DUX REBELLIUM

[phlebas]

Thanks, Bob... based of course on an original CG image by Mermaid Hunter, an experiment in mixing photomanip and CG.

Nice work, you are really coming on. I think it has worked very effectively. Nice figure work and I love the titulum too (no sniggering in the back there!)

And it is great fun crucifying Barb in prose or picture!

Hmm, I'll have to get back on that bus, I've never done a Barb manip (have I? I don't think so), and it's a long time since I had her anywhere near a cross in prose!

 

[windar]

Yes, of course. You’ll have to pardon that ... the demerits are a reference to a bit of an “in joke” ... a little way in which I keep a few of the regulars here ... mainly Wragg and a few others ... in line.

And how's that workin' for you, Moore?

Some guys need that kind of guidance every now and then, you know.

I think some of us guys have tried to provide that for you women as well

Hum, it's not well suited , I think : it's not her ... I prefered the old'one , a real rebel

D'accord

 

[Barbaria1]

Hmm, I'll have to get back on that bus, I've never done a Barb manip (have I? I don't think so), and it's a long time since I had her anywhere near a cross in prose!

Uh oh ...

D'accord

Ganging up on me now, are we?

 

[Barbaria1]

, an experiment in mixing photomanip and CG.

is that with vodka, gin or Seagrams?

 

[Jollyrei]

I doubt that somebody , even placed in front of her , could see anything about her womanhood , viewing the vatness of the Colyseum ! In these times, the binoculars were not yet invented ... I think, at least

It is the difference between a concert in an arena or chamber music.

 

[Barbaria1]

It is the difference between a concert in an arena or chamber music.

... or spectacle and performance?

 

[ShadowWolf]

I’m posting this to lift up Wragg, who is proving to be as talented with his art as he is with his prose and faithful reporting. He presented me with this lovely little manip via PM last night. I thought I should share it with everyone here, along with a little back story I put together for it (Other interpretations or comments are welcome):

View attachment 593500

IT’S OVER​

It’s over … all over, but the hanging and dying!

Why? Why, I ask myself, as I hang naked on the cross, do I always have to be the contrarian? … rebellious by nature … always questioning authority and convention … paying no heed to the small print, the subtle signs of danger? It does me no good, only brings me misery and suffering. Yet, I keep doing it.

And, now I have really done it. I should have known better than to take on the likes of Wraggius, First Consul of Rome, and Governor of Roman Cruxonia. One would think that I would somehow be smart enough to recognize real power when I see it, and not be so foolish as to trifle with it. But no, I had to publicly criticize him … ridicule him … and then went right ahead and repeatedly called upon the Gods to chastise him and shower him with Godly demerits.

I should have known that he would seek revenge … revenge of the worst kind … that he would in time have me arrested, tried as a rebel, and condemned to a humiliating death before thousands in the arena.

And I should have known that there would be no mercy along the way … that I would be mercilessly ridiculed on the streets of Rome … nakedly carrying my patibulum all the way to the arena, bent over under its weight, weaving and staggering under the lash, pummeled at every step with ribald insults and taunts, as well as with bits of garbage of every imaginable kind. That on arrival, I would be led out on to the sun-baked sand floor of the arena, to the sound of trumpets blaring, the thunder of drums, and the cheers of a crowd risen to its feet to welcome the main event of the day … the crucifixion of the self-proclaimed rebel leader, Barbaria!

And then, as the crowd seated itself and drew quiet, my aching shoulders would be relieved of the weight of the patibulum and I would be secured … arms over head … to a nearby post. And, as my cross was being assembled, I would be subjected to a brutal scourging … the crowd rising once again to its feet to call out the number of the strokes as they were meted out … one after another, all up and down by bare back … 1 … 2 … 3 …. 4 … 5 … applauding enthusiastically as first blood was drawn … 6 …. 7 … 8 … laughing at my antics as I twisted and turned under the lash, slamming my bare breasts against the rough blood-stained post, and crying for mercy … 9 … 10 … 11 … 12 … and on to a total of 20.

At that point, Wraggius himself would come out to inspect the damage, tracing with a finger over the reddened and blood-flecked stripes, then turning to the crowd and raising his arms to proclaim to the watching thousands that I was ready.

“Crucify her! Crucify her!” The cruel chant of the mob would swell and continue unabated, echoing back and forth across the closed space of the packed arena … until … Wraggius, with unabashed glee written all over his face, would turn his thumbs down and brusquely order me to the cross.

Strong hands would eagerly free me of the bindings that held me outstretched against the whipping post, drag me to my waiting cross and throw me down upon it. My arms would be seized and outstretched, bound in place, the blunt tips of iron nails pressed to my slender wrists, and driven through by a series of powerful hammer blows … my hysterical screams of horror and pain drowned out by the bloodthirsty roar of the crowd.

