Gil

Whatever the reply might have been to Rufus’ question, it was destined to remain unvoiced. As Titus looked at the slave, there was a low rumble. It was the type of thing that the brain cannot immediately process. And in the next moment, the bed vibrated under him. It was then that Titus realized – earthquake! Before he could move, the bed jumped a little and the small table beside it shimmied, sending the oil lamp jittering across its top. The noise had increased, and now the floor was oscillating, as if rock had turned to water, and a wave slowly moved through it. The walls were shaking and the roof above them showered down a light misting of dirt and grit and small rock particles.

But by then, Titus had leapt up and jumped across the room, one hand on the door pull, and the other somehow wrapped about Rufus’s wrist. Yanking the slave along he ran out into the atrium, as the ground wobbled under their feet.

From all over the villa, and from the barns and outbuildings beyond, came the sounds of excited, alarmed and frightened people and animals. Every occupant knew to get away from the stone masonry as quickly as possible. Standing next to anything heavy could be lethal, if it should tumble. And this was no small tremor. A large paving stone practically at their feet had split, like a piece of paper ripped by a careless child. The fountain was already cracked, the water spilling out. Here and there, those who could think more clearly were ordering the others about – trying to safeguard both life and property. Fire was always the next most lethal risk, after being crushed.

Titus had quickly released Rufus and still the earth heaved. He stumbled momentarily, as he called out, ”I’m going to the stable. Stay here.” He was bare from head to toe, and there were tiny specks of snow falling from a pitch black sky. But he needed to see that his men, and the horses, were safe.

*Let’s say 15 seconds has passed from the first sense of the earthquake happening until the point he calls out to Rufus. The earthquake will last, initially, another 15 or so seconds after that.

@Sharpie

Titus grunted slightly as a particularly sensitive spot on the outside of his knee was rubbed. His eyes lifted again to Rufus, taking in the play of light on his hair, gilding the russet strands. ”Your coloring reminds me of the barbarians. Was your mother taken from those border lands?”

Red hair was not such a rarity in Rome, or the rest of the Empire, that it was never seen except for if one traveled into the more northern parts. But that was certainly where most redheads seemed to hail from – there or Brittania. Or, like Rufus, it came through a parent – actually both parents, but the study of genetics had not evolved by that time to understand this. However it cropped up, for Titus the red-gold coloring held a fascination – perhaps tied inextricably to the girl who had gifted him with that scar on his temple.

He reached to touch Rufus’ hair, and then ran fingers down the slave’s cheek, gripping him lightly under the chin and jaw with strong fingers, leaning forward while pulling Rufus closer, for a kiss.

@Sharpie

”Mhmm…” he replied, his gaze shifting to his knee for a moment. ”It happened when I was young. A bit over ten years ago. In Germania. My horse got skewered in the chest with a barbarian spear. It got twisted pretty badly as I was trying not to get pinned down.” He imparted the information in an almost lackadaisical tone. It had been a bit of a nightmare, in the moment – scrambling to get up and into a position where he could defend himself before he too met the business end of a German spear. It had all come right in the end though, and he’d counted himself lucky to just come away with a sprained knee.

Years later, returning to Germania, he’d not been quite so lucky. That’s when he’d acquired the scar on his side. That had definitely been the most serious injury he’d ever received. It had been touch and go for a few days, due to blood loss, but he had pulled through. As far as soldiering went, he was lucky. He’d not yet been killed. That was luck.

@Sharpie

Titus had dismissed the house slave with a nod, seeing that Rufus was already there. No need to send for him. The slave withdrew and pulled the door shut behind him. "Did you eat?" Titus asked, in an offhand voice. Even though slaves were tools, commodities, chattel, a smart owner didn't needlessly abuse or neglect them. Titus knew the young redhead was valuable to Gaius. He had a duty to his friend to see the slave was returned in as good a condition as when he'd left the farm. Besides, Titus didn't want him fainting from hunger and pitching headfirst out of the saddle tomorrow, or bleeding from chafed spots, or any other happenstance that would render him less useful. There was even the hint of Gaius in the man's face and Titus surmised there might be a familial connection there. That was probably more common than it was rare.  In any case, Titus did want to make sure things were done properly, and he would make sure Rufus had eaten.

Titus motioned for Rufus to undress him, and said, "My right knee pains me sometimes when the weather is like this - cold and raw. I need you to rub it with some oil before I sleep." With the tunic removed, he lay down on the bed, bare, his leg stretched out before him. his eyes on Rufus as he moved about.

