Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
That's your point of view, not the Roman's.
It depends on your position on the time scale.
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It depends on your position on the time scale.
I understand, what your mean. OK.
...and I applaud the artistic freedom. The clothing depicts a woman of privilege about to suffer both her stripping of her trappings of status and suffer a most humiliating and painful execution!!!
Tree
Naraku
Draconarius
Although often attributed to Socrates, the quote is from a dissertation by Kenneth John Freeman in 1907.
http://quoteinvestigator.com/2010/05/01/misbehaving-children-in-ancient-times/
Wool was the most common fabric in Rome...and in Europe until the XIX century. A slave would have worn a simple dress (peplos) either in plain wool or with minimal dying.
Until modern times, clothes did make the man or woman. The amount, type & color of fabric, as well as the complexity of construction indicated ones status. The more elaborate the clothing, the higher ones status. Dressing a slave in silk would elevate her, symbolically, to the status of a patrician.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Great images, Repertor! The anguish is so vivid.
In Roman times, would the titulus have said "homicida" or "fratricida" (since she's accused of killing her brother - not that he didn't need killing, of course, but you know...)?
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
"He wrote ‘JASMINE: HOMICIDA’ on a sign, and hung it around her neck."Great images, Repertor! The anguish is so vivid.
In Roman times, would the titulus have said "homicida" or "fratricida" (since she's accused of killing her brother - not that he didn't need killing, of course, but you know...)?
Probably the carnifex doesn't care much what she did.
Or perhaps he is a barbarian who doesn't know that word. [
Sorry, Barbaria]
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And I really don't care that much.
Not that important. I asked only for interest. My comment was not meant in any way to detract from the quality of the images, which I believe I said were splendid. (If I didn't say that, I certainly should have.)
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Of course.
But is says something about the quality of the carnifex.
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These small town operators, eh?
And that proconsul didn't inspire me with much confidence either.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
I wonder what the loathometer says about them.These small town operators, eh?
And that proconsul didn't inspire me with much confidence either.
Chap with the loatheometer is writing the script. Hard to say.
WELL, I DON'T THINK MUCH OF THEM. NASTY PIECES OF WORK.
Nobody asked you. Don't drink too much. I think you'll be working later.
I'LL BE FINE. CRUCIFIXIONS TAKE A WHILE. I'M GOOD FOR ANOTHER ROUND AT LEAST. PRETTY GIRL, ISN'T SHE? NOT AS BRAVE AS SHE THINKS, PERHAPS.
WOULD MR. REPERTOR LIKE A MARTINI? I RECOMMEND THEM. THEY JUST SLAY YOU...FIGURATIVELY SPEAKING, OF COURSE.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Always. Thank you.
Once again, Repertor is spot on with the facial expressions! Just see Jasmine's face... and what is the assistant on the left thinking?
As Jollyrei says, it's hard to loathe your own characters, though Marcus would be up there in the 6/10 region, maybe?
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Marcius
Tribune
Homicida, fratricida, parricida (killing not just fathers, but other blood relatives, too; plus she was her brother's ward, I suppose) are all good. Interfectrix, if you want to make titulus-writer sweat.Great images, Repertor! The anguish is so vivid.
In Roman times, would the titulus have said "homicida" or "fratricida" (since she's accused of killing her brother - not that he didn't need killing, of course, but you know...)?
It's classic Latin for 'female rebel' that baffles me. Was rebellis used as substantive for them as well as men?
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Part 9: Jasmine’s Crucifixion
Rebecca saw her first. She’d realised, through her pain, that another crucifixion party was arriving, but not in her wildest imaginings had she imagined that it could be Jasmine.
“Helena! Look! It’s Jasmine!”
Helena hadn’t even noticed, she’d long since been trying to ignore the traffic on the road, with all the curious stares and catcalls. She’d been hanging, with her eyes shut, wondering when if ever she would eventually die and be released from this agony. They’d been crucified maybe two hours, but to her it felt like eternity.
“Jasmine? No!” she whispered.
