Gladiator gained:
Tius: A titan among men, a living giant out of the very pages of legend. He hails from the barbarous and strange lands to the north of the world, beyond the Rhine and the reach of Rome. To civilized Romans, he seems more beast than man, with a massive forest of a beard and wild, fierce eyes.
Starting Traits:
-Untamed: Those men who are born free do not bend easily. (-6 to all training rolls, -15 to all obedience rolls)
-Mighty: This gladiator was born with a strength to shake the roots of the world. (+5 to all combat rolls)
-Towering: Some men are born above all others. Literally. (+3 to all intimidation rolls)
-Beastial (-12 Charisma, -10 Crowd Favour, -2 to all Combat Rolls)
-(Special Trait) The German: It is said that those born beyond the Rhine are a wild and savage race, feared even by the barbarian Gaul. (+4 to Last Chance rolls, +4 to all unarmed combat rolls, +6 intimidation against Gauls, -4 to all servitude/obedience rolls)
___________
You watch as the massive man is loaded off the cart. Ropes thicker than your wrist wrap around his hands, and the guards watch him warily as he steps onto the matted earth of your ludus. Several of them look ready to throw down their arms, and you make a mental note to find replacements for these sub-par thugs soon.
Your doctore, or gladiator trainer, stands by you to watch the newest arrival. A tall, lanky man with sinewy arms, his bone-white hair is cut in a stark military style. Though old, he was training gladiators when you were a babe in crib, and you know none better. You have heard it told that in your father's own youth, he was a champion of your house, his name cheered on the sands, who won his freedom through blood and found employment with his former masters. In time, however, his name and legend has faded with his youth, and you know him now only as Doctore. He casts his eyes over Tius for a long moment before letting a rush of air blow past his lips as a grin twists his greying face.
"Gods be good, you've brought me a fucking giant."
He looks at you and lets out a wry chuckle. "I'll tell you this. You've got your grandfather's blood in you. He could never settle for one of the easy ones. If I didn't break three ribs teaching the bastard, he wasn't worthy of the sand."
You grin lightly. No employee of yours could, or should speak to you in that manner, but Doctore is partically a part of the estate, if not the family.
"How long will it take to train him?"
"To train him? Depends on what you want. I can make sure he's ready to fight in a few days, maybe trim that monster of a beard, but he'll only be fit for the pits. No lanista worthy of the name could throw him onto the sands in this state. He's all brute strength, I can see it from here. To actually train him..." Doctore snorts.
"Weeks?', you venture.
Another snort.
"Months, more like. Taming him's the matter. I can probably get him willing to swing a sword like I tell him to, out of self-fuckin-interest at least. But his kind...his kind were born wild. If he's anything like the Gauls, make him loyal and he'll die for you. But that'll take time, lots of it. Course..." Doctore pats the long, serrated whip at his waist. "...there's always the old fashioned way."
You nod with silent understanding. Doctores are always rough--it comes with the trade. No gladiator is made without a few lashings. But for the most stubborn, there are special punishments. Nights without food. Grueling menial tasks, backbreaking labor not fit for the lowliest of slaves. Break them and rebuild them. Your father considered it beneath a Roman to resort to such brutal means, and simply sold off those too proud to bend.
Of course, however, you are not your father.
___________
Trial By Fire: [] Throw him into the pits, the brutal underground fighting rings. Absent of any law or decorum, the fights within are little more than crude deathmatches which devolve into brutal, uncontrolled bloodbaths, far removed from the glory of the Arena. Debtors and failing lanistas often try their luck in here, in the hopes of winning enough purses to claw their way up to more prestigious arenas. While you have not fallen so low, you could, as Doctore suggests, send Tius into the pits to test his mettle and force him to learn the ways of a fighter. You will lose esteem in the eyes of the city's elite, but perhaps you might forge a great gladiator in the crucible of the slums.
