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The first day of the gathering of the mighty and powerful passes in confusion. Without Caesar to direct it, everyone is screaming to be heard over the noise, only to increase it and make it harder for the man next to him to make himself heard in turn.
Then a voice is heard, aiming its insults at another senator.
“Senator Kessobahn, you are nothing but a filthy foreigner! Time abroad has spoiled you! Why, couldn’t you stick to the vineyards of the West(eros)? How dare you speak out and lecture us on the way our Republic should be run?”
“I’m of pure Roman descent,” the accused answers, fainting slightly. “What is mine is mine through blood and sweat and tears and good iron!”
Other voices mix in, and the situation is bound to get violent when Cicero suddenly turns to Octavianus, in response to a sneer in his direction by the boy. Opposite him, Marc Anthony smiles, raising his winecup in a mock salute to his adversary in the race for the fortunes and supporters of dead Caesar. An wave of sound and threats washes over Caesar’s young heir. The most volatile of the young man’s opponents seizes his toga, pulling him to him, eyes wide open and forehead creased with fury.
“You, me little lad, are going down. Down, I tell you!”
Octavian struggles, but he is no match for a man three times his age and twice his size.
As others try to pull the two apart, the brawny aggressor is thrown back. The pushing match escalates when Octavian’s followers draw daggers and throw themselves at him, slashing his left arm, then hammering the daggers into his chest… only to be stopped by the clang of a bronze breastplate.
From under his toga, the man draws a notched gladius, a far superior weapon with greater reach and a vicious edge. The attackers back off, and the man laughs. “I gave my blood for the glory of the Republic. The people cheered me, for they know that I did what I did for Rome. They still know that. You, you are all a bunch of cowards. You were cowards when I led our armies, you are cowards now, that an unblooded stripling is scheming to take over Caesar's heritage, eyeing that which lies within his grasp: the entire Republic.” With those words, he backs away, kicking open the large doors to the Forum, shoving aside the town crier, and disappearing in the mass.
There is no lynch.
If no-one is lynched:
The first day of the gathering of the mighty and powerful passes in confusion. Without Caesar to direct it, everyone is screaming to be heard over the noise, only to increase it and make it harder for the man next to him to make himself heard in turn.
Then a voice is heard, aiming its insults at another senator.
“Senator Kessobahn, you are nothing but a filthy foreigner! Time abroad has spoiled you! Why, couldn’t you stick to the vineyards of the West(eros)? How dare you speak out and lecture us on the way our Republic should be run?”
“I’m of pure Roman descent,” the accused answers, fainting slightly. “What is mine is mine through blood and sweat and tears and good iron!”
Other voices mix in, and the situation is bound to get violent when Cicero suddenly turns to Octavianus, in response to a sneer in his direction by the boy. Opposite him, Marc Anthony smiles, raising his winecup in a mock salute to his adversary in the race for the fortunes and supporters of dead Caesar. An wave of sound and threats washes over Caesar’s young heir. The most volatile of the young man’s opponents seizes his toga, pulling him to him, eyes wide open and forehead creased with fury.
“You, my little lad, are going down. Down, I tell you!”
Octavian struggles, but he is no match for a man three times his age and twice his size.
As others try to pull the two apart, the brawny aggressor is thrown back. Others quickly seperate him from his assailants. After that particular bit of near violence, no-one is in the mood to continue shouting. Tempers need to be cooled down, drowned in wine, soothed by whispers, massaged away by the skillful hands of bodyslaves. An evening of orgies and luxurious dinners awaits, and the lure of backroom intriges, so much more civilized, but potentially so much more deadly than a straight out brawl on the Senate floor.
There is no lynch, it is now night.
This post has been edited by Path-Shaper: 06 January 2009 - 05:45 PM
but he has been hammering so long on Serc that he can;t back out or down, I guess 
Should I post that he was lynched? Or leave people believing he was saved by a deus ex machina?
