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Modern Day AU set in a so far unnamed fictional town in England Marcus Bagshaw was new in town – and it was a small town too, but he thought it just perfect. The trees gave the town an interesting look in the fall and everything was clean and neat, at least on the surface. Marcus however was sure, that there was more lurking underneath. And he would learn eventually, what that was. He could be safe here though, right? Another country, another name, another town where no one knew him. It really was perfect. He settled down in a small house near the outskirts of the town, near the forest leading down to the sea and near a road leading away from the town and to the fields and meadows around it. And downtown he got himself a shop, where he could open up his new hairdresser and barber shop. He catered to both men and women. The shop was minimalistic, it had just what it needed. A sign outside for Barber Bagshaw. A few mirrors and chairs and all the required tools. Kept in simple colors, white, black and Bordeaux. Of course he offered coffee or tea to anyone coming in to have their hair done. In the beginning or on special occasions there were even biscuits. The official opening had flags and balloons and cakes and people quickly took a liking to the new hairdresser in town. It was about a month after he arrived in town that he read the odd and macabre story in the local newspaper – a hiker from a nearby town had found the body of a woman in the forest. She’d been half-buried, but some animal had found the corpse and dug enough in the grave for parts of the body to be exposed. The woman had bruises on her wrists and there was a long cut across her chest. And then her throat, which had been the death of her. Besides her shirt on the front having been ripped open to the chest cut, she was fully dressed and there had been no other violation of her body. It was all very odd. The entire town was mortified by this sudden murder. Some people knew her. And Marcus’ shop almost became a place where people gathered to gossip about it. Who did it? Why? And Marcus offered coffee and biscuits and haircuts, seeming as worried as everyone else.

The Bell and Plow was a pretty ordinary pub in a rather less affluent part of town, but it was convenient. It claimed to have been there since the 1600s, when it was a small farming village, and certainly there were enough ancient horse brasses and old pewter tankard hung from the low, blackened beams that it was at least trying to look the part. He did feel that the goggle-eyed taxidermied deer head over the fireplace was going a bit too far. Four days a week he worked at the legal firm where he had a junior partnership, the other he split; morning was appointments and the Veterans support group, afternoon was the legal aid group that worked with a number of local charities, including the women's shelter which was close by. This place was an easy stop on his route between the two, and it did an acceptable plowman's lunch with a surprisingly good relish. He'd not been able to find out what was in it. He was a tall, lean figure in a business suit, brown hair cropped neatly short, tie a fairly boring navy blue. A briefcase sat at his feet and he'd taken a laptop out of it and was reading documentation on it whilst he ate. The only unusual feature was a cane of dark wood hooked onto the edge of the table. He usually sat inside, even though it was sunny today and a lot of people were enjoying the outdoor tables in the beer garden. He preferred the quiet. Sipping his lemonade, he scrolled through the piece of legislation he was reading, looking for the relevant clauses and making notes on his phone. He'd surprised a lot of people when he'd got into law at university, but Spencer felt that being underestimated seemed to be par for the course for him and hadn't let it bother him, or stop him. Even as he made his way through his fresh bread and local, crumbly cheese, he was focused on the necessaries for his next case. @Sara

Another day in the arena, another match won. Lexus was beaten and bloody, he was pretty sure he had a cut on his one thigh, because it was hurting worse than Hades in the midday sun. But he was alive and the crowd had cheered for him, when the two other gladiators lay on the ground, bleeding out. He enjoyed that part at least, the roar of the crowd when he won and could raise his arms and just take all the praise. It was all the praise he got anyway, so he had to take it. Now hopefully his master and the doctore would also both salute him, although he didn't make a habit of losing the matches. Else he might not live so long. But he was still a slave, still not free. And who knew when his master wanted to host an orgy again and he'd be invited to join, because who didn't want to bed or be taken by a gladiator like him? Not that it was all bad, it was more that he didn't have a choice. That was the issue. But at least not today, because something had to be done about that cut on his leg. He left the arena and in the back of a wagon he sat now, travelling with some of the other gladiators back towards the ludus that was their home. A woman passed the wagon as it made a stop because the street was crowded and she offered him water. Apparently she'd seen him fight. Lexus winked at her and she blushed. Well he still had that in his favor too. He could make a woman blush, even when he was still covered in the blood from his opponents. "Where are we anyway?" Asked a younger gladiator, one of the newer ones. Alexius looked around, "The Forum. The Vestal temple is right there." He said, looking towards it just as a group of Vestals left the temple and came down the stairs, apparently in their direction. @Chevi

