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76 CE Late July In the seemingly endless din of parties and street traffic that ruled the eternal city it appeared as though Fortuna would grant one night in the dog days of the year that one could manage to hear their own thoughts. There didn't seem to be any apparent reason for this sudden cease in the overall commotion; perhaps everyone had just grown tired of the whole thing. It wasn't as if it would last, of course, but as the lone guardsman loosened up with a mug of mead he couldn't help but wonder about the nature of the nobleman's note. Longinus had asked him to meet at this tavern through a slave, but it hardly seemed to Decimus that there were any reason for him to want to hang out in a tavern laden with Rome's lower orders. Even though they were old friends he couldn't help but wonder what would make spending a night with him seem more appealing than hearing about the latest gossip that was passed around the dinner tables of Rome's wealthiest circles. The light outside of the tavern had grown scarcer and scarcer in the hour since he'd arrived, and with the darkness came the warmth of the newly lit candles that would help carry on the regular patron's habits till they'd had their fill. Decimus was no great thinker, and he'd never claim to be, but in the back of his mind he'd always wondered how fulfilling a life of luxury could be. He wouldn't say that money was useless, and he certainly hoped to end his life with more of it than he'd started with, but the thought of enduring conversations about fashion, laws, and land-use seemed mind-bogglingly dull to him. Maybe it was something one only truly came to enjoy when they had wealth. Either way, he was sure that he would hear Longinus's views on the subject tonight. It was either that or they'd talk about Britannia. He certainly couldn't blame the man for talking about it either. Britannia was probably the most excitement that either of them would see in their lives, save for if the drums of war truly started beating again. Becoming Praetorian had left little room for the thought of ever visiting the front in any long term capacity. The new Augustus didn't seem all that interested in beginning a new campaign, but that observation only came from the limited time he'd spent in the man's presence. Perhaps Longinus would know something that he did not. Either way, he was perfectly content to wait for the man at the small booth he'd snagged for the night. @Sara
FLORUS 19 | 22 Augustus 55 | Slave | Gardener | Gay | Wanted | Burak Çelik Personality. Florus is a temperamental man with a lot of opinions, but he keeps everything to himself for his own sake. He is angry about his condition, angry that this is his life, angry at the injustice of it all. He learned the hard way that voicing his opinions about how awful the Romans were only earned him beatings and lashings. It didn't take long for him to adapt. He still thinks it, but he doesn't say it. Because he would rather hold his tongue than put himself in danger, he is mostly a silent person, who doesn't really care to mix with others. Florus prefers the company of the plants he works with to that of other people, but he is nonetheless a kind person, who will be polite, if a little closed-off, to every slave in his household. With the Romans, he has artificially polite interactions, or, well, he used to. He's beginning to get used to his condition as a slave, and hate it though he might, as long as he's around plants, he's actually happy. Florus is a diligent guy, a hard worker. He puts his back and all his soul and heart into the gardens. They are his passion, his life blood. Though he might be reluctant at first to engage with strangers, any conversation regarding plants will expose a completely different side of Florus, showing a man who's fiercely passionate, loves what he does, and cares very, very deeply about life. Appearance Florus is of average height and build, although his hard work as a gardener is beginning to show in his muscle mass. His skin is tan from spending every waking moment out in the sun, and is a bit more weathered for it. He has pale brown hair, and clear blue eyes. His lips are full, and his jawline is sharp. He doesn't cut quite as sharp a figure as he could if he spent more time around people than he does with plants. Indeed, he seemed not to be noticed by most, until he came to the Sulpicius Rufus household. Of course, that could be because he is a man, now, rather than a boy. For the most part he is indifferent to the attention. He has other things to worry about. He bears the brand of his capture on his inner right forearm, an unsightly reminder of how he came to be in servitude. Family Father: Vocorix Mother: Eppacta Siblings: A sister, Netelia, and a brother, Balorix. Both older. Spouse: None Children: None Extended family: Well, they're probably dead, now, thanks to the Romans. Other: None History Child: Samorix was born in Brittania in the year 55 to a family of farmers in a small village belonging to the Silure tribe. From a very young age, life was arduous, and required hard work. It was all hands on deck in the fields, and that was before the Romans came. When the Romans came, all the men were called upon to defend their land. Vocorix was often absent, and it fell to the rest of the family to tend to the fields. Samorix learned a lot, and found peace with nature, peace he didn't quite find when he was around other people, as it was easy for him to find conflict with others. Teenager: Vocorix died in a battle against the Romans when Samorix was still very young. After that, the family leadership fell to his mother, Eppacta, and his older brother, Balorix. It was even harder with one less family member, but soon that hardly even mattered, as the Roman attacks increased in frequency. Shortly thereafter, all boys strong enough to wield a weapon were called to war. Samorix was twelve when he participated in his first. He didn't actually do much fighting at all, but he didn't have much of a choice. Luckily for him, Balorix had other plans for his brother. To keep his family fed, he mainly stayed home in the fields. Balorix was the one fighting. But when the twenty year old died, it was up to Samorix. He was captured in his first battle after that. It was in 72. Samorix was barely seventeen. He fell in the hands of the Roman legions, and in the beginning was outspoken about the horrible conditions they were kept in. He didn't do well as a caged animal, and was raring for a fight. He found one, though it was unevenly matched. Quickly he learned that he needed to shut up if he were to stay alive. He was branded, asked about his profession, and eventually given as wartime loot to some sort of Roman man called Longinus, as a gardener. He wasn't treated badly by Longinus, but even the beautiful gardens he discovered and tended to upon arriving in Rome were not enough to soothe his anger and bitterness about his condition. He was like a pacing lion, angry and biding its time. He kept to himself and didn't really grow close to any of the other household slaves, despite many of them also being from Brittania. Just when he was starting to get used to things, Longinus traded him off to some other Roman. Adult: Titus Sulpicius Rufus let him have free run of the gardens. Of course, he wasn't exactly keen on having a master, still, but at least there he was beginning to heal. He had the opportunity to make something truly beautiful, something meaningful. This would be his reason to keep on going, even if life was meaningless. And maybe he could start connecting with other people. He hasn't been so good at it so far, but who knows? Florus is barely an adult, now, and he has the world, or, well, the very limited world of a slave, ahead of him. Ejder | GMT -5 | SuperBambi#8552