Phobos VII [Complete]

[HypoSoc]

FAQ

What is this?

Phobos VII is an original novel set in an offshoot of the general universe of my works. Since 2019 I had been posting about 50k words of unedited content per year into this thread until the story was eventually completed in November 2021. After which I drastically edited down the work into a clean and complete novel, which is now available for sale as an ebook and paperback here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CGGN8W1Y

Where is the story?
As part of the rules for Kindle Unlimited, I cannot have the book available electronically anywhere outside of Amazon. As such I elected to take down the content of the thread.

I have left the discussion points (which might be confusing without the story threads), as well as the original Chapter 1, which ended up as cut content. I also have left the 'Divergence Point' which explains the connection between this world and the general world of my other works.

I am also posting a series of world building essays I wrote up as part of a marketing effort for the book.

If you only reached this thread after I have taken everything down, I apologize for the inconvenience. If you have the means, I would ask that you consider supporting me by purchasing the book, or by reading it on Kindle Unlimited if you have a subscription.

Otherwise, I have a LOT of free content on this site that you can find in my signature that I would ask you to enjoy instead.

I already read it here/I have an internet archive of it. Why should I buy the book?
If you have an archive of the thread before deletion I would ask you don't spread it around.

If you want a reason to buy the book other than supporting me (heck, maybe it will end up in a Library for a free read?) I will assert it is MUCH more polished than the original thread was. I managed to cut it down to almost half the size while keeping good pacing and better focus on things. I would say the published version is much better than the first draft. I did spend just as much time editing as I did originally writing it.

Is anything else going to be taken down?
No. There are no plans to take down anything else or to turn anything else into a published work that requires a takedown.

If any future story is in that position, then I will be up front about it from the start.

Why keep the thread if the story is gone?
Why not? Consider it advertisement, or a place for me to answer questions you might have, or the like. Or it can just die quietly in the archives of the website.

 

[HypoSoc]

Spoiler: AN

As promised, since I had extra words for NaNoWriMo, here is the divergence point of the two worlds.

Charlotte had always been an intelligent girl. If she hadn't been, she wouldn't have survived all those years ago when her uncle had attempted to usurp her inheritance. She knew that most six year olds would not have survived the jealous man's chimeras long enough for her unexpected rescue.

This situation dredged up memories of that terrible time. If anything it was worse.

"They killed Colbert," she reported solemnly. The view from her bat left no room for survival. She was glad that her more innocent friend was spared the gruesome view.

Madeleine looked down. "Did he fight well?"

"Yes," Charlotte nodded without hesitation. She had not known that the weedy steward had been so capable. Even after the Charlemagne castle men at arms had been gutted, he fought on with a ferocity that belied his scrawny, aging form. He had managed to take out a full third of the fanatics invading the castle before he had fallen.

"We will have to honor him," Madeleine declared softly. "When this is over, he should be given a funeral befitting a noble. He deserves nothing less."

"Yes," she agreed, for Madeleine's sake. Charlotte was far less confident that there would be an opportunity. The invaders were making their way through the castle, she could see them through the eyes of her many pets. They were not searching fruitlessly, or spreading out. Rather they were unerringly heading for the hidden room she and Madeleine had secreted themselves to.

That meant they had some sort of detection ability, or some skill with scrying that surpassed the castle's wards. Charlotte was intelligent enough to know what that would mean.

Her pets were no obstacle to them. The creatures she had raised and loved fell one by one, fruitlessly attempting to halt the invader's advance. But the fanatic mages were too powerful, and her pets found little success.

Charlotte watched as one of her pets, a lowly slime she had enhanced, dropped from the ceiling onto one of the fanatic's faces. The woman screamed in horror as her flesh dissolved under her gooey pet's acid. The fanatic's corpse fell to the ground, with a hole bored from top to bottom by the small slime.

Sadly the other fanatics quickly dispatched her pet.

Charlotte had always been a smart girl. She knew that the invaders were going to reach them. She knew that they were after her best friend. She knew that she would have no chance of fighting them off. She knew that if she did nothing, they would take Madeleine away, that only bad things could come of it.

What Charlotte hadn't always been was a brave girl. Even as a solution came to mind, one that was within the ability of her prodigious magics, she did not know if she had the courage to enact it.

"It's okay, Charlotte," her best friend spoke, squeezing her hand tightly. "Frédéric will save us. I know he will."

In another world the mention of Madeleine's older brother, the hero the both of them looked up beyond all others, would have granted Charlotte the strength of courage she needed. Inspired by the man's bravery, Charlotte would have used her magic to take the form of Madeleine, and have Madeleine take her form. She would have taken the place of the fanatics' target, allowing Madeleine the safety and anonymity of her own face.

In this world, however, Charlotte was reminded of the terrors of her uncle's chimeras and how at the very last moment Frédéric, her knight in shining armor, had arrived to save her.

In this world, Charlotte allowed herself to join in Madeleine's optimism. She allowed herself to believe, without a shadow of doubt, that Frédéric would come. Even when the world seemed to be at its lowest, her knight in shining armor would make a miracle occur.

"Yes," she agreed, willing herself to believe. "Frédéric will save us. He always will." Charlotte put her faith in her savior. She did not have to be brave. Madeleine had always possessed a simple faith and great heart that Charlotte had always envied. It did not matter that her best friend was no good at magic, not when she had the simple, effortless charm and confidence to make everyone adore her, her brother especially. Here and now she would embrace that same faith, to try and be like her best friend.

When the invaders cut their way through the castle's defenses and her pets, Charlotte believed. When they smashed through the wall hiding the secret room, she believed. When Draco, her best and favorite pet and final line of defense was skewered before her, Charlotte clung to her belief.

Thick, armored hands wrapped around her throat. Madeleine beside her was thrown to the ground.

"I've got the sister," the despicable man holding Madeleine declared. His voice was oily, and wrong.

"What do we do about the other one? The woman holding her questioned. Her voice was just as harsh and despicable.

The armored man who entered behind him, the bearded bastard who killed Colbert and Draco, that innocent lizard who she was going to turn into a dragon, looked upon them both with an uncaring eye.

"We have no need for the extra," he declared. "Free her from the shackles of Yaldaboath's sarkic prison. Let her embrace the Monad's Light."

"As you will, Bishop," the woman spoke with reverence.

Her blade came down.

Madeleine screamed.

And Charlotte hoped.

---

Frédéric and Feddlebrine slowly walked through the cracked-open castle, observing the signs of battle. Frédéric's expression was blank. Feddlebrine, unable to hide her anger, visibly seethed at each broken statue and each splatter of blood.

"Žižka must pay," the sword-turned-woman declared, eyes burning with the fire of rage. "Resorting to such cowardly tactics, invading our home, killing our men. We need to avenge ourselves a thousand fold! Flay his skin from the bone, bleed him drop by drop! We must exterminate his bloodline from this world and damn him to memory for what he has done."

The Geomancer said nothing. That he did not seek to curb his sword's most violent impulses said a great deal for itself. The Gaian 'Bishop' had been successful with his distraction. Frédéric had thought he had made the right call at the time. If he had not rushed to Tours as he had, thousands of innocent civilians would have died and his divisions would have lost many of its most valuable assets. Without the support of the families he had saved, the Geomancy Division might have turned against him.

And yet, looking at the damage done to his home, seeing the deaths that had struck the men who had pledged their loyalty to his family, Frédéric could not help but think he had made the wrong decision.

The two of them came upon a particularly gruesome scene. This time at least, the damned cultists seemed to exceed the bodies of his men.

"I can't believe it," the Lord of Geomancy remarked. "That bastard Colbert… to think he had it in him."

Feddlebrine nodded in commiseration. "I had expected that coward to surrender the keep once the gates had fallen. 'To protect the Charlemagne legacy,' he might have justified it. It seems he was a better man than I had given him credit for."

"That damn bastard steward…" Frédéric looked away lest he cry. He refused to cry for the man who had been a pain in his ass for so many years, who had once conspired to steal his lordship. That insufferable, miserly grump. "I never thanked him, you know. And now I never will have the chance to do so."

Feddlebrine lowered her head and closed her eyes. "Perhaps that was for the best. I imagine he might have had a heart attack if you actually showed him any appreciation."

"Hah," the young man laughed. It was fine to laugh so long as he didn't cry. "I imagine you are right. The old bastard was quite fragile, wasn't he."

"Yes," the woman agreed, "but not nearly as fragile as we had thought."

"No," Frédéric shook his head. "It seems he was not."

The two of them made their way through the castle. Frédéric noted each and every one of Charlotte's pets he came across. He might have disliked most of them, but they had died defending his home. For that alone they would deserve proper burials.

His heart sank as he came to the broken door that was supposed to hide the castle's secret safe room. Frédéric had known it was coming, but seeing it was a different matter. Seeing Charlotte's would-be-dragon skewered to the floor made it all too real.

He stepped through the shattered wall into the safe room.

"Christ Above," he whispered in horror. "Charlotte!"

