Pax Vampira

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Gauis showed no change of expression upon being offered the Druid's token. Rather, he went back to resting his cheek on his fist, as if he had expected a more clear declaration of intent and importance. After a short while, it seemed that he was intent on speaking, but the abrupt appearance of a high-standing lady interrupted his train of thought. His lip curled, the subtlest of motions, and he cast a withering glance at Livia.

"Domina Drusilla. A very convenient entrance." He leaned back into his chair, arms on the rests of the marble seat, a sign that his interest and patience had suddenly begun to drain to nothing. A lady who had come into the Roman aristocratic strata, but for no discernible overt reason. Many times he had contemplated her assassination, but every time his instincts had stopped him. He was almost afraid of confronting her head on. Marcella had turned up nothing useful. Maybe she was useless. But it was certain that behind her hovered considerable force, a mist that at moment could solidify into a craggy exterior upon which water would break.

The Senator leaned forward, his hair spilling over his shoulders. His next words were punctuated, almost curt. "The Gaulish tribes to the west are fragmented and always infighting. I can not recognize your Maerlon as the central authority of the Gaulish people." He picked up the trinket, turning it over in his hands. A fine piece, and praiseworthy indeed, coming from such uncivilized lands, but nothing impressive if it had come from within Rome's borders.

"You must either give me your voice, and I will guarantee that only my ears will hear it -" a pointed remark at the other occupant - "or you will have to depart, your edict unheard." A rustle of iron plates from behind the doors to the chamber. Accidental, or ...
 
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ALEXANDRIA​

At last he had time to catch his breath. But even time would not permit his heart to slow.

Marius held as common truth the notion that gods once walked with men. Of late they had receded behind the heavens, but left their angels in the guise of Vampires. As a veteran of the Legion he had been commanded and instructed by things much more than human. And yet... this creature before him now... this beast he had followed, like Theseus to the Minotaur, was something else again.

Of all the whispers flooding the empire of Cleopatra's rise, no darker tale pervaded than that of Anubis... the general... the monster... the man who thought himself a god... the god who thought himself a man. A point of contention in every bath house and propaganda mill was whether the Queen's right hand was a madman or deity incarnate.

And it was a question Marius could not yet answer for them.

"They say the desert teems with life..." The messenger looked up at the eight foot Anubis as they stood by the marble doors. His Egyptian was slow and broken. "It is simply underground. I wonder if the Atumites rose from beneath the sand."

The creature's mask was blacker than the shadows thrown between them - shadows that erased the suntrap design of the summer house. It should have been a place of beauty and soft repose. Alexandria should have been a lot of things that it was not.

Marius spoke again, to fill the silence and the space between his heartbeats. "From my readings, the Egyptians are stone carvers. They are not armour-smiths." He glanced back along the Timonium hallway, where Atumite half-beasts shimmered like plated statues. "Nor are they more than four cubits tall."

Man and monster met eyes again. He could hear movement beyond the doors, and the aroma of spices came softly to replace Anubis's breath. "An army does not spring from dust." Then he took one half-step closer and turned his head as if to look beneath the Atumite's mask.

"Someone gave you these suits."
 
Behind those marble doors, something that had been a point of contention between Marc Antony and Cleopatra (she'd wanted them replaced with cedar), Marius was shown into a vast chamber with a low-hanging ceiling supported by Greco-Roman columns spaced intermittently throughout. The floor was inlaid with large, marble tiles of creamy beige, veins of lapis lazuli worked into the stone in geometric patterns by painstaking hands. Tightly woven reed mats dyed burnt orange and royal purple lined the chamber in the four cardinal directions. Large windows on each wall opened up a view out to the coast on the north and east, the Alexandrian skyline on the south. The furniture in here was sparse, nonexistent even save for the throne sitting on the upraised dais and flanked on both sides by large sphinxes whose all-knowing eyes stared forward in an unsettling, unseeing gaze.

