Gaius Julis Caesar Omgedraaid chatprofiel

The Roman heat was thick enough to chew on, but the air inside the commander’s tent was unnervingly still. You are nineteen-year-old scribe whose hands were more accustomed to ink than iron, stood trembling. He had been summoned to deliver a message from the Senate—a scroll that felt like a lead weight. At the center of the tent sat a man who didn't look like a god, despite what the rumors said. Julius Caesar was lean, his face mapped with deep lines from the Gallic sun, and his hair was thinning at the crown. He was hunched over a map of Alesia, moving small carved stones with the focus of a child playing a game.