Hello, brave readers! Today, we step into the shoes of Alexander Julio Capitolius, a Centurion on a mysterious mission, Mars Quirinus, the last loyal Aspect of Aquilus, and Asteria of Afri, the savage princess of the Colosseum.

The Oath Of Mars, Part 7: Centuria

"Look, Julius, I saw his head split!"

"Madness! Do you truly expect me to believe that you thought he was a ghost?! You merely feared his steel! You are craven!"

"Why is he not here? Hm?!"

"He is hiding! Waiting for his moment to strike! But I will find him, and when I rip his heart from his chest, it will be beating! And I will prove to everyone what a fool you are!"

"And if I'm a fool, what are you? A non-believer, Julius?! Tell me that!"

"A non-believer?! That has nothing to do with it!"

"And yet you find it foolish to say that he was a spirit walking on the earth! There are planes more ephemeral than our own, Julius! Mars dwells among them!"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Julius walks away, throwing his arms up in the air. Alexander shouts after him.

"Let us hope you find the fairer of those planes, Julius, or you may wander as that warlord did, someday!"

Leaning back in his chair, he sighs. It had been several stressful days since then, almost a week. They had found the banner -or a banner, as it were- and did what was asked of them to it, and so the 'lemure' was appeased. They had returned to Aquilus, and soon the hostia would begin.

He didn't have long to stop it.

He didn't hate the Empire. Quite the opposite. It was his home, it's citizens his people. He loved the Emperor. But this was wrong. Slaves were common here, and the gladiator games came with the territory. There, the owners could win prestige and wealth immeasurable, and their slaves, freedom. But this? This was an abomination. In the Empire, his Empire, slaves are treated as family. To be cruel to them was a crime. Slaves could always earn their freedom, and often did; it was a rare thing indeed for someone born into slavery to die in the same. Slaves taken from military conquests were treated more harshly, to be sure- beatings or lashes were a common punishment, and they could be made a gladiator against their will, unlike domestic slaves- but they were former enemies of the Empire. Most of the Empire's neighbors simply killed those taken alive in battle. And even they could be returned to their homelands, albeit rarely, if they distinguished themselves in the arena.

But Gradivus... his slaves were treated like animals, beaten and butchered, sacrificed while still alive. In the other parts of the Empire, those untouched by his mad taint, the dead of battle were burned, and their bones ground, in a sacrifice known as the holocaustus, their noble warrior spirits returned to Mars, while living prisoners were enslaved until they could earn their emancipation by serving the Emperor's people as workers of the state or gladiators. But he either killed them where they stood, draining the life from them with that pugio of his, or corralled them into the arena here at Aquilus. There, they would fight until they die, a fate nearly unheard of outside of these walls. Maintaining a gladiator, even one who was originally a soldier, takes time and money, so most gladiators at least survived to die from the wounds of battle after losing.

As he said, he didn't hate the Empire. He didn't hate the slaves it took, or the battles it made them take part in. But...

...She had been a slave far too long. And under far too cruel a master. And now, if he didn't find some way to help her, she would die here, slaughtered like a pig by a madman who thought himself a prophet.

"...I'm coming, Asteria. I swear."

"...n-no, maria, please, not while the other sisters can hear..."

"Oh, what the hell is this?"

Asteria of Afri leaned back on her stool, sighing. She really ought to get someone else to do this, but she hasn't had a chance to speak with any of the new captures yet. Word around the arena says that Gradivus himself had this one brought to his quarters, and they talked for some time. If the big man himself wanted what this woman knew, she was damn sure she wanted to know, too. But for now, she had to wait out the elixir's effects, a task made all the more tedious by the woman's seemingly... vivid dreams.

"w-wait, you know that's my...!"

"Neptune's soggy beard, will someone get me a bucket of fucking water?!"

Setting one of her fellow slaves scrambling with the shout, she rips the straw pillow out from the Peacekeeper's head and wraps it around her own. What did she do to deserve this?

'...What did I do to deserve any of this?'

Suddenly somber, she rises. She's not going anywhere. Neither of them are. Might as well take a walk. Maybe see what's stocking the animal cages these days.

Was she ever free? What's it like? Must be hard, not having a schedule, a routine. In her earliest memories, there was something similar. She never liked mother, but the maids were kind, combed her hair for her. And father...