Other than Cleopatra, sitting state on the throne, the only ones present here were bald slaves, barefoot and bejeweled as befitting their station in the Queen's household. Two of them bore fans with long, bronze handles and thick layers of ostrich plumage at their ends. Muscular arms banded in gold and onyx set these fans in motion with rhythmic, sweeping strokes that seemed tireless. A small trio of musicians playing a traditional melody on the arghul, lyre, and sistrum sat on a smaller mat at the base of one of the sphinxes. Four more eunuchs stood at relaxed attention along the south wall ready at a moment's behest to fulfill any need their Queen should desire with the merest gesture.

The carrier pigeon was one of Egypt's oldest and most dependable resources. Cleopatra had known of Marius' arrival almost from the moment he'd breached her city; there had been ample time to prepare. Beads of gold and lapis too numerous to count adorned the thin braids hanging in sleek, ebony lines that framed a stoic face. A crown composed of a thick band of gold culminating in a rearing cobra's head just above her third eye sat atop her head. Fragrant oil with crushed gold dust had been rubbed into every inch of her skin, including her lips. Eyes that glittered like polished obsidian with the spirit within were lined with thick streaks of black kohl to commemorate the Eye of Ra. A thick collar, a creation of hammered gold, onyx, jasper, and lapis, banded her throat and hung nearly over the entirety of her breasts. She wore a caftan of purest white beneath this, pinned at the shoulders beneath the collar and cinched at the waist by a belt of gold discs. Her arms were crossed over her chest, both fists wrapped around the symbols of her authority: heka (crook) and nekhakha (flail).

For one that has been biding her time all these years for these very days, Cleopatra VII Philopater appeared the very definition of patience. History has long carried the wisdom of being wary of the silent woman...

All it took was a lift of the chin once the guard at her door stepped through for the same warrior to back out, bowing low, and face the pair. "Pharoah will see this messenger, General."
 
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From behind Marius, in the dancing light thrown by the sharply angled columns, a shadow peeled itself from the wall. The tan coloured cloak gave a whispy sigh across the floor tiles as the wearer hooked the curved portion of a khopesh around the Roman's neck.

"A cat may have nine lives to satisfy its curiosity, Marius of Rome - " that voice, like speaking with sand in the throat - "But Man only has one." The blade withdrew, and cloak whirled, a quiet huff as the shadow withdrew, no doubt into a secret passage or passageway carved into the walls and basement of the house.

" ... and bleeding throats tell no truths."
 
A second of the blood-drinkers had entered the strangely-shaped room now, addressing the senator by title. Marble skin and flowing hair, the smell of death following in her wake. Truly, he was now in the company of predators. The senator was turning the symbol over in his hands… only to then refuse Cynrig's request.

He had been expecting a setback such as this. In a city of pampered monsters, each of them filling their own minds with delusions of grandeur and superiority, it was not surprising that little respect was given to those who lived outside their borders. He spoke again, still in the mild-mannered tone of before, but there was steel to his voice now, an edge.

"When we tore down your walls and drove the last legionnaire from Britain, it was a symbol like that we delivered to your Emperor. As it was in centuries past, when our armies spread across the lands as we made war against your allies. Please do not mistake freedom for fragmentation." He smiled, revealing a mouth of yellowed teeth. "And I appreciate your promise, noble senator, but given the access people seem to have to your office…" he turned and inclined his head to the female vampire known as Drusilla, "…I fear it may not be one you are able to keep. I am the speaker for the High Druids, and my message is for your Emperor's ears alone."

Such words were a gamble, a calculated risk, but a risk Cynrig had to take if he was to deliver his message by official means.
 
ALEXANDRIA​

When the khopesh touched his neck Marius did not turn. Nor even as it receded and the voice of carrion and sandstorm slipped away. After seeing the Atumites firsthand, and after standing in the presence of Anubis, the messenger did not dare behold the bearer of that next shadow looming over him.

Yet this was not his only reason for remaining still. Because more than the terror of the Queen's bodyguards was the beauty of the woman herself. Marius had travelled all of Europe and beheld the paintings Alexander plundered in India. He had seen slaves imported from the Irish heartlands and captured brides of the Siberian warlords. He had even seen a sketching of a Japanese harem brought back by spice merchants. But none of this, in form or fantasy, could compare to the creature that was Cleopatra.

