely gait, "I am ready for the intermission show whenever you so chose to send me up. I trust that Flax has a direct feed of the arena floor in his 'dressing room'?" Vitellius Sextus Aquila smiled then, a razor-thin grin stretching across a statue-esque countenance.
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Alaura

“Of course, as does everyone in three thousand miles… its not as if the event isn’t being broadcast across the realm…” Alaura’s voice was clipped and sharper than she’d wished. Her ears were ringing and her jaw tight, it was more than time for more medicine. With a snap of her fingers, her needs were catered too; the second slave, a thin boy of dubious preference pulled a vial from his toga, and pouring Alaura wine, he uncorked the vial and added a dull blue liquid to it before passing it to her.

Not once did she look at the slave, the man on the other end of the video conference would see only a hand, wine and the woman drinking before she spoke again. Then, with more courtesy than she began with she continued.

“I believe the boy will be most unhappy to find that his main amplifiers have lost power, the cord to the generator room has been some how cut… strangely enough. Lucky for us all you’ll be there to save the half time show and… return from your strange hiatus.”

She smiled slyly into the screen and took another sip, before rolling her head along her shoulders, and looking over the display to the coliseum floor below. She was over taken by swift rage, her glass crashing down on the arm of her seat as she stood and screamed.

“Ripper, get the fuck up and kill that frost begotten Northman!”

There were several more strings of unpleasant Latin before she sat back down, hands smoothing her chiton and her smile returning to her now fury blushed face. “I am sorry… where were we? Oh yes! Everything is ready, darling… and don’t forget the after game party at my estate, the Ludus is open to all our dear friends… “

She rolled her wine around the cup of her glass and then lifted it to Aquila, “Happy Bacchanalia darling!” Her picture blinked out on his screen but not before he heard another loud rise in her voice this time in merriment and pleasure.

“Good! That’s it gut that fucker!”
Edited by Alaura, Sep 25 2011, 01:16 AM.
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Damarcus

The cries of the crowd was now a drone of noise that ceased to exist. Guards from the gates leading back down under the coliseum walked towards him after the tigers' that had been unleashed were pulled back into their cages with the retractable chains at their necks. Hands landed on both shoulders with a fierce grip as they pulled him back forcefully towards the gate. Looking down Damarcus saw the man chained beside him gasping for air, his life hanging by a thread and in the hands of the Gods. The imperial to Damarcus's left drew his sword to sever the chain connecting them and then finding itself into fallen fugitive's neck. Blood gushed and flowed over the man's neck and down his chest before the wheezing breaths for life ceased all together. A sudden sickness was found in Damarcus as his stomach churned at how fragile and meaningless their lives were, his life.

Once down under the arena and back in the cell he felt just recently left a slave appeared with a small ceramic bowl of water and a white cloth rag which she dipped and wrung over and over before scooting over towards him. "M'lady wishes to see you cleaned and brought to her." The slave said shyly as she scuttled ever closer.

Damarcus sat with his back to the cold white washed wall, his knees brought up to his chest where his arms rested over his kneecaps. Long scraggly bangs of brown hair hung over his eyes that stared absently to the ground he sat on. As fate would have it he had had just defeated death, vanquished his executioners, and now here he sat, alive. The feeling of wetness hitting his grimy skin alerted him to the slave's presence finally. His light blue eyes lifting to peer at her intently while she scrubbed at his left arm.

"What is your name?" The woman asked, her own gaze at the task at hand. Her scrubbing the focus of attention as she wrung the rag out before placing the cool cloth to his neck and a soft gasp releasing from parted lips, "You're a betrayer to the Imperium." She said in shocked awareness.

"My name is of no concern, my purpose my own. Call me as you see fit, least you still have your own opinions as this "republic" has yet to find way to sway of you of your own thoughts yet." His lips spread and a wolfish grin formed, "I wish to know why I am being summoned." He said with a deep tone of command.

The slave shook her head as a strand of blond hair clung to her cheek, "That I do not know. I was simply told to clean you and present you to Brencis before the Lady." The bowl of water she held now had turned a murky brown from the sand and dust of the arena that had found refugee on his body.

As the slave departed his cell once Damarcus was cleaned the same two Imperial guards emerged to shackle his wrists. The guard that had skewered the one had been chained beside Damarcus smirked, "Pity the runt survived." That gave cause for Damarcus to smile which only made the guard glare, "Days away from death and yet he stills smile. Shows how insane his kind is." The guard commented before the pair dragged Damarcus from his cell and down the hall. The force of the escort's pulls nearly had his feet dragging around the turns of the maze-like underground. Coming up to a pair of elevators where a man of great stature stood the guards stopped. "Brencis we have the prisoner."

