Life at the Ludus
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Blonde on 14-10-2012, 22:52:35</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Life at the Ludus</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Blonde</strong> on <strong>14-10-2012, 22:52:35</strong>
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				<div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">IC (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=153646.0)</span></div><br><div align="center">(http://i674.photobucket.com/albums/vv103/Blonde_moment/Ludus1.jpg)</div><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><br>The heat scorched, the suns persistent stretch causing the depths of the body to lag and complain. There seemed no air, no breeze to cool the occupants of the manor that over looked the deep gorge below. The rains had left, not gracing the city of Janiculum. The hills were parched, the earth brown and sparse. Set on the boundaries of Rome, yet still governed by so, it was a beautiful spot of nature. But for Geila, no such joy was found in her surroundings. In fact, she held sheer discontent for the place and for the nation that was Rome. She hated it, and no amount of luscious scenery would compensate for that. Geila did not see much of it though, only in rare moments outside or on route to markets did she see anything other than the place that owned her, other than the cliff side manor that belonged to her master and owner, the house of Augustus Magnus. Nothing would ever changer her feelings, Rome had ruined and altered her life forever.<br><br>She had not slept, the stifling heat causing her discomfort and to find little rest. But the day of a slave often started early, rising to tend to the needs of the Dominus and the house. The slaves quarters were in the bowels of the house, separated from the Gladiator's cages by a simple corridor. All those that served and were owned by Magnus slept beneath the house, the ones who really suffered from the deep heat of summer were now moving to serve the Dominus. The Gladiators trained on the sandy yard, sparring as ordered by the whip carrying Doctore. The majority of slaves cleaned inside, whilst Geila stood behind the Dominus, holding the jug of cool wine and watching over the balcony to the men below.<br><br>The Gladiators enthralled her. Men, put into competition to fight to the death. Their torture entertained the public crowds, they vied for blood and a gruesome death. Geila could never understand the brutality of it, how anyone could find it entertainment was beyond her. But Rome was not known for its manners, not at least back in her homelands. Conquered by the ever stretching grasp of Rome, it was all a distant memory to Geila that she locked away. Never speaking about it, never reminiscing, trying to block it out. She would never see it again, so why long for it? Her family were dead, everyone she knew sold on or slaughtered, so there really was no want to return. Instead now it was a life that belonged to the man before her. A life of sex, servitude and slavery.<br><br>Geila sighed and closed her eyes, rolling her head up towards the sky. Would they ever be blessed with rain? She was dressed in the very small attire gifted upon her. A red-brown in colour, it offered a large view of her body. Tied about her neck, two stretches of material covered her breasts, minimally, and plunged down to her hips. Her back and sides were bare completely, the sparseness of her attire pleased the men who visited the house. The small skirt of the dress had two big slits in the material, either side of her hips and were held together by knotted thin rope. It stopped shortly beneath her rear, her legs elongated by the shortness of it. About her feet were scratched, tatty and well worn sandals, so thin that often her feet ached and burned. Her blonde hair was piled atop her head and held in place by a strip of material, offering a clear view of her neck and shoulders, and the brand on her shoulder.<br><br>Opening her eyes she sighed and saw the empty cup, and Geila walked forwards and filled it, and as she did her eyes drifted down to the yard. There was something about them that excited her. At a previous party held by Magnus, Geila had been made to have sex with one for the entertainment of the men and women. The Gladiator had fucked her, pounded his cock into her and caused her to scream out in sheer pleasure. The next day she had been witness to his brutal death in the arena. But the power and strength of the Gladiators, their instinctive feral nature caused her body to thrill with excitement. Though she held no affection for the Games, for the competitors themselves, Geila held them in regard. Many times she had tended to their wounds and injuries, and had even been with some when they died. <br><br>The order for the end of training was given, and Geila stepped away from her thoughts and to the Dominus. She heard tale of another of his gatherings were to happen, which would no doubt mean more sexual performances. There were a few favourites that were often requested, and there was the Legatus, Sergius Gavius, who had a particular fondness for Geila. He liked to watch the other female slaves perform acts on her, see their tongues touch and tease. Like to have her on her knees taking him in her mouth. The General was not a pleasant man. He was not ugly, but he was brutal and powerful, and his hands were rough and strong. He had left bruises on her before from his rough ways. Tall, muscular, and with an army at his command, he was a man to be feared and obeyed. <br><br>But for now, Geila waited for her orders. There were none who needed tending, no one to keep an eye on and nurse. Her gaze flicked back over the Gladiators as they assembled and were to be taken back to their cages. Their skin soaked in sweat, the sun browning their ever sunkissed skin. She locked her jaw and kept her face still and impartial, void to the thoughts she had. Her arms were aching from holding the jug for so long, and she longed to stretch the muscles loose. She longed to expel the clothing from her body and allow it to breath, to feel water on her, to feel the cool shade of the manor. But for now she waited for Augustus Magnus to dismiss her or to do something, her eyes kept well below his shoulders as respect ordered so.<br></span>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Life at the Ludus</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>azzmeister89</strong> on <strong>14-10-2012, 23:32:24</strong>