For a moment... a long moment... the messenger forgot entirely his purpose here.

Then a breath released and he remembered himself. Looking down at his hand Marius unsealed the scroll and stepped to formal pose upon the beige and blue-crossed marble. He took his time to translate the words, and spoke in rhythm with the minstrel music.

"As night does embrace the bowing sun... and as that same orb does rise upon the witching mantle... so does Caesar, Son of the Divine, greet the fairest Cleopatra. For though sun and moon might hold the vigil of the sky, it is to us, the mother and father of civilized men, that fall the long hours of Reason's age. Never with a breaking wave or beastly gambol must such giants move, but only sure and wisest steps. And so in surest wisdom Caesar proclaims you friend and bids you hold your march. Thence with the sea between us shall you rule the southern globe as Caesar holds the north. As day and night, as spring and winter. Let us, my fairest Queen, be as the seasons and the harvests, and stir no more as mighty opposites."



ROME​

"Let us, my fairest Queen, be as the seasons and the harvests, and stir no more as mighty opposites."

Caesar turned his hand in the lamp-light and studied the bones beneath the skin. The flesh was almost translucent, half ghoul and half ghost. Like the statues and walls of Rome. As if he was growing into the very city. His tongue was dry as he recited the words.

An ankle shifted beside him. He turned and ran his gaze across the olive skin of the slave, the length of her slender leg, the curve of her hip, the swell of her bosom, the pulsing stretch of her neck, the painted face and half-closed eyes. She had lain on the bed, having undressed herself. And now she waited.

"My words to Cleopatra. Do they please you?"

"Yes, my Emperor." Her arms were back upon the pillows, a pose that arched her back and firmed her breasts. He could not read her voice. Perhaps the girl was afraid; perhaps aroused. There was no telling with humans these days. For a hundred years they had led an existence of submission, of yielding their bodies to the nightly feasts. Mothers groomed daughters to be pliant; fathers told sons to eat well and make strong their blood. Gladiators fought to find favour - to be bought by the audience; and schoolgirls squabbled in the marketplace to entice the most powerful Undead. The human games of seduction and ladder-climbing continued as they always had... and the stakes had never been so high.

"I'm glad..." his voice rasped out to her, like a breeze escaping the grave. "If a whore can be wooed by poetry, there may yet be peace."

"I..." The slave girl shifted her legs and put her weight upon her elbows. "I heard Cleopatra was a Queen..." She gasped as Caesar's pale hand touched her ankle.

"...of sand." He came onto his side against her and ran his hand along her leg. "That which Gladiators take their shits in."

"I heard she is beautiful too. That she can bring men to their knees with one look."

She bristled as his fingers crossed her breast. They were like five icicles against her nipple.

"Egyptian men, perhaps. They had only camels to fuck before she arrived."

There was a giggle and she closed her eyes as his sandpaper tongue brushed her neck. Her body slackened. She sank into his embrace. "Do you..." The words came out in pleasured whimpers. "Do you ever wonder, my lord... what her blood would taste like..."

Silent and chilling, he slid down her body and moved lower on the bed.

"You all taste alike."

She cried out as his fangs sunk between her thighs.
 
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Ophealia heard their conversation and listened intently. "A threat." murmuring softly to herself. The slave's screams echoed throughout the chamber and that made her hungry even more. Hunger and the thirst for blood washed over her like a tsunami. "I need to feed." she thought to herself, "But, I can't, my loyalty is more important. I must protect him at all times."

Leaning over the balcony she tried to ignore it, but with the smell of the fresh air, it didn't work. Automatically, her fangs extended. Sighing deeply she stepped back into the chambers and found the slave girl unconscious. "I'm going for a hunt. I'll return soon."

She left abruptly. Heading towards the outskirts of the city to the most darkest regions, where she could be seen as invisible or as a shadow. She made her kill, till her hunger was satisfied. "Much better." growling lightly. After wiping her lips clean of the blood and disposing of the body, she returned back to her post full of energy and ready to take on any threat that came close to the emperor.
 