He was just a distant memory, by now. But she still remembers those rough hands on her cheek. That rugged smile. Asterion the Stag, the greatest gladiator to ever live. Her blood, her fate, even her name, it all came from him. 'Asteria', they called her, like she was his sequel. She can't remember what he called her, before he went away for the last time. Her real name.

Shaking away her errant thoughts, she looks around. She was in a sizable ovular pit, with an iron grate for new arrivals across the top, a locked entrance to the arena proper on the inside wall, and eight cells and one door for the guards on the other. On each tip, the oval led to a tiny, cramped hallway, leading to an identical chamber. with each cell capable of holding a half-dozen slaves, and eight cells contained within each of the many chambers that ringed the arena's center, the grand Coliseum of Aquilus could hold hundreds of prisoners at once.

As she entered the next oblong chamber, one calloused hand slid along the stone, till it was stone no longer, and that same hand wrapped along a tall iron bar, one of many separating the war-beasts enclosure from the slaves. Instead of an entrance to the arena, this chamber's inner door led to a sloping ramp, descending down into stables for the numerous exotic beasts that served as fodder for the gladiator games. The ceilings of the beast's cells are what formed the floor of the arena proper, so the corpses could simply be tossed down for the carnivorous ones to eat. Stepping through the door- left unlocked by a guard- she headed for her friend's chambers, passing along several sizable enclosures filled with lions, tigers, bears, and hippos, all thankfully barred from the central hallway she traveled along by sturdy portcullises. Arriving at her destination, she turned to meet a familiar face. Well, if you could call that a face. In her father's tongue, what little of it she remembers, she speaks.

"Sidee tahay, Typhon?"

Being the beast that he is, the great grey bulk could offer no reply to her question, but he was happy to see her either way, by the way he reached his long, wrinkled neck through the bars to meet her palm. She had never met anyone who knew exactly what he was, but some of the more intellectual slaves to pass through said that his kind were much, much more common before the cataclysm. He was gigantic, bigger than any animal she had ever seen before, but he was no mindless brute. He was one of the cleverest animals she had ever seen, his colossal body holding a mind that could match a young child's. She had seen him draw pictures in the sand, and sometimes she drew with him through the bars. This was Typhon, the only friend she had ever had. The only thing that she knew was safe from her trident's tines.

For Typhon was no ordinary beast of battle, to be slaughtered for sport by the bestiarii. He was Mar's Gradivus personal war steed, far too precious to be squandered in the arena. Even now, a fresh scar on his leg has begun to fade, from a battle some weeks ago on the southern border. Strange, how the greatest weapon of her most hated enemy was also her most steadfast companion.

"Asteria? You asked for water? Is it for Typhon?"

Turning to the voice, she shook her head.

"The new girl. She was mumbling things I'd rather not hear. I've decided to accelerate her recovery."

"O-oh."

This was Lamarchus, another new arrival, a mathematician from New Hellas. Enslaved not as a Gladiator, but a secretary, to keep record of the Colosseum's upkeep and the comings and goings of slaves. Due to his noncombat role, she was starting to get attached to him as well. And he made a good errand boy either way. Taking the bucket from his skinny little hands, she nodded.

"Thanks, Lamarchus."

"W-wait," the Hellene said, suddenly realizing the implications of her words. "You mean to tell me that a new arrival is muttering a language you understand in her sleep?"

"Yeah. The lingua plebis, actually."

"What?! I-is she local?!"

"Fuck no. I haven't seen anyone like her in my life. Another reason I'm eager to wake her up. Guessing your coming, huh? You Hellenes do love your mysteries."

All the enslaved scribe could do is stammer as he followed Asteria away from the animal cages, back to the mysterious newcomer's cell.

Mars Quirinus was having a bad day. Her stays at Aquilus had to be her least favorite part of her new position as Aspect of the Praetorians, and the intrigue and resultant paranoia she had perhaps unwisely submersed herself in hardly helped matters. She could have been in her lavish private quarters, wearing silks and drinking wine, but no, here she was, stewing pears in the middle of the woods. She could always get a poison taster, of course, but all that'd do is force her foes to adopt more direct methods.

Of course, she had no right to complain. Rome did not hand her titles to those who wanted it, nor those who deserved. Only those who could do the most with it. The Emperor himself had decided that she was the most fit to lead her brothers and sisters in their duty, and he knew best. And perhaps, if he had picked someone else, someone less loyal, Gradivus and his goons would be ready to move on the capital by now.

