My persona's stories.


1. That bronze helm is what I wear for my Gaulic Auxiliary persona. It is a "coolus 'C' " as my status would have afforded me in Celtic (hard "K" not "Seltic") hierarchy.  I teasingly say "bobbygetorix", but the Gaulic name I seldom use is: "Domnorix of Mandubi" Son of Urralgetorix, Son of Callgacorix.  Born. 43 BCE.  I Fought as a small child at Alesia, and was finally conscripted for Rome in 25 BCE in my 18th year.  I was a proud Gaul of the Mandubi Tribe who opposed Curnnunos' damed Ceasar's invasion, but eventually (12 years) lost the war, and was conscripted as a percentage of Noble Peer Cavalry were to fight in the Roman Army and keep the peace in the Provinces.  I have it worked out like this:  "Born in 43 BCE to my Father and Liege Lord, Urralgetorix who was killed fighting the Romans at Alesia, and who's mother died with him rather than live in slavery and Roman occupation.  I'd taken up the fastest ponies in the night, killed five Roman Guards, lost all of my retainers but one, Uckmanorix, ...and rode hell bent for leather for the Belgae for help in the siege.  Before I could get back with reinforcements, a huge force, ... having mercy on the Tribes, …Vercingetorix our King, had surrendered to Julius Ceasar, and in thanks and the Roman ideal of honor, his Legions had raped and killed my wife, and took my only son, and daughters who were carted off to Rome as slaves.  With my familes house desecrated, my fortune confiscated , I had no other choice but guerrilla warfare.  I chose to pretend to swear homage to the Latin's and join forces with other Celt tribes who were fighting a slash and burn covert operations to starve the Legions out.  It was for naught.  Finally wounded and captured as a Traitor, ...I was for a time in a Roman prison in Sarmatia, stripped of my Noble status, and allowed to live, for I am a man of battle, and heavily muscled, and held in Roman Slavery, ... again, and forced first to fight in Britain as a Gladiator at the Baths, and then in Rome itself, and killed many men.  Fellow Gauls.  Animals.  Briton's.  Picts.  Erish.  Amoricans.  Germanians.  Fellow criminals, and disobedient slaves.  I won my freedom, ironically enough gaining the attentions of the Consol Triumvarite after Julias the Caesar was justly killed by his own family.  Yes, "death to Tyrants".  I wish I'd have killed him.  As a free man, I reenlist into the Legions as mercenary Cavalry, and find myself upon patrol in the Caledonians in north Pretania.   Later on, duty on in Fe, and Cet, and Eboricum, where my Caledonian wife Ealain, ran my business, I was befriended by an Caledonian Chief Brudi Loc.  As my wife was abused by a local Magisturum,  -I begin to helping the Caledonians plot a counter strike to the Romans in Eboricum, Roman's my always thorn, and pushed the fight all the way to Lundinium (London) under the Generalship of Her Majesty Boudica the Icini Chieftaness, which in the end, cost me my lands in Britain, my wife and childred again, …and my Chief his life, ...and I fled to Spain again wounded and sore vexed.  In Spain, I fight for the Roman Lords as a brigand to vex the African Pirates, and by and by I marry an Italian Senators step-daughter much to his happiness, and rejoin the Legions under contract of the new Army, and an assumed identity, my slave ear hacked off, and made good coin to fight Celt Mercenary in Africa for Octavian Ceasar, and defeat the great Marc Antony, making  sorties on land for Admiral Aggrippa.  
2.      As a joke of the gods, I was Officially rewarded for saving the battle of for holding a pass in Goshen, and killing the garrison there, and thus stopping Marc Antony's line of communication, ...I find myself for the first time in my life financially flush.   And so capable to sell weapons and run a shipping enterprise from Africa to Rome I export grain for the Aventine, animals for the Games, molasses and gems from the interior.  I became filth rich, ...I keep my nose clean, continued to glut my lust for blood, and fight as mercenary for Rome in Sicily, Byzantium, Africa, Israel, and Galatia.  For I live thus for 25 years and in 4 at BCE, I, at 47 years semi-retire with a half pension, and sell out my shipping ventures, to sunny Judea for my bones, …as a Palace Guard for Herod.  I dislike the Tetrach, but he paid well, and let me have the run of the central Rama, policing rowdy Rebels.  Then a chain of events sent me into a world of dispair.  I take by cover of night, many youths who were to be killed upon the night of horror as Herod was trying to kill his political adversary, a two year ol' child of some comely Jewish Maiden, one 'Yeshua' "lion of the Tribe of Judah" he was called and signs in the stars made Herod sore wroth, to kill... who was in the line of Hebrew Kings he set out to murder all children in Bethlehem and surrounding territories.  Why I helped him I have no idea.  I was no longer a  Noble, or was I a man of compassion.  I was a man of hate, and revenge, and a smoldering disrespect for my Latin Masters.  So I smuggle a woman and her husband, Yoseph, ...to Egypt, and kill those in my party, who were set upon killing the lad, and ensure the Magi of Persia are made aware of the Childs safety.  Now once again a fugitive with a price on my head, I slink alone, ...back to Hamath in northern Israel, and friends of the child's mother, of the Abia, of the Aaronic Hebrew Priests,  hide me in the desert for 5 years.  I venture out only to the north, making business in Byzantium, and more years pass, and so does Herod the Horror, and the Legions have forgotten about me.  I move to Jerusalem now, and ol' man for a Soldier, and once again find employment  from 1 to 30 A.D., in the Household body Guard of a rich Hebrew Merchant Nicodeamus, and carry his wares under arms from Jerusalem to the Tyre ports.  It was there, one day leaning up against the well in Nazareth, on our way, I as an old-old man of 73 hard years, scars, and sickness wracking my frame, I never forgetting a face, see the Jewish woman I'd helped flee the death warrant in Bethleham so long ago, ...and she remembers me and introduces me to the son she was protecting.  Yeshua he was called.  A handsome man, Hebrew to the core, black thick hair and beard, eyes like brown mud, dark and full of life.  He was like no other man I'd ever seen, and when He thanked me in his Fathers name, -as he spoke the hairs on the nap of my neck stood up, and I felt strange, as if this rough Jewish carpenter, I were in the presence of Royalty.   I was so happy to speak to him, but his disciples were hatful to me, and mocked me, and distained me for being a Roman Gentle, …we laughed at them then, threatened them with Roman Law.   Despite this altercation, I and a group of Roman Conscripts from Germania, Gaul, with my son's, and grandsons listen as the man speaks of "loving our neighbors", telling parables, ... and healing all manner of sickness and disease".  I left him there, that day feeling as if the world of sin was weighing me down the ground.  