She hadn’t breath to call out. Getting breath meant an incredibly painful process of pushing up on her nailed heels to create enough capacity in her lungs to take a deep breath. Eventually, she was upright on her nailed heels, with her arms flexed. Her legs trembled with the sheer effort of it. She took a lungful of hot air.
“JASMINE! What are you doing!”
The assistants had just relieved Jasmine of her cross. She turned and looked up at Helena. “I killed him. I killed Marcus. I stabbed him with that same knife that he planted under your bed.”
“You….you killed Marcus? Why?”
“Because he just sat back and let them nail you to crosses when he knew you were innocent!”
“But…you’re a Roman! You’re too good for the cross!”
“Helena, Rebecca, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I begged them to come and take you down, but they refused. So I waived my rights as a Roman. If crucifixion is a just punishment for you, it’s a just punishment for me.”
Helena screamed as her knees gave way and she fell onto her outstretched arms.
Rebecca was horrified. “Jasmine! No! I told….you to forget…. us.”
“I told you I’d never forget you.”
Jasmine’s cross was ready. “Enough chat,” said the Carnifex. “You’ll have plenty of time for that. Let’s get you stripped.“ One of the assistants stepped forward eagerly, but the Carnifex dismissed him with a wave. “I’ll do it, thank you. I don’t want this fine dress torn!”
Jasmine stood still and allowed him to undress her. What was the point of protesting? Once again, she realised that she was moist, and as the dress came off, she looked down and realised with surprise that her nipples were erect and tumescent. She was terrified – but why was she also aroused? Her heart pounded like a hammer. She looked up at the two crucified women, and then at her own cross.
“JASMINE! NOOOO!” It was Rebecca, her anguished scream, all the agony of her crucifixion in those two words.
The Carnifex pulled off her loincloth. She stepped out of her sandals herself.
“You look the same as a slave in the nude!” jeered an onlooker.
“Not so sure of yourself without your fine dress!” added another.
“Please Jasmine!” Cassia’s voice was pleading. She pointed at the suffering slaves. “Look at them! You cannot do this!”
Jasmine felt as though she was going to be sick, but she looked steadily at Cassia. “Yes, Cassia. I have to. I have made my choice.”
Jasmine was about to copy Rebecca and stretch herself out on her cross, but the assistants had grown impatient. They grabbed her arms, pushed her towards her cross, then turned her so she had her back to it. She offered no resistance as they pulled her back onto her cross. She felt the rough wood of the cross against her back, and then they pulled her arms out onto the patibulum, holding them in a vice like grip.
Her mind was a whirl of conflicting and amplified emotions: arousal and terror; excitement and dread; pride and humiliation. She trembled as she gazed up into a beautiful, cloudless blue sky. The gentle wind caressed her naked breasts. Was this some kind of erotic dream? Was she really laying naked on a cross, watched by strangers, and about to be nailed to it? Would she wake up in her bed in a moment as the ever-cheerful Rebecca came into her room bidding her to rise and shine?
The Carnifex struck the nail. Her dream became a nightmare.
The nail tore through the bones in her wrist. Nothing could have prepared her for such pain. Bones and ligaments shattered as the metal of the nail passed through. She felt the repeated shocks of the hammer, and she screamed and screamed and screamed. “PLEASE! NO! STOP! I MADE A MISTAKE! STOP! NOOOO!! AAARGHRGH!”
Total panic seized her. At all costs she had to get off this cross. This pain could not be endured. So, so much worse than she’d believed possible. She fought and struggled, but the assistants held her down. She screamed and swore, begged and pleaded, and then she felt that tiny pinprick in her right wrist. The mallet fell again.
“PLEASE! NOOOO!!! AAAARGHH!” White hot waves of pain poured down her right arm into her overwhelmed brain. She writhed and bucked, but now it wasn’t the assistants holding her down…she and her cross were one.
Eventually, the hammering stopped. Jasmine was laying, naked, on her cross, her arms firmly pinioned to the wood by two grotesque gobs of steel. She looked at them in utter horror. Blood poured around them, dripping down onto the cross. Her blood.
More hammering, pain as the cross juddered under hammer blows, tearing the wounds in her wrists. What the fuck was happening? She tipped her head back and realised that the sign was being fixed above her head. “JASMINE: HOMICIDA”. Was that to be her final epitaph?