She couldn't send a letter, needless to say Gradivus would have it intercepted, but she needed to tell him. What she's seen here did not merely prove to her Gradivus' heretical beliefs, nor his twisting and molestation of her Empire's proud laws, but his out-and-out treachery.

One of her Praetorians had overheard him talking to a capture from the north. He spoke of the Emperor as a fool, a coward to be overthrown. Perhaps Gradivus would say she lies, but the Emperor would know the truth. She had saved his life from traitors before, after all.

"Keep your eyes up, legionnaire."

"Y-yes, my aspect! Ow..."

Wincing from the pain in her back, her fellow praetorian sits straighter.

"Why do I have to go with you on these expeditions, again?"

"Because you owe me your life, and you're unlikely to betray me as a result. That, and I could kill you easily if I had too."

"Oh."

Legionnaire Delilah was still recovering from her visit to the lictor, but it was far better a punishment than she could ever hoped to suffer otherwise.

"...Why did you save me? Is it because I'm like-"

"Me? Because were both women, or both Misrian? Or both praetorians? No. The law does not play favorites. Nor do I. I saved you because this is an abomination, and you ought not be punished for lessening it."

Looking back through the trees, towards Aquilus, she sighs.

"Aquilus, Gradivus, the hostia, his twisted game disguised as a ritual, it's all wrong. Our Emperor bore his heresies, his strange cult, because it brought us results. Gradivus is one of the most brilliant, most ferocious, most passionate generals our land has seen over the course of it's history, and for decades, he brought Rome triumph against those who would hurt her. But now he turns that drive, that fanaticism, to his own people. To the Empire. And if we do nothing to stop it, he will twist the glory of the Empire into something much darker. Or, failing that, tear her apart in a foolish civil war."

Turning back to the boiling pot, she sniffs. Not exactly a boar roast, but it'll fill their stomachs.

"I hope to slip away from this place and return to the Capital come the hostia's commencement. If you have any sense, you'll join me."

Taken aback at her offer, the Misrian soldier's gaze widens.

"Join you? What, am I your second now? I didn't expect to climb the ranks this quickly."

Pausing, she adds, somewhat sheepishly, "Especially not for falling out the back of a cart..."

"You're trustworthy, Legionnaire, and that's a start."

Ladling some of the stew and tasting it, she nods, and turns back to the soldier.

"Take some of this. You deserve something for the time you've spent here."

"...Of course. Thank you, my Aspect."

Each taking an earthenware bowl, they settled down for their meager dinner, in the fading woodland light.

"GUH! SHIT!"

Violently ripped from the most pleasant dream, Elizabeth tumbles off her cot to the sandy ground, soaked in cold water.

"Malakas! She does speak the lingua plebis! Unless 'shit' mean something else in her tongue..."

"What?! What?!"

Hands blindly fumbling at her hip for her dagger, Elizabeth finds nothing.

"Calm down. Only water, I promise."

"Who...Who are you?!"

Staring up at the two from her place in the sand, Elizabeth sits up, leaning groggily against the edge of the rickety little cot she had been lying on previously. On the right side was a skinny little man wearing a plain white tunic, with an unruly mass of brown hair and matching, inquisitive eyes. And to her right stood a lean, well-muscled lioness of a woman, with a thick iron Manica on her left arm, an ornate trident in her right, and perhaps the darkest skin Elizabeth had ever seen. Leaning the weapon against the wall, she holds her now empty hands up slowly.

"Take it easy, newcomer. I'm Asteria of the Afri, and this is Lamarchus, of New Hellas. We don't mean you any harm. At least, not yet."

"Asteria!"

"What? I'm just being honest."

Leaning back further from the two, Elizabeth catches her breath, calms herself, and asks a question she thinks she already knows the answer too.

"Honest? Honest about what?"

"Well... you speak the lingua plebis, that's what we call your tongue. The common folk of our lands speak it, but the soldiers and the politicians use the lingua patricii, or Latin. You speak that too?"

"...Y-yes. Why?"

"Well, you know what 'gladiator' means?"

"...Yes?"

"Congratulations, you're a gladiator now. Welcome to the Colosseum of Aquilus, newcomer. Any day now, you and me could be slated to square off, and only one of us is walking away from that. So yeah, I don't mean you any harm. Yet. Get yourself in order, and Lamarchus'll show you around."

"I will?"

"Yeah."

With that, she walks away, back to the animal cages. Rising up to sit back down on her moist cot, she looks to Lamarchus.