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				Reynik, like most of the other gladiators obeyed the order to line up and go to there cells in silence, still there were always a few who acted up and fought the people who treated them like beasts "i will fight my way to freedom" they would say, promising that one day they would be like there masters, a god among men! yea right, not likely.<br><br>He let his hand briefly touch the three scars on his chest left by the Lion all those years ago, at age fifteen he had hoped saving his previous master from the wild beast would earn him his freedom but no, it had earned him a pair of expensive swords that had caused his master into bankruptcy and eventually making him sell all of his slaves, now he knew not of where the swords were, did his new master have them? it would have been logical for the man to take such fine weapons and use them but then even if he did, there were probably a few more experienced duel blade users that would have the honor of using them in battle.<br><br>Looking up at the Balcony he noticed Geila the young slave girl who was at the masters side the most when his wife was not present, although he hadn't spoken to her much due to his recent arrival he had found her a pleasant girl, he offered her a quick smile before he was gone from her view.<br><br>No, there was no escape from this life, not to anyone, no release but death and the sound of cheering.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Life at the Ludus</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Primarch</strong> on <strong>15-10-2012, 01:12:31</strong>
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				<span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">Dominus Augustus Magnus stood with hands clenched behind his back as he watched the Gladiators train. The days of his father were long gone, this stock and prospered under his watchful eye. Every victory was a testament to him and his House. <em>House Magnus</em>. Yet the upcoming victories would be worth naught if the Legatus was not impressed enough to request his Gladiators fight in the big games. The Dominus would secure his place in the games in three days when the doors to his home would be opened to the finest people to be found for miles around, especially the Legatus. <br><br>It would be an event the likes of which are rarely seen, he had gone to great expense to secure fine wines, exotic foods and talented entertainers. The Gladiators would be cleaned and presented to for the amusement of their betters. They would mock-fight as commanded or if the interest was there they would fuck, a slave perhaps or maybe they'd just fuck each other. Perhaps there would be a guest that would like to fuck a Gladiator in the arse or watch one of his Titans suck them off, they'd do that do and they'd smile for every drop of Roman cum that blessed their face and throat. Then there was the other slaves, the girls. What they wore now left little to the imagination, but they'd wear even less at his grand party. They may not even wear a cloth, perhaps he would just put them in bronze and jewels to show his prestige. How could the Legatus deny him when even his slaves were dressed the finest in the city? <br><br>He glanced to one side when his cup of wine was refilled by Geila. With a firm hand he took up the cup and sipped at the red wine. The cold wine was a welcome sensation under the unforgiving sun. Geila would certainly perform at his party. She always was a favourite,&nbsp; such innocent beauty. What man could resist not staining such sweetness? Then there was Amethyst, the gift from King Leonid. That alone was enough to excite a man, nevermind the pleasing face and the curves. Then of course there was Lydia, the Gladiators enjoyed her often. They would all serve, be it wine or on their knees, for the glory of the House. <br><br></span> 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Life at the Ludus</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>The Last Standing</strong> on <strong>15-10-2012, 01:35:05</strong>
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				&nbsp; &nbsp; The rays of the stark blue sky beat down on Marcus's shoulders as he sparred a veteran of the ludus. His vision blurring from dehydration, it took all of his strength to remain standing. He was holding his own for the most part,&nbsp; relying on dodging and swift counter attacks to land a fleeting blow on his opponent. Still, when his opponent connected, as he oft would, Marcus's world would go blank, and he'd find himself prostrate, his mouth full of bitter sand. The doctore would chide him, seeing a resilience in Marcus that needed to be cultivated. Through his taunts he hoped reveal the inner beast. He heard stories of the cruelty of <em>Cruentus</em>, how he sold himself into slavery to dodge the death penalty for treason and homicide. Such an unforgiving person would surely sell well and bring glory to his master, and subsequently himself.&nbsp; Dusting himself off and settling back into his fighting stance, Marcus did not protest or make snide remarks towards the doctore like some of his more brazen comrades. If he was knocked down, he would spring back up immediately, much to the enjoyment of the doctore. He feared the whip that the man held and tried his best to not even look at it. Something about the implement evoked a seething hatred. Deep down, a part of himself shrieked to break loose.