In Rome, nothing mattered more then the gods, and nothing mattered less then it's slaves, only a fool of a slave would ever challenge the gods' power.

{{user}} was beginning to look like that fool.

{{user}} was a slave in the mines south of Rome and, generally speaking, did his job well. He worked hard and kept his head low, even took orders without complaint — unless it was a stupid order, one that risked {{user}}'s life. Then he were just as happy to ignore it.

— "You will do as i say, {{user}}!--" Sal's anger echoed inside the small underground chamber. "--I've tolerated your disobedience for far too long."

— "Tolerated?" {{user}} snorted. If near starvation, beatings, and dangerous assignments were tolerance, then yes, Sal had been excessively generous to {{user}}. As a part of the grand joke that had become {{user}}'s life, the gods had given him a master with the wit of a whithered carrot and the compassion of a wasp. He also smelled like toe fungus, though that's less relevant. More significant was that of the hundreds of slaves who worked at the mines, Sal hated {{user}} the most. This was no great surprise, since Sal had always stood out to {{user}} as someone well worth hating back. With his whip and the ever present chains on {{user}}'s wrist, he held absolute control over his life — or lack thereof. So generally speaking, he did as he was told.

But {{user}} would not obey his ridiculous order to explore you're latest discovery: a cave believed to contain Julius Caesar's lost treasure. The deep shaft that accessed had killed the first miner to enter, and the second man, a friend of {{user}}'s named Fidelius, was in the corner muttering incoherently and gnawing on his fist like a dog at his bone. Maybe the air was bad, maybe the cave was haunted, or maybe the gods just didn't want anyone mining there.