"Real charmer, isn't she?"

"You musn't blame her. She's been here longer than anyone, or so I've been told. And this isn't a good place to be for any span of time. As she said, welcome to Aquilus, Lady...?"

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth Morley."

"An odd name."

"As is Asteria. Or Lamarchus, for that matter."

"Not around here."

"Asteria?"

"No, Lamarchus. Here, let me help you up."

Taking the hand, she rises shakily to her feet.

"God's blood, what did they do to me?"

"A new innovation, from what I've seen. An elixir that causes or prolongs sleep. From what I've gleaned off the manifests, it's made using the pressed oil of seaweed and Mandrake extract from Misr. It's effective, but the aftereffects are hardly pleasant. Or, so I've heard."

"Well, let me tell you, you heard right, Lamarchus."

Leaning against the rugged stone wall, she sighs.

"Escapes wouldn't happen to be terribly common, would they?"

"Escapes? Yes. Successful escapes?..."

He trails off, having said all he needs too. Eyes turning skyward, to the pristine iron lattice that formed the ceiling of the central chamber, Elizabeth shakes her head.

"And what becomes of those who commit the former and not the latter?"

"Well, I've never actually seen it myself, but I'm told their knees and fingers are broken, and they are set loose in the Colosseum. With jackals."

Her hand against the wall balls into a fist.

"Delightful. Where can I get some bloody water? In my mouth, that is?"

"This way, Elizabeth. They've got a well for us down here. Maybe you could tell me of your people on the way? Neither me or Asteria have had a chance to speak with any of the new captures yet."

Taking a long drink from the crude bowl in her hands, Elizabeth sighs, parched throat finally quenched.

"And that's about it. I hope I wasn't boring you, my dear. I spin a better yarn without a splitting headache."

Sitting on the rough-hewn rim of the well, Lamarchus shakes his head vigorously.

"By no means! In our land, south of what you call the Skyrakers, it's always been a great mystery, the Empire's origins. To the natives of our lands, they simply appeared one day, with steel and fire, carving a place for themselves out of their neighbors. All their territory was once the lands of New Hellas, of Misr, or the Ajuran sultanate. It was only logical to assume they came from beyond Olympus, but until the discovery of Mars' Path, it was thought impassable."

Elizabeth raises an eyebrow at the new name.

"Mars' Path? What's that?"

"What? You mean you slept the whole ride through? No wonder you've got such a headache, Gradivus must've given you enough to knock Typhon out."

That left her with yet another question among many, but she decided to do things in order and let him finish his explanation first.

"Right... Well, simply put, Mars' Path is a cave. Large enough to send an army through, passing through the whole of Olympus. Even with a constant march, only stopping for sleep, the passage takes three days one way, all in total darkness, save torches and lanterns. You must've been out for half a week!"

Well, now it was Elizabeth's turn to be surprised. Control over her body still stymied by her exposure to the Empire's sleeping elixir, it was all she could do to keep herself from dropping her bowl.

"...Well, I certainly feel like it."

Concerned, the New Hellene reaches a hand out for the Peacekeeper.

"Are you alright, Elizabeth? I haven't a clue how a dose of elixir such as the one you've been exposed too might affect your body. Especially since... well, there's a bit more gray in your hair than most gladiators I've met."

Smiling weakly, she shakes off the concerned hand on her shoulder.

"I'll be fine, dear. Just give me some time."

"Well, we haven't got any. Try this."

Jumping in surprise, Elizabeth shakily turns around to see Asteria, holding a bag of something in one hand, and her trident and buckler together in the other.

"Huh? Wha-"

Asteria shoves the bag in her face. Instantly, her senses are assaulted by the scent of sal ammoniac with all the finesse of a dane axe, almost sending her stumbling back into the well.

And then Asteria slaps her.

Sent to one knee by the blow, she shoots back up, now quite awake, and grabs at her hip in blind anger, reaching for a sword that didn't exist, sending Lamarchus shriveling back into one corner of the room.

"How dare you?!"

"Good. Angry's good."

Snorting at the anger on her face, Asteria leans her trident against a nearby wall before tossing her a very familiar helmet, followed by her twin blades.

"What's her name, Lamarchus?"

"Eliza-"

Stepping closer, Elizabeth cuts him off, eyes locked on the exceedingly rude gladiatrix.

"ELIZABETH."

"We're on, Elizabeth. You, me, and some imports from down south. Lions."