@Sharpie

As it turned out, Rufus wasn't needed. Frontinius' wife and two sons had already taken themselves off to another room to have their supper. The farmer, who had once been a soldier, had waited for Titus to reappear and they had put their heads together in privacy. Only the one slave was needed to serve the two men. Titus had dismissed Rufus, instructing him only to make sure the supplies and such were in good order before he retired for bed, so they could get up and go as soon as the sun was up in the morning. Frontinius had advised that snow was a real possibility and yes, the track down could get slick. Whether or not Rufus would remember to say that prayer - and whether it would do them any good or not - wasn't at the forefront of Titus' thoughts. But he did say, upon sending Rufus off, "Attend me when I am done here." He then turned his attention back to his host and they commenced their meal and their secretive conversation.

It was at least two hours later when Titus finally rose and bid his host good night. The slave who had waited on them at dinner showed him the way to the room they'd given him the use of. Reaching the door, the slave preceded Titus into the room, to ensure he had whatever he needed for the night.

@Sharpie

With no clue that the slave was surreptitiously eyeing his scars, Titus might have laughed to think anyone would have put them all down to injuries received in the service of the Emperor. The one on his face was testament only to his philandering ways in his youth, and certainly no mark of honor. In any case, he was actually feeling a bit of the stiffness in his knee, from riding and weather. He thought he might ask Rufus to massage it later. Although, he wanted an early start again in the morning, so had no plans to stay up until the wee hours. Hopefully, he'd be able to sleep. Hopefully.

As Rufus stood, ready to either hand the tunic over to Titus, or  help him on with it, Titus answered the slave's inquiry with a brief, "Yes. I've no idea if Frontinius' children join us too. Best be on hand in case your needed." He was referring, of course, to the slave to diner ratio. If Rufus had other chores to see to - if the slave wanted a chance to sit for one minute - or eat before he had to watch others filling their empty bellies - well, unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards.

Once he was dressed, Titus stepped away, knowing Rufus would see his clothes, weapons and satchel safely stowed before joining him in the triclinium.

@Sharpie

Anointed and then stripped, of the oil, Titus was already feeling so much better, so clean. The heat of the room was opening his pores. It was tempting to have Rufus fill the tub with hot water - at least enough that he could sit and soak a while. But he really did not wish to be rude. Without a shred of reservation, he nodded to the slave and told him, "Bring a towel."

Titus opened the door and stepped back into the warming room. From there it was a few short steps to the room which - though warmed somewhat by the heat coming from the room beside it - was still much cooler, with no brazier set there with which to heat it. The tub - only big enough for one to step in and immerse themself - was already filled with water, halfway. There was no need to keep it warm. It was meant to be cold. Titus set one foot on the sole wooden step, swung his leg over the edge, and lowered himself in the chilly water. His rubbed a few handfuls over his face and hair, rubbed his hands over his arms, and legs and torso, sank completely beneath the surface for a moment, then rose, dripping.

As he stepped from the tub, he rubbed his fingers through his hair, quickly, and then shook his head, sending icy droplets everywhere. He stood, ready for Rufus to rub him briskly, to dry him off and chafe warmth back into chilled skin, before he dressed and went to eat.

@Sharpie

Titus chuckled, but said no more. The feel of the slave's strong hands on his shoulders felt good, as Rufus worked at the tension there. Titus let his head drop, exposing the back of his neck more to whatever attention Rufus might decide to give it. Neck, shoulders, upper back, down his spinal column, it all felt good, and Titus did regret having to call an early halt to the massage.

"That's probably enough. Let's get on with it," he murmured. He could always have Rufus continue, later, when he retired for bed. He didn't have any notions that they'd be tromping about in the dark this night. It would have been the height of lunacy to do so here.

With his thoughts on the journey up the side of the ridge, and what they had to look forward to tomorrow, he mused, "I wonder if it will snow tonight. I may want to be riding that mule of yours tomorrow if we wake up to such. Remember to say a prayer to Jupiter when you light the lamp in my room later. Tell him - no snow."

The clothes came off easily enough. Titus was glad to be rid of them. The room was by far warm enough that he should not miss them for that reason. And although the day had not been hot, and he had not sweated profusely, he still would be more comfortable once he felt clean and dressed again in clean clothing.

