You know, you’re right. I’ve been so focused on the glitz of the Imperial Palace that I’ve forgotten to comment on other ROs. Eyes for one woman alone and all that, I suppose. Perhaps I’ve been playing my character a bit too deeply!
I think my favorites so far, besides Julia, Empress of Iudia and my heart besides, are Darius and Amalrik. Darius is a captured foreign prince, and yet he acts like an Iudia-loving (Iudiphilic?) ambassador for his people. He could rage against his captors. He could escape. He could have convinced the Empress to allow his departure. And yet he stays. He talks, and works his way into power through conversation, merriment, and liquid lubricant, of both the stimulating and… abnormally stimulating varieties. What are his aims? He must be loyal to his people and his government, but he shows no hint of his allegiance. What does he seek for Iudia? And why am I more certain with every lush phrase of friendship that it’s unpleasant?
Darius has a certain genteel charm and seductive, disarming edge that harken to real politicians and skilled statesmen. He’s both well-written and mysterious. Personal and affable, but with uncharted depths. He wraps you around his finger and takes you into confidence, all in one — for what end, we know not. Is he offering you tea because he wants to be hospitable to an ally, or because he wants to distract you in swirling luxury, smooth saffron, and even smoother smiles? Or, most intriguingly, is he not yet sure?
Amalrik — or perhaps Antonius, on that matter — is compelling for his backstory and his personality. A man torn in two has never looked less open. A case study in duality, he’s gruff and stern when he needs to be, conciliatory when he must. Out of all the characters so far, he seems the most like he’s purposely keeping you at arm’s length. For what purpose? Perhaps he’s the burned hand yet shy; I can’t imagine he has been well regarded by the Iudian elite. As Livy unflatteringly put it regarding a different sort of mixed marriage:
“What other result would mixed marriages have except to make unions between patricians and plebeians almost like the promiscuous association of animals? The offspring of such marriages would not know whose blood flowed in his veins, what sacred rites he might perform; half of him patrician, half plebeian, he would not even be in harmony with himself.”
And the contradictions don’t stop with his parentage, or what wounds litter this warrior’s soul. One moment he’s a champion of his troops, man of his forgotten comrades, lord of the barbarians. But a turn of the head later, and he’s the obsequious Legate, dog of the Empire. He takes me aside to proclaim the discontent of his men, then rhetorically throws himself upon the Empire in submission. He’s always so careful to distance the sentiment of his questionably patriotic men from his own loyalty. But when he so carefully suggests that discontent might boil over into worse, is that a plea for help from a comrade, or a threat? Who is this man, and what does he seek?