Leaning back just a bit at the explanation, she sighs. The gladiator's attitude could use some work, but true enough, she doesn't have time to rest, it seems.

"Lions? My land has record of them, but I've never seen one in real life before."

"Well, you'll get a real close look soon. They like to put newcomers up against beasts, give them some experience in the pits before setting them up against people. I've got your back..."

Turning around, she takes up her weapon and small shield once more as she sets off for the arena.

"...This time."

"I hear you say Asteria's got a match, Legionnaire?"

"Yes, my decanus. Doesn't look like much of an interesting show, though. Just some ragged old cats from Afer. No trouble for her, but I hear the slave Gradivus had taken up to his quarters is fighting with her, all the same. Why?"

"What? Don't tell me you don't know, Marcus? Our Alexander's got an eye on for that ebon beauty! Ears prick up whenever he so much as catches a whiff of her."

"Huh? Really, sir?"

Without another word, Alexander turns tail and strides out of the barracks, out into the stone hall, to one legionnaires roaring laughter and the others plaintive attempts at an apology. It was just a beast hunt, of course, but whenever she went out there it set him on edge. At least she's got some backup this time.

What to do, what to do? Damn it all, he never expected to be tied up in something like this. Damn his mother for not telling him sooner. He was a soldier, not a saboteur. He couldn't let her die like this, not now.

An oath is not lightly broken.

He needed to be out there. To see. To offer his prayers for her, as little a traitors plea meant to Mars.

Absorbed in his own thoughts, he walks, blindly, into the t-shaped juncture of the hall ahead of him, and right into a black-iron cuirass coming from the right.

Stumbling back, he curses and looks up-

-To see none other than Mars Gradivus himself.

"M-my Aspect! Hail to Mars!"

Unaffected by the collision, Gradivus looks down, calmly, at the centurion.

"...Hail to Mars, Centurion Alexander. Are you alright? Such missteps are beyond you, or so I thought."

"O-of course, my Aspect, I was merely on my way to the stands, to watch the show. I hear Asteria of the Afri is fighting today."

Gradivus raises an eyebrow at his nervous tone.

"Do you worry for her? A fan? She is well loved by the people, indeed. Just like her father."

A nervous smile crosses Alexander's face, a well-faked twinge of embarrassment crossing his expression.

"Ah... It is as you say, my Aspect."

"Hm. You needn't fret, my son. Her strength will see her prevail."

Suddenly, Gradivus puts a hand on his shoulder, and it takes all his self-control not to jump at the touch.

"Come, sit with me. The ima cavea offers a finer view than the public stands. More comfortable, too. I've been meaning to speak with you for some time now, anyway."

Talk? There was perhaps no one in the world he was less eager to speak with right now than Mars Gradivus, but he could hardly refuse, at least not without arousing his suspicion.

"...Thank you, my Aspect. I am honored."

Gradivus removed his bearded helmet, revealing a scarred, half-blind face and graying hair. Tucking the helmet under one arm, the nigh-mythical general turned back to the path ahead, into the core of Aquilus, and the grand amphitheater that lies at it's heart. Hesitating for just a moment, Alexander follows behind, out into the sunlight. Out into the stands of the Colosseum.

Before him, from his place upon the raised ring of seats that overlooked it, there was a great oval, with the center and borders both composed of glittering sand, separated by a smaller ovular ring of rusty iron lattices, from which he could hear the endless racket of a hundred different predators, hungry and ready to kill. Two gates stood at either narrow tip of the oval, where the prisoners, beasts, or both would be herded into the arena to fight. The seats themselves were divided into three tiers, the ima cavea being the closest to the pit and the lowest to the ground, allowing those allowed to sit there the clearest view of the fight. Some ways to the right, along rows upon rows of stone seating, was Mars Gradivus' personal booth, cushioned seats shaded from the harsh sunlight by a layer of fine dyed silk. Dropping into his favorite seat and taking up a goblet of wine placed beside it less than a minute before by a now absent slave, Gradivus sighs and waves Alexander over.

"Take any seat you so desire, my son. I'd have had two glasses of wine set out, but I didn't know I'd be having an visitor."

"You don't need to worry about me, sir. Shade and comfort is already more than enough."

He awkwardly places himself upon a velvet cushion. Swishing the deep red liquid around in his gilded cup, Gradivus looks down to the sandy pits.

"Are you old enough to have seen her father in the pits, Alexander?"