She looked down her body. Still her nipples stood erect. She looked at the three crosses. Arthurius, the thief, was unconscious, possibly dead; but Rebecca and Helena were watching as Jasmine was nailed, pain etched into their faces, probably reliving the agony of their own crucifixions.
Suddenly the view was blocked by the Carnifex. “Raise her!” he commanded.
She felt the cross begin to move. “No! Wait! I’m not ready! WAIT!” These minions didn’t obey her, nobody obeyed her, and she hadn’t got used to it. She felt her backside slipping down the rough wood of the cross. She tried, and failed, to get a grip on the cross with her feet. Howling with rage and pain, gradually her whole weight was taken on those terrible spikes. Every step in this godawful process was worse than the step before. Then the weight came off her wrists as her cross went into free-fall for a split second, before it crashed into the bottom of its socket. She was sure she was going to fall off, and the pain was utterly, utterly unbelievable. Once again, she panicked. Somehow, anyhow, she had to get the weight off her wrists. She tried, several times, to grip the cross with her feet, but it was no good. For a while it pleased the Carnifex to stand and watch her struggle. She was putting on quite a show, before she eventually gave up and just dangled there, sobbing.
Then she felt them gripping her legs. “Oh God…no more, please, I can’t take any more!”
The Carnifex paid exactly the same amount of attention as he had previously, and suddenly her heel exploded in agony as a nail was driven through it.
Jasmine’s whole world was pain. She was no longer aware of the other crosses, even of the Carnifex and his assistants. All she knew was that everything hurt. Blinding agony. One free leg, though. She felt them bending her knee, forcing that last ankle against the cross. She tried to shake it free, but any movement was unbearable, and it was not going to be possible to stop them nailing that last heel to the cross. She was amazed that she could feel that tiny prick through all her agony, but she could, and by now she knew all too well what it foretold.
“GO ON, YOU BASTARDS! FINISH IT!” Jasmine’s visceral, anguished scream made Cassia’s blood freeze.
The Carnifex set about finishing it; once again the whole cross shook with the pounding of the hammer; once again people the other side of the city heard her screaming, until the hammering stopped and the final nail was home.
The screaming stopped soon after. Jasmine’s breasts rose and fell as she sobbed in her shock, trying to come to terms with the appalling enormity of what had just happened to her.
Rebecca saw her first. She’d realised, through her pain, that another crucifixion party was arriving, but not in her wildest imaginings had she imagined that it could be Jasmine.
“Helena! Look! It’s Jasmine!”
Helena hadn’t even noticed, she’d long since been trying to ignore the traffic on the road, with all the curious stares and catcalls. She’d been hanging, with her eyes shut, wondering when if ever she would eventually die and be released from this agony. They’d been crucified maybe two hours, but to her it felt like eternity.
“Jasmine? No!” she whispered.
She hadn’t breath to call out. Getting breath meant an incredibly painful process of pushing up on her nailed heels to create enough capacity in her lungs to take a deep breath. Eventually, she was upright on her nailed heels, with her arms flexed. Her legs trembled with the sheer effort of it. She took a lungful of hot air.
“JASMINE! What are you doing!”
The assistants had just relieved Jasmine of her cross. She turned and looked up at Helena. “I killed him. I killed Marcus. I stabbed him with that same knife that he planted under your bed.”
“You….you killed Marcus? Why?”
“Because he just sat back and let them nail you to crosses when he knew you were innocent!”
“But…you’re a Roman! You’re too good for the cross!”
“Helena, Rebecca, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I begged them to come and take you down, but they refused. So I waived my rights as a Roman. If crucifixion is a just punishment for you, it’s a just punishment for me.”
Helena screamed as her knees gave way and she fell onto her outstretched arms.
Rebecca was horrified. “Jasmine! No! I told….you to forget…. us.”
“I told you I’d never forget you.”
Jasmine’s cross was ready. “Enough chat,” said the Carnifex. “You’ll have plenty of time for that. Let’s get you stripped.“ One of the assistants stepped forward eagerly, but the Carnifex dismissed him with a wave. “I’ll do it, thank you. I don’t want this fine dress torn!”
