Hey guys, Anon back from the grave. I apologize to all those who are waiting for a new chapter for Empire of Tamriel, Rise of the Mandalorian Empire, and The Last Jedi, it is simply not coming to me, and Empire of Tamriel is under major revision, as I have gotten many comments over how it is written, and I will try to improve, but I can't without some beneficial critique from you, the readers. So if you could leave in the suggestions anything you see that could be improved upon, from the writing, to the sentence structure, to how ideas are presented, I implore you to say so. Enough blabbering from me, here's an idea I got while playing Mount and Blade Warband, with the Imperia mod installed.

WARNING, for those with weak constitutions, or who generally don't like dealing with gritty, dark topics such as slavery and the like, I recommend reading a different story, as this one deals with such topics a lot throughout the story, and I mean a lot, as during the Roman Empire it was a prevalent profession, and it brought prosperity to the Empire, so it will be included (it is also an important game mechanic to the mod as well, so I had to deal with slaves no matter what). I will try to emulate the general attitude towards slaves during this time period, which will probably offend a lot of people, but hey, what can you do. Without further ado, on to the story.

Chapter 1: The Newcomer

The Roman Empire, for years it stood united against the barbarous frontier, conquering all that opposed her, her military might unchallenged. The Empire had spread civilization to all corners of the known world, building roads, bridges, and cities that outclass anything that the barbarians could hope to build. Rome's military was nigh unstoppable, an undefeatable force of men and steel and horses, who built wherever they went, defeating all who opposed them. At the center of this glorious empire, stood the eternal city, Rome herself. With the expansion of its borders, Rome grew rich from the influx of new and exotic goods and slaves that were brought back by her successful legions, ranging from the elephants of North Africa, to camels of the Middle East, to the gigantic barbarian warriors as slaves from Gaul and Germania. A time of prosperity and growth befell the empire, all was well.

But, nothing lasts forever. With the success Rome has had militarily, the generals of Rome's legions grew ambitious, and began to garner support for their bid for the throne of emperor, backed by their loyal legions. Soon, these ambitious ideas led to fractures appearing in the empire, with minor roman factions forming, claiming large swaths of land for themselves, destroying all that their predecessors have worked for many years to build in a matter of months. The military had turned on itself, with numerous legions with various degrees of notoriety and fame clashing with one another in support of their candidate for emperor. In this time of instability and ruin, the barbarians saw and took their chance for freedom, capturing many of their former settlements which were under roman control, slaughtering all who supported Rome, putting their heads on pikes at the entrance of each town and city. Many of those loyal to Rome pleaded for help, but received none as the generals were too busy competing with their rivals for the position of emperor, and could not be bothered with a frontier town under siege, or a roman garrison on the verge of collapse, they had more important matters to attend to.

At the center of all this, was a man. This man, named after the famous Caesar who conquered the barbarous lands of Gaul, and the nephew who succeeded where his predecessor had failed, was the son of a roman general serving under one of the factions fighting for control of the empire. From birth he was schooled in warfare and strategy, learning the ins and outs of combat, the proper ways to besiege a fort or a city, and how to get soldiers to become loyal to you, to the point of sacrificing themselves if it meant his safety. He also had hands on experience in fighting, as his father was routinely sent out to deal with raving bands of runaway gladiators, who were more skilled in combat than the garrison soldiers stationed in towns and cities, and grew into a deadly warrior.

This man disliked the infighting of the Romans, disliked the petty reasons as to why each faction wanted to gain control. In the company of his father, he met all of the generals who were fighting for control. He knew many of them before the death of the emperor, when they were loyal Romans, who wanted the empire to grow and dominate the world, who would give their lives if it meant the safety of Rome. But now, since the emperor died, poisoned, their true nature came forth, conniving, greedy, unconcerned with the wellbeing of the empire so long as it was theirs for the taking. It didn't matter if the empire was in ruins once they took it, so long as it belongs to them.