To Tame A Giant: [] Initiate a basic training regimen, complete with exercises and weapons training. Doctore will struggle to find what motivates Tius, and use it to grip him. This is how many of the greatest have been tamed--the promise of riches, freedom, and women draws men to the arena above all other pursuits. This process would instill him with loyalty, both to you and your ludus, or at least the promise of freedom by your hand if glory is won in the arena. Gladiators are often bonded to one another during the training period, and form bonds of loyalty thus, but absent any others you will have to find other ways to make him willing to bleed in your name.
--(Subvote) Ave Imperator: [] You served with the legions, and commanded men to bleed and die and kill, all in your name, and the name of Rome, and did so in your own turn for those above you. Better than most, you understand the drive that pulls men to battle, the rush that fills your heart in the heat of the moment, and the terrifying power of men loyal to another. This is not the legion, and this man is no soldier of Rome, but you could try to apply the same strategies, modified for the ludus, to bond his loyalties to your house. This would require personal involvement, a thing nigh unheard of for a lanista, but for a single gladiator, for this man on whom the hopes and dreams of your very bloodline rest--perhaps it may be worth it.
By The Lash And Rod: [] Even the proudest of men must obey when Rome demands. To break a giant like Tius will require effort--terrible effort. Yet it can be done. The lash alone will not suffice. This will require many excesses and cruelties, looked down upon by other Lanistas and Romans in general. Doctore has been sparse about the details, and he makes it clear that it will not be an easy or quick process, but in the end, will result in an obedient fighter--or a dead one.
--(Subvote) The Fist of the Legion: [] In the service of Rome, you were forced to do many things. Some, more unpleasant than others. Rome is uncaring. Rome is callous. Rome is mighty. And you were but the fist of Rome. You call on those experiences, on the blood that stains your hands, to forge a gladiator.
Write-In: []
You sit at your desk of carved mahogany, gazing at the parchment before you. Your house must continue, this is a fact made plain. Your father sat this chair, and his father before him. There will be another after you--that, you swear. Your brother died a wine-sodden drunk, and though he likely sired many sons on the women who frequented his estate, you will lend the name Cadus to no bastard. As well, a well-situated marriage could further improve on your status in society. There are several eligible women within the city limits, and you have decided to begin the process of marrying one by writing to her father to express an interest.
___________
Beauty and Coin: [] You seek Anthea of Pamplona, the daughter of a well-off merchant from the moderately famous House of Domilius by the name of Lucius. A woman of no small beauty, she has been sought after by many suitors for both her hand and her father's wealth, yet none have been able to win her father's fickle favor. You are well aware that Lucius is a great fan of the games, and this could perhaps be leveraged to your advantage. If your gladiator does well in the arena, he may take a liking to you.
The Power of a Name: [] You have taken after Justinia Pedius, daughter of the once-powerful Titus Pedius, a senator. His is an esteemed and powerful familia, yet have fallen on hard times of late--low enough that he might consider allowing a mere lanista to court his daughter. You would, of course, need to rise higher in society and show him the possible benefits of being attached to your house. Yet with time, glory in the arena, and the favor of fickle fortune, you might stand worthy of her hand--which, of course, would further your standing even more.
The Bond of the Sword: [] You ask after Laurentia Valerius, daughter of Marcus Merius Valerius, the man you once held as brother. You and he served side-by-side in the Legion, and in time, you became good friends. He retired from the legion and established his own business in Rome proper, becoming mildly wealthy. Though life has taken you both to different paths, you and he still remain close friends. Close enough, perhaps, to bond your houses. You have heard his daughter is a beauty, and a woman of no small intelligence.
Love Thought Past: [] Before your time in the legion, you loved a girl, as most men do. Her name was Oriana, and though she came from the family of a competing lanista, you whiled away idle summers with her. Though it was a mad fling of youth, a part of you cares for her still, and the memories you have of her are the fondest remaining from before your family's fall. Perhaps she feels the same, perhaps she does not, yet your heart will never be still if you do not know. You write to her instead of her father, who still bears great enmity for the name Cadus, though it may yet be a hate that has waned with time.