"Frédéric," the girl smiled weakly, her voice rasping. "I knew you would come. I knew you would save me."

"God in heaven," Feddlebrine froze in place.

The Lord of Geomancy rushed forward and embraced the little girl as much as was possible. "It's okay, Charlotte. It's okay now. I'm here for you. I'm here for anything you need now. Maybe Father Bonnaire..." but Frédéric knew it was a vain hope. Even if the Father was here at the moment, he doubted there was anything the healer could do.

"You came for me," Charlotte smiled, tears dripping from her eyes. "I'm so happy, Frédéric. I'm so happy." She gulped, and the tears flew more freely. "They took Madeleine, Frédéric. I couldn't stop them. My pets didn't stop them. I'm so sorry, Frédéric. They took Madeleine right in front of me and I couldn't do anything. I didn't do anything." She weeped harder.

"It's okay, Charlotte," the young man whispered. "It's going to be okay. I know you did everything you could."

"You need to save her," the young girl insisted. "You need to. Promise me you will."

Frédéric hugged her tighter against himself. "I will. I promise. I will definitely save her."

"I know you will, Frédéric, Just like you saved me. You always will." Charlotte smiled deeply, underneath her tears. "Can I be selfish, Frédéric? Can I ask for a kiss?"

"Of course, Charlotte. Anything you wish." The young man brought his lips to the young girl's forehead. He tried to convey all his emotions through the action.

"I'm so happy, Frédéric." Charlotte giggled, which turned into a hiccup between her sobs. "So happy."

"Rest now, Charlotte. Sleep. May you find comfort in the Lord's merciful embrace," he intoned.

"Thank you, Frédéric. For everything."

And the decapitated head of Charlotte Von Graft closed her eyes for the final time.

Frédéric Charlomagne III laid the head down gently on a pillow, uncaring for the blood dripping on his arms and armor.

Feddlebrine looked on somberly. The two mourned in silence.

"Fed," the young man spoke quietly. "When you skin Žižka's flesh from his bones, I will be the one wielding you."

"Of course, Master." Feddlebine nodded. "I would not have it any other way."

---

"One last thing," Frédéric barely managed to keep his anger in check, enough to speak. "If you want me to sign the Geas, you need to add another condition."

The self-proclaimed Bishop frowned. "I believe you are not in a position to negotiate."

"You need my agreement more than I need yours, Žižka." the Lord of Geomancy growled. "If you do not agree, then I will sign a Geas that will prevent me from ever doing what you ask of me."

This caused the bearded man to frown. "Do not be so hasty, young Frédéric. We are both men of faith, though our understandings of the Lord may differ vastly. We can surely come to a compromise. State your desired addition."

"I want you to die. I want you and all your followers to do nothing as I kill you in any way I deem fit."

The cultists behind the Bishop stirred in fury, one stepped forward threatening.

But Žižka merely laughed. "Is that all, young Frédéric? I had thought you would require something more unacceptable. Once the Monad dismantles this physical hell, I will have no need for my corporeal form. I have no qualms if you wish to divest me of it a little early."

Frédéric grit his teeth in rage, but he could do nothing.

"Unless you have other objections, our terms are set. We will release your sister unharmed, nor raise a hand against her ever again, and you will be permitted to kill me when and how you see fit without interference from myself or my flock, and none will seek to avenge you. In exchange you will perform a single use of your Aeromancy of my command. Are we agreed?"

The Lord of Geomancy looked at his sister, terrified and bound. He had no choice. "I agree."

"Then let us sign." Frédéric did so, damning the world for his sister.

"Wonderful!" The Bishop grinned. "Let us get to work, then."

"Release my sister first, you bastard."

"Of course, of course. I am incapable of violating our deal any more than you are. Do not think to try to kill me before I issue my command. You won't be able to." The Bishop clapped his hands. "Come now everyone, it is time to begin the ritual. It is time to summon the Monad, Gaia. Let our Lord above be invited to this detestable realm, that she may be empowered to destroy her own shackles."

The cultists, thousands of them in the field beyond, began their ritual, invoking a level of magic beyond anything Frédéric had ever witnessed before. The coordination of Geomancy, the proficiency in their craft was astounding. It was no wonder this cult had so nearly brought his division to its knees.

He could feel the essence of Gaia, more pure than anything he had witnessed before, surrounding them.

Žižka inhaled deeply, a content smile on his bearded face. "You can feel her, can you not young Frédéric? You have always been blessed with her attention. Now use your Aeromancy for the purpose it was always destined to accomplish: manifest our glorious Lord onto this detestable Earth."

Bound by the Geass, Frédéric could do nothing else. It was a work of his Aeromancy beyond anything he had ever attempted before. Even with the cultists' ritual, he did not even believe it was possible. And yet he was forced to try. And so Frédéric Charlemagne III pushed his magic harder and further than he had ever attempted before.

His mind blanked, and reality snapped.

A nude woman appeared before them, beautiful beyond comprehension, glorious beyond understanding, magnificent beyond comparison.

The Bishop gazed in awe. "Avatar of the Lord Above, I bid you welcome," he bowed deeply, as did all the cultists that did not perish in the ritual. "Please, do as you must with this horrible world. We know your benevolence and power are infinite."

The enfleshed Avatar of Gaia blinked in what could be considered a mix between curiosity and confusion. She tilted her head and a massive tree with a trunk the size of a small town sprouted into the sky. The earth rumbled and a great sea fell up into the sky from a hole in space.

She turned her gaze to the gathered people, observing them in silent confusion. Her eyes tracked them one by one, her smile growing when she looked upon Bishop Ziska and Frédéric each.

She seemed confused when she looked at Madeleine. Gaia tilted her head. Madeleine burst into dust.

Gaia blinked, turned to the side, and disappeared from view. Leaving the Lord of Geomancy gaping in horror.

"You…" he couldn't believe it. "You promised her safety! You signed a Geas! I felt the bindings!"

The Bishop tutted. "Now, now, young Frédéric. I could not even begin to claim influence over the Monad. You should be overjoyed! The Lord our Sovereign has chosen to grace your sister with her benevolent mercy before all others! I cannot imagine being worthy of such an honor. She must have been a Saint to be deserving of such a gift."

Frédéric's mind blanked. He stabbed Feddlebrine through the Bishop's heart. He died with an unsatisfying gurgle.

Pillars of Earth grabbed at the feet of all the exhausted cultists that yet lived. They tried to put of a fight, but he dispatched them quickly.

"Come, Feddlebrine." He spoke quietly to the sword-turned-woman. "We have a god to kill."

 

[HypoSoc]

Spoiler: AN

Here is the original chapter one of the story. As it is cut content from the final book, there is no need to take it down.

If you read this thread while the story was still here, then you already read this.

The journey through the Arch was a decidedly uncomfortable experience. The carriage jostled violently as it passed through, coinciding with a nauseating sensation of falling both up and down simultaneously. In retrospect, he should have anticipated this one he had seen just how tightly the luggage had been bundled up.

He had managed to avoid yelping, though one of his fellows had not been so stoic. Not that he could blame him, when his own head felt like it had been dunked in water and thrashed to and fro.

But that short unpleasantness was forgotten instantly, as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.

Marble. Gold. Carved stone and gleaming mosaics tiling the open-faced architectural wonders, those columns and archways and mirrored domes, about them, all glistening in the sun. And beyond all else, the people. Oh so many people. Crowds and crowds of bustling people of all manner and age, donning fineries that painted the reflective surfaces. They manned the stands and frequented them in turn, bustling and shouting into a cacophonous din of noise and livelihood and life.

"Amazing." The word came from behind him, and was but a whisper against the thrumming roar of the forum.

"I've never seen so many people in my life." At once, or in total, it was hardly an exaggeration.

The forum was a chaotic mess of activity, market stalls of various sizes lining the edges, selling wares of all shapes and sizes. Groups clamored around the popular ones with no care for the space they took, and yet the people easily flitted about to and from their destinations with hardly an obstruction. Ahead he saw a grand palanquin, near the size of a hut on its lonesome, travel without issue through the crowded street, the populace easily parting around it and its eight stone-faced bearers like a creek around a boulder.

The carriage, likewise, moved steadily as people flowed out of the way of the horses. The clip was far slower than it had been on the rough country roads, but he could hardly begrudge it. Not when there was so much to see.

Exotic fruits, intricate tapestries. Two silk-clad woman bickered over the price of a headdress. A grey haired merchant proudly demonstrated some flying bauble to a young child. Another stone-faced being collected choice cuts of meat in its basket, before moving to procure loaves of freshly baked bread. Cheerful youths jostled into the stone edifice that marked the bath houses. A musician strummed her lyre as her partner danced.

And above it all, at postings of the roofs, bird-masked guardians directed their gaze upon the masses.

He watched it all, drinking the sights in, the people, the marvels, the thrumming excitement of a teeming people. Many, mostly children, stopped and stared at his carriage as it passed. He favored one with a smile and got a beaming grin in return.

