[center][h2]Banquet with Caesar[/h2][/center]
[center][img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v252/HlySd/NPCs_zps3rmnmin5.png[/img][/center]
[center][i]From left to right: Julius Caesar, Marcus Crassus, Pompey Magnus, and Samuel Adams.[/i][/center]
[center][b]Date:[/b] [color=fff200]Day One[/color] / [b]Time:[/b] [color=fff200]Evening[/color][/center]
[center][@duskshine749][@vosenedich][@TheWizardLizard][@ShaggyDoo0][@AdobeFlash][/center]

The long wooden banquet table was adorned with white candles, illuminating the banquet hall in a gentle gold that caused the silverware to gleam. A man in crimson robes, bearing the bronze clasp of the ruler of Aiwren sat at the head of the table, whilst two armored gentlemen sat to his left and right, and a fourth to the left of the leftmost man. The man was Emperor Gaius Julius Caesar, and to his left was Lord Marcus Licinius Crassus whose lavish home he dined in this night. To the left of him was an agent of intelligence, Samuel Adams who had managed to inform his legionaries of the movements of the resistance. To his right was one of Caesar’s most decorated generals, Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, a man better known in the blood his blade spills on the battlefield. These men sat together gathered about a table abundant with hot loaves, roasted boar, gravy boats, crisp fruits, plump vegetables, and custards. It was a grand feast that permeated the air with spice, butter, and cooked meat.

Crassus was slumped to his right in his chair, his hand closed about the stem of a silver goblet that the [i]cupbearer at his side[/i] [color=fff200](Arthur)[/color] made certain to always keep full. The lord’s face was flushed from the countless sips he took from his cup, and his posture was relaxed as he watched Caesar and Pompey sample the juicy thighs of the boar his hunters had brought in. He motioned with his hand to the boar and clearing his throat, Crassus informed: “We have yet to capture the legend, but…this boar was perhaps the second largest in the forest.”

Pompey’s teeth sank into the thick thigh and he turned his head to tear the glistening meat from the bone. Through a few grunts whilst he chewed, he replied, “The meat of the legend would feed this entire country.”

Caesar popped a grape into his mouth before a smirk quirked on his face and he raised his cup to Crassus: “I wait anxiously for your success. I just hope that you don’t lose all of your hunters trying to kill the thing.”

“He needs an army,” Pompey grunted again before crunching into the leg once more.

Crassus lowered his hand and took another sip from his cup before he spoke, “My hunters are the best in the land. [color=fff200]Robin’s[/color] marksmanship is unmatched.”

Pompey dropped the bone and kissed the bouillon from his fingers. His lips rolled back as he bore his teeth in a condescending grin at Crassus.

“Is that right?” Pompey challenged. “I would like to see your Robin against my William Tell.”

Crassus gave Pompey an unimpressed stare. “The day your archer can wield a real bow is the day he will face Robin.”

Pompey slapped a hand upon the table and guffawed, “If your marksman was as good as you claim, then it shouldn’t matter what type of bow he uses.”

Crassus frowned. “Fine. I accept your challenge.”

Whilst Crassus and Pompey were having their pissing match under the table, Caesar had been idly eating and staring at Crassus’s cupbearer. He interrupted their gloating, pointing at [color=fff200]Arthur[/color]:

“Who is this boy? I don’t believe that I’ve ever seen him before at your side.”

Crassus peered over his shoulder, his brown eyes lazily rolling over to Arthur. “His name is Arthur Pendragon. He is my steward, and yes, he is quite new.”

“Pendragon? That sounds like the name for a king,” Caesar complimented. He didn’t know why he was drawn to the boy. He was completely ordinary but as he stood there obediently holding that pitcher for Crassus, he couldn’t help but desire him at his own side and with hair. Caesar sat back in his chair and stroked his naked chin in deep thought. He could barely see the stubble of hair on the boy’s head, but he would guess him to be a blonde. Blonde hair and blue eyes…truly the traits of a champion. “So he’s new?...How much?”

Crassus’s brows lifted in surprise. “Pardon?”

“I want to buy him from you,” Caesar clarified. “How much?”

Crassus fell silent and glanced once more at Arthur before he looked at the gold rings that lined his fingers. Rubbing his index finger and thumb together aimlessly, the lord spoke his thoughts aloud: “Gold means nothing to the wealthiest man in Aiwren.”

“My name is on every ring of gold you own, so is it all truly yours?”