"It was, or so I hope. Who can ever know a man's heart?" he replied, rather cryptically to the inquiry. He was gazing at Rufus, with a pensive look on his face. But perhaps his thoughts were far away, somewhere else. Unless one knew him well, as he said...who would really be able to guess at his what he held close to his chest?

He quickly  stepped through to the calidarium, and took a seat on the bench there. This one was shorter, and wider, more like a seat. It was set approximately in the middle of the room so that the slaves that did the scraping would have easy access to their master or mistress. Leaning forward, he set his elbows on his knees and crossed his forearms, one over the other.

"And you?" he asked, perhaps unexpectedly. "How was the riding? You'll likely be more sore tomorrow than you are right now." And that was true, for riding tended to do that, to those who were not well used to it.

@Sharpie

The series of rooms set aside for that most important of daily rituals of most respectable Romans was of course far less grand than if the villa had been built on a larger or more luxurious scale. Yet still, it was possessed of the requisite three rooms, though each was relatively small.

Titus had taken a seat on a sturdy wooden bench in the warming room. Already his body was responding to the differential in temperature from the cold ride to the pleasant warmth which came through the walls and floor. Beyond was a room that was hotter still, which could be "super heated" by shutting the door between the two rooms. Inside this room was another bench - for the bather to sit upon while being oiled and scraped clean, and a tray with a small mound of rocks, under which was a brazier, in which could be lit a fire, to heat the rocks and create further dry heat to prompt the pores to open and the body to sweat out any impurities. Finally in this room was a large wooden tub, big enough for two or three if they sat close. This could be filled with hot water piped in after heating from the hypocaust. There was a drain at the bottom, with a plug, for ease of emptying and cleaning. Wood was perhaps not the preferred material for such a fixture. But apparently Frontinius' pocket did not stretch wide enough for carved marble.

The last room was to the other side of the tepidarium. Here a simple bathtub, again of wood, could be filled with water flowing from a rooftop cistern. No doubt it would be tepid to warm almost, in the heat and sun of summer. At this time of year, with the smell of snow in the air, it was bound to be invigoratingly cold.

When Rufus appeared, stripped down to only the subligaculum, Titus shot him a glance. He was still dressed. The only thing he'd removed yet was his sword and belt, and the dagger, the satchel and his cloak. These he had laid beside him on the bench.

"Good - you're very efficient, Rufus." He spoke with quiet approval. Titus rose and stood waiting to have the slave help him out of his things. "I don't want to dawdle here. I'm sure Frontinius and his family would like to eat. Just a quick bath and a shave will do."

@Sharpie

Onward they went, still snaking through the hills, and of course eventually, the rain began to fall. It had just started when they had almost reached the second farm which was on Titus' lists of stops. While Titus met with the man he needed to speak with, the soldiers and the slave were granted the shelter of the man's barns. How they amused or entertained themselves was none of his concern. He tarried perhaps a bit longer than needed, in hopes the rain would blow on past, which his host had claimed it would. It turned out the farmer knew what he was talking about, and once it had let up, they were on their way, heading for the third and last stop of the long day.

The winter sun - which had stayed hidden throughout the cold day - had set before they reached yet another isolated villa. This one was more exposed, sitting near to the crest of a ridge that ran perpendicular to their route. They trailed up single file, the wind nipping at their legs and faces and fingers. The glowing lights of the rugged but snug looking house beckoned to them through the dark. They were each one of them glad to reach the shelter of house and barns. This time, when Titus dismounted, he looked for Rufus and gestured for him. "Come," he said in a clipped voice. He wasn't weary as much as he was simply tired of being in the saddle. Warmth and food and wine would be welcome.

The master of the house, one Sextus Aquilius Frontinus, had come out to meet his distinguished guest. With a jovial air, he ushered Titus inside and it was presumed Rufus would follow in his wake. Despite its rough stones and squat, sturdy appearance, the house was comfortable looking inside, and even boasted a bath! Frontinius offered its use to Caesar's cousin - of course he would! - and at this point, Titus was not inclined to decline. A hot bath would be relaxing and he was in need of a shave. If they got these things out of the way, it would save time in the morning.

Frontinius issued orders and his slaves and servants scurried about. The evening meal which was already set out in the dining room was put on hold, until such time as Titus reappeared clean and clean shaven. One of the household slaves was to lead the way to the bathing room, and Titus gave Rufus only a quick glance, saying, "Fetch me some clean clothes and then attend me," before he walked off, following his guide.