It was simply marvelous.

Another palanquin, far smaller with only two stone-faced bearers, stopped in front of a rug stall, and he watched as a young woman poked her head out of the curtained interior to speak with the proprietor. A group of children bowled over one another, tossing pebbles back and forth as they ducked between the legs of those far older than them. An elderly man-

The carriage's slow pace came to a halt when a group of people failed to give way. The horses snorted and the driver cursed loudly.

Smiling men and women, all wearing brilliant shades of green in every variation imaginable surrounded the carriage. He blinked as one in particular picked him out.

"Greetings, oh valiant one, to the city!" The man grinned, asserting himself above the din. "Please accept our warm welcome, and allow us to demonstrate our hospitality with a gift."

The verdant man presented a bit of rolled up green cloth, secured shut with a brilliant emerald necklace.

Bewildered, he could think of nothing else to do but accept the sudden gift through the open window. "Thank you?"

The cloth, as it turned out, was a tunic. And, by the feel, it was of far greater quality than anything he had ever owned before. "I mean… thank you very much. This seems to be a grand gift."

The man's cheery smile only grew. "I am glad you enjoy it. If it pleases you, you can wear it in your matches. It can only bring good luck to your endeavors."

In the front, the driver's cursing only grew at the group blocking their way. Around him, all of his fellows were receiving green gifts of their own.

One of the bird-masked watchers leaped down from his post, and moved forcefully towards the carriage. The driver's eyes lit up at the sights, while the green woman he was cursing at paled slightly. She gestured, and very quickly, the green men and women all dispersed into the crowd, letting their smiles linger, and leaving all their gifts in various hands.

The watcher, seemingly satisfied, headed back to his post with no further action. From there, the carriage was able to continue onward.

Nobody else in the crowd was as brazen as the verdant troupe, but, as they approached their destination on the other end of the forum, the number of onlookers only grew. Young women whispered to one another as they gazed at the various riders, children followed along trailing, shyly turning away when spotted, or boldly tilting their head in curiosity. He could not pick out just what they were saying, but he could imagine it.

The crowds thinned out as they approached their destination, some strong metal gates off the side of the forum, large enough to fit the whole carriage through with five shoulder widths to spare. Two guards, dressed in ceremonial white pulled the barrier open upon spotting the driver, and they were able to make it through with no fuss.

The gate closed behind them, and with it, the noise of the forum fell to a muffled hum.

The horses continued down the tiled path of this closed off section, towards a small outpost, where a number of people were waiting, some standing, some reclining on chairs.

"Here we are." The driver hummed. "Sorry for the delay."

Three men swiftly arrived to claim the baggage at the back of the carriage. Another opened the door to let them all out.

He followed his fellow passengers to the solid ground, taking the opportunity to work the kinks out of his muscles, and rub the tiredness out of his eyes. It had been a long journey.

The waiting people came forth, rising from their seats or otherwise, checking their parchments, and calling out names. He listened for his own.

"Stas?" A bespectacled man called. He was middle-aged, balding, and seemed to suffer from a bit of a gut. His tunic a dreary, if clean, tan that was a far cry from the splendorous clothing he had witnessed in the forum.

"That is me."

Stas walked forward to meet the man, who eyed him up and down. "Hm. Seems like they didn't lie."

"Lie, sir?"

"In the reports, the recruiters sometimes like to make their charges a little more appealing. Add half a hand of height, tweak with the weight. Nothing truly egregious, but..." He shakes his head. "It is nothing for you to worry about. My name is Ludo, and I will be in charge of you for the foreseeable future. You may refer to me as Lanista, or Master, or sir, or what have you. I don't particularly care outside of formal receptions. Now, walk with me."

Beside them, a one of his fellows got into a palanquin with a young man dressed in finery. Ludo observed his gaze.

"What? Can't you walk?" The older man derided. "I certainly hope you aren't going to be winded by a little stroll. There's no need to waste money like that when stretching your legs is healthy. Princeps knows its the only bit of exercise I have time for." Ludo smacked his gut self-deprecatingly. "Now, walk."

Ludo led him in a direction opposite the palanquin's, setting a sedate pace. "When we arrive, I will show you to your room. For now, you will be bunking alone, but you may be given a roommate at some future date should I choose to host more students. Afterwards, you will attend to my general physician, so he can get an accurate baseline measurement of your height, weight, musculature, and general health. He will be available for consultation at any time you wish, but you will be required to visit him at least once a week. Similarly, you will have opportunity to meet with my on-site surgeon, who, you hopefully will never have to make use of. Given the current hour, this should last until dinner.

"The cafeteria is open three times a day, and I encourage you to avoid skipping meals. You will be required to meet with my dietitian at least once a month, or more frequently, at his discretion. The training grounds are open during daylight hours to every student. The instructors will be available there. I have three on site, one for calisthenics, one for sword fighting, and one for arcanum. If you find yourself in need of specialized training, I will likely be able to procure an instructor, though I urge you to make use of the ones already present.

"You are permitted to leave the school as required, outside of days where you have a match, but you shouldn't have much reason to leave. If you need anything from the marketplace, you can speak to my commissar. She will provide you anything within reason. And, as a gladiator, I would greatly advice avoiding public baths, as the public is..." Ludo trailed off, offering a bit of a stern glare, "I hope I don't need to tell you that you shouldn't let the pleasures of life distract you from your sport. I will not waste money maintaining a hedonist."

Stas blinked at the sudden accusation. "I understand, sir."

Ludo nodded. "Good. As I was saying… the public baths can be a distraction, so use our private ones. We have a masseuse on hand, and our equipment is as good as any public location. Without the same temptations. And if you do decide to venture out, curfew is at sundown, at which point you must be back on the estate. No exceptions. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, do you have any questions?"

"When is my first fight?"

"Unscheduled as of yet. I will see about getting something in after you have time to settle in. Something against one of your fellow students to help get your feet wet. Let's say… a week from now." Ludo nodded to himself. "Yes, there should be a good space for a match in a week. I will let you know when it is set. In general, you should expect to have a match once a month, though they are usually scheduled two weeks out, barring last minute alterations. Any other questions?"

"Can I watch other matches?"

Again, Ludo nodded. "Of course. Always I good idea to keep up with the tactics of your fellows, so long as you don't spend so much time watching that you forget to train. Speak with the commissar about tickets for when you want to go. You can always find a few students who would be happy to go with you. Ah, here we are."

The door to the wide estate opened as Ludo spoke, revealing the modest entryway. "Come on in. Ah, but first," he held his arm out. "Give me that bundle."

"This?" Stas held out the green tunic and necklace.

"Yes." Ludo nodded, snatching it. He snapped his fingers and a servant appeared. "Dispose of this."

He tossed the bundle to the servant, who caught it easily. Stas watched on in confusion. "What? Why?"

"Leave the color politics for the races, boy. Gladiators are above such nonsense." He turned back to face the servant. "And when you are done with that, let Raphael know that Stas has arrived so he can prepare."

The servant nodded, and rushed off.

"Now… your room, yes?" Ludo snaps again, and another servant arrived. "Lorenzo, Stas's room is ready, correct? Good, then show him there. I will see about getting that match scheduled."

Stas allowed himself to be led off, and hoped he would collapse the moment he saw the bed.

 

[HypoSoc]

Spoiler: The Prevalence of Golems

Of all the city's industries, golemcraft represents, perhaps, the absolute height of its grandeur. Each animated construct of marble and precious metals is a work of art, sculpted by the most talented of hands and the most gifted of artisans. These autonomous statues work ceaselessly, so long as they remain fueled by elixir. A well-crafted golem is able to understand most orders and accomplish most tasks. Golems serve as menial laborers, farmers, child-minders, errand runners, manservants, scribes, and more.

Owning golems is a source of great prestige and a matter of conspicuous consumption. Among the Senatorial elite, it is a mark of pride to forgo the employment of any human agent when a golem would prove sufficient. In practice, this means any form of employment excluding bodyguards, skilled artisans, and educators. Less fortunate (or more frugal) Senators might employ humans on their estates out of sight. Those of a traditional bent might instead rely on slave labor for their estates, but the practice of slavery has long been out of fashion in the city, even among those who are still permitted the privilege. In accordance to their nature as a grand luxury, golems are prohibitively expensive for those less well off. Many a middling Patrician and ambitious Plebeian have beggared themselves in an attempt to afford a single golem and the elixir that fuels them.

While there are many golem-crafters in the city, the estate of Senator Patruinus holds an effective monopoly. Lord Patruinus's workshops alone supply the golems that work the Dominus's vast personal estates. Being held to a level of quality above any other, Lord Patruinus's golems are the only ones that the Senatorial elite will deign to purchase. Though those less well-off have been known to purchase cheaper (and shoddier) creations from other workshops, the quality will always tell.