<br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; As Marcus was beaten and ridiculed in the scorching heat, he couldn't help but smile. Marcus was content. There wasn't an incident for months, and the unforgiving gladiatorial life excited him. He was bursting at the seams to participate in his first bout, to relive his glory days in the Roman army. He was nervous as well, though. If he didn't improve soon, he was either going to die or have to revert all his progress. Still, there were other issues that could arise. He was not particularly fond of killing as he had done enough of that as is. Indeed, he also already started taking a liking to his peers. There was the other new recruit, Leonidas, who resided in an adjacent cage. Marcus was intrigued by his dignified air which contrasted his own rural manners. The common experience of having the entire ludus out to get them slain led Marcus to watch over the other fresh gladiator. There was the towering man from the north, who spent his time in his cell brooding, his dull green eyes fixed on the ground, looking into a different place and time. Marcus tried to befriend this man, but the man's disposition towards Romans was colder than his gaze. There also were the pretty little slave girls that would from time to time find themselves underneath the mass of the gladiators at the Dominus's bequest, stumbling back to their quarters with a child in their bellies. Marcus often contemplated having such a romp with these gorgeous ladies, but the last time he had seen naked women, he was sprinkled with their blood.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; And so he chuckled to himself as he reclined in his cell, a home fitting for the likes of him. A life of glory and pain isn't so bad, though pangs of desire for a life of freedom lost to him often slipped into his mind. Hopefully next day's training session will make him forget.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Life at the Ludus</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Caitlin</strong> on <strong>15-10-2012, 20:12:02</strong>
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				Horses were galloping in the distance, as Baersun ran through the forest, hunted by shadows. The bloody Romans had outflanked them and taken their warriors by surprise. Only he and a handful of his tribe had survived the battle that had followed. Too late had they realized that it was a trap. His side ached and his lungs burned from the running he did, as tried to reach the village as fast as possible. He could only pray that he was back in time, but at the same time he feared the worst. Black smoke rose up in the distance, even the birds in the forest had fallen silent.<br><br>“By Woadan, not again...” he cursed, as he twisted and turned his way through the foliage. <br><br>The forest seemed to stretch forever. Being one of the fastest runners of the tribe, his friends couldn't keep up and soon he ran alone. <br><br>A deep growl escaped from his throat, as he slowly winded down to a halt. He had finally reached the edge of the forest, but there was no joy at this accomplishment. Before his eyes his village burned, surrounded by the very legion they had beaten into submission a mere year ago. If only they hadn't fallen for their diversion, which had lured them away from the village and trapped them in the valley. <br><br>Baersun unsheathed his sword, ready to cleave the first Roman he saw in half. <br><br>Several birds scattered away, as his friends finally caught up to him. Unfortunately, the sudden flight of the birds also alerted a watchful Roman, who yelled to his comrades and pointed in their direction.<br><br>“Cursed be those inbred dogs,” Baersun spat vehemently, his fellow tribesmen agreeing with muttered curses of their own.<br><br>His vision blurred. <br><br>They were now standing in the village, women and children screaming, crying, even begging for mercy. Baersun was restrained, forced to watch how the Roman dogs raped one woman after another. He struggled to break free, but the ropes were too strong. He had slain three Romans before they managed to overpower him. He could still taste their blood in his mouth, and feel it drip down his hands, but it hadn't been enough by far. There was only so much he could do as they were outnumbered eight to one.<br><br>His wife looked at him, as a Roman ripped her clothes off and threw on the ground. Baersun couldn't stand the sight and turned his head away, but the blasted Roman who stood next to him forced his head in her direction. The bastard gave him a small stab with his knife, enough to force Baersun to open his eyes; forcing him to witness how his wife was brutally raped in front of him and his two sons. <br><br>“No, no,” Bearsun gasped, as he shook his head wildly from side to side, “No, noo, <strong>NOOOO!</strong>”<br><br>Bearsun sat upright in bed, bathing in sweat. His head throbbed in pain from the hangover of all the wine he had consumed the night before. The morning heat did little to relieve him of his discomfort. The big man slowly breathed in and out. Despite the events that had happened two years ago, his nightmares still haunted him. <br><br>Two days earlier the House of Magnus had acquired him as a gladiator on the slave market, and the day before he had received their brand mark on his right thigh. The skin was still tender. Dominus Augustus Magnus had made him swear to serve him and uphold the honor of his House. Baersun had done so, but swore by the name of Woadan and added in his own language that he would kill every Roman he could before his eventual demise. <br><br>His former life was over, and he knew it. Word had reached him a long time ago that his wife and two children were slaughtered on their way to Rome. They were in a better place now, Woadan watched over them in Valhalla. Baersun longed for death, but only a meaningful one would suffice. Only true warriors who died in combat, or fought to protect their honor and belongings would enter Valhalla. He was one of the last of his tribe, and the day before he had sworn a blood oath to Woadan that he would serve his God until the day Woadan claimed his life as his. <br><br>The Dominus must have been impressed with the seriousness he had taken his oath. If he only knew that the oath wasn't to him. He had spoken the words of the Roman, but in his mind he had spoken the words of his tribe. Afterwards he had cut himself, drank his own blood and spit a few drops on the ground. He wiped them out in the sand with his bare foot, completing the ritual of warriors who swore to protect the tribe.