Welcome to Aeterna Roma!
The year is 73 AD, one hundred years after the founding of the Principate. Emperors have risen and fallen, wars have been waged, and the Roman Empire finds itself in the tenth year of Emperor Quintus Flavius Caesar Alexander Augustus, whose rule has proved strong and prosperous after a period of relative instability. However, the empire is changing; new philosophies and ideas threaten to compete with Rome’s most ancient traditions, rumors are whispered of tension along the empire’s boarders, and, as always, ambitious men and women seek to make their own mark in history. Where will you fit in? And will you survive a world where lust, treachery, and greed runs thick, or will your name fade into the recesses of history?
20th JUL - - - The season has moved forward and there is an Activity Check in progress. Welcome to all the new members who have joined us. If you are interested in a canon or a wanted, please check them out. It would be excellent to see more of them in play. If you have any questions please ask us. We have a cbox and a discord available for communication.

April to June 73AD
Current events || Imperial Banquet (open) ||



 
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 Profile Revision
Gothic
 Posted: Apr 13 2017, 08:31 PM
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This is the thread where you may request to have a part of your character's profile edited. Due to misuse in the past it has now been restricted as to what now is edited. Even staff will have to go through Gothic and let her know what they are editing in their profile as well.

Please use the following form:

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Player Name:
Character Name:
Part you want changed:


A staff member will respond ASAP to let you know the status of your update.
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Safia
 Posted: May 21 2018, 05:53 PM
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Members
38 Years Old
Safia
Land of No Sleep
Chaotic Stupid is not an alignment.


Hello! I spoke with Gothy about this and have more than just one part I'd like changed in order to have Thelonius' app make sense with how he's shaping up to be as I'm writing him.

Player Name: Safia
Character Name: Thelonius
Part you want changed:

(1/3)

Under Appearance:

CODE
Taller than most, Thelonius is well suited to the role he plays.  He is not as muscular as some, but is able to carry the [i]scutum[/i] and [i]manica[/i] of the [i]murmillo[/i] with relative ease.  Broad shoulders, in combination with his height and frame, lend his bearing a rather intimidating cast, something that he uses to his advantage.  He moves with the absolutely surety of one who knows precisely what his body is capable of, the knowledge of those limits paid for in pain and blood.

He bears dozens of scars, most having faded into insignificance.  Three remain prominent, however, and impossible to miss: a wicked sunken discoloured thing that begins in the upper left of his hairline, curving down across to slash across his forehead, ending just above his right eyebrow.  A small trio of rounded, evenly spaced circles mar his upper right thigh. The final set crisscross his upper back, rolling raised stripes that he bears with belligerent pride, the main cluster most pronounced between his shoulder blades.

Thelonius wears his hair cropped close to his skull; if allowed to grow it is both wavy and curly.  Facial hair — when he chooses to have any — is always neat and meticulously trimmed. Most surprising perhaps, is when he genuinely smiles: the rare expression sits crookedly on his face and lips, the corners of his blue eyes unexpectedly crinkling.


(2/3)

Under Childhood:

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Taken from his homeland at a very young age, Thelonius has only vague recollections of where he is from — sunlight and green, gold, silver, bronze, music and laughter, the son of a king.  Then the music and laughter stopped.  He remembered being somewhere underground, and swords.  Then water, and being violently ill.  Then faces, unknown then, but as familiar to him now as the scars on his body; he would know those faces anywhere, would remember them until the day he died.

They had been servants, there for the master’s pleasure, and they took pity on him, bringing him under their proverbial wing.

He grew accustomed to the threat of whip and lash, though somehow was shielded from the worst of the master’s displeasure and — more importantly — from the other, larger slaves.  He spent most of his time outside, helping where he was told to, feeding chickens only to chase them afterwards, digging up and moving rocks, repairing fences and mending nets, perpetually sunburnt with dirt embedded beneath his nails.  


(3/3)

Under Adulthood:

CODE
At fifteen, he killed his tormentor.  One of them anyway.  There was no rhyme or reason to it; the man simply had the unfortunate — or fortunate, depending on how one looked at it — luck of remaining pressed to Thelonius’ prone body.  Something broke within him that night, the rage that had merely seethed beneath his skin surging forth in a boiling haze of savage fury that demanded release.  Blood filled the half-crescent grooves of his nails, caking together with the dirt as he beat the man to death with his bare hands.