This man, we shall call him Caesar Augustus since it is his name, was currently watching a gladiator match between two well known gladiators. A Hoplomachi and a Thraces were in the arena, fighting with a ferocity only seen in the barbarian warriors that Rome had conquered so long ago. The Hoplomachi was based on the Greek hoplite, with padded shin guards and quilted leg wrappings, with a large hoplon shield and a spear with a gryphon styled helmet, they were formidable fighters. The Thraces wore a broad rimmed helmet, carried a square shield, and gripped a sica, a gladiator's version of the gladius. The Hoplomachi thrust his spear towards his opponent, the spear punching through the shield, rendering it useless. The Thraces growled and twisted the shield, pulling the spear out of the Hoplomachi's grip, and tossed them both to the side, holding his sword out to the side in plain view of the Greek styled warrior.

This gladiator match may seem like any other match to the normal audience member, but Caesar was watching it differently. Earlier today his father had asked him a question that perplexed him.

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"Caesar, come here for a moment. I have a question for you" his father said with a strong voice befitting of a twenty year old man instead of a sixty year old.

He looked up from his ledger he was writing in, cataloguing the amount of grain their plantation was producing, and moved from his room in their shared villa to the main room, where his father sat at a desk, apparently pondering over something written on the scroll he held in his hands, with a bronze chalice of wine at his side, with a slave carrying a pitcher of the sweet substance.

"Yes father? What seems to be the question?" he asked.

"During our time together in the field, have you made a choice as to which strategy you would pursue?" his father asked, turned towards him with a questioning gaze.

At first, this question befuddled him, as he could not recall any particular instance as to his father asking him that question. He stood there for a few moments, his face scrunched in the effort to recall any memory that could be related to the question. Suddenly, his eyes lit up in remembrance, making his father chuckle at his son's expression.

"Yes, during the attack on a gladiator camp a few years ago. You asked me if it was wise to pursue a strategy of offense or defense when confronting a foe" Caesar said, making his father nod.

"Indeed, and have you decided?".

This question made the son's face twist in discomfort, making his father look at him with an incredulous look.

"You have still not decided? I have given you ample time to ponder such a question, and still you have no answer?" the father asked, with Caesar shaking his head.

"I am sorry father, forgive me. I cannot choose between the two. If I choose offense, I become susceptible to defensive strategies, while if I choose defense, I will go nowhere" Caesar said, his eyes downcast to the tiled floor in shame.

"There is nothing to forgive my son, as I intended for such a question to be difficult. However, in this world, offense or defense is key to winning battles, and winning long campaigns. There is a particular match at the Coliseum that I want you to go see, it may help you in deciding your choice" his father said, taking a gulp from his chalice and beckoning the slave to refill it.

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The Hoplomachi dodged a swipe from the Thraces, moving ever so slowly towards his spear, while keeping his shield faced towards his opponent. Seeing the Hoplomachi backing up, taking it as a sign of weakness, the Thraces roared a battle cry and charged the Hoplomachi, hacking away at his opponent's shield with his sword. Under the onslaught of the Thracian, the Hoplomachi kept his shield up, never tiring, never wavering, a solid wall against the whirlwind that was his opponent. He looked back towards his spear, and seeing it was close enough to grab, made the Hoplomachi spring into action. He used his shield to stun his opponent, knocking him to the sandy turf, and leapt for his spear, standing upright with his spear in hand, hiding his body behind his large shield.

Caesar saw the usage of tactics in those actions, how he was being defensive, weathering the storm that was the Thraces until finding an opportunity to strike, becoming offensive and striking with speed and ferocity. The Thracian warrior was offense only, always on the attack, never letting his opponent rest for a minute, but that could backfire if used too much.

As he watched on, the Thraces slowly picked himself up, gripping his stomach, staring at the Hoplomachi with pure hate. The Thracian warrior screamed with rage and sprinted towards his opponent, sword raised high into the air. The Greek warrior hunkered down in preparation for the savage blows, gripping his spear in anticipation. The Thraces rained down strikes with the force of thunderbolts, the harsh clang of steel ringing throughout the arena. As the Thraces rained down blow after blow on his opponent's shield, Caesar noted that the Greek didn't move an inch, he was still hunkered down in the same position as before, never wavering. As the Thracian warrior began to tire, his blows loosing strength and speed, with the time in between blows increasing by the minute, the Hoplomachi suddenly thrust out his shield, knocking away the Thracian's sword, and moving in to finish him off, kicked his opponent to the ground.

Before the final blow was struck, with the spear point directly over the Thracian's neck, he looked towards the 'emperor' for the final decision.