Though golemcraft has advanced greatly since its introduction in the past hundred years, artificers are still stymied by facsimiles of faces and voice. No golem crafter has, as of yet, managed to sculpt a golem with a natural expression or a soothing voice. Lord Patruinus forgoes this issue by crafting his golems with an unmoving face and no capacity for speech. This style has become quite fashionable, and has been replicated across other workshops. Though ambitious artificers seek to surpass the lord through this potential weakness.

Spoiler: The Economics of Gladiatorial Combat

The crux of the arena can be understood as the relationship between the Lanistae and the Aediles. Lanistae (whether they focus on gladiators, venatio, charioteers, or some combination of the three) scout for students of their craft and cultivate them into their respective careers. In exchange for room, board, care, supplies, and tutelage, the Lanista gains ownership of the student's contract, and therefore the right to profit off of their appearances in the arenas and hippodromes. Lanistae are private citizens, shouldering the risk of their schools' success and failures out of their own pockets.

Aediles are public servants appointed by the Senate from among the Patrician class. They serve in specific arenas for specific durations. It is quite common for multiple Aediles to hold dominion over a single arena in the length of a week, with the most fortunate Aediles having the best arenas on the best days. In exchange for the right to collect the proceeds of any events they host, Aediles are mandated to release a certain number of tickets for free to the general public in the form of a lottery. Aediles will run events with their own funds. They will organize and advertise events as they desire, hiring the musicians, acrobat troupes, and stage hands as necessary. The biggest expenditure is usually in the form of paying Lanistae for the appearance of their students to serve as the main spectacle.

Negotiations between Lanistae and Aediles are a complex beast of bidding and counter bidding. Lanistae with popular students can demand grand sums for their appearance, while Aediles hosting prime event times in the grandest arenas can hold great sway, as a Lanistae's student might never achieve fame without access to a stage. It is a constant back and forth on prices, match-ups, and advertisement billing. Ultimately most of it can come down to cultivated personal relationships between the Lanista and the Aedile, as well as under the table dealing and cutthroat networking (such as with the Senators who select the Aediles).

The greatest of Lanista can achieve lasting success and great fortune. Most, however, go bankrupt in short order, to be replaced by another hopeful. Successful Aediles almost always rake in great fortunes. Only the most foolish fail to turn a profit.

The gladiators themselves (as well as the venatio and charioteers), are not paid in any part of the process. It is understood that they will be able to leverage their fame and acclaim into patronage with a wealthy client at the end of their career. The absolute greatest of gladiators achieve patronage from the Dominus directly. Enterprising fighters will also seek out their own sources of income, such as sponsorship from businesses.
Should a student die in the arena, the Aedile will compensate the Lanista for the loss of the investment. The specifics of this arrangement are part of the negotiation when determining appearance fees.

Spoiler: Public Baths and Hygiene

Across all social classes in the city, hygiene is considered a fundamental virtue. A lack of proper cleanliness is seen as a sign of a diseased mind, social ill-grace, and a general stench of bad character. A proper citizen is expected to bathe once a day, and the city's many public baths serve the needs of its many citizens. The bath houses are wonders of architecture, and marvels of plumbing, dotting the many districts of the city. Most are under private ownership, run as a business by Patricians, but a handful are run directly by the city.

Bathing occurs primarily in the afternoon, coinciding with the heat of the day, after one's labor is complete, but the bath house is never truly empty until curfew. The act of undressing, scrubbing, and cleaning is completed quickly in an initial antechamber before entering the baths proper. There one might avail themselves of the many pools and fountains of various temperatures (from frigid ice to boiling saunas), the gymnasiums, the spas, the masseuses, and the lounges. Light food is sold in simple markets, with the costs tallied and paid upon exit. One generally spends a few hours in the facility each visit.

Bathing is, above anything else, a social activity. It is an egalitarian leisure that breaks the social divide. Patrician and Plebeian, Senator and Laborer, all can be found conversing with one another within the same bath house. While the richest of estates will possess private baths, the wealthy often make a show of bathing with the commons. The price of entry is intentionally kept low, so that anyone gainfully employed could afford entry. The unemployed and underemployed are, of course, denied access to the facilities, unless they manage to scrounge enough money up to afford entry.

Gladiators, venatio, and charioteers will commonly partake in the Grand Bath of the Forum. For many, it is the only opportunity to meet these athletes. Most Lanista provide private baths at their schools, but athletes can take advantage of the public baths should they desire. Many Bath houses will permit them to enter for free, in order to encourage more visitation.

Public toilets are almost always kept separate from the public baths, and are considered a separate, less luxurious manner. The city ensures there are public toilets in every neighborhood. Unlike the public bath, the toilets are always free.

Spoiler: Social Welfare

While Patricians possess many legal and political powers, the plebeian class have a small number of enshrined rights as well. The first and greatest of these rights is that of the grain dole. Any plebeian, regardless of wealth, age, or health, is granted access to the largesse of the Dominus, to ensure they will not starve in spite of their poverty. There is no requirement of need, nor is there penalty for the plebe's own failings. The food is guaranteed.

In practice, the city establishes a number of distribution centers across the city, centered in the less fortunate areas. A wealthier individual might never encounter one in their life. From the first crack of dawn to the last ray of sunset, these distribution centers will provide sustenance to all who visit: a single day's worth of grain and cheese and beer for a single family. The families are expected to bake the bread themselves at their own convenience. Though the lines for this dole are extensive, very few are left hungry when the center closes for the night. The steady eyes of the Watchers ensure there are no incidents from the impatient plebes.

For the destitute, the grain dole occupies the majority of their lives. They will spend their days waiting until they receive their food. Sometimes they will wander between centers, in the hopes of finding quicker meals. For the employed, there is a great race for the lines at the start of the day, before labor begins. Should they fail to secure their food before the work day begins, they will be forced to come back afterwards, forgoing the leisure of the afternoon, in the hopes of receiving their allotment before the day ends. Recruiters will often gather around the back of very long lines, offering work (and subsequently pay for food from other sources) to the lowest bidder. Regardless of one's success, the cycle will repeat each day for each day's worth of food.

In the case of a married household, only one spouse needs to wait, while the other can freely work. It is a common sight to see young children playing in the lines with one another as they wait with a parent. The relative ease of households acquiring food compared to individuals is a persistent motivation for plebeians to marry.

Similar lines exist at centers to distribute free tickets to the arenas. With the limited supply of these tickets, delivered at strange and irregular times, failure is a much more common outcome. Many fanatical individuals will forgo waiting in the grain line in order to secure a seat to some chariot race or venatio hunt. These tickets are illegal to sell, but that does not prevent a thriving black market among the plebeians, bartering food and line positions in exchange for tickets.

Spoiler: Chimera and Venatio

The chimera hunt stands proudly in the city's trifecta of arena sports, and is arguably the most popular. Unlike chariot racing and gladiatorial combat, the hunt does not place man against man. Rather, it is a uniquely cooperative exercise of a team of venatio combatting a single beast. In this grand spectacle, a troupe of seven hunters, all from the same school, work together in perfect harmony to slaughter their prey. Teamwork is absolutely paramount in this sport, as much as skill at arms and arcanum. It is said that while any gladiator might defeat any venatio, a team of hunters would always best a team of fighters.

Necessitating this extreme skill is the prey, the chimera. Mastercraft works of fleshcraft and biological arcanum, each chimera is a unique creation. Fleshcrafters revel in creating strange and monstrous beings, constantly honing their craft to create oddities that defy belief. At the present time, Lord Macro, an esteemed senator, holds a state monopoly on the right of chimera crafting. Every chimera is purchased from his estates under his watchful eye. The act of stitching, breeding, and rearing a chimera to completion is a costly and time consuming endeavor, and, accordingly, the price an Aedile must pay to purchase one for slaughter (even before paying the appearance fees for the Venatio) is exorbitant. As such, the chimera hunt is a much less frequent event, on the order of only a few events per month. Though it always fills seats.

Chimera hunts begin with a demonstration of the beast's capabilities. A number of prisoners will be released into the arena for the chimera to consume, allowing the audience (and the venatio) to observe its unfettered abilities, as well as the field of play the Aedile has constructed. The venatio are granted a short duration to plan countermeasures, then they are unleashed upon their prey. Over the course of an hour or so, the hunters will whittle away at the monster until they finally slay it.

While the hunters are expected to triumph, it is understood that the best of hunts are those where the venatio barely survive. To this end, Lord Macro's fleshcrafters have funneled their efforts into the creation of deadlier beasts: more cruel, more cunning, more durable, more dangerous. It is not unknown for one or more venatio to die in a hunt, but the athletes are quite skilled at keeping themselves and one another alive in the face of these increasingly monstrous entities.
As an unfortunate consequence of the fleshcrafting process, chimeras formed by Lord Macro's methods all have a uniquely unpleasant odor. The force field that protects the audience from the chimera's wrath (as well as stray shots from the hunter's arcanum), also serves to filter out the smells.

