Blog: http://imperialmissive.wordpress.com/
I grew up just your normal Roman patrician. Had privileges, slaves, bitches up the wazoo. Had this really burning hating for tyrants and despots. I remember in school I beat the crap outta the dictator's son. That was fun stuff.
Later on in life, I married a really sweet girl. Her brother was my new best friend, Marcus Brutus. I went off to war a lot, and after Crassus, the head honcho of my troops, got himself killed, I managed to save the legions from the most disastrous defeat possible. True story. Afterwards, I was all over the place, being legate here, killing barbarians there. And it was all fine and dandy, until that bitch Caesar started acting up. So I decided to kill him.
You see, Rome was a republic. And I couldn't stand seeing some bastard become "dictator for life", since for life usually doesn't involve voting. I gathered up my drinking buddies, we signed a pact, and then the next day we stabbed the shit out of that little girl Caesar. We were still drunk, so we did this weird thing involving washing our hands in his blood. Kinda creepy looking back on it. Anyway, I also wanted to knife this bitch Antony, but Brutus was all "Nah man, let the guy go." He was a good man, Brutus, but a damned bleeding heart. Just like Caesar's now literally bleeding heart. Zing!
So, to make a sad story short, Antony and Caesar's heir Octavius decided to kill Brutus and me, for whatever reason. I had heard that Brutus was killed, so I kinda felt shitty. Still a little buzzed, I got my man Pindarus to kill me, since I wasn't going to let some wimpy ass Antony do me in.
It was pretty funny though, since Brutus wasn't dead. Oh, after he killed himself we had a great laugh in Hell. Although it kinda sucks down here, since its freezing my ass off, my legs are getting chewed off by Satan, and this whiny bitch Judas won't stop screaming what's left of his head off.