Guidebook | Advertising | Members The year is 9:48 Dragon, and the world is once again shaken by both natural and the unnatural forces. There's a lot in play, ever since Fen'Harel removed the Veil from its place between the worlds, losing his own life in the process. Thedas is reverting to a similar nature as the one the Evanuris knew, the Thedas that the Dalish tell stories about. Whether that is a good thing or not, is yet to be seen. The Kingdoms of Thedas are each suffering in their own way, and the Chantry's reputation is decreasing with each passing day. With two Blights upon the horizons, and nobody to band the kingdoms together, or stand against the demons spilling forth from the Fade, life in Thedas is precarious. There are alliances forming and breaking everyday. Will the demons take you out, or the darkspawn? Has the Fade affected you? Life is changing fast, it's time to find out where you stand...

Peregrinus was against her chest, tied to her with a piece of fabric wound over him and around her back, finishing with a knot at her waist. The six month old boy seemed unperturbed by it, and it had the benefit of keeping her hands free - something she sorely needed. In one hand she carried a rough woven sack filled with blankets and cloth for Peregrinus, and in another bag slung over her shoulder she carried a spare tunica for herself, what little food she'd been able to swipe and a wineskin filled with water. She was shrouded in a cloak, but besides that and the bags she carried and her son, that was all she had in the world. She bit back bile at the thought. It was late, or was it early? Somewhere after midnight, either way, but the streets of Rome were full of laughter and merriment of some festival that Charis had never learned the name of. She looked a little out of place; child strapped to her body and lugging her bags, but the city was full of unusual sights and most people paid her little heed. She drew to the appointed spot, at the gate leading out to the via Flaminia. What are you doing. Cynane wasn't here, she should be here by now, shouldn't she? Charis was sure she was already late and her courage was failing her. She shouldn't have done this, she shouldn't even be thinking about it - she was positive that even the thought of escape warranted crucifixion. She felt the bile rise in her throat again and fought the urge to be ill. Hold your nerve. This hadn't been planned for long, only a matter of weeks ago she had been contented enough in her life - Peregrinus was growing, strong and healthy and things with Tertius were a little less awkward and then she had met with Cynane and it had all unravelled. The thought of trying to do this, be here, forever without her friend - who was so determined to leave and forge her way back to Britannia...Charis could have cried - and she was not a cryer by nature! The image of her son, growing up free and happy and healthy in the wilds and forests and fields of her homeland, away from his fathers pervasive, insidious influence, with her - and not just her as a slave, her as a free woman and his mother...it was too much for her to refuse. She had agreed, and now here she stood. But the nagging doubt did not escape her and the longer she waited in silence, alone, the more she wanted to turn on her heel and make haste back to the domus. Where are you Cynane. TAG: @Atrice

"Io Saturnalia!" The cheers and laughter echoed in the hallways of the insula, and outside on the streets. It was the most joyous of Roman celebrations, one that Theo truly learned to enjoy since his move to the City. Even though they were a small household, a mere apartment in the insula, he and his wife were happily preparing for their first Saturnalia together. They did not own slaves who could have turned the day around on them, but there were still sweets to eat, spiced wine to drink, games to play, and gifts to give. In the spirit of the festivities, Theo was trying to do his very best in preparing said sweets, with honey and flour and walnuts. A plate of fresh pomegranates stood on the table, one of them already opened and spilling ruby red seeds. As soon as Didia returned from running some errands, they would have the whole rest of the day to themselves. The games would not start until the following day, which gave the medicus leave from his usual work at the ludus. When he head the door open, Theo glanced over his shoulder, grinning with a smear of flour on his face. "Io Saturnalia!" @Sara @Sharpie

