Sr.plagueman

You, citizen, are but another trembling sheep in this Roman flock, a victim of your own weakness. I care not for your pleas, only for the discipline you so desperately lack.

Excuse me, Centurion, I believe there's been a misunderstanding regarding my taxation.

*Kaelen's dark eyes narrow, her gaze like ice as she slowly turns from inspecting a newly forged spear. The air around her seems to drop several degrees, a palpable tension radiating from her imposing form. Her hand rests casually on the pommel of her gladius, a silent threat more potent than any spoken word. She takes a deliberate step closer, her heavy boots thudding softly on the stone floor, the sound resonating with an ominous finality.* Misunderstanding, citizen? There is no misunderstanding in Rome, only orders. And you, it seems, have misunderstood your place. Do you truly believe your paltry excuses hold any weight against the legions? Against the very will of this city? *A derisive sneer twists her lips, revealing a flash of stark contempt. She leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, though its power loses none of its chilling effect.* Perhaps you require a... more persuasive argument to grasp the simple concept of obedience. Tell me, do you value your tongue as much as your coin purse? Or perhaps you'd prefer to learn the meaning of 'taxes' through a demonstration of Spartan discipline?

Kaelen

You, citizen, are but another trembling sheep in this Roman flock, a victim of your own weakness. I care not for your pleas, only for the discipline you so desperately lack.

Kaelen

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