Spoiler: The Senate

The Senate is the ultimate force of governance within the city, only superseded by the Dominus, who generally cares little for the minutiae of the day to day. The body is empowered to write and enforce laws, impose and collect taxes, appoint and recall officials, and serve as a judiciary for cases it deems worthy of attention. Its body is made up of one hundred members, each a head of a Patrician household. It is a democratic assembly with no ranks or official seniority among its membership. All decisions are made by vote, requiring sixty affirmations for any measure, though the Dominus may unilaterally demand or reject any measure should they deign to do so.

When a senator dies or retires, their seat will be granted to their chosen heir, who will serve as the next head of their household. Should a seat be left vacant without an heir, or should a senator be expelled from the assembly, the body will elect a new senator from among the Patrician households. Tradition dictates that there be exactly one hundred senators at any time, but there is no requirement. The Dominus is empowered to elevate anyone to the Senate at any time, or to expel any senator should they wish.

While nominally every senator is equal to every other, and each should vote according to one's own conscience, the stark realities of politics has led to the development of factions. These factions act as nigh uniform voting blocs, scrambling for the unaffiliated. Many Patricians outside of the Senate subscribe to one of the factions. Most every issue is debated through that lens. In the current years the two major factions are the Antiquiores and the Honori.

The Antiquiores are the conservative faction of the Senate, generally slow to act and concerned about maintaining traditions. They value education, generational virtue, and enshrining the dictates of the Senate in a manner that will protect its current membership, especially older, more distinguished families. Though Antiquiores may seek offices for themselves and their patrons, they reject payment from stipends, with the belief that wealth earned through office or through mercantile interests is unclean. The Antiquiores seek to codify the patronage relationship into enforced laws of fealty, and make appointed offices hereditary for their Patrician client households.

The Honori are the aggressive faction of the Senate, quick to use the power of the state to enrich themselves and their allies. They value demonstrated competence, extravagant displays of wealth, and direct intervention in any manner that catches their attention. The Honori exist to enrich themselves and their patrons, and have no qualms targeting their enemies with specific laws or taxes, and are happy to shower patrons in appointed offices with grand stipends. The Honori seek to expand the Senate, filling it with loyal households. They also seek to elevate rich plebeians into nobility. Both proposals are aggressively antithetical to the Antiquiores.

Regardless of faction, it is very difficult to lose money as a senator. Every single member of the assembly is among the wealthiest elite of the city. This is simultaneously a consequence of generational wealth and the opportunities afforded for self-enrichment both.

Spoiler: Diet

It takes a great deal of land to supply the food needs for the city's millions of inhabitants. Nearly the entirety of the provinces are farmland and pastureland, vast fields of wheat, rye, and maize owned by the Dominus, all for the purpose of supplying the grain dole and to supply the city markets for those with better means. These grains, along with cheeses made from sheep and cow milk, make their way to the plates of the citizens. But not all food comes from the breadbasket of the nation.

Just outside the city itself, in the ring of fertility that surrounds the high walls of the city, are the privately owned fields of the Patricians. Here private citizens grow orchards, vegetable plots, vineyards, and herb gardens, or whatever else they may desire to bring to market. Cereal grains, further subsidized by the city for the dole, also makes up a large portion of the land usage. Though the destitute will persist on the grains and cheeses of the dole, for the better off, there exists an affordable array of variety in the markets. Fruits, vegetables, legumes, pickles, jams, squashes… all may find themselves on even plebeian plates.

Meat is another matter. Owing to the great land requirements, rearing large herds is generally too expensive near the city (though a handful Senators maintain herds of cattle and droves of swine within their own personal estates). Most meat is reared in the provinces, and reserved for the plates of the well-off. The offal is generally discarded without consumption. In comparison, a healthy industry of aquaculture within the city limits has led to the easy acquisition of fish. A properly employed individual can expect to afford fish for themselves and their family at least once a week with no issue. Even the destitute might be able to purchase the bones, from which they may make stews and stocks. Entire neighborhoods are known to get together to make large meals from their dole allotments and bits of flavoring they might acquire.

Poultry does not take well to the city airs, nor to the surrounding countryside. Attempts at rearing chicken generally result in unpleasant results. In the provinces one might find eggs and birds cheaply, but in the city they are reserved for the wealthy. Eggs are especially considered to be a fancy dish, considering the great difficulty of transporting them through the Gate without breaking.

Spoiler: Logistics

One of the biggest endeavors in the city is ensuring that goods manage to get from Point A to Point B in a timely manner. Over the centuries, the city has developed an intricate network of privately and publicly owned storehouses, warehouses, and distribution centers, as well as an efficient logistical system to ensure that the vast variety of products manage to make their way to and from all of their origins and destinations for the convenience of the city's many citizens.

Ultimately, there are only five sources of ingress to the city through which goods flow. There are the four passages through the city wall which allow access to and from the private farmlands that surround the city. All are effectively identical and under watch. And there is the Gate, situated in the center of the Grand Forum, a portal directly to the provinces. These entries are under constant guard by the Watchers, and see a constant traffic of large, horse-driven wagons, full with goods when entering and empty when departing, all to nearby storehouses for processing. The constant stream of traffic continues through day and night, almost never ceasing.

With the exception of these entrances, all other logistical matters concern transportation within the city. Due to the excess population out and about, clogging the narrow streets as citizens go about their lives, it is generally impractical for deliveries to be made in the daylight hours. A number of express daylight courier services exist, offering deliveries on foot, whether they be messages or goods that require immediate delivery. But the vast majority of deliveries happen after the sun sets.

In the night, heavy horse drawn wagons race to and fro across the city under pale torch light, attempting to get their dozens, if not hundreds, of deliveries accomplished. It is a particularly dangerous time to be out and about, as many of these drivers have no qualms trampling any hapless bystanders foolish enough to be in their way. These wagon fleets work in delivery companies or as independent suppliers. Many of these companies focus on long-term, steady contracts, while others handle ad hoc shipments, of which there are always a great deal. At each storehouse, warehouse, or storefront, they will be met by a company of porters who quickly load and unload the cargo. These porters are mostly day laborers with unsteady employment, and are not held to particularly high esteem. This work will continue through the entire night.

By the time dawn breaks and the marketplaces open, all the goods have been delivered seamlessly for the enjoyment of the shoppers and business owners. The exhausted drivers, porters, and horses will rest for the day until sunset as the job begins anew.

Spoiler: Chariot Racing

The chariot race stands proudly in the city's trifecta of arena sports, and is arguably the most popular. After all, who can say what draws one to the arena, between the acrobatics, the chimera hunts, the melees, the spectacle of naval combat, or the gladiatorial bouts. But every attendant in the hippodrome is there for the day's race. Charioteers are held as paragons of coordination, cooperation, mounted combat, and magical prowess: all skills required for the sport.
Each race consists of three teams of five racers, each riding an individual chariot pulled by up to two horses (this is almost always two, but some racers are noted to use only a single horse). Each racer is equipped with weapons of their choice, slings, lances, bows, swords, shields, and especially vials of elixir. The challenge is balancing the options of weaponry with the added weight.

On each team, one member is designated the Center. Only the Center's position matters in a race, representing the entire team as they race around the course for the number of laps required. The other four members of the team act to protect their Center, or to attack the opposing teams over the course of the race. A single charioteer on each team may be designated a Tail, who is permitted to leave the race track or even go backwards over the course in their attempts to disrupt the other teams. Importantly, it is only the Center themself who must cross the finish line, not their chariot, nor their horse. It is a common occurrence for a Center to arrive on the back of their horse or in one of their teammate's chariots. On some notable occasions, the Center has won without horse or chariot at all, sprinting the last distance to end. A Center is never permitted to enter the chariot of a Tail, nor take their horse.

The courses themselves vary greatly. Long gone are the days of twelve loops along a simple oval track. In an attempt for greater and grander spectacle, Aediles have seen to commissioning fanciful designs: set pieces, ramparts, banks, jumps, moving platforms, treacherous pits, barriers, arcanists to attack indiscriminately… anything that can fit into a hippodrome. Attempts have been made to incorporate chimera into the event, but that was quickly determined to be a foolish endeavor. The grander the event, the more thought and spectacle is placed in the field itself, culminating in the New Year Championship as the greatest show.

Unlike the other arena sports, there is a sense of continuity within the Chariot Race. Each race, the Center who comes in last place is barred from competing in the Championship that year. The Teams and their Lanistae play a careful game balancing who they send as their Center in each match to ensure they are available for the Championship, without sacrificing the race at hand. Unofficial betting rings keep track of which teams win more games as a whole, alongside keeping the odds for individual matches. Gambling on the Championship vastly surpasses any other gambling in the city, sometimes with bets being placed for a new season the day after a Championship concludes.

There are three teams for the race, each represented in each event and each with a dedicated and fanatic following: the Reds, the Greens, and the Blues. The Reds are generally regarded as the best and the richest color. Only a select few Lanistae are permitted to represent the Reds, and they tend to have access to the best resources and training, and have the most Patrician support, Red strategy generally involves systematically eliminating the other racers while maintaining numerical superiority by protecting themselves.