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Her eyes moved slowly scanning the room across, her interest on the frailness of a decrepit old man fading, her expectations thoroughly let down. Some people aid to let your wine age but blood was a completely different thing, sure it would have been a new exotic taste to run across her palate but that wouldn't change that slight tinge of decay present as ones body began to break down not to mention the haggard skin she'd have to sink her fangs through. No the thought of it actually made her stomach cringe a bit, wanting to empty itself onto the floor and wash away such thoughts but of course Livia would never let herself lower her graces so far in the company of others, specially this man.

Her eyes were now firmly fixed onto the senators, a cold hardness that contrasted the soft smile she wore upon her face. She of course knew of his dislike, did any roman let alone a vampire truly trust anyone within these walls? Everyone wanted to make sure their competition met their untimely demise. "Convenient? funny Senator you don't look too pleased to see me", her smile widened a bit adding, "alive that is" with a cruel softness to her voice.

Her approach was fast and soundless, her finger nails immediately trailing across the gaul's neck. "Druid, let this one thing be clear you may have slipped past into our domain but don't think you can order us around. This freedom you speak of doesn't exist for you in these walls, what awaits you is certainly death. So you'd better start giving something out of that mouth of yours that'll delay this inevitable at least until your mission is done. Otherwise you would have failed, your death meaning nothing" she didn't speak particularly cruelly, her words playing out most of it. Even if she didn't like old blood watching him have a slow and painful death would be some interesting entertainment to quench her bloodthirsty inclinations.

Her hand removed itself from his neck as quickly as it appeared, her eyes back on the other Vampire. "Gauis", she spoke his name deliberately demeaning him with the lack of honorific. "Your chambers seem to be a rather popular place tonight" she continued, commenting on the distinct clack of iron.
 
He could feel the creature's talons on the back of his neck, smell her aroma wafting over him; a beast hiding behind heavily-scented perfume. The urge to lash out, to batter the hand away and attack this Drusilla was almost overwhelming, but Cynrig kept his emotions in check.

The time would come when these beasts would be removed from the world, like poison being drawn from a wound. But not today.

"Your people are so preoccupied with the notion of your own mortality," he responded evenly to Drusilla, "all that power, all that influence, and yet the fact that one day this all must end seems to petrify you all. Please do not make the mistake of assuming this is a common fear. I have lived a long life. I have lived a good life. And I do not fear what comes next." He stared the creature in the eye and smiled. "Can you say the same?"

He turned back to the Senator, his tone still diplomatic and even. "Incidentally, it is good to see that you allow your guests to treat visitors so well within your offices, Senator."

The situation might yet be turned to his advantage, if only to have the other vampire removed from the room. Cynrig did not want the animal near him much longer.

He did not want to be in this damned city of predators much longer either.
 
During the entire exchange between Drusilla and the Emissary, Gauis had twirled the trinket in his fingers, apparently lost in its craftsmanship. His face was expressionless, and he did not seem to pay attention ... until Cynrig spoke again. His jaw clenched and the .. bauble in his hands trembled under the force of his index and thumb. He carefully placed the token on the armrest of his marble chair, the tinkling noise also a summons for a certain someone.

"Lady Drusilla, while I am glad to entertain your presence at any time of the day, you must observe proper procedure when we have State guests."

"Marcella, please escort our Lady into the adjourning room." This last line was not said to anyone in particular, and his voice echoed briefly in the chamber before dying out. "I will discuss matters with her after my audience is completed."
 
A young woman emerged from the shadow against the far wall. "Yes, Master Gaius." she spoke softly. A short series of light taps echoed throughout the room as she approached Lady Drusilla. "Lady Drusilla, if you would kindly follow me?" she asked the woman, bowing her head and averting gazing into her eyes. She had been in the service of the Vampires for long enough to know eye contact could be seen a disrespectful, a denial of the other's supremacy over her. She turned sharply towards the door and walked towards it, holding it open as she awaited Lady Drusilla to follow.

