The Old Man of the Mountain

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Ringmaster, Sep 23, 2016.

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    It has been three centuries since the Reborn Roman Empire had conquered the known galaxy. Star systems one by one, falling from independence under the hand of Emperor Caesar XIII and his Legions of Centurions. Furthest away from the center of his rule, lies a planet on the fringes. It is a planet of little in the way of resources and certainly of no strategic value. Nevertheless, a planet unadorned on the hand of the Emperor is a planet not long for independence. New Mecca falls and the once-holy city, where pilgrims of all faiths had come to worship is now dedicated to the rule of Caesar XIII.

    The planet has been broken and brought to heel. And on the anniversary day of that momentous occasion, Sector-Governor Warwick has announced a celebration. A bread-and-circus week of festivities for the citizens of the glorious Empire. Hail Caesar XIII!

    Hail the Reborn Eagle!

    It was all everyone here was talking about and on a cafe table, a traveler would take a sip of the local brew. Something in the soil made the coffee beans more potent or so they said. It was a good substitute at least for his usual...Darker poison.

    He was clad in the outfit of a long-defunct faith, a black long coat in addition to a wide-brimmed black hat, as the rural preachers were fond of. His boots bespoke of a traveling man and his movements were lazy and languid. His only open weapon was an antique stub revolver pistol, hidden by his coat. Around his neck was a cross of silver.

    He was young and handsome enough, though a bit pale for a world like this. One would mistake him for a human or perhaps some mutant hybrid once you saw his eyes. As red as the blood he craved and fought every day. Out of the desert he came to New Mecca and just in time for the festival.

    He thought it was a pity, personally.

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