who: @amalasingh
where: palace of pluto
when: late
Six centuries before the reckoned year of the birth of Christ, Romulus gathered the supernatural citizens of Rome in the Comitium, a place of political assembly on the north side of the Forum and declared that all magical life was sacred. This early credence forbid the Senate from conducting executions, but no matter his power, Romulus could not stave off Death for long. Crossing the littered remains of Pluto’s outer courtyard almost three millennia on, it was clear that neither could his vampire brethren.
Met by a chauffeur at Fiumicino Airport, Romulus had travelled straight to the site of the recent massacre, bypassing his medieval home in the city centre. Running a hand through his messy hair, a frown transformed the magister’s usual jovial appearance. Gothic towers cast a long shadow over the disturbed ground, but the scent of rotting flesh was not so easily obscured.
His return to Rome was overdue. Several events now warranted closer inspection, including the disappearance of the Alstroemeria Coven. He’d genuinely believed the Senate would capture those responsible without magisterial intervention. Guilt nagged the edge of his ancient conscious—he swore to protect Faustulus and Acca Larentia’s ancestors, and failed.
Coming to rest on his heels, the vampire gently pressed his fingertips into the stained stone. There was enough blood here to fill a person thrice over. Sensing someone approach, he stood to face the palace. “Amala, I presume?”
