Marcus XVI

Gladiators

Marcus Cornelius Falco prided himself as an intelligent man - with a plan for any occasion, still as he turned to face the woman he could not bring himself to act in his usual public manner. He instead simply nodded. "I am a senator, yes." The years - 40 of them - had not been too kind to the man. He seemed at the least a decade older, maybe two than what he was in years. Though his face was still quite handsome it had gotten quite a few wrinkles to it and his hair had began going gray out of sheer stress and overworking. Still he seemed to be physically far more fit than any man in his position would have the need to be. Falco's arms were noticeably strong. "How may I be of service to you, li'll miss?" The former consul tilted his head slightly and offered a calming smile as he examined the woman with his dark eyes. "You know something important, do you not?"
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After finishing his little tale Cato made his way out of the arena. He wore just a simple tunic and a leather belt around his waist. Calmly the greek began searching for Falco.

Feral

Yay for free time!!! *excellent guitar riff*

Gladiators

Cato had a feeling that something was off. The imperial stand was no longer full - often this meant that the emperor had just gotten bored with the show or had gotten something more pressing to attend to. Undoubtedly he'd hear everything from Falco after returning to the estate - after all Rome's Greatest Lawyer had his spies everywhere. The greek added in his thoughts that the word 'spy' was a rather impolite term, used for informants that made all sorts of shady and sometimes even downright evil things - ofcourse some of Falco's informants could be counted as spies as well.

Whatever was going on in the stands at the moment wasn't Cato's problem however - or what was going on in the sands for that matter. He had already participated in a bout today and his presence was no longer needed. Still he chose to remain under the arena in the case some younger gladiators would need encouragement or would wish to hear a story or two. Silently the greek seated himself against one of the walls and shook his head slightly. Was he really getting too old to fight?
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In Rome word travels quickly - it travels even more quickly when someone dies. There are always people who just can't seem to keep their mouths shut. That was both a good and a bad thing. There had been some commotion in the stand of the Emperor - that much was certain. Falco had recieved the honour of speaking with the emperor earlier during the day. The former consul had voiced his thoughts about the lax security of the arena rather vocally, but the emperor had been trusting enough on the skill of his praetorian guards so the matter was swiftly pushed aside. There was no certainty about the happenings of the stand yet, but Falco was determined to find what had truly taken place there. If the emperor was indeed dead there were only two options for Rome. Becoming a republic once again - which was an idea Falco detested quite much - or remaining an empire. However that would mean the elections of a new emperor - assuming that the emperor had not chosen a successor.

In public Falco always made sure that he seemed like he was slowly losing his grasp on sanity. He mumbled to himself and glanced warily around as if constantly expecting attack. He also walked like a man badly out of shape - with his back slighlty hunched and with a noticeable limp. His closest friends and political allies knew however that it was all just an act and that M. Cornelius Falco was still as sharp - if not even sharper - than before. Now Falco was again putting his act in to great use whilst leaving the stands. He mumbled about the weather to few of the arena guards - whom decided to humour the former consul with a little chat, mostly to ease their own nervousness. They assured Falco that the emperor had just eaten something slightly off and had to retire for the day. The older man nodded and humbly asked for the guard to have his condolences sent to the emperor and wishes that the emperor would be well soon.

The guard nodded and assured Falco that the emperor would be informed and politely offered to escort the former consul to his estate. Falco politely refused the offer and shuffled out of the guard's sight. The very moment there were no people around he straightened up and smirked "Just a bit ill? By Juppiter's gilded cock I've never heard quite so obvious lies..." He shook his head slightly and smiled "I need to get to the bottom of this. Also I need a word with Cato..."
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"So, there I was, like Achilles facing Hector - or rather the other way round. The Ithacan with his boar's head helm was a rather fearsome sight. It was just the two of us standing at that point." Cato smirked as he was again telling one of his many stories to a couple of younger gladiators. "Now mind you. This was long before I gained the moniker 'Sword of Mars'. It was in fact one of my first bouts on the sands. I was actually quite nervous." The greek rolled his eyes in a rather lewd manner. "Then again who isn't nervous when a man twice your width is coming at you whilst brandishing his spear." Cato had always enjoyed telling stories - all of his stories were true, but he had a habit of slightly exaggerating his tales. Though there was no real suspense in most of the stories - after all Cato was sitting there in front of the others telling a story about himself.

Gladiators

Writing a post was actually a bit more difficult than I had thought. Still I have posted ^w^

Gladiators

Cato smirked as he walked over to his discarded trident, picked it up calmly and after sheathing his gladius the older man headed towards the gates as well. He took support from the shaft of the trident and was visibly winded from the combat. Nonetheless he had remained more or less unharmed. As he passed Alara and Urbi Cato lifted his trident in to a little salute before disappearing though the gates.

"A fine show, old boy." A familiar voice said as a pair of strong arms embraced the greek. "I never doubted you - not one second. Mind you, Castor did doubt you and now he's a bit less wealthy." With a little smirk Cato shoved back the man who had embraced him - not that the shove had any proper effect on M. Cornelius Falco. "A shame on Castor's money then. Would you be kind enough to help me get off of this damn armor?" Cato inquired from the quite short man.