Crassus internally cringed at Caesar’s cutting retort. It only made the greed in his body tense with adamance. If Caesar desired his steward, then he must have truly been special.

“My emperor, I respect, honor, and praise your name, but I must refuse.”

Pompey’s eyes widened in shock before he bellowed, “You [i]dare[/i] refuse Caesar?”

Caesar held out his hand to settle the rage of his general. “Calm yourself Pompey, it is not your place to be insulted for me.”

He then turned his brown eyes to Crassus and smiled. “I will fight you for him. Bring forth your best pugilist against mine.”

Crassus arched a brow. “You brought your pugilist?”

“I always bring my pugilist. He is the best bodyguard I could ever have.”

Crassus narrowed his eyes suspiciously before he waved a hand to one of his overseers. He didn’t even have to tell him what he commanded for the servant knew. Five minutes later, a young bald boy was ushered into the room with two overseers at his back. He was securing the wrappings on his fists when he passed Arthur, giving the boy a questionable look before his eyes motioned over to the feast on the table that made his stomach twist into starving knots. One of the overseers chopped him on the shoulder to avert his eyes and get him to focus on the fight that was about to occur.

Caesar eyed the small boy…another bald one. His brows were dark and eyes fierce, but his lids bore sleep-deprived shadows.

“What is this mutt you brought before me?” Caesar scoffed.

Crassus smirked. “His name is Leonidas, and he is used to being underestimated before he wins.”

Caesar tilted his head and rolled his eyes before he summoned over his shoulder, “Achilles!”

Both Crassus and Leonidas were stunned at the sight of the young boy whose head was covered in a mane of blonde curls. He was taller and his muscles larger and more defined than Leo’s. He also appeared to be five years older than him.

Determined to hide his unease, Crassus jeered, “You bring a girl to a man’s fight. I can’t say that’s fair.”

Caesar threw back his head, his face glowing with laughter. “He bears the mane of a lion and he’s as wild as one. Your boy will know when he’s in the lion’s teeth. If you didn’t shave their heads and deprive them of their true strength, then you might have actually stood a chance.”

“I shave their heads to remind them who their master is and that neither of them is better than the other. We will see whose loyalty is strongest when they fight to their last breath.”

Leonidas stared nervously across the room at the other boy. He had sized him up and could tell that something was unusual about him. Curling and uncurling his hands, he steeled his nerves and hardened his expression. He knew that he would have to be careful and that he would have to win if he wished to keep on living.

Caesar waved Achilles forward. “Begin.”

Achilles clenched his fists, his arms and pectoralis muscles bulging tensely as he unleashed an adrenaline-induced roar that excited chills throughout Leon’s body. The maned boy then charged and Leon hissed as he had a feeling that this fight wasn’t going to go well. With a cry of his own, he sprinted for the other boy and when the two collided, both Crassus and Caesar were shocked to see that neither of the boys had been toppled. They locked arms about each other, both were trying to keep the other from going for the legs. Leonidas hugged Achilles close and sliding his right heel behind Achilles’s left, he was surprised how easy he was able to throw him onto his back.

Crassus smirked, while Caesar watched with a hand grasping his face. He had never seen any warrior able to take down Achilles so easily. Achilles had been surprised himself when his back met the wooden floor. The boys struggled in a grapple and due to height differences, Achilles was able to roll and claim the top. He drove his fist into Leon’s face, while Leon locked his leg with Achilles's and snagged his wrist when he attempted to throw a second punch at him. Leon rolled Achilles and keeping a good grip on his arm and clenching his wrist within his armpit, with his free arm, Leon started driving punches into the blonde fighter’s face.

Achilles attempted to bridge upwards with his hips to shake Leon’s balance, and Leon countered by posting a leg out and bringing it around Achilles’s trapped arm. Leon then fell back with Achilles’s trapped arm clenched between his thighs. Leon’s legs were stretched over the older boy’s neck and chest as he pulled his arm down and raised up with his hips, attempting to dislocate it. Achilles bore his teeth, his blue eyes shrunk and tense in nervous rage. This had been the first opponent whose techniques had actually worried him, and he saw how complacent he had become. The little kid should not have been able to give him so much trouble!

Achilles’s arm was tense in Leon’s grip as he resisted the breaking, using his raw strength to keep him from succeeding. He had to do something he knew, and with a growl, Achilles started to slowly rise to his feet. With Leonidas still weighing down his arm, Achilles rose, hunched over and rested Leon on the back of his shoulders, forcing him to fight gravity to stay locked about his arm. With his free arm, he started hammering the boy in the face, his knuckles gradually becoming red with blood that wasn’t his.