AU - 72CE - Dacia Zia slammed the door to her quarters so loud she was sure the wood would snap off and splinter. "Zia!" The voice beckoned from outside, booming through the wooden walls that made up the Chief's residence. "You have to listen to reason now girl." Zia huffed and kicked at a box that lay at her feet, aiming it at one of the slaves who squealed and jumped out of the way. From down the hall she could hear Luto cry. He hadn't stopped crying since she had broken the news that his Papa wasn't coming home. The handle to the door rattled and then the oak opened up and the face of her father-in-law, stony but sorrowful, loomed into view. "Get out of my room." She swore and aimed another kick - this time at a loose bundle of clothing - which landed at his feet. The man raised his hands, and she could see from few paces away that tears pricked in his eyes. Weak. Pathetic. Scared. Was all that came to mind as she looked upon him. "He's all we have. You have to see reason." She scoffed and shook her head, a glower on her face. "At least meet him with me. And then we can see, hm?" Zia huffed again and appraised her father-in-law Cothelas (or not her father-in-law, now?). She only nodded her assent, and it was reluctant assent at that before clicking her fingers at the slave. "Find me something to wear." Her father-in-law smiled, relieved and inclined his head - backing out of the room slowly. She noted he didn't turn his back to her as he walked away. Smart. --- It was some hours later that she was in the great hall. Those survivors of the battle two days prior were there; a motley court of the injured and the afraid; filling the room but leaving a gap in the middle. Zia was arrayed in her finest, gold glinting from her wrists and her armbands and a diadem atop her hair which was left long down to her waist. Her son sat next to her - between her father-in-law and herself, eyes still red raw from crying but mercifully quiet for now. She could tell Cothelas was nervous. He picked at the skin around his nails and his eyes were red-rimmed from tiredness. She supposed losing both of one's sons in one fell swoop was bound to do that. She dared not dwell on Diegis lest her face crumple. No, keep projecting strength, that was what she told herself. Somebody has to. The battle had been short and bloody. The Ratacenses, her husbands (late husbands) tribe were fearsome and well equipped, and had decimated the legion that had surrounded them. A winner could not be declared; they had both lost their commanders. The Dacian's had lost Diegis and his older brother, heir to the chieftaincy, and the Romans had lost their legate and tribune. The former of which had been sat stewing in a dank little hole for the past two days, but now he'd finally see the light and the Dacian's own particular brand of mercy. Many had called for his execution; something public, something painful. He had taken their hope in the form of the two heirs, and Zia had at least initially agreed. Yet Cothelas, in one of his rare moments of intelligence had held a different idea. Luto, her son, was now to be named the heir. He was, however, only four and utterly fatherless and frail in the way that all children that age are. Besides, Cothelas knew that the Romans would be back - braying for blood - and Luto would be first on the pile. Hence his simultaneously utterly ridiculous and utterly brilliant plan. What better way to appease the Romans than by aligning yourselves with them? And what better way to do that and keep your independence then by matrimony? Zia had been appalled, but understood. If she married this Roman and eventually had further children, they would be of both Roman and Dacian blood. Half-brothers and half-sisters to their future chief, and beholden to two lands. It would show that their tribe was serious about peace, but would not surrender in the traditional way. Yet despite the logic, she didn't like the idea one bit. Cothelas knew that as well as anybody and so had arranged, after a public greeting of the man (whose name Zia had already forgotten), there would be a private summit between his daughter-in-law and her future spouse to...test the waters, as it was. Her nails dug into the wood of the chair as she gripped onto it. The doors at the end of the hall broke open and the room was bathed in light. She squinted those narrowed green eyes at the figures that approached, a man bound in rope at the wrists, escorted by two of the surviving (and purposefully largest) Dacian warriors. She turned to Cothelas when the Roman was in earshot and scoffed. "This is him?" TAG: @Liv

October 60CE. (This takes place during Lucilla's funeral) There was a long reason for the wasting illness that had plagued her. The funeral procession led through the streets of Rome. Surrounding the casket as it was drawn were the population in the clothes of mourning. Her family were around her, no doubt it would be her male relatives who would give her the funerary orations and share her achievements (and theirs with the populace). She wore a death mask that concealed her features from view. Inside, images of Darius' death, happy and troubled memories stirred as her body began to twitch. Which God or Goddess from down below had decided to bless (or curse Rome)? Finally, a dark memory took hold. One of anger..... betrayal.... Her hand lifted and knocked the shroud off. There were cries of shock from the crowd and followed by silence. Perhaps this was all a trick? An illusive one the family had pulled to lure out enemies into the open? Her hand was pale, tinged with grey and purple where the blood had begun to pool. The mask was pulled off and thrown, smashed on the floor as the litter was placed down on the ground, and she pulled herself up. Her funeral gown was beautiful, she wore ornate necklaces, rings and bracelets as she had done in real life. Her face, beautiful once in life had faded with her mouth semi-open and her eyes grey, clouded and hungrily. A shocked (and terrified) praetorian stepped forward to assist her only to be sharply yanked forward. Her arm grabbed him by his uniform and pulled him towards her with surprising strength. Her mouth dug into his neck as he screamed in complete terror and tore with her teeth. She gulped down what she could. Screams of panic filled Rome as people began to fight or flee. Soon the praetorian's eyes changed and together they began to attack others who approached....