"Asterion the Stag? No, sir, I'm afraid not."

"Really? You're younger than I thought. A shame. Those were better times. The Empire still understood it's purpose, to bring order to the wildlands to the south. He was one of the fruits of our labors, a vicious mamluk of the Ajuran kingdom."

With one gauntlet-clad hand, he tapped the scar across the pit where his left eye once sat.

"He gave me this. A more thrilling battle I've never known since."

"I imagine they're still writing plays about it as we speak, my Aspect."

"Hm! I'm glad we don't hold such performances in this amphitheater, then."

He looks like he's about to continue, but a soldier approaches from the stands.

"My Aspect! The slaves are in place. On your orders, the fanfare shall sound, and the match will begin."

Smiling, Gradivus looks around the Colosseum, at the thronging masses taking their seats on the sun-warmed stone.

"Why delay? Let it begin, my son. Give the order!"

"Yes, my Aspect!"

Taking a horn from his hip, the centurion put it to his lips and blew, sending a deep, resounding echo through the whole arena. The simple tone was followed by a more complex pattern, as the aeneatores heard the signal and responded in kind, drowning out even the clamoring of the crowds with their cornua. Rising from his seat, Gradivus takes up a brass megaphone, like a horn, only with a mouthpiece for speaking instead of blowing. With it, Mars Gradivus booms, voice carrying out over the amphitheater, years of speechmaking and leading armies giving him the lungs and intonation to make his voice heard even from the other side of the arena.

"My sons! My daughters! My loyal fellows of Rome! Today, we gather, and look with awe upon our champions! Today, the greatest warriors of our united lands gather to prove their strength to Mars, and earn a place at his side! Today, we bless the coming of a new campaign! For too long, we have been content to let the lands beyond our borders rot and moulder, debased by the corruption of chaos! But no more! Mars has shown us the path to the north, and beyond we shall find a new world! A land torn by war and atrocity! But we will save them! Give them order! Give them unity! And when the lands to the north lie quelled, we will turn our eyes south, to the barbarian tribes of the great desert wastes, and even further beyond! That is the holy duty given to us by Mars! And it is by his blessing that it shall be done! And in so doing, we will become legend!"

He pauses, and looks over the assembly before him. The soldiers, the young men who looked to him as a god, whooped and cheered, mind afrenzy with thoughts of glory and holy triumph. Even the nobles in their fine togas applauded, if only as lip-service. No matter. The warriors of the Empire were with him, and that was all he needed. He wouldn't turn to the north, in truth, not yet, anyway, but these soldiers would follow him all the same, whether it be through Mars' Path or through the Capital's streets.

"But before we walk into myth, Mars requires of us sacrifice! A oath of loyalty, an offering of fealty! A gift... of blood! And today, the first of that holy tribute shall be given! Behold!"

He raises his hands, the signal to open the western portcullis. With a great rattling of metal, two warriors were revealed.

"He rather likes talking, doesn't he?"

"And his lackeys like hearing him. You ready?"

Twirling her twin blades, Elizabeth smiles.

"But of course. I've never fought a lion, but if they're anything like tigers, I'll be fine."

"What's a tiger?"

They were cut off by the rumbling of the opening gate, and the collective, blood-thirsty roar of hundreds.

"He'll introduce us, babble about Mars some, and let them loose. Keep a good grip on those blades."

"This isn't my first fight."

"Yeah."

Stepping out into the sun light, Elizabeth looks to the silk-laden booth from which Gradivus spoke.

"Look upon our champions! Vicious warriors hailing from lands far beyond our own! Cloaked in hushed cloth and shadow, comes Elizabeth, of the northern lands beyond Olympus! Look upon her bravery, for she carries neither shield nor plate, bearing twin blades and relying only on her finesse and wits to save her from death's jaws! Glory to her, in this life or the next!"

Pausing just for a moment to allow the crowd their moment to cheer for the gladiator, Gradivus spreads his arms wide.

"She is a stranger to this place, but not this one! Come forth... Asteria of the Afri!"

Walking forward without a word, the sight of her set the stands rippling and roaring.

"Does she need an introduction, my friends?! Is she not already known to you, to all of Rome?! Only daughter of Asterion the Stag, greatest enemy our Empire has ever faced?! Greatest champion of her time, slayer of a thousand enemies, taker of a thousand heathen lives?!"

Elizabeth looks to Asteria, raising an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Lets get this done."