@Sharpie

It was a look, no more. Titus felt he'd received the information he wanted in the nod. It was sufficient. Once the horses seemed sated, they moved on, ever winding in and through the hills, for another hour or so. The sun had not yet reached its zenith, obscured as it was behind rolling, grey clouds. The wind on the exposed flanks of the hillsides was sharper. Mid-January - was it possible they might even see a few flakes of snow eventually?

Finally they descended down the far side of a high hill, to pick their way carefully along another goat track, leading them into a shallow valley. From afar they could see the secluded villa, with orderly groves of olive and almond surrounding it, and all the usual outbuildings and a low slung barn. They made their way towards it, and arrived, just as Titus' stomach was signalling it might need to be replenished. A few servants came out to greet them. Titus dismounted and asked after the master. He hardly needed to bother. The man, of middling age, appeared as if summoned by magic, and after a polite greeting between them, the master of the farm invited Titus inside.

Feeling no need to give instructions, Titus entered without a backwards glance at his small party.

The soldiers dismounted and the farmer's servants drew closer to offer watered wine and something to eat. Some stared at the ginger haired slave openly, especially one young woman who looked to be perhaps of her mid-teen years. She even smiled at Rufus, only to be yanked away by her arm by a scowling older woman.

Inside, Titus sat in comfort. Apparently whatever was going on was such that the hands, and perhaps ears, of the slave weren't needed. His host provided a meal, as they put their heads together behind closed doors. Within the hour, Titus was returned to his men, and with a curt, "Mount up," he was back in the saddle.

@Sharpie

For Titus, riding was like walking, or breathing, or eating - it was a part of his natural make up now, after so many years serving the Empire. He thought nothing of it. He found the hard saddle fit his ass and thighs as if he'd been born with the thing attached. His signals to the horse were as reflexive and unconscious and subtle as his facial expressions, and the stallion, like Gallus, understood and anticipated its master's needs and intent simultaneously as they came into Titus' mind. They had the better half of the day's ride ahead of them. But he wasn't in a huge rush. Titus was an efficient man, and not prone to wasting time. But there was no need to tire the horses or risk any injury to them when it wasn't necessary.

So they rode out, and they rode on, with a brisk walking pace. Soon enough, they had left the tended road and were onto a cart track. From there, with the ground steadily climbing under them, the two tracks dwindled to one - of the sort used by goats or sheep or cattle. Two hundred years previously, the Via Popilia had given Paestum a miss. Its once thriving port had slowly taken a backseat to others which fared better, on the busy thoroughfare between Capua to the north and the straits of Messina to the south. Titus' business was inland though. There really were no further settlements of any size, until you reached the Via Appia, which lay halfway across the width of Italia.

The land they traversed was farm land, cultivated with olive trees and vineyards, interspersed with groves of apricot, almond and lemon trees. But as the hours passed, and they climbed continuously upwards, into the hills, cultivated fields and well tended orchards gave way to pasture. Here they passed only an occasional shepherd tending a flock, and his dogs, which barked at them, but from afar. Eventually they reached a stream where Titus gave a signal and they halted, to let the horses drink, if they would.

With an idle glance around, Titus picked out the red hair of his borrowed servant, and he gave the fellow a look, as much as if to say, doing alright over there, are you?

@Sharpie

The last days of March, 74 CE

"How singular is the thing called pleasure, and how curiously related to pain, which might be thought to be the opposite of it; for they never come to a man together, and yet he who pursues either of them is generally compelled to take the other. They are two, and yet they grow together out of one head or stem; and I cannot help thinking that if Aesop had noticed them, he would have made a fable about God trying to reconcile their strife, and when he could not, he fastened their heads together; and this is the reason why when one comes the other follows..."

As spoken by Socrates, From "Phaedo" by Plato

The dulcet tones of Spring seemed finally to have settled into a steady harmony of sunlight dappled by intermittent rain. The chill of winter had fled, into a hibernation of its own, until the cooler temperatures of late Autumn would call it forth once more. The days were warm, and getting warmer. Soon enough, Summer would be upon them and the city would once again swelter and reek, with the sometimes oven-like heat and humidity for which Rome was famous, or infamous. But for the while, the sun caressed the old stones like a lover, and balmy days gave way to comfortable nights. It was a time for smiles and high spirits, a time of planting and growth, and life. For one poor soul, though, the light, and green, and playful breezes might as well have been the sodden grey ash of mid-winter still. Phaedo was down in the dumps.