Caesar looked at the self proclaimed Emperor of Rome in the royal box with derision. This general accompanied his father during the campaigns in Hispania, where they subjugated the rest of the tribes who wouldn't submit to Roman rule. He now controls the Italian peninsula and most of Gaul, all bowing to 'Emperor Vitellius'. Vitellius, in his elaborate white toga with a golden wreath upon his brow, rose from his gilded golden throne in the emperor's box and looked from left to right, gauging the plebian's reactions. The crowd wanted blood, wanted death, and who was he to deny the people what they want. As he returned his gaze to the two gladiators on the Coliseum floor, he thrust his fist out, thumb raised, then slowly turned his fist, pointing his thumb downwards, much to the delight of the crowd.

The Hoplomachi turned back towards his opponent, and thrust his spear into the Thracian's neck, blood spurting onto the dust covered arena floor. As he pulled out his weapon and walked towards the gate of life victorious, Caesar realized the purpose of this visit to the Coliseum.

He walked with the crowd exiting the Coliseum, and made his way to his chariot. As he was about to reach his chariot, a hand on his shoulder stopped him, its grip firm and familiar.

"Caesar, my old friend, where have you been? It's been ages since we last saw one another" a voice said, its familiar rough tone bringing back old memories.

Caesar turned, and was greeted by an old friend. The man stood around five foot six, was pale as winter snow, and sported a couple of scars, testament to his skill in battle. He wore robes that befit someone of a senatorial class, with three golden rings on his right hand, sporting a mop of unruly red hair.

"Petros, my old friend! It has been ages" Caesar said, clasping his friend's forearm in greeting.

The man, Petros, smiled and chuckled.

"Ah Caesar, I remember you when you were but a wee lad, barely reached your father's waist if I recall. How's the general been, I haven't seen him since his campaign in Gaul to quell that rebellion a while back" Petros said.

"He's fine, still gives me lessons on strategy and tactics every now and then, to make sure I don't forget what I've learned. He's on the plantation mostly, makes sure everything is in tip top shape, can't stand not having anything work at peak efficiency" he said in an exasperated tone, making the red haired man laugh.

"He's still like that? Oh Jupiter, I remember him being worse when we were out in the field on campaign, "Make sure that the fence post is in the exact position, don't let it lean even two degrees any which way", I got plenty of lashings from the centurion for messing up that way. If it works, it works, that's what I say" Petros said with fondness.

"Hey, mind walking with me to the slave auctions?" Petros said after a moment's pause.

He didn't have anything planned later today, the public baths were full at the moment so he would go later, and training with his father's former centurions wasn't until midday.

"Sure, I heard there was a new shipment from the frontiers. I bet they have some gigantic Germans" Caesar said, already thinking of what type of slave that would be useful on the plantation.

"No lad, I heard that it was a shipment from Greece. Those Greeks are great thinkers, and their women are very good looking" Petros said, staring with a faraway look into his eyes.

"Petros you pervert" he said jokingly.

"Hey, I'm speaking the truth here, don't blame me for that".

They took Caesar's chariot from the Coliseum towards the trade district, a wide expanse of multiple market stalls selling wares of all kinds. As they were going past a particular stall, Caesar saw next to the stall a large camel, laying on a nest of hay chewing cud, making the oddest of noises. Next to that stall was a large structure filled with horses of all breeds. There was a dark chestnut horse, from the Gallic frontier if he could guess, and next to that horse was a beautiful palomino, probably from Anatolia.

"I see you eying those horses, not satisfied with your Exmoor? Your father's friend had captured that horse when he governed the province of Britannia, very good breed of horse. You can't get that breed of horse anymore, since the Britons overran the Roman garrison there and took the island for themselves" Petros said.

"N-no of course not. I love that horse to death. It's just..." Caesar said, with a somber tone.

Petros looked from the street that they were traveling on towards his longtime friend. Now when he got like this, it was usually something that hit him hard, and he would have a hard time talking about it, he's seen this pattern all the way from when Caesar was a lad.

"Something on your mind lad?" he said, knowing a little prodding would make him open up.

"It's just, Neleus is dying, and father said that I should look for a new horse, since he's so old" he said.

"I know you had that horse since your teens, and it is hard to let something that you love go lad, I know. But we all eventually die, and sometimes, it just happens, and you just have to move on" Petros said.