Elizabeth had thought her stance would be similar to a Valkyrie's, with her choice of weapons, but as she prepared herself for the fight, Elizabeth saw something quite different. Spreading her feet wide, she flips the trident around so the tip was pointing at the ground, holding her buckler in front of her chest.

"Don't know what a buckler's going to do for you against a lion, but you're the 'taker of a thousand heathen lives' here."

"Yeah, I am, so shut up."

Elizabeth looks like she was about to reply, but she was interrupted by the metallic grating at the opposite side of the arena. The second portcullis was opening.

"Facing them today are the noble beasts of the southlands! With golden hide and fanged maw, he is the vicious jungle king of Afer! And alongside him stand his loyal retinue! Behold!"

As the gates opened, a great, hulking beast stepped out, all muscle and fur. Head turned back, it growled at something in the shadows- it's handler, if the glow of a red-hot poker from the darkness was any indication. Following it was several others, the same size, but lacking the impressive ruffle of hair around it's neck. Adjusting her grip on her sword and dagger, Elizabeth grits her teeth.

"Guessing the fluffy one is the king, not the retinue?"

"Uh-huh, but the girls always attack first."

"Girls?"

"Yeah. They try to get behind you so, uh, don't let 'em."

"Well, you've got my back, haven't you?"

"No?"

"Well, you kind of need me, what with the bloody lions!"

"I kind of don't. I've killed four lions by myself before. Just watch your back."

"Why, you-"

"BEGIN!"

With the bellowing of a horn, the last lion was forced out into the sunlight, and with a screeching slam, the two entrances were shut. The game had begun.

It was nearing twilight. They were almost done with their scrounged-up dinner.

"My Aspect, do you truly think that Gradivus and Ultor intend to betray the Emperor? I've... well, never liked Ultor, in truth, but Gradivus? He may be cruel to the captives of the arena, but he at least cares for his people."

At first, all Quirinus does is grunt, looking up at the sky. Then, slowly, her expression softens, and she speaks.

"He cares for his soldiers. He knows that to win the throne, the army must be on his side. He cares not for the farmer or the merchant or the noble, nor even the priest. He cares not for the laws of our Empire, neither the old ones, the bones of the land he has sworn to protect, nor the new, which chart it's rightful future. He believes that all a country is worth is the cold steel and warm flesh that protect it. But he is wrong."

She looks back to her legionnaire, suddenly impassioned.

"My Emperor, our Emperor... he has chosen the way of peace. No more conquests. No more slaughters. Some say that he chose this from cowardice, some say it was complacency, but I know him. I stood at his side for a long time. He knew cruelty under his father, same as our country did, same as the lands on our borders. It taught him what his patriarch never knew, the value of mercy and compassion. He has decided to end it, and so it will end. For he is the Emperor, and all who follow the law of Rome serve him. That is my duty, and the duty of all loyal citizens of the Empire."

Legionnaire Delilah sits there for quite awhile. And then she snorts.

"Vah, your as good a speechmaker as Gradivus when you put your mind to it."

"Eh? Oh. I'm sorry, when I speak of the Emperor, I get... passionate."

"You must respect him a great deal, my Aspect."

"Of course. All true Romans do."

"Well, it's a bit more than that, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Um, nothing, my Aspect."

Quirinus leans forward, eyes narrowing.

"I don't think it was nothing, Legionnaire."

Delilah flinches under the sheer intensity of the Aspect's voice. Her back was starting to throb again, all of a sudden.

"Well... you see... well, you always speak of being by his side -as his bodyguard, of course- and you revere him so... and..."

"And?"

"W-well... he's somewhat infamous for never taking a... y'know..."

"I know?"

"...taking a, uh, consort."

"..."

"..."

Quirinus leans back.

"I'm ending this conversation."

"Y-yes, my Aspect!"

She sits there, still for some time. Then, she pours the last of the broth over the flame, dousing it.

"It's about time you head back," she says.

"J-just me, my Aspect?"

"Yes, Legionnaire. I'm sleeping among the trees."

"...What?"

"Assassins can't find me here, Legionnaire. Until Gradivus is in chains, I will not touch a pillow from that place, nor eat of it's food, nor drink wine from it's casks. Why bother stewing pears in the woods if one of Ultor's wretched little sneaks opens my throat in my sleep? Might as well sup on poison."

"Well, if that is your decision... Then I wish you luck, my Aspect. I think I will take your offer. When you are ready, please, take me to the Capital with you."