As Marcella waited, she thought about her long years as a slave to the race of Vampires. Traded often, like potatoes and money, given as a gift, once stolen away. Her masters have had many uses for her, from personal cook to housemaid, from sex toy to assassin. Her ex-legionnaire father would have been disappointed in her unwillingness to fight for her freedom, had he not been slain in order for her to become a slave. Her father was one of the last legionnaires in the Roman Army who wasn't turned, before he was retired.

Casting away her daze, she looked up to see Drusilla moving in her direction. Vampire women had beautiful bodies that never faded with age, she thought. She knew hers would, which is why, with each new master she had, she begged more and more for them to turn her, to instill her with eternal beauty and skill, only perishable by murder or folly. She did not dare whisper her thoughts aloud to hear them in her ears, for the room echoed such things loudly, and her master's ears were powerful. She had a few scars on her back where she had beet beaten in earlier time, ridges and crevasses that ruined an otherwise perfect figure. She covered them with her white robes. There was one scar she could not hide, however, and that was the fear and admiration she held for the vampires as she watched her father die from her hiding place under the stairs on her small cottage they had just outside the city, on the border of the countryside.

She blinked a few times more, awaking from her daydream. Her mind wandered often, too often for her own good.

As Drusilla walked through the threshold, Marcella shut the door after them and stood there, as though she were one of the guards. She had been trained well, and would follow her master's orders if it led her to the gates of Hell and into the domain of Pluto himself. Such was the loyalty of Marcella Scipia.
 
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Alexandria

As the messenger stepped forth, Anubis came down on one knee and pressed his massive fist silently against the tiled floor, bowing his head low as a sign of respect towards his master. His glowing violet eyes met her's only for an instant before they re-focused on the messenger. He thought only of how quickly he could spear the man's heart and how he could easily decapitate him with his bare hands should he be ordered to do so.

He didn't like how close the Roman had come to his face, but it did give him some satisfaction in knowing how terrified the small thing would have been if he had known it was his real face. Unlike the other Atumites, he wore no mask. Without his armor, he would have the strength of a mere mortal, yes, but this form was his own. He truly was a monster sent by the gods.

He left his distracting thoughts, and became as the rest of the guards. Vigilant and still; a statue ready to act at a moment's notice.
 
Rome​

A low rumbling broke through the threads and rippled the drama of Nona's spinning wheel, the colors breaking into a shiver of silver and red and navy that announced his presence to the ploys the Fates bore witness to, not only insightful of they the Roman hunters, but the entirety of the world itself. It was here, in this flicker of time, that Volero awoke in the black chasm of his villa to the distant voice of one of his -- "Matters do not wait for your resolution, my lord."

Laughter rippled through him, boring air into and out of damp lungs as he acknowledged the presence of the slave, hand rising from the thresh of his earthen coffin to root and bring forth the rest of him. It was late into the night, was it not? And here he was, paying more heed to transparent and bitter meditation. With fluid movements, he broke from the chamber, followed brisk by the presence of a human who bore a wicked stench of upturned soil, his chatter rapid and evoking as he brought up the wineries, the wages, the current affairs, and the state of the Colosseum and all the events within.

No news tonight of a cluster of humans wrapped up in hiding. Good. Volero dressed in his layers, from his undergarments to linen white of his toga, draped with tried and tried again grace by the hands of the man at his beck and call. "These are the resolutions that wait," Volero replied after a rapid exchange, hand rising to smooth the medallion at his shoulder, the motif of a hawk vivid and voracious. "Now what of Rome and our lord?"

"You are required to make your rounds and report to the palace, my lord, should you find anything worthy of mention," it was poetic, the way the servant spoke, the purpose of his presence around the vampire. With a single nod, he gave the toga a single brush down the front and gestured toward the atrium, "Ensure dinner is sufficient tonight. I will be prompt in coming back an hour before dawn."

It was with an acquiescing bow that the servant acknowledged the command and took off, leaving Volero at once to finish his image and leave. Rounds them, around Rome? Certainly. Where the night prior bore nothing but silent streets, he was sure to find some thread to work with.
 