The Greens are the most popular of the teams, especially among the plebeians (though they have some notable Patrician support). They are known for lavish gifts for their own fans, including free tickets to the races. The crowds of the hippodrome are almost always flooded with Green supporters. Their strategy revolves around reckless speed, happily sacrificing their other members to protect the Center at all costs. Greens disdain the use of a Tail. Last are the Blues, whose fans have diminished in recent years, but who maintain a strong core of support.

The Blues are the most likely to attempt novel strategies, and are, by far, the team most known for effectively forfeiting a current match in order to better place themselves for a future one. It is a common occurrence for the Blues to team up with the Reds or the Greens to eliminate a particular Center from the championship, an act which is met with some disdain by fans of the victim (though not nearly as much disdain as the Reds and the Greens have for one another).
Color partisanship bleeds into social life outside the tracks, and many friendships and business partnerships are founded on shared adherence to a team (or broken by a difference). For plebians, team preference is considered more of a measure of character than political faction. There is always some political upheaval when a notable charioteer joins a school of a different color. And when a Lanista switches Colors, bringing all their students with them, there can be outright riots.

Of the three arena sports, Chariot racing is, by far, the least deadly. Despite the violent attacks against one another, the goal is incapacitation, not death. It is very rare (but not unheard of) for a charioteer to perish outright, and career ending injuries are not particularly common either. Far more frequent is the death of the horses, and it is a rare race when a chariot is not completely demolished.

Spoiler: Patricians and Plebeians

Though every individual within the walls of the city is a citizen, there is a great distinction between the Patricians and the Plebeians. The Patricians are the nobility, households elevated by the Dominus at the city's founding into a position of enhanced rights and responsibilities. The plebes are the common folk, lacking in influence and responsibility. Within these distinct ranks, there are no further de jure distinctions by birth. All plebes are considered of equal rank, and all Patricians are of equal rank (with the exception of Senators, who hold rank as individuals by virtue of hereditary office, not by status of birth). That said, within each class is a complex web of connections and wealth that creates a de facto hierarchy. It would not be incorrect to state that the wealthiest and best connected plebeians enjoy more power and prestige than Patricians who have been shut out by their peers.

Transition between the classes is virtually unknown. The Senate and the Donimus both hold the power to elevate plebeians to nobility and to strip a Patrician of their status, but these powers are used infrequently. Marriage between a plebe and a Patrician is forbidden in all circumstances, as is the adoption of any individual into the household of the other rank. The first three children of a Patrician that survive to adulthood are recognized as Patricians, while any further child is a plebe. It is extremely rare for a Patrician household to have more than three children for that reason. Everyone else in the city is a plebeian, as is everyone in the provinces. There are no Patricians in the provinces.

The different classes have a different set of rights. Patricians are permitted to own land and slaves (though very few exercise this latter right), and cannot be taken as slaves. Plebeians can, at best, lease land for some duration and expect the protection of courts to enforce that specific contract. In general, plebes have the right to take others to court over contract matters. Patricians have the right to take others to court over any matter they wish.

Plebes have the right to avoid starvation through the grain dole, and cannot be compelled to take office, while Patricians lack these protections. In practice, Patricians are wealthy enough to avoid any issues with food, and the vast majority of assignments are desirable. That said, the Senate has, in the past, created positions to serve as punishment for their enemies, and have compelled their targets to take them under threat of being stripped of rank.

In terms of relative population, Patricians measure in thousands. Plebeians, in comparison, measure in the millions.

Spoiler: Geography

The city is a sprawling mass of men and buildings born of centuries of organic development with only minimal central planning. In general, the citizens of the city build as they please and, when the Dominus or the Senate desire some particular feature (e.g. roads, bathhouses, arenas, watch towers, distribution centers…), the surroundings are demolished as needed to accomplish such. Disasters like fires, or the whims of individual citizens might shape neighborhoods for years to come. This has resulted in something of a chaotic mess; islands of centralized order interspersed with seas of alleys and twisting turns that only locals might manage to navigate. Few detailed maps exist of the entirety, but a general sense of the city is understood widely.

Taken as a whole, the city is a generally circular shape, surrounded by grand walls that enclose it all. At the center is the Grand Forum, the central marketplace that is the heart of the city. The forum leads to the great arenas of the city, the hippodromes, and the buildings of governance. Directly adjacent to the forum is the Palatial Estate, which contains the Senate House, the residence of the Dominus, the gladiatorial campuses, and many senatorial residences. By law, gladiatorial schools may only be located within the Palatial Estate.

Spoking out from the Grand Forum are the four Major Roads, each heading in a cardinal direction towards the four gates in the walls. The four Minor Roads spike out in the intercardinal directions, though only the North East road reaches the city walls. The other three fall off at some point or other into the maze of organic streets and alleys.

North of the Grand Forum, cutting through the city and nearly dividing it straight in half, is the Chasm, a great crevice that runs approximately east to west. It is the dried remains of an old and forgotten river that had been excavated further in ages past. Along the Major and Minor roads that encounter the Chasm are grand, sturdy bridges which safely cross it. Many other crossing points exist, but they are of a more dubious quality. Along the walls of the Chasm, enterprising plebes have built vertical and embedded structures, or have outright dug out cave homes for themselves. The Chasm hosts many sprawling neighborhoods in this manner, but they are generally considered undesirable.

To the east of the Grand Forum, where the hills of the city are most notable, are the Patrician Districts. Outside of residences in the Palatial Estates themselves, these are considered the most desirable of neighborhoods. The Patricians occupy this quarter of the city, and the wealthiest of plebeians live in the adjacent neighborhoods. The rest of the city is occupied by the plebeians, on leased land, though the occasional Patrician chooses to live outside the east for some reason or other.

Outside the city walls is the farmland, where only those with business ever go. Beyond the farmland is an undesirable place, and nobody goes there.

Far beyond the borders of the cities are the provinces, large swaths of fertile land owned by the Dominus. The gentle hills of the provinces are dotted with simple hamlets and farming villages, whose small population works the Dominus's fields, pastures, quarries, and lumber yards, all to supply the many needs of the city. There is no particular distinction between different parts of the provinces, other than the particular mix of industry in the area. The culture of the provincials is distinct from the city's own, as a simple consequence of lack of contact between the two regions.

The provinces are inconveniently located, so the only practical method of transportation is the Gate, a wonder of arcanum that links the provinces directly to the heart of the city. Travel by the Gate is heavily restricted, and under constant guard by the Watchers. The wagon drivers who are selected for the route are aggressively screened for their compliance. Travel to and from the provinces is otherwise forbidden except in the strangest circumstances: the Gate serves to provide the city access to resources, not to allow individuals freedom of travel. That said, talented provincials are also a resource to be considered. After all, the city is always hungry for new gladiators, charioteers, venatio, acrobats, musicians…

Spoiler: Capital Punishment

As with any land with a proper sense of law and order, execution of criminals and dissidents is a frequent occurrence. As befitting the city's love of spectacle, officials are loath to waste a good death when they can make a show of it, and the city has found quite a few ways to make a show of the matter. Aediles in preparation of their events will bid for the right to execute prisoners. These prices are generally nominal, usually less than the food required to feed a prisoner, but it is known for particularly bloodthirsty Aediles to get in a bidding war with one another when the supply of prisoners is too low. In those cases where there is more supply than demand, an Aedile may find themselves compelled to purchase prisoners as, by law and convention, all executions must be visible to the public. Aediles are usually quick to schedule executions for any prisoners they receive, to avoid paying too much for the upkeep needed to keep them alive.

There are many forms of execution in the city. Perhaps the most well known and enjoyed is death by chimera. A hunt cannot begin until the audience can properly witness the danger of the event's beast, and that will require half a dozen prisoners at minimum. This execution is understood to be an integral part of the event, not worth skimping on. Compared to the price of the chimera and the appearance fee of the Venatio, it is a pittance for the Aediles.

More spectacular, and also well beloved by the city, is the Execution Play. These events are almost always part of an arena itinerary and are advertised alongside the gladiatorial matches and the acrobatics. In an Execution Play, the prisoner (or prisoners) are cast as a tragic hero or villain in some short play, based on popular myths and stories. They will be prodded along in their role by the acting troupe and, when their character dies, they will be executed in the appropriate manner. These plays vary from beloved classics to novel productions from the troupe. They can last anywhere from fifteen minutes to a couple hours, depending on the nature of the play. Almost every day at the arena will have an Execution Play, sometimes more than one.

The Prisoner Melee is another well known execution method, usually saved for special events like Kalends. In it, a mass of prisoners are supplied with weapons, sent into the arena, and are forced to kill one another. The sole survivor is granted a clean death to match the honor of victory. This is, of course, distinct from the regular melee, an uncommon event where trained athletes enter a mass brawl with a single winner, where death is only incidental and not required. Aediles will often have a regular melee fighter join the Prisoner Melee, in order to smooth matters further. With training, armor, and better equipment, the athlete is certain to win, and is not at risk of being executed themselves for their victory.