He's had to give this line numerous times before, it's become almost routine. The lad was a bit too soft with animals that he owned, particularly those whom he spent time with, like his horses and dogs. But, every time that he's delivered this little bit, he's seen the young man harden just a bit, growing more and more callous to the world. However, that doesn't mean that he is uncaring, that he is a stone cold soldier who's only joy is fighting. No, he still finds time to enjoy the little things in life.

After a bit of introspection, Caesar looked towards his friend with a smile on his face, a grateful smile, and nodded in thanks. Petros nodded in return, a simple nod could convey so much more than words can, that they mostly use it instead of meaningless drivel.

As their conversation ended, their chariot neared a wide open space, filled to the brim with people. At the center of this throng of people stood a raised platform, with about five or six slaves in a line, with chained wrists and feet, being gestured at by a hefty man in a baggy toga, pointing towards certain people and gesturing towards a specific slave on the platform. Caesar looked to the back of the platform to see a small group of slaves. From their height and size, to their golden hair and blue eyes, he assumes they are of German decent, with a small portion of the slaves being of Numidian decent, with their dark skin and lithe builds.

"Looks like they already started the auctions, probably missed some good slaves" Caesar said with Petros nodding in agreement.

After they've parked Caesar's chariot, they moved into the crowds, the air humid and thick from the sheer amount of people in attendance. When they made it to the front of the crowd, standing near the slave auction platform, the slaves he saw on it before were gone, and were being replaced by the group of Germans and Numidians he saw earlier, the guards pushing the German slaves onto the platform when some wouldn't comply.

"How many are you looking to buy Caesar, I only have about two hundred denarii to spend, which would barely afford a slave or two, and I need a new slave to manage the stallions on my estate" Petros said, eyeing the slaves.

"After our Gallic slave died a few months ago, our plantation is not doing as well as it should, so I'm looking for a hard worker, and the Numidians are good at taking care of horses. Therefore, I think I am going to get a German if possible. If not, I will wait to see what others they have. Don't worry about me affording to pay for it, I have a vineyard in Neapolis, and it's pretty successful, letting me pocket a tidy profit of nine hundred denarii a season" Caesar said, smirking at the incredulous sound coming from his long time friend.

"Nine hundred denarii?! Oh Jupiter, if I'd known that you make that much, I'd have asked you for money sooner!" Petros said jokingly, returning his attention to the slaves on the platform.

The slaves were lined up, sorted based on their base value and the speculated value after the initial sorting was completed. Three Germans were lined up on the left, with two Numidians in the middle, with another two Germans on the end. The Germans on the left were large, beefy men, with massive muscles and strong postures, scars decorated their chest and face, which they wore with pride, a sign that they were former warriors. If he was a betting man, and he was from time to time, he would bet that those three were destined for the gladiator arena, to entertain the crowd with their shows of struggle and death.

Next were the two Numidians. They were of average height, with toned muscles and lithe physics, traits of those who lived in the saddle. Their skin was near flawless, with a few blemishes here and there, and their hair was cropped short, making them nearly bald. Their passive demeanor and lack of pride suggests that they were used to this treatment, and were former slaves themselves, judging by scar marks around their necks, a sign of former enslavement. The Numidians were bad news for a potential buyer, as they had escaped before, making them rebellious.

The final group of Germans piqued his interest. They were of average height for a German, which towered above any Roman, had the physic of a warrior, but held no scars, and kept their eyes glued to the wooden floor of the platform, a sign of timidity. This made for a good, obedient slave if one were to apply the proper measures to train them. If allowed the room for their pride to build, they will eventually rebel, seeing as their masters aren't as terrifying as they first thought. Caesar also took note of their hands, which were calloused in certain areas. This meant that they were farmers, men who plowed fields and raised livestock, who met his criteria for a good plantation slave.

"The two Germans on the end are perfect, I shall buy them" Caesar said, raising his hand when the slave auctioneer gestured to the two.

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As Caesar neared the edge of the city, he stopped by a small, but homely villa in the outermost edges of the city to drop off Petros, who gestured for his servants to take the new slave to their quarters.

"Make sure that he knows his role by morning, I have important guests visiting tomorrow and I don't want an ignorant slave ruining my reputation!" he shouted to the retreating forms of his slaves.

"Who's visiting you Petros, I'd have thought you would have withdrew from politics by now" Caesar said from his chariot.