<br><br>Magnus had given him a flask of cheap wine after the branding against the pain. The flask was quickly drowned and the pleasurable buzz that followed allowed Baersun to forget about his troubles for a few hours. The cell they kept him in was small, but sufficient. It had a bed and some soft cloth for his head. He might be able to get some furs for the colder nights as he earned a few coins by fighting in the arena, but as long as he didn't have to sleep on the floor he was satisfied. After all, sleeping on the floor was something dogs did. He had no desire to sleep where the crawling vermin could bite him and possibly infect with one disease or another.<br><br>The throbbing in his head slowly cleared. Although the morning heat had increased the intensity of his nightmare, he was also glad for the warmth, since he didn't feel his right leg as much then. The wound that the Romans had left behind when they captured him, never had the chance to heal properly, leaving an ugly scar behind. If he had one weakness, then it was his right leg.<br><br>Baersun stretched his muscles, remembering the doctrine of his tribe well. Proper warming up exercises came as a second nature to him. The past two years he had learned many new fighting skills at the various ludi that had owned him, but battle tactics of his tribe had been so ingrained in his life that he would upkeep his traditions and rituals until his last dying breath. He had no expectations to see more than one, maybe two winters, but that was okay with him. <br><br>Every day he could still lift a sword or ax would be another day he could slay more Romans. He couldn't care less in whose name it was, as long as the inbred bastards died in the most gruesome ways possible. It was bonus that the audience valued his flair of killing as prime entertainment. Baersun merely wanted to inflict the maximum pain possible and give his enemies a slow death, preferring to make their agony last as long as he could. The only times he showed mercy was when he was forced to slay a Gaul or fellow Germanic tribesman. <br><br>It didn't take long before he was summoned for the sparring. Baersun was as nude as the day he was born. He couldn't care less if he entered the training grounds like this, since he was far from ashamed of his body. It had been the way his tribe had fought, nude and proud, covered in mud and intoxicated by the blessed drugs of the druids. However, he was aware that the dress code at the ludus included loincloth, and as such he picked up the dirty white cloth and wrapped it around his nether region.<br><br>Below the South European sun, his pink Caucasian skin had turned into a magnificent bronze, contrasting sharply with his light blonde nearly white hair. The dull look in his green eyes spoke volumes of his life experience. Being twenty-six winters old, he was one of the oldest gladiators, and probably one of the most experienced warriors in the ludus. <br><br>When the whip of the Doctore cracked on the sand, he assumed the traditional opening position as he was taught in his previous ludus. Judging by the already rising heat, it promised to be a hot day. <br><br>His sparring partner this morning was a younger Gaul, who went by the name of Obix. Although he wasn't as quick as his sparring partner, Baersun relied on technique to carry him through the motions of the exercise. The Gaul was impulsive and lacked the patience of a veteran warrior, earning him a couple of taps from Baersun's wooden practice sword. The youngster regained his composure quickly enough, and recognized the message Baersun told him. <br><br>Generally the tall German wouldn't grunt more than a few words, letting his actions speak for him. He had met the Gaul only a day earlier, but the lad seemed eager enough to learn how to survive in the arena. When Obix made a particularly stupid move, Baersun gave him a kick to the leg, tackling the young gladiator and making him eat dust. <br><br>As the Gaul recovered, Baersun had a moment rest and glance at the balcony. Dominus Magnus watched them train, perhaps him in particular, and he gave the man a nod of respect. He witnessed how the girl behind him refilled his empty cup with wine. Baersun could almost taste the liquid on his tongue... He longed for the divine alcohol, feeling it burn down his throat, giving him the pleasurable buzz once more.<br><br>Unfortunately, his momentary lapse of attention caused him to get hit in the ribs by Obix, who had recovered and challenged him once more. Baersun winced in pain as the wind was knocked out of his lungs, but he recovered quickly enough and performed his own attack with a heavy grunt. <br><br>He hoped the morning training would be over soon enough, so he could rest in the shade and enjoy a meal. Perhaps he would even get to talk to Geila, the girl that he seemed to have so much in common with him. Her name sounded like those of the girls from the southern parts of Germania, and her hair color matched his own. It looked like she had been here for a while, and he wondered if she remembered any of the old tongue. It would be good to hear some familiar words.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Life at the Ludus</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Zaer Darkwail</strong> on <strong>15-10-2012, 22:03:14</strong>