GAUL​


Nabirye's eyes narrowed at the arrival of a third companion, most especially when this third would deliberately seek to intimidate her mount. Amunet tossed her head up with a shrill whinny of protest, hindquarters dancing backwards while snorting her agitation. The messenger was forced to focus her attention on calming the skittish mare. Nabirye spoke to the horse in honeyed tones, the words a low, rhythmic drone. To the pair from the desert, it was a song, a Death Song to appease Osiris in this land up here where the shadows were long.

Gradually, Amunet calmed and Nabirye slipped along her side to throw herself up in that ornate saddle with a well-practiced leap. She gathered the reins up in dark hands to take command of the white horse and the situation at hand. Granted, at this height, the top of Nabirye's head was only just level with that of those hulking barbarians. She kept her expression beneath the veil flat, the heat of Thoth at her breast draining away any temper that threatened to rise up. It kept her words just as honeyed with Alfher as they had with Amunet.

"I would expect nothing less, honorable sir."

And so it was that the trio escorted this foreign intruder deeper into their territory to meet with Maerlon.
 
ALEXANDRIA​


Her eyelids fell to half mast in a hooded look as the Imperial messenger launched into his delivery. Cleopatra experienced an unfortunate pang of respect for Marius' application of rhythm in his pretty speech. It was a nod to her culture and could only have been impromptu considering the circumstances. To her, this messenger is the very representation of Caesar's utter disregard for the sanctity of humanity. Perhaps this centurion's life had been unremarkable; perhaps the quota for anything remarkable in this man's life existed for these moments, only the gods know and Gaius Julius Caesar IS. NO. GOD. The embers of her fury were stoked and it registered as a flash of indignation across her eyes. Her fists tightened about heka and nekhakha only moments before that shadow of ire melted in the light of her faint smile. She stands up, the crook and flail falling from her chest in a gesture that very nearly suggests a dance, the instruments then held down at her sides.

"You have come a long way, Imperial, and are far from home," her voice had a low, silky quality to it that teased a listener's ears into wanting to hear more. Her use of the Latin tongue was impeccable with a keen ear for the Romance language's sense of cadence. The crook was transferred to her left hand with the flail and she called one of the four eunuchs over with a lifted, upturned wrist. "See to it that our guest is made comfortable." The slave bowed out and disappeared to alert through the proper channels of Pharoah's demands for food and drink. Cleopatra had delivered the command with her gaze straying neither to the left or the right from Marius' face. A Roman. Here in the Timonium. A human Roman.

Of course she recognized the message for what it was. A slap in the face. A well-crafted mockery. The very suggestion that Caesar craved peace was enough to make even a fool laugh. The demon was little more than a child, a virus, a plague the likes of which even Egypt was called upon to stir Herself. He knew all about acquisition and nothing about sustaining. And it was because of this blind, mad greed and this inflated sense of ego that Rome would be crushed. She was a house of cards and it would only take a few being removed from the right places by a deft hand before everything came toppling down.

The great fans were stilled as Cleopatra descended the three steps of the dais, offering Marius the opportunity to observe the human nature of her stature and movements by doing so.

"I am told that your Emperor is mad. Do you feel as though these are vain rumors and idle gossip, my dear Imperial?" Her eyes burned like live coals once she presented the question to this messenger, projecting a sense that she very well could be looking through the man to see any lie he may attempt. Perception is everything after all.
 
ALEXANDRIA​

Marius lowered the scroll and looked to the approaching queen, the beauteous sun bringing fragrance and lightness to his orbit. He pondered her question for only a moment. Then smiled, weakly.

"No. I do not." He turned to keep facing her as she circled. His head was high, to keep the shadow of his helmet from his eyes. He wanted her to see him. "Most certainly he is mad. As are all great leaders." His glance ran up and down her, to make clear his implication. "When one is raised, by circumstance or election, above the masses - at that very instant that one becomes unknowable. Their mind is so changed by the weight of what they must bear, that the common man can no sooner comprehend them than a mortal can the gods."