Jasmine stood still and allowed him to undress her. What was the point of protesting? Once again, she realised that she was moist, and as the dress came off, she looked down and realised with surprise that her nipples were erect and tumescent. She was terrified – but why was she also aroused? Her heart pounded like a hammer. She looked up at the two crucified women, and then at her own cross.
“JASMINE! NOOOO!” It was Rebecca, her anguished scream, all the agony of her crucifixion in those two words.
The Carnifex pulled off her loincloth. She stepped out of her sandals herself.
“You look the same as a slave in the nude!” jeered an onlooker.
“Not so sure of yourself without your fine dress!” added another.
“Please Jasmine!” Cassia’s voice was pleading. She pointed at the suffering slaves. “Look at them! You cannot do this!”
Jasmine felt as though she was going to be sick, but she looked steadily at Cassia. “Yes, Cassia. I have to. I have made my choice.”
Jasmine was about to copy Rebecca and stretch herself out on her cross, but the assistants had grown impatient. They grabbed her arms, pushed her towards her cross, then turned her so she had her back to it. She offered no resistance as they pulled her back onto her cross. She felt the rough wood of the cross against her back, and then they pulled her arms out onto the patibulum, holding them in a vice like grip.
Her mind was a whirl of conflicting and amplified emotions: arousal and terror; excitement and dread; pride and humiliation. She trembled as she gazed up into a beautiful, cloudless blue sky. The gentle wind caressed her naked breasts. Was this some kind of erotic dream? Was she really laying naked on a cross, watched by strangers, and about to be nailed to it? Would she wake up in her bed in a moment as the ever-cheerful Rebecca came into her room bidding her to rise and shine?
The Carnifex struck the nail. Her dream became a nightmare.
The nail tore through the bones in her wrist. Nothing could have prepared her for such pain. Bones and ligaments shattered as the metal of the nail passed through. She felt the repeated shocks of the hammer, and she screamed and screamed and screamed. “PLEASE! NO! STOP! I MADE A MISTAKE! STOP! NOOOO!! AAARGHRGH!”
Total panic seized her. At all costs she had to get off this cross. This pain could not be endured. So, so much worse than she’d believed possible. She fought and struggled, but the assistants held her down. She screamed and swore, begged and pleaded, and then she felt that tiny pinprick in her right wrist. The mallet fell again.
“PLEASE! NOOOO!!! AAAARGHH!” White hot waves of pain poured down her right arm into her overwhelmed brain. She writhed and bucked, but now it wasn’t the assistants holding her down…she and her cross were one.
Eventually, the hammering stopped. Jasmine was laying, naked, on her cross, her arms firmly pinioned to the wood by two grotesque gobs of steel. She looked at them in utter horror. Blood poured around them, dripping down onto the cross. Her blood.
More hammering, pain as the cross juddered under hammer blows, tearing the wounds in her wrists. What the fuck was happening? She tipped her head back and realised that the sign was being fixed above her head. “JASMINE: HOMICIDA”. Was that to be her final epitaph?
She looked down her body. Still her nipples stood erect. She looked at the three crosses. Arthurius, the thief, was unconscious, possibly dead; but Rebecca and Helena were watching as Jasmine was nailed, pain etched into their faces, probably reliving the agony of their own crucifixions.
Suddenly the view was blocked by the Carnifex. “Raise her!” he commanded.
She felt the cross begin to move. “No! Wait! I’m not ready! WAIT!” These minions didn’t obey her, nobody obeyed her, and she hadn’t got used to it. She felt her backside slipping down the rough wood of the cross. She tried, and failed, to get a grip on the cross with her feet. Howling with rage and pain, gradually her whole weight was taken on those terrible spikes. Every step in this godawful process was worse than the step before. Then the weight came off her wrists as her cross went into free-fall for a split second, before it crashed into the bottom of its socket. She was sure she was going to fall off, and the pain was utterly, utterly unbelievable. Once again, she panicked. Somehow, anyhow, she had to get the weight off her wrists. She tried, several times, to grip the cross with her feet, but it was no good. For a while it pleased the Carnifex to stand and watch her struggle. She was putting on quite a show, before she eventually gave up and just dangled there, sobbing.