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				(OOC: Just note this is first time you meet/hear about Leonidas, I intended this is his entry post and arrival to in service of Dominus Magnus)<br><br>Leonidas sat on the wooden cage on the cart which was driving on the blasted dry heat, his naturally pale skin had already once scorched by the same sun day earlier and his skin was all sensitive and itchy on shoulders and back. His arms and legs got burned already day before that and seems Leonidas is now going through stages taking on a tan in most painful fashion. He had been given minimal amount of water to survive but not prosper, as he felt weak like a kitten from being cooked alive while wearing only a loincloth. His wavy blond hair which reached to his shoulders and it itched under it.<br><br><em>I pray I have not got flees already and it's just a itchy feel of a dry skin.</em><br><br>His eyes were half-closed to narrow slits, so his steel grey eyes could be barely seen. He dozily noted his surroundings and moved and spoke very little but avoided to fall asleep, especially in this heat he could pass out and fall to eternal sleep and one thing what he was not interested in was dying.<br><br><em>I am sure the idiot will make another error and then they investigate my statement in court and realize their error, if not investigated by my mother or friends at least and pressure on it. I just need survive it to occur if gods will it.</em><br><br>The cart eventually slows down, Leonidas notices it is a estate somekind, a estate of wealthy man and he had heard whom he has been sold to; Dominus Magnus. He heard he had other gladiator slaves and he heard a familiar sounds of practices, mixed with words of taunts and curses of the practitioners. A familiar sound which comforted him somewhat as he was used similar sounds from being legionnaire. he felt cage opened and pair of strong hands grip his hands and drag him out like a sack and instantly tie his arms on leather bindings. Even if he was in weakened condition from the trip still. He felt a rough hand grab his chin and say; "Eh, quite young and pretty one....your sure this is a guy? Pretty boy here."<br><br>Leonidas, even if worn from rough travel was young, handsome and he had regularly kept himself shaved and beard did not grow easily either because of his young age or because of genes. Plus he disliked to have beard none the less. However man's comment stirred him wake enough open his eyes bit further. See a bald black man giving lecherous grin and say; "I think I am going break this one in tonight...he looks juicy." A panic settled on Leonidas! He had expected to submit to his master and obey but to get raped in his own cell when he had no chance to fight back against a foreigner who worked for pay for Magnus had not occurred! It placed his dignity over survival instantly and even weakened state he gathered enough adrenaline on pair of moves; a unexpected swift sweeping kick on black man's groin section, man howling in pain and leaning forward.....and Leonidas then leap his head towards his shoulder and snatch his teeth and jaws on man's sweaty side of his throat!<br><br>The dark skinned retainers howled second time and cursed; "<em>Verpa</em>! Get his jaws off me! He is bred roman but acts like rapid dog!" And so the retainers started unhinge Leonidas off the dark skinned retainer who had recovered from painful kick to his privates but was now struggling get Leonidas clenched jaws and teeth off from his skin without tearing him off. The curses of the retainers carried off to practice yard and draw the ire of doctore who was watching the proceedings in field but seeing everyone distracted by the curses and watching struggle. Doctore comes to the retainers and says; "What is this ruckus about? Is one slave reason for all this noise?"<br><br>However seeing that despite several attempts to break Leonidas hold; between kicking, punching, pinching his nipples and also twisting his arms or legs did not cause him unclench his jaw. As he he has already chewing and attempt tear the dark man's skin off! Also his jaws hurt and felt stuck; Leonidas could not unclench willingly even if he wanted to. Whenever he howled in pain he growled it against the skin which his teeth had taken mouthful off. They started apply clubs, whips and some directed also on his head. Hoping concussion would knock his teeth off the man. But even if one solid hit from club knocked to vision black and blurry and roll his eyes on his head his teeth remained sinked to the flesh and already blood dripping out. Doctore grew inpatient and with holding the dark skinned retainer he ordered the other retainers pull Leonidas before he chews the throat more deeply. With combined effort of four men Leonidas jaws snapped, with small piece of flesh between his teeth and dark skinned man pressing on profoundly bleeding wound while he was escorted to visit healer in the house who took care of the injured gladiators or retainer this case. <br><br>Leonidas other hand was now half-concious, bruised and still got good kicks on his ribs but doctore interfered, dead slave was useless slave and said he is going suffer in sands soon as possible. But now he was carried off being branded and later on Leonidas was grateful he was not conscious when they pressed burning hot iron on his shoulder blade with a sizzle. Then place his partly conscious form into a shadowed cell until he is checked out by doctore and healer later to determine his condition. Along with informing Magnus reason for all ruckus and inform about his new slave purchase along with a name and price, along with notion slave was born roman. Half-greek and half-roman. Also former legionnaire.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Life at the Ludus</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>whtbitch4u2own</strong> on <strong>16-10-2012, 18:06:24</strong>
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				It wasn’t easy living at the House Magnus as a slave. Amethyst had settled down very nicely at her previous owner’s palace; the ways around the house and the chores, she had learned it all and gotten used to until she was gifted over to Augustus Magnus. She’s accepted her new king with an open heart since any attempt to betray him would bring harm to her family. She’d heard stories of other slaves and how everyone had lost their loved ones in one way or another, including gladiators. As tragic as it sounded, everyone soon learned to live a life without them but the memories which keep on haunting them for the rest of their life never seemed to go away.<br><br>She usually woke up early everyday to tend to the chores around the house. She was the one to maintain house in proper cleaned form along with preparing and decorating for a special occasion that maybe scheduled. If they were expecting guests, she had to make sure there were enough food and wine as well the guest chambers must be prepared neatly for their pleasant stay at the house. Speaking of which, she was told about an event where they were expecting few guests soon. She also was told how important it was that the guests must enjoy this event because that would guarantee her King’s place in an upcoming battle. Hence, the ongoing strict preparation of gladiators at the moment.