In the Hippodrome, prisoners are simply trampled to death. Some enterprising Aediles have tried to incorporate the execution of prisoners into the courses themselves, but this usually ends up being more awkward than spectacular. A few Execution Plays explicitly incorporate the horses and field of the Hippodrome, but these are not particularly common.

Spoiler: The Watchers

Nothing exemplifies the city's commitment to order and prosperity more than the army of Watchers that guard the streets. As the personal legion of the Dominus, the Watchers serve as the ruler's eye and arm both, to witness and punish any indiscretions. Their uniform is bright and colorful, to ensure that the citizenry knows they are always being observed. Their faces are permanently covered with a distinctive bird mask, so that the people understand that the Watchers act as the Dominus's will, and not as individuals. When in uniform, Watchers are nearly indistinguishable from one another. No insignia of rank or seniority is ever visible to the populace.

The exact number of Watchers is obfuscated as well. Perhaps no individual but the Dominus knows precisely how many there are. But the Watchers are a constant presence throughout the city. There is always a great flock of Watchers around the Grand Forum, both during the day where they monitor the grand crowds and at night where they enforce the curfew for the areas surrounding the Palatial Estate. The Senate House has a great honor guard of Watchers to protect the occupants, and the Dominus's Palace is a nest of its own. In the eastern quarters of the city, where the Patricians live, Watcher patrols are frequent. Elsewhere, the Watchers go as they please, perhaps to strike at a moment's notice.

The Watchers are well equipped, with armor, arms, and as many vials of elixir as they might require. They are trained to perfection over long years, in arcanum, coordination, observation, and martial might. The Dominus's legion has perfected the art of subdual, so that they can deliver their targets for proper execution. In a city where weapons and training both are greatly restricted, the Watchers are an overwhelming force compared to the criminal elements of the city. Perhaps a notable bodyguard might prove a match for a single Watcher, but not for a mass of them, not that those in the employ of a Patrician would have any reason to come into conflict with the guards.

When not on patrol, Watchers are kept isolated from the rest of the population in specialty districts. The private lives of Watchers are kept a deliberate mystery, as are the recruiting policies and the nature of training. If Watchers ever retire or marry or remove their mask to live a semblance of a life, they do so out of the sight of the populace. The citizens of the city have no need for any of that information. They simply need to know the Watchers are always there to observe and protect them, and that criminals will be apprehended.

As the eyes and arms of the Dominus, the Watchers have full discretion to carry out their duties as they see fit. There is no countermanding them, no appealing their judgment, whether commoner or noble, whether man, woman, or child. The Watchers do not make mistakes.

Spoiler: The Calendar

The city calendar is a standardized measure of time maintained by the Senate. It consists of twelve months, each with four weeks, that each have seven days. The first day of each week is known as the Princeps. The Senate does not meet on Princeps, nor do most Patricians do any business, as it is considered a day of leisure and socializing. Plebes in a position to choose will echo the custom and avoid work on the day. It is considered an auspicious time for gatherings, and it is common for Patricians to visit the estates of others on Princeps if they are not hosting themselves. Chimera hunts usually fall on Princeps. It is the sole day of the week where all four stadiums will be running events simultaneously, and there is always a race in the hippodrome.

There are two holidays each month: Kalends (on the first), and the Ides (on the fifteenth). These are holidays for the city as a whole, Patrician and plebe alike. Only the most miserable work on either of these two days. In the arena the most desirable matches are always scheduled for Kalends. Only the greatest of gladiators are ever scheduled for these matches, and the fighting over tickets is fierce. The Ides, on the other hand, is the day for Chariot Racing. The more spectacular and desirable matchups are always scheduled for the fifteenth.

The first day of the first month of the year is New Years, a grand festival for the entire city with lavish spending and charity. New Years events are the greatest of spectacles, for every sport and every mode of entertainment. In the realm of gladiatorial combat it is the New Years fights that crown the champion of the arena. For Venatio, acrobats, theater troupes, and musicians, performing on New Years is recognition of being the greatest in the field. By convention, the Chariot Racing Championship takes place on the Ides of the Twelfth Month, not on New Years, but the New Years Race is the second most popular race in the hippodrome, and is considered the start of the new season.

Occasionally, the Senate will declare a holiday week. This is not considered to be part of any month in particular, and the calendar does not progress during this week. The Senate may do so in order to better align the calendar with the seasons, or to buy more time before some event or other. Citizens have been known to get rowdy when surprise holiday weeks are declared, especially if it is perceived to delay Kalends or the Ides. By tradition, bathhouses are free during holiday weeks, but few events are scheduled during these times. By convention, rents are not paid during holidays week, nor does interest accumulate, as time is not considered to be passing. This can be a source of annoyance to some, and a relief for others, depending on their financial situation. On one notable occasion, a Honori Senator was able to negotiate eight holiday weeks in a row, to avoid paying a large debt until they were able to accumulate enough money to handle it.

Spoiler: Elixirs and Arcanum

Arcanum is the art of wonder, and Elixir is its blood and soul. The city is a place of marvel and magic, of dazzle and spectacle, of great feats of skill. But magic always has a cost. Every flying toy, every flaming sword, every flash of lightning, every conjuration of steel, every monstrous chimera, every loyal golem… all need the precious lifeblood that is the Elixir to function. This magic potion permits all the glory of arcanum, whether it is ingested by man or machine.

With training, anyone can learn to make use of the magic sequestered inside the liquid. Near any effect can be learned with proper direction: great bursts of flame, hardening to steel, levitation, teleportation, duplication, increasing one's intelligence, charming allure, befuddling minds, skipping time, shattering space, delaying death, birthing wonders, erasing mistakes… all of these are possible with talent, dedication, and, above all else, Elixir.

The exact recipe for Elixir is a closely guarded secret in the city. The license to produce the substance is given sparingly: a state monopoly granted only to the most trusted of citizens. Permission to brew elixirs is seen as a privilege coveted by all Patricians, and hoarded by the Senate fiercely for the wealth it represents. The ravenous hunger for elixirs by the golem carvers, wonder crafters, chimera stitchers, and all who purchase these products ensure that the demand for Elixirs is eternal. Even the dregs of failed batches have their use in other industries. Farmers and aquaculturists have found ways to meet the needs of the hungry populace using Elixir in secret rites.

By far the most valuable are Elixirs produced in the Dominus's own factories, with the best ingredients and the purest of recipes. These Elixirs supply the Watchers, the Gladiators, the Venatio, the Charioteers. Order and wonder both are produced in the Dominus's factories, and sold for the good of the city in perfect vials of glass. In a dark mirror of this glory, the criminal elements of the city have found their own alternatives. These misshapen recipes of miserable quality, aping at the glory of the city, still possess the barest spark of arcanum. And that smallest spark is enough for the criminal element to slaughter one another to possess.

Through this means, a guttersnipe brute might manage some mockery of magic. But possessing vials of elixir without license is as serious a crime, which the Watchers will ruthlessly crush just as they would any other weapon. The average, law-abiding plebeian will never acquire a single vial of the substance, unless they are employed as an artificer in some workshop, to be used in their employment. For the wealthy, Elixir vials are an expensive novelty, to power their toys or to play with their arcanum, if the interest takes them. For the greatest of Citizens, Elixir is the lifeblood of their estates, fueling their golems and their industry. For all the rest, it is what allows the marvels of their entertainment to function from afar.

There are some that claim they are capable of magic without use of Elixir. These are known to be charlatans, trying to make a fool of others for their amusement or their profit. Only uneducated plebes would fall for such obvious scams.

Spoiler: Currency

The city runs on money, and its currency supports such a reality. There are seven distinct types of coinage minted and accepted by the city as legitimate. Counterfeiting, shaving of coins, and minting of other coinage is considered a crime against the city, punishable by the Watchers. As both the initial act and the circulation of criminal coinage is considered illegal, citizens are extremely judicious in examining the coins they use.

There are three bronze coins making up the bulk of all currency: the assarius, the half assarius (usually referred to as a 'half'), and the quarter assarius (usually referred to as a 'quarter'). All are made of the same bronze alloy with an increasing size. The quarter is marked with a wheat stalk on the front and an eye on the back. It is enough to buy access to the Grand Bath of the forum or a ticket to a seat in the commons section of the arena on most days. The half is marked with a bread loaf on the front and an eye on the back. It is enough to buy a good meal. The full assarrii is marked with a Watcher's bird mask on the front and an eye on the back. It is a single day's pay at a respectable job. Trade for value less than a quarter is done via bartering, often using small chunks of cheese or cups of alcohol or other less perishable foods. The vast majority of commerce is done with these coins and unofficial bartering.