They found him sitting next to the body, dazed and disoriented.  Thelonius remained silent, blue eyes unwaveringly steady, that rage, that fury, protecting him from feeling any sort of regret or remorse.  He was not sentenced to an immediate death, and rumours about why that was so began circulating.  He was whipped, then whipped again and again, bound to a tree in the main courtyard.  By the time the third set of lashes was administered, he fell unconscious and was not expected to survive the night.  When dawn came, he still breathed, a wheezing, thready thing, but he [i]still breathed[/i].

Some claimed that he clung onto life through sheer spite; others believed that it was some sign from the Gods.  Whatever the reason, Thelonius eventually woke to find himself somewhere utterly unfamiliar, greeted by faces that were not at all happy to see him.

He had been sold.

Recovery was slow, though he was quick enough to understand his new role.  Gladiator.  He would bring wealth and fame to Ludus Dacicus, or he would die in the effort.  Entertainment and profit would still be made from his death, though Thelonius was not overly fond of the latter idea.  If he was to die, he would make it as difficult and as costly as he possibly could.  With that echoing in his head, along with the utter conviction that he was indeed the son of a king, these served as his new mantras.  He threw himself into the training and the lifestyle.  It was here that he adopted his peculiar verbal quirk, finding great amusement in the way his formal, reserved way of speaking seemed to infuriate others.  By his eighteenth birthday, it had become more than just habit.

Because of his past still hanging over him like a roiling cloud, it was first decided that he be trained as [i]cestus[/i].  Some weeks later, as [i]dimachaerus[/i], before finally being settled into the role of [i]murmillo[/i] less than a month later.  No explanation was given, and by this point, Thelonius knew better than to question aloud.  He speculated, of course, but could not find any answers that would satisfy.

Thirteen years have passed since then and he still lives.  If anything, he seems to be thriving.  He is too valuable to kill outright, earning both lanista and ludus wealth and fame, and not a single moment passes that he is not aware of that fact.  He enjoys toeing the dangerous line between open defiance and silent acquiescence, collecting punishments the way another might collect lovers.


Thank you! <3
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Gothic
 Posted: May 21 2018, 11:00 PM
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Edited and updated, Safia. <3
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Safia
 Posted: Jun 24 2018, 11:17 PM
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Members
38 Years Old
Safia
Land of No Sleep
Chaotic Stupid is not an alignment.


Me again. >.> <.< As discussed, here are the changes!


Player Name: Safia
Character Name: Rhiannon
Part you want changed: (multiples! 4 sections, please! )

(1/4)

Account: Rhiannon -- (change to) --> Ria

(2/4)

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[align=center][font=Arial][SIZE=0]---------------------------------------------[/SIZE][/font]

[font=Gabriola][SIZE=14]Ria[/SIZE][/font]

[font=Arial][SIZE=0]---------------------------------------------[/SIZE][/font][/align]
[align=center][font=Arial][IMG]https://i.imgur.com/fSocNQU.png[/IMG][/font]
[font=Arial][SIZE=1]21 | WINTER 52CE | FEMALE | BARBARI | UNCERTAIN | BISEXUAL | OKSANA BUTOVSKAYA[/SIZE][/font][/align]


(3/4)

Relations:

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[font=Arial]SPOUSE: none[/font]
[font=Arial]CHILDREN: Cunobelinus (Con for short b. 68CE, d. 73CE)[/font]


(4/4)

Adulthood:

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[/LIST][font=Arial]ADULTHOOD  [67CE - 73CE]:[/font][LIST]More killing, more death, and when the soldiers came to [i]her[/i] village, dared to come into [i]her[/i] home, Ria didn’t hesitate.  She didn’t hide.  The earthenware jug shattered in [i]the[/i] most satisfying manner as she bashed the soldier over the head with it.  He seemed surprised, before his balance left him.  She could’ve left it at that, but why take that risk?  She thought of Étaín and punched the bastard.  Then she kicked and kicked and [i]kicked[/i], still kicking even as the man dropped onto his side and curled in on himself.

She noticed too late that a second soldier had followed.  He was oddly still, peculiarly silent.  That all registered as a distant buzzing as panic set in.  She couldn’t remember where the knife came from, but only then did he move.  He was strong… so strong, but she writhed and twisted in his grasp, even managing to bite him.  That did little good and with what felt like very little effort, he simply lifted her up and threw her to the ground.  The air was knocked from her lungs and as she lay there gasping, struggling still, hissing curses at him.  She wasn’t helpless… she could still bite off his nose or his ear or his lip if he… if he…  No one was going to help her.  No one was going to save her.  The small folk weren’t there to help her either.  Thankfully, she did not have enough breath to whimper.  What felt like an eternity passed, each heartbeat as long as a day, yet he did nothing but watch her.  There was no discernable emotion in his eyes, the planes and lines of his face chiseled from stone.  One moment he was so near that she could feel his breath against her cheek, the next he released her wrists and simply… left.