It wasn’t quite as bad as it had been, two or maybe three weeks previously. In the days that followed the random encounter with the dream-like Alucio, the young slave had been almost beside himself – with grief. Yes, grief – true and proper sorrow for having lost what hadn’t ever been his, unless you count a half hour in an entire lifetime as something from which one could claim possession. It had been ethereal, something god-like, in its beauty, and in its evanescent nature. Even as it had happened, he knew this. He knew not to hope.

But that is part of the tragedy of human nature. Even when it shouldn’t, even when to do so is the height of utter folly, the spirit believes. It takes some trampling to grind it down and back into the dust of all those other dreams. Phaedo spent an agonizing hour, then an afternoon, then a sleepless night, then two cycles of morning turning into day turning into night and back to morning again, with his thoughts tumbling, over and over. It was like a wheel spinning – now he was on the top, now he was on the bottom – a pleasure never before known now tremulously remembered – a stern reproach to himself to be satisfied, for he had finally experienced that which he had hardly dared hope for – then a gentle voice that said, ”maybe…maybe…” – then resolution, not to dream – and fear – for if he could not dream, what then? What would be left to him? – then a dread, as the hours passed, and passed, and passed – and a forlorn sadness, that grew and grew, consuming him.

He had no business to hope. He was a slave. His companions in the brothel tried to comfort him, except for the ones who laughed at him – deriding him for being the little fool that he knew he was being. Don’t fall for the customers, dear. Don’t ever let your heart feel. It will only be torn apart. Don’t dream that you will ever have anything worth having. Dreams were made to be ripped to pieces, just like hearts. You have it good here, for a slave. You’re fed and clothed and housed, and the work is easy, if you just shut your eyes and pretend you’re somewhere else. Pretend – but don’t dream. Foolish sod.

He had dreamed of Alucio – waking daydreams of the almost infinitesimal amount of time spent in his arms. He had hoped – no matter how many times he told himself – over and over and over – not to, that Alucio would come back for another round. He had yearned to be touched in that way, to be looked at in that way, to see those eyes and hear that voice and feel the play of stubble upon his skin, the muscled arms under his fingertips. He had pined, and grieved, and even wept, into the rough material of the straw stuffed pallet, or onto one caring, understanding, shoulder, among the strands of gold that crowned Helios’ head. He had chastised himself. He had been chastised by the mistress of the brothel. He had been slapped when words were not enough to stem the flow of tears that stubbornly persisted in leaking from the corners of his eyes. He had sighed like the poets. He had waited. And in the end, he had climbed back up from the lowest he’d ever been in his life to a slightly higher plateau of dysthymia. On the outside he was flat, tractable as always, unsmiling but docile. Compliant. Sad faced. On the inside, he was still awash with tears.

It was stupid. Why would anyone care about him? Other than Lexus and Helios, the only two souls he counted as friends on this earth. He was a slave, a prostitute. One might have thought he could go no lower than that.

But they would have been wrong.

Since that evening, Phaedo had given up reciting out loud. It had been a farce anyway. No-one came to this place to listen to poetry. So now, he sat. The mistress would continue to scold him for not being more amiable, not doing more to be entertaining, alluring. But he didn’t care. He sat, where he could be seen, on display, for any who wanted him. If his sad countenance was off-putting, you’d never have known that. His looks were still eye catching enough that he never lacked for customers. They came and went, with unceasing regularity. He had stopped looking up, to see if it might be…him.

He just sat and looked like a child whose pet had just died. Unspeaking. Eyes to the floor. Unmoving. Waiting to be pointed out and taken up to his cubicle, and used and returned, to sit some more.

@Gorgon

Titus raised his arms out, in answer, silently indicating that Rufus should buckle the sword around his waist. Once that was done, he reached for the dagger first, slipping it once again between belt and tunic, near to his hip, and then gestured for the satchel, which he slung across his shoulder and chest. He nodded at Rufus, dismissing him to go find his mount, and turned to make his final good bye to Gaius.

Finally it was time to get moving. Titus stepped towards his horse, which was being held for him. It was a big, raw boned looking red roan, with an unrefined head but legs like iron. Shoving his sword and cloak out of the way, he adroitly swung himself up into the leather and wood saddle, taking the reins in hand.