<br><br>Amethyst was blessed with a beautiful face and nice curves which caught attention of many men. Most of the days, her attire consisted of a maroon cloth that covered her front frame giving a full access to her bare back and the same colored cloth wrapped around at her waist to cover her precious part of her body in a proper manner. Her Middle Eastern skin tone and black colored hair differ from most people around the house and Rome itself made her look exotic in nature. Over the years, she’d mastered the quality to tend to her king’s needs in able to keep him happy and his guests as well in every way possible. Whether she wanted to or not, she didn’t have much choice and it was all part of her mental submission to her present life at this point to bring no harm to her family back home. She was inside the house emptying vases of old flowers and replacing them with fresh and new ones. The fresh aroma quickly filled the air all around the house. The noise of gladiator’s weapons striking each other in combat became clearer as she approached the room with attached balcony where Dominus would stand over to look down at his warriors. She loved the game where two warriors fight to claim their higher status but only thing she didn’t like was the killing. It wasn’t appropriate that the end of a finest gladiator’s life was the end the game; hence, the killing. As much as she wanted to peek out to the ground beneath, seeing Dominus accompanied by Geila on the balcony she quietly placed new flowers in the appropriate place and left the room without causing any attention.<br><br>She knew that soon she’ll have loads of chores assigned to her as the event held by the House Magnus crept closer. She was almost done with her current chore and then she was off to fix the main chambers where her king and queen slept. She knew the king was already up and so would be the queen which will give her an opportunity to fix their bed and rearrange things to its proper stand without their presence. Last thing she wanted to do was bother them in their sleep.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Life at the Ludus</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Blonde</strong> on <strong>18-10-2012, 16:50:32</strong>
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				<span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size">[<em>x</em>]</span><br>She walked back into the home, a slight sway of the hips strutted her movements. "This heat!" She hissed as she stopped, and those slaves that returned with her rushed forwards removing the palla from about her shoulders. She sighed and rolled her neck, touching her fingers to her neck. Vorena once more spent coin they really could not afford on buying herself finery for the upcoming gala hosted by her husband. There was no way that Augustus could expect to reach elevated status or be invited to Rome if their home held nothing of grandeur. And she was expected to look every inch the perfect wife, and so it called for extra purchases. She waved off the Slaves who rushed to store away the goods and Vorena heard the distant call of the whip, and her unasked question on her husbands whereabouts was answered.<br><br>Vorena walked through the manner, past the empty stone basin in the centre of the home and headed out onto the balcony. She saw Geila but paid her no regard, and the blonde seemed to retreat away as she walked out. "Husband" Vorena spoke as she brushed straight past the pale haired girl and stopped at Augustus' side. She placed a hand on his arm lightly and looked down to the Gladiators, and she smirked lightly. If she was honest she had been consumed with the thoughts of getting one of them between her thighs for some time, the thought playing out as her fingers entertained herself on bath times.<br><br>Looking over her shoulder, Vorena saw the empty wine jug and she scowled a little. "Fetch more wine" She demanded, her tone uncaring and cold.<br>"Yes Domina" Came the answer and Vorena did not acknowledge it before she looked back to Augustus.<br>"The Legatus brings with him his Uncle" She informed "And at my request, Amara brings her brother and cousin" She added. Amara was an acquaintance of Vorena, and her relatives held significant positions in office, and where listened to by those of more senior standing. Whatever it took, Vorena would seal an invitation to Rome.<br><br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size">[<em>x</em>]</span> As Vorena walked onto the balcony, Geila seemed to shrink away. The female was viscous, with a swift and strong hand. She instantly felt uncomfortable and yearned to be sent away, to rush away from her mistress. Her arms ached from holding the jug, despite its near emptiness. And then her request was fulfilled and she was sent to fetch more wine. The wine was located downstairs, in the cool storage unit. Jugs of water and wine were kept here in the attempts to keep it cold and away from heat and temptation. "Yes Domina" Geila informed and she walked from the balcony, and inside, and she relaxed her arms a little more.<br><br>Geila sighed and she made her way through the halls, the manor looking spotless and clear as it always did. The guards littered the place, and they always looked to the slaves with a lingering eye, and it repulsed Geila. She headed across to the stairwell that would take her downstairs, and she could hear the Gladiators being taken inside. Geila took the stone steps slowly, watching as the procession walked in from the scorching head. Her face was still, not offering any form of emotion to instigate anything, or cause a reaction from the Guards, However, the tall Germanic Gladiator walked in and Geila froze.