He stopped turning and allowed her to circle till she was stood behind him. The next part was spoken with his gaze upon the jeweled floor. "For what, after all, is madness, but a thing we have not means to understand? Caesar is mad as gods and heaven, as underworlds and desert queens."

There was a sigh. Marius turned to look at Cleopatra, face softening, scroll furling up in his hands. It was clear, in his manner, that his part as messenger was ended. He spoke to her now as a man, with his diction more relaxed. "If I may speak freely. Your majesty, I have fought in the northern wastes and served in the eastern campaigns. I have met mothers who teach their daughters how best not to anger rapists. I have met men who slaughter their elders just so fates can be read in their bones. I have seen lawlessness and butchery, children burning on pagan altars or fighting for scraps with vermin."

His gaze drifted, to memories of frustration, and were moist when he looked at her again.

"Rome and Egypt are the only things solid and embracing in a world of misery. The only bastions against anarchy. Between you..." His hands twisted the scroll. "Together... you could make this world a paradise."

 
ALEXANDRIA​


While Marius fell into an answer for her question and she circled him as the jaguar does the deer in a clockwise rotation, Cleopatra had the passing thought that perhaps Caesar had not been so blind as she first thought upon selecting this well-spoken individual. The man spoke of madness with simultaneous careful universalism and bold specificity. Her hands were gently clasped behind her back with her instruments of authority dangling with casual grace in her light grip and she encouraged the good behavior of intentional eye contact with a slight smile on painted lips. A single, indulgent nod allowed his observations to continue until she was out of view when he stopped turning with her. That he offered her his back when he spoke in ways that would potentially offend her wasn't lost on the calculating woman.

The wear and tear of his armor spoke of more than what would be acquired in the journey he's fresh from. Meek as this lamb seemed, he was an educated soldier in Caesar's Imperial army. The hilt of his Roman short sword was still visible through his traveling cloak. Cleopatra adjusted her grip on the flail as her circling took her past the long shadow Anubis cast, the gesture slight. Why had Marius not been stripped of any weaponry before being escorted into her presence? It was a grievous failing that would be answered for at the earliest convenience.

Yet it was not the weapon that posed the greatest threat to her from this messenger so much as it was the man himself. Behind Marius' back, Caesar's madness was reflected in the inky depths of her own eyes, warped by the feminine psyche into something paranoid, writhing, and obsessive. Had Marius' selection been more intentional than she'd initially thought? After all, madness often begets moments of great genius and divine clarity; revelations of deep mysteries are certain to take their toll on the mortal mind.

~Be with me now, Ra, Blessed Creator, Sun of Salvation, All-Seeing Eye. Look upon Your people with favor in these coming days. May Your light shine in the darkest shadows to keep Her wise and cunning. May it blind the adversary to keep Her safe and victorious. May the Night ever fear the inevitable onslaught of Day.~

Cleopatra's visage bore a peaceful conviction by the time Marius turned back around to face her shining countenance. She listened to his naked plea with the patience only a mother could know for was she not the very incarnation of Isis? Her woman's heart was touched by the desperate sentimentality swimming in his eyes and coloring his words. Had she been a mere woman perhaps she would have fallen prey to his threatening tears. As it was, she could hardly doubt their sincerity. She held out her open palm for the scroll Marius was twisting about between his fists. Once it touched her, her fingers closed about it and her eyes narrowed to hold him in these transitional moments of mutual possession.

"How can one hope to conceive reason from a union of two such, as you say, madmen? You disdain lawlessness and butchery and yet speak nothing of how Rome's streets run red with the blood of her own citizens. Yours is a city turned against itself and it is Reason that dictates her certain demise. Your people cower under the shadow of an abomination, shackled by a government that revels in its lawlessness and mindless butchery. Any shred of reason has long since fled your beloved Empire."

A flash of pity touched her expression then and the upward tilt of her lips was not without understanding or kindness. Love, the likes of which transcends generations and captures the attention of gods, sprung up from the vastness of her soul to wash over Marius with a single look. Marc Antony. How he would have raged against the Rome of today and how tempestuous her comfort would have been. Surely, a measure of this could be spared for this man. Gone were the edges behind her words, her pending assurances cloaked in warm honey.

