“ROMA INVICTA! PAX ROMANA! Victorious Rome! Rome Everlasting”
An overweight, sweaty human stands upon an unadorned stone dais in the middle of the Forum, he wears nothing but a simple robe of wool, a blood red sash interwoven between the folds of the garb. He addresses a thin crowd in the waking morning sun, a gaggle of boys, messengers for the political elite taking hasty notes, a few merchants and a pair of Centaur.
His words excite none of them as they echo off the marble walls that surround them. Rome is at peace, Rome rules the world, Rome is the world. Her borders stretch from the Atlantic sea in the East to the fertile valleys of Egypt in the West. Sitting on the ivory chair at the head of such an empire is Octavian Julius Caesar or Augustus as he is fondly called by the people. The greatest general and wielder of the arcane arts to have ever lived, his people have enjoyed a peace the world has never before seen. The Gods of old are defeated,