<br><br>Of course she knew there was one here from her home lands, but this was the closes she had been to him. It pulled at her heartstrings, seeing his bright hair, much like her brothers. Geila couldn't help but stare at him, he reminded her so much of home. Her shoulders dropped and she opened her mouth to ask where he hailed from, but she was ushered onwards. "Move it... Unless you want to spend the night in there" Growled one of the guards laughing and Geila moved quickly into the storage, but not without looking once more to the tall blonde haired man.<br><br></span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Life at the Ludus</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Caitlin</strong> on <strong>18-10-2012, 19:47:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Baersun was thirsty and sweating. Training below the scorching sun felt as if he had entered the fire pits of Loki in the underworld. It reminded him of the battles during the hot summers against the Roman empire, however, unlike home he wasn't covered in mud. The mud tended to keep him cool and while he was armed with nothing but a double-edged ax the Romans were at a serious disadvantage with their heavy armor. Their armor and shields offered them superior protection, but the metal burned on their skin and their profuse sweating in combat left them weakened after several hours of fighting the horde. Baersun had won more than one battle by wearing the enemy down until they could barely lift a sword or raise their shield.<br><br>During the winter their fighting tactics were just as unorthodox, wearing only furs at the coldest of days, but even then still preferring to fight naked. Their exercises kept them warm, and the biting cold was a strong motivator to kill the bloody Romans as quickly as possible, so they could return to their warms tents and houses, to wife and family.<br><br>Alas... That life was now over. Instead Baersun had to fight for a Lanista, while being nothing more but property. The fights to maintain his freedom were now a thing of the past. The struggle for survival against a superior enemy was over, and the day he entered Valhalla to join Woadan at his table, and see his wife and children again, couldn't come quickly enough. <br><br>the Doctore finally called for a break a good amount of time later, and ordered him and his fellow gladiators inside.<br><br>Baersun longed for cold refreshing wine, but he knew that he had to earn such a privilege. For now he would have to settle for water.<br><br><em>“At least the morning training sobered me up,”</em> Baersun thought, as he dropped the practice weapon at its designated place.<br><br>He inspected his ribs where Obix had hit him earlier. The bruised skin was already turning into an ugly purple, serving as a reminder that thoughts of wine could get him killed in the arena. <br><br><em>“Gah, it'll heal in a week... Sooner if I can acquire the right herbs and make an ointment. Father taught me well. I only wish he was here to teach me even more. I would have made a good druid once I'm too old to fight.”</em> The pang of sorrow at that thought hurt him more than the bruise. <br><br>The loss of his village, friends and family had been heavy on Baersun. It made his blood boil with rage. He wanted to kill every Roman in sight, but at the same time he realized he had to reserve his anger for the arena, or face heavy punishment, perhaps even dishonorable death. He had not survived this long to throw away his chances for entering Valhalla. No, for now he would retrain himself until he could take vengeance on his family in the arena once more, just like the last times.<br><br>As he was guided inside, the girl he had seen on the balcony drew his attention. She reminded him of a young version of his wife, even her face shared a certain resemblance.<br><br><em>“Curious,”</em> he thought, as he gave her a nod of acknowledgment. <br><br>He knew better than trying to strike up a conversation with all these people around them, but he wished they could spend time alone sometime soon.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Life at the Ludus</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>gaggedLouise</strong> on <strong>22-10-2012, 01:17:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The morning air just seemed to stand still around her. Three weeks ago, some rain clouds and heavy breezes had come driving in from the sea, making the oaks and olive trees shake their heads in the rain. But not anymore, the silence this morning again was broken only by the faint clatter of the gladiators' swords and shields and a flock of sheep being driven out from a farm beyond the gorge. The day was likely to be hotter than yesterday, perhaps in more senses than one.Walking up from the wheatfields, Lydia could see very few people moving, and only two or three birds in the azure blue sky. With some apples and oranges inside a rough sack in one hand and a big pot of creamy milk in the other, fresh from her patron's cows, she was pacing back towards the house; the fruit was for both the house slaves and the gladiators, the milk for the common slaves only. Her hands ached slightly from bending and tugging on those teats but she brushed it off her mind; she had become quite used&nbsp; to milking cows occasionally over the last few years.<br><br>Coming between the bushes and brambles on the path up to her Sir's buildings she thought about the events coming up tonight and in the next few days. The house was being decorated with hunting trophies, flowers and garlands, the fighter athletes would be training, one or other of them might even die upon the hot sand, but she knew that she herself and the other girls might have to show off their bodies in quite intimate ways as well. During the eighteen months she had spent in this patrician’s household, Lydia had had to marshal her body to perform for entertainment together with the other slavegirls now and then. Their Lord had ordered her to tease and fondle the pretty Persian girl a few times, this had been in private, just to watch them. Afterwards he had slept with Amethyst, who was nice but also seemed to feel a little shy in front of the housefolk. It was something Lydia could understand from her own years as a slave, ever since her family had been ripped apart and she herself, her mother