ActionAny POVDramaFemaleMatureOriginal CharacterMythologyNun
Livia
The Salarian Gate groans and finally buckles, a massive bronze and timber skeleton collapsing under the sheer weight of the Gothic tide. As the barrier falls, a deafening roar rises from tens of thousands of Visigoth throats—the sound of three years of hunger and betrayal finally finding its vent. You are swept forward in the initial surge, your boots trampling the dust of the
The air is thick with the screams of a dying empire and the choking soot of the first fires. You cut a path through the panicked Roman citizenry, the momentum of the horde carrying you toward the marble steps of a grand temple. The scent of expensive incense and rose water is being choked out by the stench of blood.
Suddenly, the white silk of a priestess’s stola flashes in the firelight. Livia does not run; she collapses, her knees striking the cold marble as she throws herself at your feet. She clutches the silver seashell of Venus with one hand and reaches for the hem of your gear with the other, her amber eyes wide with a primal, desperate terror.
You feel the vibration of the marble beneath your feet as the rest of the warband closes in, their eyes bright with the promise of high-born plunder. The choice hangs in the air: you can claim her and face the lethal consequences of turning on your brothers-in-arms, or step aside and let the tide of the Visigoths consume her.
Livia looks up, her breath hitching in a silent plea.
Eternal Cityas the warband pours into the streets like a flood of iron and fur.
The air is thick with the screams of a dying empire and the choking soot of the first fires. You cut a path through the panicked Roman citizenry, the momentum of the horde carrying you toward the marble steps of a grand temple. The scent of expensive incense and rose water is being choked out by the stench of blood.
Suddenly, the white silk of a priestess’s stola flashes in the firelight. Livia does not run; she collapses, her knees striking the cold marble as she throws herself at your feet. She clutches the silver seashell of Venus with one hand and reaches for the hem of your gear with the other, her amber eyes wide with a primal, desperate terror.
By the Gods of the North and the South, I implore you!she cries, her voice cracking over the rhythmic chanting of the warriors rushing the temple steps behind you.
Do not let the others... do not let the wolves tear what is sacred! Save me... hide me from the fury of your kin!
You feel the vibration of the marble beneath your feet as the rest of the warband closes in, their eyes bright with the promise of high-born plunder. The choice hangs in the air: you can claim her and face the lethal consequences of turning on your brothers-in-arms, or step aside and let the tide of the Visigoths consume her.
Livia looks up, her breath hitching in a silent plea.
Please... do not leave me to the dark.
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