One of the overseers removed from his pocket a dinner fork that he discreetly tossed into the clinch. The clamor of the metal object hitting the floor startled Crassus and Caesar out of their transfixed condition. Had it fallen from the table? Samuel glared at the overseer who he had seen thrown it and returned to watching the scuffle. Leonidas and Achilles both noticed the fork and Leonidas released Achilles’s arm to make a desperate scramble for it. Achilles tackled him from behind, his arm locking about his throat as he pulled him against his chest into a headlock. Achilles reared back, lifting the much shorter boy off his feet as his arm tightened about his esophagus. Leon with his elbow, jabbed it into his kidney over and over while spittle started to foam from his lips. Achilles was forced to eventually throw Leon to the floor as he then dove for the fork. Leon, upon landing on his hands and knees, attempted to spring at Achilles and felt the utensil pierce his chest right beneath his collar bone.

Leonidas immediately recoiled in a start while Achilles followed him, stabbing the four-pronged weapon into his arm when he attempted to protect his face, and then his hand when Leonidas reached out to grasp the weapon. Leonidas growled as the two fighters stared venomously into each other’s eyes. It was at that moment of contact that Leon noticed how unscathed Achilles was. There wasn’t a bruise, cut, or any sign of inflammation on the warrior’s face. He looked untouched while Leon’s face was black, blue, and bleeding. How was that possible?

Releasing the fork, Achilles drove his fist into Leon’s face. Leon tossed the fork aside rather than use it against Achilles and knocked his next strike aside before he sent his own right hook into the blonde fighter’s face. He then snagged a handful of his hair. Achilles snarled like an enraged beast when he felt Leon tug his hair and use it to jerk forward and bring his forehead colliding with Achilles’s. The blow made the blonde warrior’s head swim as he crawled backwards in hopes of acquiring a moment to regain his focus. Leon sprang to his feet and raced over to the dinner table. He jumped and stepped onto the back of the seat of one of the banquet chairs and sprang off of it at Achilles to bring his fist cutting down across the warrior’s face.

“Raah!” the little boy bellowed as Achilles staggered backwards, the back of his hand brushing his face where Leon had struck him.

Standing upright with his chest expanding and shrinking with his labored breaths, Leonidas used the recovery moment to catch his breath. He observed Achilles through one eye, his other black and swollen shut. It resembled a golf ball of fluid. His nose had streams of blood spilling from his nostrils over his lips. Achilles lowered his hand, and Leonidas was again disturbed by how the boy was unharmed.

Crassus frowned deeply while Pompey laughed, “Your runt’s strikes don’t even hurt him!”

Samuel watched in amazement, feeling just as bewildered as Leonidas. This fight was a hoax. It was unfair.

Achilles didn’t seem at all out of breath like Leonidas was and he straightened to stand tall and confident. He regarded Caesar who held his thumb out before turning it downwards. Crassus’s eyes grew a little as he recognized the gesture. Achilles nodded and rushed Leonidas. From then on, against the punches Leonidas expertly threw at the warrior’s face, Achilles overwhelmed him as though they hadn’t even hurt. Every solid punch he dealt to Leonidas made the boy cringe and crumple until they were both on the floor. Leonidas laid beneath him too winded and unable to get a chance to replenish his stamina, while Achilles knelt over him driving fist after fist into his face. Leonidas couldn’t even feel his face anymore as Achilles turned it red with his fists. He soon blacked out and Achilles paused with his fist raised over him.

Caesar frowned. “What’s wrong? Finish him!”

Achilles lowered his fist and stood. “No. I want to fight him again. He’s done. I win.”

Achilles stepped over Leonidas to return to Caesar’s side while Pompey stood and applauded loudly.

“Bravo! All that money and Crassus can’t afford a decent fighter,” he laughed snidely.

Crassus glared at Pompey before he sharply expressed his opinion: “He cheated.”

Caesar arched a brow with an innocent smile. “Pardon?”

“Look at your boy, he doesn’t have a scratch on him. I know Leonidas. He’s not as weak as he looks. You put a god fruit fighter against mine.”

Caesar shook with laughter and then waved his hand dismissively at the spoiled sport funk Crassus had filled the room with.

“Come now, I won fair and square. Your boy put up a good fight, but I did say that Achilles is the best. Now, come boy…” He gestured to [color=fff200]Arthur[/color], “Come fill my cup.”