The next level of coinage is the silver argenteus, which comes in the half and the full variety. There is no consistent exchange between argentei and assarii, and the value between the two is known to fluctuate. In general, an argenteus is worth somewhere between twenty and thirty assarri. Rent is almost always paid for in these silver coins, with a single argenteus being worth one month of rent. The half argenteus is marked with a shield on the front and an eye on the back. It is the price of admission to the common sections of the Kalends matches in the arena. The full argenteus is marked with a sword on the front and an eye on the back. The magical novelties of the Grand Forum often cost a full argenteus. A skilled profession will be paid in argentei. A scribe might be paid three argentei a month. An artificer at a golem workshop might be paid seven.

Following the argentei is the electrum. This coin is an alloy of gold and silver. Its value is pegged to that of a single vial of Elixir from the Dominus's factories. It is an uncommon coin and only those in the industry will make use of it. Its exchange rate can vary greatly, as individual Patricians are known to try to buy up the supply of electrum when they anticipate the demand for new Elixir will rise. As there is a secondary market for Elixir vials which can be purchased without electrum, this isn't a fully effective maneuver, but vast fortunes have been made and lost on electrum speculation. By popular convention, electrum is worth eight argentei, but this is only a rough estimation. On the front of the electrum is an eagle. On the back is a vial.

Finally, there is the aureus, a gold coin. The aureus is the currency of Senators and Patricians, and the absolute wealthiest of plebes. Trade in the coin itself is almost incidental. Patricians will often use signed promissory notes from their households marked in a value of aurei, rather than use the coin directly. These notes might be passed on between other Patricians without ever being exchanged. One common insult among the city nobility is to offer to buy a note at less than face value, implying that the signer is not good for the money. Convention would state that an aureus is worth ten argentei, but there is no consistent conversion happening between gold and silver coinage. Patricians have access to more than enough argentei from rent if they need to deal with plebs.

In a mirror of their plebeian lessers, when Patricians need to deal with lesser sums, they will barter rather than use smaller coinage. A single aureus might purchase a slaughtered cow or a fine bottle of wine. A Patriunius Golem is priced at eight hundred aurei. The appearance fee for a gladiator will be at least one hundred. On the front of the aureus is the Dominus. On the back is a corpse.

Spoiler: Education

The education of the citizens of the city is sporadic and piecemeal, based on the expectations of the individual's role in society. Each citizen is functional in their role, with the basic level of literacy and numeracy to deal with day to day subsistence, but specialized knowledge is not as wide spread. In general, the level of education one receives is determined by one's parents, or by one's profession.

For Patricians, youths are traditionally entrusted with private tutors at the age of four, until somewhere between the ages of fourteen and twenty, depending on the preference of the individual family. There is a stigma among the nobility against teaching one's immediate family, as it implies a lack of alternatives. So these tutors will either be older cousins, second or third children from allied houses, or educated plebeians. There is a level of respectability for these pedagogues, even for those of lesser birth, and, unlike most other household staff, there is no shame in employing humans for this specific purpose. Part of that is owed to the fact that golems are incapable of the work.

A child educated in this manner will be instructed in all the necessary subjects: rhetoric, arithmetic, the classics, calisthenics, philosophy (natural and otherwise). Some pedagogues will teach every subject, but it is considered more proper to have a specific teacher for each individual subject. Particular tutors gain acclaim for their work, and the demand for their employment can grow immensely (as can the price for their time). In this manner, tutelage by specific plebeians is seen as superior to that from a Patrician cousin. Regardless, a pedagogue is expected to serve for the entirety of the child's education, for over a decade. It is common to start with a general educator and to only add other, specialized tutors when the child grows older. It is also expected that each pedagogue only serves a single child at a time, living in the same household, though some allowance is made in the case of siblings.

It is uncommon, but not unusual, for a child to have an instructor in weapon skills or arcanum. These subjects are generally seen as elective: a mark of an indulgent parent placating their offspring. These tutors may be former gladiators or other renowned figures. Unlike their mundane peers, it would not be unusual for them to serve multiple families at once.

When it comes time for a Patrician child to learn politics and the family networks, they will be taught by their head of house. Every Patrician is expected to be aware of this important subject, so they will all learn. But it is also expected that the head of household will dedicate more time and attention to their own heir, and the heirs of their heirs. These lessons usually begin at the age of ten.

For the well-off plebes, tutors are also the norm. But only the wealthiest can afford private tutelage in the same manner. For many others, the only option is to pool resources together. Families of respectable plebes will set their children together and split the cost of some number of pedagogues to teach a cohort of between five and twelve students at once. This is not seen as fully respectable, for the students or for the teacher, but it is considered better than the alternative.

For many, education comes down to what family can afford to spend time teaching. Children will often be taught by their parents, or their aunts and uncles, older siblings, cousins... These lessons will cover what is necessary to follow the family trade, and whatever else the family thinks worth imparting. For the truly skilled workers like artificers, physicians, or scribes, this can be quite in depth, and often involves being brought on the job to observe. It is not uncommon for capable youths to be adopted by skilled workers and taught their craft, should said laborer lack a child of their own.

For the least well off, school is taught in the line of the grain dole. Here, as families gather to wait in long lines for their sustenance, children will play with one another underfoot. And, in an attempt to make something of the time, and to keep the children from being a bother, the community will take some time to teach the assortment of children small bits. In this way, even the destitute can be expected to pick up bits of reading and counting and a sense of the world.

There have been some efforts in the Senate, by the Antiquiores and the Honori both at different times, to formalize the education of the plebes. These efforts never leave the discussion table and ultimately peter out.

Spoiler: Gladiators

Gladiatorial combat stands proudly in the city's trifecta of arena sports, and is arguably the most popular. While chimera hunts and chariot racing have spectacle and excitement, all can agree that it is the gladiator that exemplifies the purity of skill, the pinnacle of might and arcanum. It is the most virtuous of sports, pitting two titans against one another bereft of distraction or gimmick. While all athletes in the city are seen with respect, it is the gladiator that earns awe, for what they can claim with their own two hands. It is a fight until death or submission, on the sands of the arena.

In the long past, there were a great many types of arena fighter, distinct in style and form, and matched with another of the same. Sword would only face sword, trident would only face trident, and arcanum would only face arcanum. But the city and the Dominus demanded greater excellence from their athletes, proof of combat unmatched and unrestricted. The name 'gladiator' dominated all other types, and this new breed of mixed sport became the only form of it.

In this age, each gladiator has a distinct method of fighting, to better emphasize their personal glory, and to better defeat all others. One and all will use elixir and arcanum, and one and all has a weapon or two of choice. But the specifics vary. Masters of bow will face wielders of tridents. Swords and shields will meet throwing knives. Cunning illusionists combat men made of mist. The secrets of these arts are cultivated by Lanistae, taught by the tutors, and perfected by the individual. The crowds adore their favorites for their unique nature, and the blood of the sands proves their worth.

The Lanistae for gladiators echo their student's respectability. Those that deal with fighters are seen with higher standing than those that deal with hunters or horses. Many Lanistae start their careers in lesser sports, dreaming of accumulating enough capital and prestige to teach arena fighters. To be a Lanistae of this breed requires a great deal of influence or wealth. By law, gladiatorial campuses must be located within the Palatial Estates. The exorbitant rent for this prime land requires either independent wealth or a direct connection to a Senator who might offer patronage.

Living in the Palatial Estates is a mark of the privilege a gladiator receives. Very few can roam the grounds and its gardens so near to the Dominus's Palace and the Senate House. Lanistae are able to commission the greatest tutors, weapons, and supplies for their students. The Elixir vials that Lanistae purchase match, or even exceed, the amount used to supply the Watchers. In these estates of tranquil luxuries, nothing can distract the gladiator from their pursuit of excellence. A gladiator is not paid, but they have no need for money. Their Lanista will supply them with all they need, food, board, care. Even the connections a gladiator might seek to secure a position after their career ends can be found on the estates. Those with the wealth and prestige to secure the services of a retired gladiator naturally have the means to enter the palace grounds. Few gladiators have any reason to leave the estates, outside of their matches. Only the draw of the adoring public might pull them from their practice, or the other vices they might pursue.

A gladiator can be expected to live in comfort for the length of their career. A gladiator will fight until the moment age steals them from their prime, barring great injury or death. While death is a constant companion, and damage a great risk, neither are expected from any given fight. The Lanistae have invested too much, and gladiators have no particular bloodthirst to see one another slain. But every one knows that defeat might be lethal, and that the Aedile might demand their death for any reason.

As a gladiator fights, they accrue fame and glory for themselves, attracting interest in their name and deeds. A successful career might last three years. It might last eight. There is no standard but the agreement of the gladiator to fight under the auspices of their Lanista. It ends when a gladiator no longer feels they can accumulate glory, when they can trust the goodwill of patrons to host them for the rest of their days. The less successful might find good employment as bodyguards or as tutors of weapon arts or the arcane. But the victors will find themselves permanent guests of honor in a Patrician's estate.

And the greatest of champions will be elevated to the Dominus's household. There is no greater honor. And there is no refusal.