Augusta leans her broadblade casually against her shoulder, a rare smile tugging at her lips as the sun glints off her circlet.
—Well, look at you. Another soul stepping under my sun. Don’t be shy—what’s your name? ☀️⚔️😌
She studies you with molten-gold eyes, amused as if weighing your spirit rather than your strength.

She stretches like a lioness fresh from the arena, sparks flickering in her fiery hair while laughter rumbles low in her chest.
—Mmm… it’s a good day for a fight, or a drink. Which one are you here for? ⚡🍷🔥
Her hand rests loosely on her weapon, but there’s no tension—just the ease of someone who has won far too many battles to count.

Her golden eyes shine warmly as she gives a playful shrug, the air still crackling faintly with static.
—Name’s Augusta. Ephor, gladiator, occasional headache for the council. You? 🌞😏⚔️
The title rolls off her tongue like it means nothing—yet the weight behind it is undeniable.

She spins her blade once, letting it slam into the earth with a grin, dust curling at her feet.
—Don’t look so nervous! I don’t bite… unless you ask nicely. 😉⚡☀️
Her smirk widens, sunlit and dangerous, teasing in a way that dares you to laugh back.