"Despair not. Reason has found a new champion for the coming age and Rome will know favor once more."
 
ALEXANDRIA​

They stood as close as they had ever been. As close as any Roman since Marc Antony had been. In the low orbit of her beauty, where gravitational seduction unknitted every sinew. The one connection between them - the scroll - trembled slightly in their mutual hold.

And with every word the Queen threw against the sanctity of Rome his face seemed to change, each feature settling into a kind of serenity.

When Marius spoke again his voice was soft. His stare and smile met hers, as if old friends long parted. "You're wrong... about Rome. It is the Holy City." His grip tightened, almost imperceptibly. "In Rome there is the certainty of ages, the undying remembrance of glory. There..." He swallowed and went softer still. The tear broke to cut down his cheek. "....there, a man can buy privilege for his entire family... for all the generations of the Earth."

Anubis saw it. The man had only three fingers on his left hand. There had been four when he read from the scroll.

"All it requires..." Marius whispered. "...is for that man to pay his dues."

The weaponsmiths of Rome, once elevated to Vampirism, had begun again an epoch of ingenuity. Over fifty years they had discovered the feats attainable by not needing to breathe, by being able to work with their fingers in the forge, by using fine tools that would not tremble from breath or blood-flow, and by fearing neither adversity nor hunger as they plundered resources from each corner of the Empire.

Marius's weapon, which he had detached and secreted inside the scroll as he re-rolled it, was a love affair of such micro-crafting. His left middle finger had been bitten off by a Visigoth fifteen years before, and what replaced it was a painted porcelain replica with concave end conforming to the stump. He had held it in place by squeezing the fore and ring ringer, this itself a discipline paying homage to the makers. Now inside the scroll it had a perfect trajectory chamber, and one squeeze was enough to crush the rear compartment and trigger the spring-mechanism. The dart, hitherto seeming as the nail, was enough to pierce a throat, a skull, an artery. It shattered the porcelain around it and flew true, along the tunnel of the scroll, an upwards at Cleopatra.

Caesar's message had been delivered; and Marius had ensured his family's place in nobility.
 
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ALEXANDRIA

The harsh sound of shattered stone rang out for half an instant and was immediately followed by the outraged cries of the guards. Marius was slammed into the cold floor as Anubis drew to his full height; his presence cold and unforgiving. In that split second before the dart had been released, Anubis, had swung his staff from its laid down position on the floor in his hand, towards the man's elbow. "You may come from a Holy City," He growled, his eyes glowing, "But you are just a man."

A guard had swiftly stripped the man of his armor and his weapons, leaving him bare of defenses against the marble floor. Anubis signaled the other guards to stay their hands, their spears only an inch from the roman's throat. His grip tightened on his own ankh staff, controlling the urge to rip the poor man's heart so that he may see it beat one last time before he died. "You have commited one of the highest crimes in Egyptian law," He continued, as the guards picked the pitiful man up and bound him in their strong grip, "Pray that the Pharoah is merciful."

One of the guards exchanged his spear for a knife, holding Marius' hair in his hand as he steadied the sharpened weapon at the almost assassin's throat. Marius' arms were held behind him, almost ripped out of their sockets by the warrior's strength. In this awkward and certainly painful position, he could do no more against the ruler of Egypt and awaited her judgement.
 
Aideen gleefully trailed forward, navigating through the fog bank and trees. She wondered if the horse would be their dinner for tonight, but of course Maerlon might insist that they treat their guest respectfully. Certainly the title of guest didn't extend to her mount did it? The woman glanced behind her where a stray shaft of sunlight caught on the ornate saddle. Not only would the horse make a nice dinner, but the saddle itself would fetch a hefty price.

"Far too pretty for these woods," she muttered.

Aideen was the first to enter camp, striding swiftly to Maerlon. Her face is grim as she jabs a thumb behind her. "We have a messenger here to see you. Will you need our help to ensure that she is not an assassin?" She meets Maerlon eyes with her own dark barbaric gaze. "The enemy may think you're an easy target."
 
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