With a final nod to Gaius, he said, "Again, my thanks for the loan of the mule and the slave. I'll see both returned safely to you. We should return by evening, three days hence." He motioned with his hand and with a nudge from his legs, the stallion moved off. Titus in the lead, a mounted cavalryman to each side of him and a half length behind, the party of six moved out.

@Sharpie

Titus had changed course at his cousin's unspoken direction, and in a few steps they had approached another dealer, with the goods he had on offer spread about beyond him. When Titus was close enough to catch a glimpse of the slave with whom the dealer was speaking at that moment, his eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise. Every line is his usually stoic face registered the astonishment he felt upon seeing the familiar face, and he stalked over, stopping only a meter or so from the red head.

"Rufus! How in the name of the gods do you come to be...here?"

@Sarah

@Sharpie

@Gothic

Titus nodded, and rose from the chair. "Excellent. I'll eat with your master and mistress, then." He moved to the chest to pull out whatever would be needed in the way of clothing for the day ahead. "I won't need you for that. I want you to help Gallus with the food. Make sure to tell him we'll need enough for several days. I'll ask the loan of a pack animal from your master, an ass or another horse, if he can spare one. I've been looking over the map and I think we'll do best to make a circuit and return here after I'm done."

Satisfied with his selection of garments, he sat on the bed. "Help me with my boots. And then you can pack a few of these things up," He gestured about the room. "Make sure they get packed onto the horses with the rest. Those can go in my satchel." He nodded at the letters and the map on the writing table. "You can bring them to me after I eat, and the weapons."

If the man in front of him had been Gallus, Titus would have had no need to say any of that. Gallus had been with him for years and knew his master's mind better than Titus did himself it seemed. He could assume Rufus knew exactly what to do. He seemed well trained, and intelligent enough. But Titus never made assumptions and so he erred on the side of making sure people he did not know, and who did not know him, were told in black and white what he expected from them. It made for less problems, obviously.

Within the next few minutes, he was stepping out the door into the pale early-morning light. The sky above was clouded and threatened more rain. The air was chill and raw. Making his way to the triclinium, he spent the next half hour eating a bit and socializing with his hosts. When he was ready, he rose and made his farewells to the lady of the house, offering his thanks and saying he looked forward to seeing her again upon his return. Gaius walked with him, through the house and out to the farmyard beyond. The loan of a pack animal had been arranged. There was a small cluster of activity still, where Gaius' slaves, and Gallus, and Titus' men were still finishing up getting all in order for their departure. Gallus was still coughing and Titus made a last appeal to his friend to ask the staff to look after him well. Then he had a friendly word with the slave himself, clapping him on the shoulder and bidding him to rest and recover during the coming days. Gallus was quite valuable to him; Titus had no wish to lose him to sickness.

His eyes then cast about for the easily spotted thatch of red, waiting for Rufus to deliver sword and satchel into his own safekeeping for their journey.

@Sharpie

Caius needs his younger daughter and some slaves - to help run his fast food joint! Yes! It's the McDonalds of Rome! Well, not quite...but they do something like a hamburger on a bun Caius and co. peddle fast food Roman style from a food stall in the Emporium Magnum. I play his older daughter, Caia. Gothy plays the voluble, opinionated, hard working Caius. His wife has sadly passed. But daughter number 2 is there to help out, as well as six or so slaves. We would dearly love any of you to pick some of these characters up for play!

Link to Caius' app

Link to Caia's app

Sergia Lupa

Age: 15 - 19

Sergia is the younger of two daughters of Caius Lupus. Everything about her is open, except that she is still unmarried and still working at the food stall with her dad and older sister, Caia. Otherwise her personality and her quirks, her dreams and aspirations, and how she gets along with Caius and Caia is up to you. The FC shown in Cote de Pablo in The Dovekeepers. But this is just a suggestion and is open too.

Thelomene

Age: around 30

slave; personality and history are open

suggested FC: Jessica Lucas in Pompeii

Bretta

Age: 22

slave; personality open

History - her mother was brought from Brittania some time before Bretta was born, and wound up a slave in the house of Gaius Tulius Messala, who was retired from the military and lived on a farm in Paestum, in Campania. That's where Bretta was born and lived most of her life.