[i]Why?[/i]

She was fairly sure that something else was supposed to have happened.  It took her far too long to gather her wits about her, but she made sure to hit the prone soldier from before in the head again.  The village was quickly emptied of soldiers and evidence.  She tried to sleep out in the fields beneath the stars that night, but every stray sound had her jumping awake.  And still, the question gnawed at her.

[i]Why?[/i]

She had to find out.

It really wasn’t that difficult… no one looked twice at her as she went about her tasks during the day.  She was a good girl, see?  No trouble… no trouble at all.  But he noticed her, watching her with that same peculiar stillness.  His name was Quintus.  Quintus Popillius Laenas.  Romans and their names.

Days become weeks and the one thing she hadn’t expected happened.  They came together again and again and it became readily apparent that his blood ran as hot as hers.  She cried when her belly began to swell, but she did not fight him as they left together, the only home she’d ever known dwindling to a spec before disappearing completely from the horizon.  He took her to a new place, gave her a new home, and for a time, she was happy.

The birth was not a difficult one and she was given a healthy boy.  Quintus’ departure hurt her deeply, but her pride kept him from seeing.  He left… and as the months slowly spun into years, Ria lost hope that her lover would return.  There was no shortage of strutting suitors; she was still young and Con only proved that she would be able to bear them sons.  She was tempted, at times, when the loneliness gnawed and growled at her, but she only had to look at Con to find solace.

Any peace and contentment she might have found was taken away when she was cornered in the market, separated from Con.  The women that had been good neighbours, the women that had been friends, fired off insults, mocked her, threatened her boy… her [i]son[/i].  Somehow, they had found out that his father was a Roman.  Someone had told them who Quintus was, and that three of her brothers had died resisting Rome.  The women slapped her, spat on her, tried to tear off her clothing.  Ria fought back just enough to escape, earning bruises and scrapes.  Con, blessedly bright child that he was, found her and she wasted no time.  Gathering what was left of the hefty sum left to them by Quintus, Ria made ready to leave.  Her home — no longer her home — would be watched, but she barred all the windows and the doors.  There was a hidden trapdoor, just barely wide enough for her to fit through and it was through this that she escaped with her son.  When they were through, she filled the exit with stones and dirt… hoping to slow down anyone following.

They stayed in the surrounding forests, cold and hungry, but relatively safe.  After the fifth day, Ria returned to the village and set whatever she could, on fire.  They had threatened to hurt her [i]son[/i].  They had not been good neighbours.

The coin made it simple to find transportation… she didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to go running to Quintus like some fresh maid in need of saving, but what choice did she have?  Con would be safe in Rome… what happened to her, wasn’t nearly as important.  Oh she had hopes, but now was not the time to indulge in wishful thinking.

Hope, it turned out, wasn’t warranted. Quintus refused to recognize Con as his son, believing instead that the boy was a product of gang rape. Her lover was… cold, condescending, and talked down at her like she was too stupid to understand him. Soon afterwards, Con — her [i]baby[/i] — grew sick. One morning, he simply didn’t wake up.

It wasn’t until she quite literally walked in on Quintus on top of one of his slave girls that Ria learned several new things. One: that it was acceptable for a proper Roman man to bed his slaves, especially when said slave was handpicked for that specific purpose. Two: that the slave wasn’t considered a proper Roman woman, and so therefore it wasn’t even cheating. Convenient! Three: that Ria herself was just “a spoil of war” and only good for spreading her legs whenever Quintus needed some fun. Four: that with enough oil slathered into the nooks and crannies, even stone would burn. Five: that there were advantages to being considered improper because no one bothered to so much as look at her as she stood there out in the open, watching the fire along with the rest of the crowds that gathered. She let herself cry… and when she was all cried out, she spat on the ashes before leaving, bound and determined to find her own way.



Thank you!!
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Gothic
 Posted: Jun 25 2018, 06:55 PM
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Updated and fixed. http://files.b1.jcink.com/html/emoticons/smile.gif
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