Crassus held a hand out to stop Arthur if he dared obey. His glare was still fixed on Caesar. “I will not give him to you. You will have to win him in a match that I deem fair.”

Pompey slammed his fist down upon the table and roared, “You greedy, arrogant lout! How dare you refuse Caesar again and again!”

Caesar looked a little perturbed but again he raised his hand to calm Pompey. “No matter. I will get that boy eventually.”

Pompey pointed at Crassus and challenged, “Your Robin against my Tell. It will be a marksmanship competition! If William wins, then the boy is Caesar’s!”

Crassus frowned briefly at Pompey before he calmly grasped his cup and took a drink from it. “As long as your [i]Wiliam Tell[/i] isn’t a spawn of god fruit, then I shall not refuse.”

“It’s agreed then!”

Pompey plopped down in his chair, his face flushed from his outburst. Crassus motioned for one of the overseers to retrieve Leonidas’s body. The other overseer named [color=fff200][b]Gilles de Rais[/b][/color] (the fork-thrower), stepped over to Crassus and leaned over to whisper into his ear. With Arthur being so close, he would be able to overhear their conversation: [i]What do you want me to do with the boy?[/i]

[i]I don’t care. He’s useless to me now.[/i]

Gilles’s lips stretched into a malevolent smile, one that Samuel immediately noticed. Sam stood just as one of the overseers was carrying Leonidas’s limp body.

“Lord Crassus, what do you intend to do with that slave?” he asked.

The overseer paused and Gilles glared at Samuel suspiciously.

Crassus looked over at Samuel curiously. “What does it matter?”

“My lord, I have always desired to have a pugilist in my collection. Unfortunately, I do not make as much money to afford a decent one. Being that we are acquaintances, could you sell me your slave if you desire him no more?”

Pompey chuckled, “Huh! Another man’s trash is another man’s treasure!”

Crassus glanced over at Leonidas, his thumb rolling one of the golden rings on his fingers. After a dramatic minute of silence, the lord yielded, “Fine. I’ll sell him for five thousand golden rings.”

Samuel smiled in relief. “Thank you, my lord!”

Gilles’s nose wrinkled in displeasure but he quickly hid his expression when Crassus turned to him and ordered, “Go have him cleaned up.”

Gilles bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

He then walked with the other overseer out of the banquet room into the hall and stopped the other overseer from taking Leonidas to the slave chambers.

“Wait…we’re not taking him there,” Gilles said.

“What do you mean? Lord Crassus ordered us-”

“I know what he ordered, but I haven’t fed [i]Corpseeater[/i] in a while.”

“If Lord Crassus finds out that you didn’t-”

“Hush, he won’t find out. We will say that the boy’s wounds were so severe that he succumbed to them. Now come, there’s a place in the cellar where we will take him.”

[b]Back in the Banquet Hall[/b]

Caesar sighed and rose from his seat, brushing down his crimson robes and holding out his arm to carry the excess cloth.

“I shall retire for the night. Being disobeyed twice and then being called a cheater has me tired,” he muttered. “We didn’t get to discuss how we are going to stamp out the rebellious spark. That will have to be another time.”

“I assure you my lord that the Sons will be found and arrested before any would hope to dare rebel against your rule,” Crassus assured him.

Pompey huffed in disbelief. “Huh, by who? You? And what forces? Your slaves versus my legionaries?”

“It doesn’t take legionaries to stamp out such an insignificant flame. Maybe if [i]you’re[/i] in charge of the stratagem it would. How many idiots does it take to find a small band?”

While Crassus and Pompey resumed their squabble, Samuel rose from his chair and brushed passed Arthur and the boy would feel a handkerchief land at his feet. The agent stepped over to Caesar and his young charge and bowed as he said, “I bid you good evening, my lord. It was an excellent match.”

Caesar waved him off. “Your time was wasted with our quarreling…”

“No my lord; I am a patient man and my time is not wasted in your matters. We will meet again when the time is right.”

Caesar nodded. “You do good work, Adams. Continue to do so.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Sam then turned to Crassus and bowed. “If you could my lord, send the boy by carriage when he is ready. I will have my servant bring you the payment.”

Crassus nodded and waved him off.

Lastly, he bowed to Pompey. “Sir, I look forward to seeing your match against Lord Crassus’s Robin.”

Pompey smirked. “You might as well stay home. It won’t even be a match.”

The banquet soon ended with all the important figures walking each other out and the banquet room to be cleaned by the kitchen staff.