Post by Tiberius Spurius on Dec 16, 2009 15:14:58 GMT -5
Those who are about to die salute you
Those words resounded in the Nephilim's ears as he sat among the sidelines of the Dueling Field. The Sun was just beginning to set in the sky and its rays coronated the ground with fiery glory. It reminded Tiberius of the distant past, where two opponents strove to survive at whatever cost, but those days were mere memories. He'd witnessed the construction of the Flavian Amphitheatre and seen much of the events that transpired in that ring of death. Yet despite how barbaric it seemed to take sport in two people fighting for their lives, the blond Nephilim had always taken some pleasure in it.
Not because of some craving for blood, but more to feel the thrill of the crowds: the waves of endless excitement coming from the mob. There were few places where he found such an energy, something to satisfy his senses, and that wasn't all that the games had given him. The overbearing feeling of power was constant in the Coliseum because even if one of the fighters was defeated it was the Emperor that would have the final say. Life or death depended on the whim of one man, and that was raw power.
Even now Tiberius felt as if he were in a similar situation, only he wasn't the Emperor and he wasn't sure which way fate would blow wind into his sails. He had made enemies, some that couldn't be avoided and others through the mistakes of accomplices, and he was a wanted man in these parts. Not feared, but merely wanted for his grasp over the mortals had seemed to fade. No longer where they subject to his charm, his silver-tounge, or his wit and they now had the ability to see through his smoke and mirrors.
He had merely wanted to create something new, something that would've transcended anything that these wizards could've ever hoped for, but naturally they damned him before he could even start. And thus they had created a role for Tiberius and his kind: the role of the villain. Something to be hated, to be abhorred, but even such amounts of demonization proved useful. It meant that on some level they were still afraid of what the Nephilim could potentially do, of what Tiberius would resort to, and that fear was still power enough.
And from what power he still commanded he could create more, whether it be through fear or benevolence it didn't matter, and there would come a day when this emptied field might ring out with a similiar sound of days past.
Ave Caesar!
Those words resounded in the Nephilim's ears as he sat among the sidelines of the Dueling Field. The Sun was just beginning to set in the sky and its rays coronated the ground with fiery glory. It reminded Tiberius of the distant past, where two opponents strove to survive at whatever cost, but those days were mere memories. He'd witnessed the construction of the Flavian Amphitheatre and seen much of the events that transpired in that ring of death. Yet despite how barbaric it seemed to take sport in two people fighting for their lives, the blond Nephilim had always taken some pleasure in it.
Not because of some craving for blood, but more to feel the thrill of the crowds: the waves of endless excitement coming from the mob. There were few places where he found such an energy, something to satisfy his senses, and that wasn't all that the games had given him. The overbearing feeling of power was constant in the Coliseum because even if one of the fighters was defeated it was the Emperor that would have the final say. Life or death depended on the whim of one man, and that was raw power.
Even now Tiberius felt as if he were in a similar situation, only he wasn't the Emperor and he wasn't sure which way fate would blow wind into his sails. He had made enemies, some that couldn't be avoided and others through the mistakes of accomplices, and he was a wanted man in these parts. Not feared, but merely wanted for his grasp over the mortals had seemed to fade. No longer where they subject to his charm, his silver-tounge, or his wit and they now had the ability to see through his smoke and mirrors.
He had merely wanted to create something new, something that would've transcended anything that these wizards could've ever hoped for, but naturally they damned him before he could even start. And thus they had created a role for Tiberius and his kind: the role of the villain. Something to be hated, to be abhorred, but even such amounts of demonization proved useful. It meant that on some level they were still afraid of what the Nephilim could potentially do, of what Tiberius would resort to, and that fear was still power enough.
And from what power he still commanded he could create more, whether it be through fear or benevolence it didn't matter, and there would come a day when this emptied field might ring out with a similiar sound of days past.
Ave Caesar!