It's been rumored that Gaius was the father of Bretta, and also of her younger brother Rufus (also a slave and a PC, played by Sharpie. His app is HERE)

Four or five years ago, Bretta was sold, and wound up in Rome, where she is owned by Caius and works in the food stall with him, his 2 daughters and the other slaves.

There is the possibility that Bretta will reunite with her brother, Rufus, if/when each of them learn that the other one is in Rome as well.

FC: Rachel Brosnahan in The Dovekeepers (not negotiable)

Bonus: maybe she has a baby - that is entirely up to the player who takes her, as is how she came to have the baby/who the dad is, etc

Diana

Age: 30-35

Slave; personality and history are open

Suggested FC is Indira Varma in Rome (HBO)

Aulus

Age: around 25

Slave: open personality and history; perhaps he is the father of Bretta's baby?

Suggested FC: Diego Boneta in The Dovekeepers

Gallus

Age: 45?

Slave; personality open; history - brought from Gaul at some point in his life

Suggested FC: Patrick Petitjean

Castor

Age: early 20s

Slave; personality and history are open

Suggested FC is Robert Sheehan

Some other FCs that could be used for the family's slaves are:

Riz Ahmed (actor)

Aiden Brady (model)

Pooja Mor (model)

Mehdi Dehbi (actor)

All of the slaves are very open. Two of them could be together as a couple, although they could not be married. If you have any ideas for someone older or from a specific part of the world that you don't see here, just talk to Gothy about it and see if you can work something out.

If you are interested in making Sergia or any of the slaves, leave us a reply here or catch one of us on Discord. Thanks!

"Come in," Titus called, keeping his voice low still, although the typical morning sounds of a household waking up had been steadily increasing these past minutes. The slave did as he was bid and Titus put the map he was studying down, to look at Rufus, giving him a once over.

"Good. You look like you've made yourself ready to go. I'm hoping we can be away within the hour. Is your master up? I don't wish to disturb him, or your mistress. Is Gallus up? he should be seeing to packing up the food."

If Titus noted that Rufus moved with any stiffness or a guarded gait, he of course made no comment thereon. If he even noticed.

@Sharpie

During the intervening minutes, Titus had moved from bed to writing table. He'd found enough oil left in the jar to refill the lamp, and blown some small life back into the almost extinguished embers in the brazier. With a spill of wood, he had lit the lamp, and he was already at work, pouring over some communications, and studying a well worn map. By the time Rufus and the girl returned, he was seated, long legs stretched out in front of him, and he barely looked up when they entered.

"Set it on the floor. Bring the jug and cup here. I'll deal with the rest. Come back in a half hour."

And so, both were dismissed.

Titus rose and washed quickly. He didn't really enjoy having anyone fussing about around him. He found it quicker to do this himself. He dragged on a clean tunic and threw the blanket back around his shoulders, continuing to work as he slaked his morning thirst. When the cup of wine was done, and the grapes and bread from the evening before were gone as well, he poured himself another cup, cognizant of time passing. But he was being polite enough to not disturb his host by rousing up the men and getting things packed and squared away so they could eat and leave. Not this early. It could wait, a few more minutes.

Perhaps it had been that loss of warmth beside him that had brought him back to wakefulness. Eyes open, Titus took in the scene of the slave, basin in hand, and the light that slid slim fingers around the wooden shutter closed over the window, and around the edges of the closed door. No, he had no embarrassment, for either of them. For Titus, taking sex where it came so easily offered - by the master, implicitly, in the loaning of Rufus - if not by the slave himself - was as natural as breathing, or sleeping. Speaking of which...

"I did," he answered, and knew it to be true. All the exercise had done him well, as he had hoped, and now he awoke to face the day in a good frame of mind.

He rose as far as to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, and reached for a blanket-like covering which, in his energetic activities of the night before, his feet had pushed down to the end of the bed. Throwing this about his body, he did not shiver, for he'd been in far colder climes. Campagnia in the winter could be uncomfortably cold. But it was nothing compared to Germania, or Dacia, or Britannia. But getting warmed up would not go amiss at the moment.

"Go ahead. Do whatever you were about ready to go do." He waved his hand. "Bringing warm water for a wash, I hope," he said, in a slightly sleep graveled voice. "Fetch some water to drink as well," he added, and stretched down a hand to pluck up a grape from the overlooked tray of the night before.

