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Aeterna Roma RPG

Knight

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Knight last won the day on April 15

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  1. Pain like a collarbone tended to numb after a time. He was used to that fracture pain, and it only really moved if he pressed on it, causing the two segments of bone to grind against each other - but it was starting to swell. A medicus would likely review his condition, determine how long he would need to recover, then half it and take their money. He was a commodity. But...he didn't feel any motivation to move. Pain was just pain. You got used to it. Standing here with a fellow Brigante was unique, and he wished to prolong it. "You're right. I don't have to." Owyn stated, definitely, and the
  2. That settled it! Simple and effective, just how he liked it! Once she was of marrying age, he'd plough her into the ground, and continue raiding around Prydain until the fucking Romans put tail between legs and fled back across the seas! See how stupid he was back then? Young men have minds full of nothing but fucking and fighting, and they're usually only any good at the second. Still, for all his idiocy, Owyn had that winning grin that he flashed back at Annis as they moved. "Oh, think nothing of it. We're all children of this land, and we're all one against the bloody Romans!" He decl
  3. Yeah, that was how it usually went. He knew the battle, and he'd been a few years younger than her, serving beside his father as a weapon-bearer. As a nobleman, he'd thought it such a fine thing, and he still remembered the taste of wine on his lips after the battle. Still, he was more than willing to move the topic of conversation - he still got nervous anytime he saw a notched rod. Regardless, he realised now he was speaking to an important warrior, if she was cousin to the traitor, Ysolda. Should he bow? Should he kiss her feet, and beg forgiveness for not recognising? No, he supposed they
  4. It's generally ill-advised to be a sarcastic prick to the people who can have you killed. It was always important to remember the simple truth, though - her people had come to his homeland, burned their homes, raped the women, and enslaved them. They had killed more of his people than any plague, any disaster. So, part of 'Marius' was always guarded against kindness, decency, and respect. There was always a reason. A soft voice often had a whispered command behind it. He avoided her gaze, picking a spot somewhere on the floor to stare at. "Marius, domina, yes." He'd been named after some
  5. Doing some good!? Er...Yes! Definitely that! That's what he told everyone! He yelled and boasted how the Britons deserved their land, and the Romans were vile invaders to be quashed and scourged and generally attacked. Truth was, though, Owyn just enjoyed it all. He was twenty one, he was born to fight, and the life he lived of drink, excitement, and violence meant more to him than any settled existence. Of course she was coming along, he noted, for she'd seen him naked and very few woman could see him naked and not follow on. Using the pila as an aid, he weaved quickly, occasionally glancing
  6. You forgot how the other half lived, and you forgot how the other half suffered. Men were chattel, women were playthings. You had to be realistic about these things - and Cinnia had probably been raped more times than he could count. Part of him felt that same noble wrath he'd always felt at such atrocities...but that was a childish, old emotion. It wouldn't rewrite what had happened to them. In the same way she perhaps looked at his wounds and winced, he dreaded the thought of being constantly abused in such a way. Atleast there was always a way out for Owyn - just give up. For her? Not so mu
  7. They fought the bloody Romans anyway they could! With fire, with spears, with axes, with javelins, swords, hounds, and landslides, road blocks, horse stampedes. Fight like wraiths in the night, like hounds snapping at the heels of their masters! Bite the hand that rips away your homeland! That was Owyn's view, and he fucking loved it. It felt like he was living again. Oh, fuck, he had best be on the hoof. They'd be waiting for him soon. "Your father may have, but these Romans don't think like us." He cackled, looking upwards to get his bearings - yep, he knew where he was. Two miles we
  8. "I'm a fucking warri- gladiator, not a bodyguard." "Marius. You've been killing folk for 6 years. It's a cushy job. Fuck the kitchen slaves, make sure no one touches the domina, get your freedom and fuck off." He had everything packed, but he was literally just property, so his possessions weren't exactly expansive. A little statue of Belatucadros, his patron god, a Gallic longsword, his lorica hamata, a few worn blue tunics, and an amphora of wine from Messina. He'd only been in the Iudus Magnus a few weeks, and he was being moved again. Owyn had been itinerant for most of his time in It
  9. You don't really get used to pain. You find ways to handle it, you find ways to force yourself to. For Owyn, he turned his mind and dug into the pain in his mind's eyes. He focused on it, rolled over it in his head, and that helped him not to scream. The medicus did it properly. Short, sharp, surprising, and you got their attention away from it. Owyn had been looking away when the shoulder moved back into place with the Roman's practised care. The agony immediately began to fade, and the Briton moved his fingers and his wrist. His icy blue eyes came up and pinned him with the wolf-like st
  10. Now, that was something he hadn't heard in a long time. Five years. Five years not to hear the words your father taught you growing up, five years speaking the language of the kith who enslaved and broke you. It was...both an unsettling and thrilling experience. Owyn's eyes widened, and he looked about, as if expecting all this to be some trick of the light - she must be some spirit, sent to torment him, or some frightful creature from the realm of the Gods, punishing him for his impiety. But no, it was all frightfully mundane - a kinswoman was speaking his tongue to him once more. "How could
  11. When he was young, his scars had been something to display like trophies by the fireside. Now, standing infront of a kinswoman, he didn't feel like he was showing off. Morrigan's glare, he even felt...like they were something to be ashamed of? Here he was, about to display his physique to a compatriot, someone who understood the beatings, the floggings, the kickings....and part of him wanted to shy away. Owyn followed her into the archway, and for a moment, he hesitated. The pain was just part of life - but revealing himself to this woman...Fuck. It felt different. Slowly, they brought th
  12. Ah, there was that old pain. Another Brigante. See, in his first year, he'd met another Brigante. Togodumnus. They'd tried to escape together, but a friend of their's had told their masters - so they crucified Togodumnus. Owyn had been left out of the report. He'd stared at the man for about a week, as his body slowly wasted away. So when she spoke of their people, his first reaction was to shut her out and stop fucking talking...but she seemed settled. Maybe she'd had the same experience. Most escapees usually ended up in the ground, but sometimes you got lucky. But he was so tired of ju
  13. FUCK. YES. Three more Romans dead, and his blood was up. All he wanted to do was kiss this lass, not only because she shined like the sun in winter, but because she had just saved his arse and she needed thanking! Fortunately, he instead just laughed right back at her, grinning from ear to ear once more. "...You had two swords? Lugu curse me, I could've used that!" He could barely get the words out, he was just too busy laughing and trying to keep quiet. Still, work to do, and best to get it done. Owyn yanked off a tunic from the first he'd slain, and buckled on the man's swordbelt.
  14. Marius knew what came next. It was pain like someone smashing your shoulder to pieces, and he usually could tough it out, but fuck, he couldn't be bothered today. He nodded for the wine, and when presented, took a long gulp of the stuff. Fucking Romans, but they could make wine. "I've had it done a few times. Quick and sudden, that's the trick." Already, he was starting to warm to this one. He had the kind of face he recognised from the halls - clever, whimsical, hilarious. "Just don't tell me when you do it." @Chevi
  15. Well, she had a point there. Back when he was an idiot, or slightly more of one, Owyn would have danced around the man and laughed and grinned, winked at anyone watching. There would have been a show, and a spectacle. These days, he just tended to kill folk - no spectacle, no nonsense, just a fight. This lass was more of a Gladiator than he was; he could imagine her weaving and ducking beneath the German's weapon, while Owyn had pretty much just taken the one exchange then probed and clipped at him until he saw his opening. The Workman against the Performer. Fair point, they might give him mor
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