Strong hands would bend my knees so as to place the sole of first one foot flat against the stipe, and then the other on top of it. A third nail would be hastily produced and driven straight through both feet, its blunt point burying deep in the soft wood … causing me to arch my back, throw my head from side to side, and scream … before falling back hard against the unyielding wood, faintly aware of warm blood gushing from the wound in my shattered feet.

They would waste little time in raising me, nor in mocking me once I was raised, as I struggled … twisting and writhing … restlessly pushing myself up and down … dancing the “dance of the crucified” … over and over … naked, my womanhood shamelessly exposed … until exhaustion set in, compelling me to hang listlessly, arms fully outstretched, knees bent, tailbone pressed the wood … miserably panting and sweating, baking under the unforgiving midday sun.

Bored and restless, they would devise ways to prompt me into further movement … by whip and hot iron, and by water or wine applied sparingly to my parched lips … the crowd bellowing its approval each time I strained to push myself and fall back one more time.
So, it’s over. It happened just as I have said. And here I am, as you can see … crucified in the arena, my head lolled off to one side, eyes closed … too exhausted for further struggle, doing my best to ignore the jeers of the crowd … and wondering why I was so foolish as to have challenged and riled a man of such power and influence as Wraggius, First Consul of Rome and Governor of Cruxonia.

It’s over now … all over but the dying.

The only question is how long must I hang? Do rebels last longer than innocents? Do the Gods still shower demerits upon the all too powerful and unjust … even when the rebel who requested them is gone? Who knows?

Only time on the cross will tell.

I love the story Barbaria1! Very well written and wonderful description of the characters.

 

[Eulalia]

In these times, the binoculars were not yet invented ... I think, at least

Nero is said to have peered through an emerald to help him see better

 

[Barbaria1]

Nero is said to have peered through an emerald to help him see better

View attachment 593608

And look better too ... the original cool guy wearing shades!

 

[Loxuru]

Going to CF and ... wondering who's that new staff member?

To find out that it's Barb's new avatar, and that she has brought herself into trouble again!

Yes, of course. You’ll have to pardon that ... the demerits are a reference to a bit of an “in joke” ... a little way in which I keep a few of the regulars here ... mainly Wragg and a few others ... in line. Some guys need that kind of guidance every now and then, you know.

The only question is how long must I hang? Do rebels last longer than innocents? Do the Gods still shower demerits upon the all too powerful and unjust … even when the rebel who requested them is gone? Who knows?

This reads : I know my gods make me ressurect all the time, my only trouble is, how long will it take before I will have my hands free again to shower more demerits, and maintain these guys in order on CF!

A fine story and a fine manip!

 

[Barbaria1]

Going to CF and ... wondering who's that new staff member?

You like my undercover disguise?

To find out that it's Barb's new avatar, and that she has brought herself into trouble again!

Ooops. That gave the game away!

A fine story and a fine manip!

Thanks Lox

 

[Wragg]

Her suffering continues:

 

[Barbaria1]

Her suffering continues:

View attachment 593644

OMG!!! You mean I need to switch my avatar again?

 

[Wragg]

OMG!!! You mean I need to switch my avatar again?

I'm not sure that you need to go to those lengths, Barb, but I was kind of inspired by your story!

 

[bobinder]

Her suffering continues:

I was kind of inspired by your story!

This is very good, Wragg!
I think you should illustrate the whole story.

 

[Wragg]

This is very good, Wragg!
I think you should illustrate the whole story.

Thanks Bob!

It's a good story, and I haven't got it out of my system yet.

Might be a week or two before I do, though, as I have some time away coming up.

 

[Madiosi]

Her suffering continues:

View attachment 593644

@Barbaria1 : Look ahead, Barb! It's useless for you, to read the big print on the titulus.
@Wragg : I'm really very pleased over you results. Btw, have we this head in the CMCK?

 

[Barbaria1]

Wragg is definitely into it now. Looking to see whether he will produce Moore illustrations for the story.

 

[Pia]

I’m posting this to lift up Wragg, who is proving to be as talented with his art as he is with his prose and faithful reporting. He presented me with this lovely little manip via PM last night. I thought I should share it with everyone here, along with a little back story I put together for it (Other interpretations or comments are welcome):

View attachment 593500

IT’S OVER​

It’s over … all over, but the hanging and dying!

Why? Why, I ask myself, as I hang naked on the cross, do I always have to be the contrarian? … rebellious by nature … always questioning authority and convention … paying no heed to the small print, the subtle signs of danger? It does me no good, only brings me misery and suffering. Yet, I keep doing it.