@Sharpie

At some point during the night, Titus shifted, without waking, to turn onto his side, pressing his long frame against the smaller one beside it, for warmth. He slept on, and for once, it seemed, his sleep was undisturbed by dreams. He slept deeply, and soundly, and though normally the first to awake - up with the cocks and the slaves, he'd often joke - this time the first fingers of dawn were streaking the eastern edge of the sky with a subdued gold, and the sounds of a waking household were growing around him, before he stirred, and finally opened his eyes.

@Sharpie

Now was the time. It was one reason - only one - why he'd wanted to have sex. The others were obvious and straightforward. But now...now was the time when, hopefully, his mind would shut down in that post-coital, blissful fugue-state, and he could drift off to sleep. He needed nothing more, in the moment. He did not want to wash up. He could do that in the morning when he awoke. He wanted only peace and quiet. And for a moment, he had it.

When the slave spoke, Titus whipped out his hand to grab Rufus by the wrist. It was sudden and brisk, but not painful. Eyes still closed, Forearm still resting on his brow, Titus muttered, "Shhh, peace. Yes. Now...go to sleep"

He did not let go of Rufus. He held his wrist captive. But in the next few moments, his breathing lengthened, and became regular. His lips parted. The fingers on the slave's wrist relaxed, and then went limp. He was done. And sex with the slave, after the wild walk, had done the trick. He was asleep, thank the gods.

@Sharpie

The torment that was one man's - if only if the form of post-orgasmic over sensitivity - and the pleasure of the other, were bound up in the same instants, the same coital joining. But Titus did not prolong the matter for too many more minutes. He knew the slave had come but that was of little to no import. He'd presented the opportunity and it had been seized and that was that. Now he was once again concentrating, with an intense expression on his handsome features, working up into a faster pace once again.

His body heaved and rocked with a growing sense of need - the need to reach that pinnacle. He shifted position once more, using his hand on the back of the slave's thigh to push his leg forward, as Titus used his body to  press Rufus back down, more onto his belly, but with that one leg now bent under him. Titus covered Rufus from behind, like a mantle, his chest pressing into Rufus' back, as his own ass pumped up and down more insistently, faster, more forcefully. His arms were wrapped about the slave, almost like he was wrestling with him, pinning him from behind, toes gripping into the bed covering, forehead fast against the curve of Rufus'neck.

His breath might have sounded like that of a galloping horse by this point, fast and harsh. He could feel the orgasm building and he grunted, thrust again, and the semen spilled from the tip of his cock. He felt the heat of it, and the added slickness inside the slave, and he continued to pump, several more times. But already, even as another spurt escaped him, he was slowing.

Once, twice, and a third time, and then he remained still for a moment. His heart was thumping in his chest. His eyes closed. Through parted lips, his breath was a bit ragged but coming back under control. All over his body, his muscles relaxed, and after another long moment, he withdrew, and slowly rolled onto his back, his forearm coming up to rest on his forehead.

It amused him, for the moment, to feel the slave tensing under him, turning his head aside to quiet whatever sounds he felt he must make. The stiff cock under both their hands was proof enough that this was at least in part due to arousal, and not pain. Titus, in his conceit, would have liked to think his own virility, his own masculinity, accounted for the erection. Yet he knew, from experience, even men completely unwilling to be penetrated up the ass could have such a reaction, even to the point of coming, often to their shame, and fury. 

But this was not war and he felt some assurance Rufus' response to all the stimulation his body was getting was not simply one of physiology. Although there might have been intellectual or philosophical debate as to whether slaves could feel humiliation (nothing Titus had ever bothered to consider), he was certain they could feel desire. He knew it for a fact, again, based on his own experiences over the past two decades. Rufus might not have desired this - being fucked by his master's guest. He might not have desired him - Titus himself. But Titus was pretty sure there was some component of a desire in the set of his shoulders and the slight movement of his ass, as it reflected his own gently rotating hips.

It amused him, and against that sensitive ear he said in a low voice, "Please yourself if you wish. I'd do it now. You might not have the chance in the next few minutes." He chuckled, and let his fingers descend, to fondle those russet covered balls, while his lips nibbled and nipped along that crest of shoulder. Eventually, his hand moved on, massaging Rufus' inner thigh, before sliding between the slave's legs from behind, lifting the upper one, cradling it in the crook of his elbow.  His own leg moving forward, to provide better balance and leverage, he once again began to thrust, but slowly, the tease inside ratcheting up a notch or three.

@Sharpie