     Finally too sick to travel with my boys to Tyre at 76 Roman years, …I finally stay of a day in my warm sunny Villa in Samaria, ...and not three years later,  I see him again, sitting on a donkey of all things, they hailed him as the "Emmanuel" and lifted him up as a King.  I knew he'd been left to live by the gods for a reason, and I also knew that Rome would turn to no good now, ...and sure enough in a few days, I see him again, beaten beyond description, mocked by the men of my ol' Legion, ...this time being led to be crucified.  

Being the hotheaded Celt, …I tried to free him, stood in the way of the man as he carried a cross beam, but I was belted hard, kicked in the groin, spit on and laughed at as the throng passed.  My ol' body isn't what it once was, and I sat in the way bleeding and crying, …and pinned for this Hebrew Messiah.  I was angry, and I knew another Roman injustice was being done.   I'd freed him once long ago but today was powerless, and got laughed at by these whipper-snapper's, in shiny new lorica's and hammata's, with of all things Gaulic helms.  I remembered all my hard years of fighting first against and then for these Roman scum.  I limped  too the place where he was executed, and watched at a ol' Legionary friend of mine; Lucias Cato Morius, -a man I knew from the old days fighting the Rebel Maccabee's, spear his dead body, and declaring aloud for his life as blood and water issued, … "Surely this man was the Son of G-d".  I fell on my old weary Gaulic knees at the base of the cross next to Lucias, a man hanging, a man I'd staked my life on many years before, on a cross like so many Jews I'd helped crucify over the years, and cried "Holy. Holy unto the LORD G-d of the Hebrews", -and believed upon this man.  It was said, by the same man who'd rebuffed me years ago, one Petram of Gallilee, the "pebble", the one who preached to the Jews this dead King was a "rock".  Three days later it was heralded far and wide, that the man rose from the dead of his Father G-d, -and I believe it, for he was holy, and wonderful, and I saw the miracle's he preformed in Jerusalem with my own eyes.  Would I have believed without seeing the healings, men raised from the dead, five loaves and two fish feeding a multitude?  Either which way, He was too good for this wicked land weather his Disciples would allow an ol' Celt like me in there band?  Never the mind.  Cak, I knew what he was, and I knew the Hebrew G-d had chosen me to protect him once.   That I, a shameless Gaul, a man of war and blood.  A man of hate and sin, a man of sorrow and angst, would end up a believer in a Hebrew man without sin, and hate?
      I was in the city seeking a Leeches potions for my sore wounds, not healing well at all, …when the Legionaries Guarding the mans tomb were executed for falling asleep at his tomb. When I refused to have my son's bury the bodies, I was arrested by a man named Saul of Tarsus for "christian Treason".  Two of my sons died trying to free me from the Roman Garrison in Jerusalem, and clapped in irons and sent to the Gallys to die at the ores.  Before I was to be taken to the boats, I died.  Some day I will return with the Hebrew Messiah, and that will be a bad day indeed for Rome.