Brencis nodded and the turned to ding the elevator to their floor. "Good. Then let's see this man to the Lady." Damarcus could see no weapons on the man or any sign of defense either, but his voice and command seemed to hold great importance and straighten alone. As a door opened the four men stepped inside. Standing int he back Damarcus glared at the back of Brencis's head until the elevator dinged once more and the doors spread apart. Shouts and cries found their way to Damarcus's ears as people stood and pointed, laughing and yelling. "Good! That's it gut that fucker!" A voice screamed which brought sights to the front of the balcony he was being brought to. Brencis then stepped ahead of the three and knelt cautiously beside the woman's chair. "M'lady he's here."
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Alaura

She was caught up, as caught up in the battle as those who circled round one another down below in the caramel colored cloud of dust. Her goblet of wine was swung wildly as she acted out the blows that Lucius; one of her favored gladiators rained down upon his opponent.

“That will teach that fucking Gaul to call my men children… look at him! Look!” She grabbed the naked femme slave with her free arm and shoved her half over the balcony to view the scene below.

Lucius had already hamstrung one leg on the brutish Northman whom he fought. Out weighed, nearly a foot shorter – Lucius was not the favored fighter in this bout, but no matter. He stood bravely, bleeding, his fine silk toga and ancient armor battered and covered in battle-effluvium. He looked as if he’d been one of the first Olympians – run near to death, but he still looked better than the rangy Northman who had been reduced to limping round in circles, one leg no longer functioning as much more than ballast for his towering frame.

It was this, that Damarcus first saw, the crazed woman caught up in the same spectacle of violence that the rest of the coliseum now enjoyed. For all her beauty and breeding, for all the tender work her keepers put into softening the once blood lusted ecstatic, she was and always would be a wild thing at heart.

Brenicis cleared his throat, and stood patiently waiting for his lady to address him. The drums began to pound the death knell of the Northman, as Lucius darted forward and took down his other leg, forcing the man to his knees. The crowd roared, they loved almost nothing more than to see the once proud Vikings and later day lords of the sea humiliated.

Two boxes over, sat Antoine La Farge the conquered Gaul who’s ludus provided her own and the people of Rome’s sport today. The man’s long thick jaw worked violently at a large wad of gum, eyes like slits as he stared contemptuously at Alaura as she celebrated Lucius’s eventual win. Never one to miss an opportunity to rub defeat in the face of her opponents, Alaura winked at him and lifted her goblet of wine in a mocking toast.

Catching Brenicis and the now washed but bedraggled Spartan, out of the corner of her eye, Alaura motioned them forward to watch Lucius’s crowning moment. The Northman knelt before him, head covered in sweat-soiled lengths of golden hair dipped as his lips moved in prayers to his heathen gods. From his side dribbled a steady flow of blood, an earlier wound to his ribs; gladius slid between them to puncture lungs and vital organs, left him weakened and destined to die.

Perhaps if he were given medical attention now, he would live, could have lived, but it was not his fate. This crowd was particularly vile today, the feast of Bacchus making them hunger for death. Their chants rose high on the wind, thumbs uplifted in the sign for a swift and merciful death. Lucius would give them what they wanted, as would the Emperor’s Regent – who also lifted his thumb in the proper sign.
With a bow, the smaller fighter, leveled his gladius and spoke a silent prayer to his god and the god of the day, before sweeping his arms powerfully across the air, severing the Northman’s head from it’s neck in one sudden motion.

Gore sprouted from the stump, though the proud warrior’s form refused to topple. It seemed this prompted some pity and honor from the crowd as they began to chant the honorific dirge for the fallen brave. Alaura was well pleased, and drained her goblet, shoving it into the chest of her naked attendant before turning to look at Damarcus and his current handler.

“Welcome to House Vespillo, Dog… you are about to begin the hardest and most glorious period of your life. How long or short this phase will be, is up to you… “ She was resplendent in her victory, in Lucius’s well won fight, her color was high, her eyes sparkling with drunken mirth.

She circled round the Spartan, eyes uncompromisingly looking over his taut form, his battered limbs and face. She ran her hands over him like one would a filly; squeezing, testing, caressing without concern for modesty. She opened his mouth and peered into it, noting the broken stumps of teeth and frowned.

“You are a dog, and a dog must have his teeth… Brenicis, make an appointment fort the dentist to come and see to his teeth tomorrow, and get him a collar.” Standing back she looked at Damarcus with some thought, as if tabulating his strengths and weaknesses in her head. “For now, you will be known as Kerberos.”

Without another glance she turned away, and set her attentions on the next match which was soon to begin. “Take him to the estate, get him dressed to serve drinks for the party. I want him oiled and gilded… he’s got a fine ass and more than an ample cock, he may as well begin earning his keep now…”

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