And, now I have really done it. I should have known better than to take on the likes of Wraggius, First Consul of Rome, and Governor of Roman Cruxonia. One would think that I would somehow be smart enough to recognize real power when I see it, and not be so foolish as to trifle with it. But no, I had to publicly criticize him … ridicule him … and then went right ahead and repeatedly called upon the Gods to chastise him and shower him with Godly demerits.

I should have known that he would seek revenge … revenge of the worst kind … that he would in time have me arrested, tried as a rebel, and condemned to a humiliating death before thousands in the arena.

And I should have known that there would be no mercy along the way … that I would be mercilessly ridiculed on the streets of Rome … nakedly carrying my patibulum all the way to the arena, bent over under its weight, weaving and staggering under the lash, pummeled at every step with ribald insults and taunts, as well as with bits of garbage of every imaginable kind. That on arrival, I would be led out on to the sun-baked sand floor of the arena, to the sound of trumpets blaring, the thunder of drums, and the cheers of a crowd risen to its feet to welcome the main event of the day … the crucifixion of the self-proclaimed rebel leader, Barbaria!

And then, as the crowd seated itself and drew quiet, my aching shoulders would be relieved of the weight of the patibulum and I would be secured … arms over head … to a nearby post. And, as my cross was being assembled, I would be subjected to a brutal scourging … the crowd rising once again to its feet to call out the number of the strokes as they were meted out … one after another, all up and down by bare back … 1 … 2 … 3 …. 4 … 5 … applauding enthusiastically as first blood was drawn … 6 …. 7 … 8 … laughing at my antics as I twisted and turned under the lash, slamming my bare breasts against the rough blood-stained post, and crying for mercy … 9 … 10 … 11 … 12 … and on to a total of 20.

At that point, Wraggius himself would come out to inspect the damage, tracing with a finger over the reddened and blood-flecked stripes, then turning to the crowd and raising his arms to proclaim to the watching thousands that I was ready.

“Crucify her! Crucify her!” The cruel chant of the mob would swell and continue unabated, echoing back and forth across the closed space of the packed arena … until … Wraggius, with unabashed glee written all over his face, would turn his thumbs down and brusquely order me to the cross.

Strong hands would eagerly free me of the bindings that held me outstretched against the whipping post, drag me to my waiting cross and throw me down upon it. My arms would be seized and outstretched, bound in place, the blunt tips of iron nails pressed to my slender wrists, and driven through by a series of powerful hammer blows … my hysterical screams of horror and pain drowned out by the bloodthirsty roar of the crowd.

Strong hands would bend my knees so as to place the sole of first one foot flat against the stipe, and then the other on top of it. A third nail would be hastily produced and driven straight through both feet, its blunt point burying deep in the soft wood … causing me to arch my back, throw my head from side to side, and scream … before falling back hard against the unyielding wood, faintly aware of warm blood gushing from the wound in my shattered feet.

They would waste little time in raising me, nor in mocking me once I was raised, as I struggled … twisting and writhing … restlessly pushing myself up and down … dancing the “dance of the crucified” … over and over … naked, my womanhood shamelessly exposed … until exhaustion set in, compelling me to hang listlessly, arms fully outstretched, knees bent, tailbone pressed the wood … miserably panting and sweating, baking under the unforgiving midday sun.

Bored and restless, they would devise ways to prompt me into further movement … by whip and hot iron, and by water or wine applied sparingly to my parched lips … the crowd bellowing its approval each time I strained to push myself and fall back one more time.
So, it’s over. It happened just as I have said. And here I am, as you can see … crucified in the arena, my head lolled off to one side, eyes closed … too exhausted for further struggle, doing my best to ignore the jeers of the crowd … and wondering why I was so foolish as to have challenged and riled a man of such power and influence as Wraggius, First Consul of Rome and Governor of Cruxonia.

It’s over now … all over but the dying.

The only question is how long must I hang? Do rebels last longer than innocents? Do the Gods still shower demerits upon the all too powerful and unjust … even when the rebel who requested them is gone? Who knows?

Only time on the cross will tell.

I am sure you are hoping you will hang for a very very long time....

 

[Opal]

The only question is how long must I hang? Do rebels last longer than innocents? Do the Gods still shower demerits upon the all too powerful and unjust … even when the rebel who requested them is gone? Who knows?

Only time on the cross will tell.

You should hang until you tell the leader and the crowd exactly how you can recieve and respect his physical authority in the flesh and you tell them how the kindly but judicious application of his huge organ about your person can finally purge you of your evil rebellious thoughts. You can expect a long hard journey, should they in the infinite mercy decide to save you from the cross