<strong>Overlooking the Training Grounds</strong><br/><br/>Afternoon breezes always bring with them the heat of the plains and the dusts of the inland roads and construction. The lanista's station on the uppermost balcony of the central building of his busy estate kept the air clear, making the light wafts of dirt lapping across the field below and the plains beyond seem like fingers of an ephemeral beast reaching to him. Idly nursing his left forearm in his other hand, thoughts settle of the ferryman calling, but as the calls in the distance of the arriving caravan and its much-boasted collection of new blood for the ludus and the house, Manius Sertorius shakes his head and clears his mind of such fatalistic notions. Usually content to dress in austere robes around the ludus, today was one of those days he broke his notions of comfort and propriety to don the gaudier garb he normally reserves only for the arena; just as the lion's head shoulder dress and fine-wrought armor pieces highlighted the glory days of his younger self, he knew the impression they left on new slaves even at a distance was powerful and helped instill a measure of the gravity of their new stations. For even as much sympathy as he might have for the men and women he takes in, he understands all too well the anger many of these slaves have when still new to their bonds. If it means he must be a monster until the beasts can be quelled, then so be it.<br/><br/>One of the young men in the city which has taken to work in the ludus heads off at the lanista's orders after giving assistance in dressing him for the dance of initiation. A thin smile sits upon the elder's chin as he looks down at the scene unfolding there, the gladiators and slaves being pulled into ranks as the new slaves are brought out of their holds within their wagon cells. No matter what else may happen in his life, he knew even more than the festivals or the major fights, initiation days were always assured to be interesting. He takes his perch standing by the railing with his hands on the edge with a firm grip, watching his people like a god on Olympus.<br/><br/><br/>Far from the first of these round-ups, the minutiae of the arrival events were well-rehearsed, which helped to enshrine the principles of discipline and loyalty that were the bedrock of the house. The jog of Fabian from the top of the central house was along a well-worn path. Stopping before the lovely matron of the school, he waves to one of the more brutish slaves before addressing her with his breath still catching up to him, "The lanista apologizes for making you wait, but he hopes you can join him at the apex of the ludus with the fifth ring. Appearances and that."<br/><br/>Indeed, Manius did like making an affair of the inductions, the pomp and severity meant to create an imposing foundation of the family's image for the newcomers. At that moment, a pair of immensely powerful metallic rings echo from the cliff side, fighting back the breeze into town and rattling the bones of those on the estate. And thus the dance begins, the slaves on the ground led by the doctore to stand between the carts and the eastern parapets. Soon, the mettle of the gladiators-to-be would be tested, and the others set to the affairs of the family, and Manius' trust in the work of his henchman in the latest batch rewarded or punished.