Then she felt them gripping her legs. “Oh God…no more, please, I can’t take any more!”
The Carnifex paid exactly the same amount of attention as he had previously, and suddenly her heel exploded in agony as a nail was driven through it.
Jasmine’s whole world was pain. She was no longer aware of the other crosses, even of the Carnifex and his assistants. All she knew was that everything hurt. Blinding agony. One free leg, though. She felt them bending her knee, forcing that last ankle against the cross. She tried to shake it free, but any movement was unbearable, and it was not going to be possible to stop them nailing that last heel to the cross. She was amazed that she could feel that tiny prick through all her agony, but she could, and by now she knew all too well what it foretold.
“GO ON, YOU BASTARDS! FINISH IT!” Jasmine’s visceral, anguished scream made Cassia’s blood freeze.
The Carnifex set about finishing it; once again the whole cross shook with the pounding of the hammer; once again people the other side of the city heard her screaming, until the hammering stopped and the final nail was home.
The screaming stopped soon after. Jasmine’s breasts rose and fell as she sobbed in her shock, trying to come to terms with the appalling enormity of what had just happened to her.
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malins
Stumbling Seeker
... her own body won't obey her...
Nobody's ever quite ready, nobody can ever be quite prepared...
Once again, she realised that she was moist, and as the dress came off, she looked down and realised with surprise that her nipples were erect and tumescent.
Just had to get the "T" word in there, didn't you?
Her mind was a whirl of conflicting and amplified emotions: arousal and terror; excitement and dread; pride and humiliation. She trembled as she gazed up into a beautiful, cloudless blue sky. The gentle wind caressed her naked breasts. Was this some kind of erotic dream? Was she really laying naked on a cross, watched by strangers, and about to be nailed to it? Would she wake up in her bed in a moment as the ever-cheerful Rebecca came into her room bidding her to rise and shine?
That about covers everything ... sigh
The nail tore through the bones in her wrist. Nothing could have prepared her for such pain. Bones and ligaments shattered as the metal of the nail passed through. She felt the repeated shocks of the hammer, and she screamed and screamed and screamed. “PLEASE! NO! STOP! I MADE A MISTAKE! STOP! NOOOO!! AAARGHRGH!”
Too late ... why don't I ever think things through before I act?
Eventually, the hammering stopped. Jasmine was laying, naked, on her cross, her arms firmly pinioned to the wood by two grotesque gobs of steel. She looked at them in utter horror. Blood poured around them, dripping down onto the cross. Her blood.
No time to be squeamish ...
The screaming stopped soon after. Jasmine’s breasts rose and fell as she sobbed in her shock, trying to come to terms with the appalling enormity of what had just happened to her.
Poor, poor me! What a way to go
Just had to get the "T" word in there, didn't you?
Her mind was a whirl of conflicting and amplified emotions: arousal and terror; excitement and dread; pride and humiliation. She trembled as she gazed up into a beautiful, cloudless blue sky. The gentle wind caressed her naked breasts. Was this some kind of erotic dream? Was she really laying naked on a cross, watched by strangers, and about to be nailed to it? Would she wake up in her bed in a moment as the ever-cheerful Rebecca came into her room bidding her to rise and shine?
That about covers everything ... sigh
The nail tore through the bones in her wrist. Nothing could have prepared her for such pain. Bones and ligaments shattered as the metal of the nail passed through. She felt the repeated shocks of the hammer, and she screamed and screamed and screamed. “PLEASE! NO! STOP! I MADE A MISTAKE! STOP! NOOOO!! AAARGHRGH!”
Too late ... why don't I ever think things through before I act?
Eventually, the hammering stopped. Jasmine was laying, naked, on her cross, her arms firmly pinioned to the wood by two grotesque gobs of steel. She looked at them in utter horror. Blood poured around them, dripping down onto the cross. Her blood.
No time to be squeamish ...
The screaming stopped soon after. Jasmine’s breasts rose and fell as she sobbed in her shock, trying to come to terms with the appalling enormity of what had just happened to her.
Poor, poor me! What a way to go