Rising, Quirinus approaches the other Praetorian and offers her hand.

"I swear."

Taking the offered hand, Delilah shakes it.

"Thank you, my Aspe-"

And suddenly, she was on the ground, face first in the grass with a great weight pressing down. She could hear the clamor of metal on metal above her, and something like the rattling of chains. Quirinus was cursing up a storm and struggling with another, similarly metallic opponent.

Then, she hears a voice. Speaking the lingua plebis. Shouting it, actually.

"Hit her, Garth, hit her!"

"Wha's it look like I'm bloody doin'?!"

"Away from me, foul... BARBARIAN!"

With a roar of exertion, Quirinus hurls her chainmail-coated assailant to the ground. Delilah's own opponent, however, was still lying atop her, arms around her own.

But she could still move her neck. Pushing her face into the earth as much as she can, she brings it back up, the back of her head smashing into their nose. The ambusher's grip loosening for just a moment, Delilah rips an arm free and drives her elbow into their liver. Then, rolling, she throws herself free of the hold and scrambles to her feet, drawing her gladius as Quirinus readies her own.

She meets a familiar face.

"...You! I took a dozen lashes from a scourge because of you!"

"Delilah, are you saying these are the escaped prisoners?!"

"Yes, my Aspect!"

The large man who punched her off the wagon had only his fists, but he looked like he knew how to use them as he backed away and circled around Mars Quirinus. The woman who bled at the mouth speaks back in Latin, bearing a hefty stick aloft ready to strike.

"We're here to get our friends back, you slaving villains!"

Quirinus grits her teeth. How many more escapees were wandering these woods? If they had their senses about them, not many, but who knew how important retrieving prisoners was to this culture they had found beyond the mountains? Quirinus shouted out in the lingua plebis, eyes locked on the man.

"We are even in number and greater in arms! Surrender, and I will let you flee to your homeland! I have no interest in filling Gradivus' cages!"

The man speaks, a strange accent on his lips as he belts out the lingua plebis in turn. Where did they learn such a thing?

"Like hell! We're gettin' Elizabeth back, th' commander an' everyone else, too!"

"Commander?"

Without a reply, Garth charges, fist pulled back for a haymaker. She readies herself to intercept the telegraphed blow, but it was a feint. Stopping just short of her, Garth kicks at the fireplace, sending a spray of still-hot ashes in her eyes. Closing them, she avoids being blinded, only to catch the follow-up overhand blow from her enemy right on top of the head, almost sending her to her knees. Garth takes a moment to turn away from her and instead hurl the cooking pot hung over the fireplace right at Delilah's head, sending her off balance and letting Anna get a good hit over the head with her branch, the legionnaire stumbling away into a treetrunk and collapsing. With a roar, Quirinus hurls her Gladius, pinning the Warden to a tree by her dirtied standards, and ducks low, arms wrapping around Garth's waist as she tackles him into one of the many great volcanic boulders scattering the lowlands of Olympus. She rains blow upon blow into the Conqueror's helmet, hands protected by her gauntlets. Forcing him to his knees, she brings one of her own back and drives it into his dented faceplate, once, twice, then again, and he goes slack, beaten unconscious, just in time for Anna to rip free of her blade, and arm herself with it. Circling around the campfire, keeping it between herself and her armed opponent, Quirinus retrieves Delilah's blade from the grass and shouts at the warden.

"Come then, barbarian, meet your heathen god!"

Lunging with the shortsword, Anna stabs at her, two hands on the blade. Sidestepping and knocking the blade aside with her own, she swings her offhand arm down in a hammerblow, sending the woman onto her front, and the blade spiralling out of her hands. Rolling over, Anna attempts to recover, only to be stopped by the descending boot of Mars Quirinus, Aspect of the Praetorians, pinning her to the ground by her throat. She looks down at the choking warden for a moment before turning to her companion.

"Delilah? Are you alright?"

Rising to her feet, she leans against a tree.

"I...I think so..."

"Good. I want you to return to Aquilus and get some help. I'll keep watch over the-"

"LOOK OUT, MY ASPECT!"

Suddenly, Delilah charges forward, tackling her to the ground just as something very, very big jumps overhead. Scuttling away, the Warden rises to her feet, and retrieves the Gladius that had been knocked from her hands. She was breathing raggedly, shoulders slumped, but a smile was on her face, and hope on her voice as she said two words;

"Commander Marius!"