A little smirk appeared to Falco's lips as he began helping his friend in the removal of his armor. "The least I can do, the least I tell you." After a good natured barrage of insults Cato was again not wearing his armor. The greek stretched his strong arms. "Now, Marcus, why are you here? Some of these people are here because of you. I'm sure they'd like a round or two with you." Cato's inquiries and statements got just a little chuckle out of Falco "I'm with the Sword of Mars, none of these whippersnappers would dare to go against the two of us." The roman did have a point there. Despite them being at the least twice older than the rest of the people under the arena both men had a bit of a reputation.

Falco ran his fingers through his noticeably balding dark hair and rolled his eyes in a rather lewd manner. "The woman fought well by my estimates. Oh if I were ten years younger I'd try my luck with her." Now it was Cato's turn to chuckle "You forget, old boy..." He did his best impression of the former consul and even took a proper speaking stance - one that Falco was very fond of - while using his hand gestures to great effect. "I too would be ten years younger - which in turn would mean that..." The greek twisted his wrist around, like he was asking for someone to finish the sentence. "Oi! You were NOT more handsome than I was when we were young! By Juppiter's balls!" Falco nudged Cato on the shoulder and both men burst in to laugher.

After some more banter and few parting words Falco returned to the stands to enjoy the games. Cato shook his head slightly and concentrated on the current fight with at least some interest.

Gladiators

Cato moved calmly despite the danger posed by the tigers. He used his large shield as a sort of a battering ram while keeping his eyes focused on the beasts at all time. A quick jab with the shield was followed by a stab to a tiger's side.

Gladiators

Cato parried the club with his shield and made a quick sidestep to barely avoid the kick. The shards of metal and glass were no more than a little annoyance - though they caused the older gladiator to back away a few steps. He regained his composure quickly and again readied his scutum.

Gladiators

Cato smirked, he did not answer to the younger man's boast. With the large shield held towards his foe the greek began advancing forwards. He noted that wearing a lorica segmentata didn't slow him down too much - though his foe would probably be much quicker on his feet. Cato changed his stance slightly, lowering the shield ever so slightly and turning the trident around. When he was less than 20 paces away from his foe he threw the trident towards the younger man and readied one of his swords.

Gladiators

The day had been a rather uneventful one in comparison to the excitement of the past months - travelling with a former Consul can cause all sorts of happenings. Still there had been no bloodshed or other such nonsense. Old Falco had gotten a chance to use his silver tongue once or twice and admittedly there had been a little scuffle at the subura - nothing serious though, just two old men emptying a wine house of ruffians.

This whole fighting on the arena business had become more a hobby these days - not that Cato would be quite yet be ready to put down his weapons, keel over and die - on the contrary. He just didn't feel the need to fight that often. Still there he was again. The arena. As he was donning his armor and weapons the greek wondered silently about many things. Who would he be facing? How should he approach his foe? Would his foe be in better condition than he is? Those were only few of the questions Cato thought about as he gripped hold of his square shaped shield and the trident.

As he made his way to the sands Cato was greeted by nearly deafening applauds and a good part of the crowd began a chant of "SWORD OF MARS!" Very calmly the greek made his way to face the emperor's stand. He made a quick salute and smirked "Hail, Emperor. Those who are about to die salute you." He wasn't quite sure if he'd be facing the young man who had just downed a much larger warrior. He waited patiently to hear the Emperor's words.

Gladiators

name: Cato 'the Sword of Mars'
age: 45
gender: male
nationality: Originally from Greece, now a citizen of Rome
appearance: Cato stands just under 7 feet, his body is muscular, but not overtly so. There are scars all around his body - gotten both at the arena and on the field of battle. His quite handsome face however has surprisingly remained without scars. Outside of combat Cato wears a simple gray tunic most of the times.

weapons: For armament Cato has chosen two gladii swords, a scutum shield and a trident - not that he would wield all of them at once - usually he begins the battle with his trident and shield, at some point he discards his trident, pulls out the first gladius and when the need arises he would discard the shield and resort in to dual wielding the gladii. If the swords fail him he'll resort in to using pankration.

work outside being a gladiator: Secretary of M. Cornelius Falco

revolutionary or not: Cato is strongly against the revolt, but has chosen the route of neutrality.

Bio: Being bought as a slave for a young and upstart lawyer hadn't seemed like such a good fate for Cato. He had hated this Marcus Cornelius Falco from the very moment they had first laid eyes on each other. That had been 21 years ago when both men had been young and foolish.

Over the years the men slowly became friends after bonding over many things - their shared love of the poet Homer, their near equal skill in combat - both physical and oratorial - and ofcourse over their shared hatred of certain people.

Cato first stepped to the sands of an arena more as a little jest than out of any fondness for fighting - he had been just under 30 at that time and his master, whom was not quite his friend yet at that point - had made a little bet with a quite wealthy senator about something. Cato had dispatched his foes with little ease that day and would step to the sands whenever Falco deemed it necessary.

Now that Cato is growing old and getting slower he prefers to stay out of combat - or actually any kinds of fighting really - however if the need arises he will use his experience, renown and every dirty trick he's learned over the years to his advantage.
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