and the others sold like meat, she knew the sense of uprootedness that was common to so many owned serving people. She still felt young, but also older than her barely twenty-five years, and she was looking for love and ways ahead in this sunburnt grid of valleys and ridges, while also knowing what it took to survive here. Sometimes those searches seemed to lead on to just more defeats, but Lydia was not one to give in, she had never really known how to give in, and unlike some slaves she had not lost her awareness of justice, though she’d think twice before actually voicing such thoughts before free people,<br><br>She came round a couple of busts and altars to the side of the house and stepped down a stairway the top of which was hidden behind some bushes, down to the cellar level where she and her likes were kept. A warren of magazine rooms and corridors surrounded the slaves’ lodgings proper, but the stair she had taken was the only one leading directly out of the house from there, without leading up to the ground floor. At night the top of the stairwell could be shuttered with an iron grille to prevent the girls or the gladiators from escaping.&nbsp; <br><br>It felt a bit cooler down here, but the air just smelled stale, and there was a definite whiff of wine and beer in here too, she hadn’t sensed that when she went outside two hours earlier. She realized that someone must have had a bit of fun here, one or more of the gladiators and one of the girls, but what, or how much, had happened was not something she had to bother about as long as it didn’t hurt how they, male and female owned slaves, would be performing over the next few days. For now, she just proceeded to the rustic slave kitchen and placed some of the foodstuffs in order there.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Life at the Ludus</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>The Last Standing</strong> on <strong>22-10-2012, 05:20:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“Don’t overcommit to the swipe, rookie!” grunted Breno, a battle-worn veteran of the school. He sidestepped Marcus’s haphazard swing and snatched his wrist. Off balance, Marcus was sent stumbling beside Breno before receiving an unforgiving blow from the butt of the practice sword. His legs felt light and his head heavy, and before he could react, the world came rushing towards him. It slammed into him hard, splitting the coarse skin on his brow.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“I will survive the games. I will get stronger. I will live!” Marcus shouted within as he blindly reached for his opponent’s ankles. The blood from his brow trickled into his left eye, and a sea of red overlaid itself on his blurry vision. He grasped something solid and squeezed it, trying to dig his nails in, holding on in desperation. A kick to the ribs rolled Marcus onto his back and another blow to the torso forced blood up his throat. “I will live,” Marcus whispered in a raspy voice.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“You’re the weakest piece of shit to ever come to this school. Shit, you may even die in training. The dominus won’t be happy if he doesn’t get a return on his investment.” Marcus’s heart sank. Towering above him, eclipsing the sun stood the dominus, brandishing his whip.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Don’t . . .” Marcus pleaded, his arms weakly upstretched in defense.<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“I give orders around here, bastard!” The whip cracked down and Marcus froze up. In a state of sheer agony and terror, Marcus lay on his back, his eyes squeezed shut and his world a swirling blackness of pain. His fingers came to work themselves into a patch of grass. Peculiar. The training grounds were barren. And the hilt of his practice sword remained within his grasp. Fortunate. And he opened his eyes and the stark blue sky was replaced with gray. The scent of the forest danced through the air, and above him stood a man, far weaker than the dominus, but far more imposing.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Get up, rat!” Another blow to his side rolled him back onto his face.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“There’s so much grass here,” thought Marcus to himself. “It’s so nice.” The whip came crashing down on his back. He felt nothing. Peculiar.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Get the fuck up!” <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Alright.” Marcus tightened his grip on the scythe and calmly gazed upon the taskmaster. In one eye he was the same, gruesome creature Marcus always had the displeasure of looking upon. In the other, he was bathed in blood, the blood from his brow. Marcus liked the image of the latter better. The whip snapped against him again. Marcus smiled, letting some of the blood from his brow run into his mouth. Without a word he embedded the scythe into the taskmaster’s eye, and watched in amusement as the man’s body convulsed in pain, the pathetic creature bleating for help. Still, the images in his eyes didn’t match up. Marcus set out to fix that. He tackled the man and threw all his weight into driving the scythe deeper. The blood flowed faster and the voice groaned softer. The fragile bone cracked and the scythe sank deep, scraping its way down as gray matter worked its way out onto the boy’s hands. Marcus remained transfixed on the broken man, now both eyes sending the same message. Peculiar.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Marcus, what have you done?” He looked up into the face of Breno and back down at the corpse of the doctore, his face bashed in by the practice sword. His arms slumped and tears fell on the remnants of a face.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Not . . . again . . .” Weeping, his hand grew slack and the practice sword tumbled away.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His eyes blurry from tears, Marcus slowly awoke to the familiar cage and the familiar staleness. He touched his eyebrow. Still smooth. He sighed and fell back asleep.<br>
			</dd>
		</dl>
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