"Well, I think I'm getting better at being a politician, it's still ten time harder than being a legionnaire, but I think I got the hang of it. And it's no one important, just some senators of the lower class who offered their support to put me in the senate. Anyways, I guess I'll see you tomorrow? I want you to try out this new wine I imported from Anatolia yesterday" he said.

"I might Petros, but I think I might be too busy on the plantation to stop by tomorrow though" Caesar said with dejection.

Petros waved it off with a chuckle.

"No, I understand lad. Not everyone lives the life of leisure and stress of a politician. I wish you well Caesar, may you live long and prosper" he said.

"I wish the same fortune to befall you old friend, until we meet again" Caesar said with a wave as his chariot left the villa, with Petros waving at him in the distance.

As his chariot left the stone streets of Rome, and passed onto the dirt roads of the country side, he looked back towards his purchase, and hoped that his father would be pleased with his gift to the plantation. But, when he turned his gaze back towards the dusty road, an ominous feeling gripped his soul, as if the gods were warning him of a horrible event. With increasing trepidation, he ordered his chariot to move towards the plantation with all haste, the chariot kicking up clumps of dirt as it raced past.

As he neared his father's plantation, dread filled him when he saw the billows of dark smoke curling into the sky. Once the chariot stopped he jumped out and raced to the plantation, hoping and praying to all the gods in the heavens that his father was alright. But, once he saw the burning husk that was his father's villa, he feared the worst. He raced to the blackened walls that was his home, and searched the wreckage for his father, hissing when he touched a hot piece of wood, which seared his hands.

"Father, where are you!? FATHER" he shouted, his plea receiving no response much to his dismay.

Suddenly, the clopping of hooves drew his attention to the fields, where the tools that the slaves use lay scattered all across the ground. Racing towards the villa was a rider, garbed in the armor that would rank the person as an auxiliary cavalryman. Relief flooded his system, and he made to wave towards his supposed helper, but stopped cold once he saw the colors underneath the armor. The soldier wore a blood red tunic, the symbol of Vespasian, another general pretender hoping to gain the throne of emperor. The rider rode up to the fields surveying the surrounding landscape, until his eyes landed upon Caesar. With a shout, and a sharp look in his eyes, the soldier spurred his horse into a gallop, leveling his spear to his chest.

Caesar leaped to the side as the rider sped past, the soldier turning his horse around for another pass. He was terrified, confused, and grief ridden, and couldn't come up with an answer as to why the rider is trying to kill him, then it hit him. Vitellius declared war on Vespasian not two moons past. The populace, even his father a wise military general, figured that the fighting would remain in Illyria and Greece, that it wouldn't even come close to the heartland. Sadly, that didn't seem to be the case, as Caesar was currently trying to stay alive as a soldier of Vespasian tried to kill him.

As the rider spurred his horse towards his target, Caesar slowly began to calm and remember the fighting tactics his father had taught him as a child. He grabbed a scythe that lay by the wayside, and made to counter his opponent. When the rider thrust his spear towards Caesar, he ducked under the stab and swept the horse's legs out from under it, sending it and its rider tumbling to the ground. He rushed the downed rider, ignoring the horse and grappling with the soldier, getting the cavalryman into a chokehold, slowly strangling the life out of the man.

"What happened here, what did you do to my father?"he asked in a furious tone.

The soldier began to chuckle, the action hampered by the arms around his neck.

"Oh, that traitor? We gave him what he deserved, a traitor's death" he said cackling to himself.

"If it's any consolation to you, your father took down three of our own before he fell, the body burned nicely".

With those words, his vision narrowed to the point to where he could only see the soldier being strangled in his arms. Caesar slowly started to turn the soldier's head to the side. The cavalryman, realizing what he was about to do, thrashed with renewed vigor, twisting his body in an attempt to get free. But, his efforts were in vain, as Caesar quickly turned the soldier's head to the side, his face impassive to the crackling and snapping of bones.

With the death of Vespasian's soldier, Caesar finally got back to finding any remains of their family possessions. With the burned skeletal walls of their villa, it seemed that not much survived the fire, with scorched metal plates and cups, warped silverware littered the area where the kitchen was. It seems that Vespasian's forces took what valuables they could, and burned the rest, taking the slaves on the plantation. With nothing left for him here, Caesar returned to his chariot and directed it back to Rome.