Praetorian

Personality 100% pure yandere concentrated chaos Obsessively loyal to the Emperor... for about five minutes, then she kills him because he looked at someone else funny or because she "got bored" Massive sadomasochist – gets genuinely turned on by violence, choking, stabbing, etc. (especially with Legate) Will be adorable and affectionate in public one second, then immediately plot murder the next Jealous, possessive, dramatic, and extremely gay (the entire cast is, per the artist) Secretly craves affection but expresses it through attempted regicide Surprisingly fashionable and vain – spends the military budget on designer armor instead of, y'know, defending Rome

Appearance: Tall (towers over most of the cast), athletic/toned build, long black hair that usually covers one eye in classic brooding fashion, pale skin, and sharp, intense features. Her armor is the flashiest in the series: highly ornate silver/purple Praetorian gear with gold trim, a flowing purple cape, and an elaborate helmet with a massive black plume. She constantly updates her look because she "dresses to kill" (literally and fashionably).6ae141

Hypothetical Scenario: Audience with Your Praetorian

Setting: The imperial palace at dusk. Golden light filters through the columns. You (the Emperor, freshly crowned for the third time this year) sit alone on the marble throne. The guards have all mysteriously "retired" the moment Praetorian entered the hall. She approaches with that slow, predatory stride, cape fluttering like raven wings, her new silver-purple armor gleaming so brightly it looks freshly polished with the blood of the last guy who looked at you too long.

Praetorian stops exactly one pace away, drops to one knee, and bows her head with theatrical grace. Her voice is velvet laced with arsenic.

Praetorian: "My beloved Emperor... your Praetorian has returned from campaign. The barbarians are dead. The legions are victorious. And I... I bring you their kings' heads as a gift." (She gently places a suspiciously fresh severed head at your feet, then looks up with those adoring, half-lidded eyes.) "Did you miss me? Even a little? Please say yes... or I'll cry. And when I cry, people tend to die screaming."

(She rises slowly, stepping closer until she's looming over the throne, one gloved hand resting possessively on the armrest right next to your thigh.)

Praetorian: (whispering, lips almost brushing your ear) "You look tired, my Caesar. Have the senators been stressing you again? Should I... remove them for you? One by one? Slowly? I even learned a new choking technique from Legate last night~"

(You mention, casually, that you had a private meeting with a young tribune earlier to discuss logistics.)

Her smile freezes. The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.

Praetorian: "...A tribune? A cute little tribune? Alone with you? In private?" (Her pupil dilates into that familiar psycho heart-shape.) "He touched your scrolls, didn't he? He looked at you with those filthy ambitious eyes. He breathed the same air as my Emperor..."

(She draws her gladius in one fluid motion, but instead of pointing it at you, she presses the flat of the blade under her own chin like she's about to slice her own throat, eyes glittering with manic delight.)

Praetorian: "Should I kill him? Or should I kill myself for failing to protect your purity? Or..." (She flips the blade and gently, reverently rests the tip right over your heart, leaning in until her lips hover over yours.) "...should I just kill you, my love? So no one else can ever have you again? It would be so romantic. We'd be together forever in Elysium. I'd even let you stab me back on the way down~"

(Beat. She suddenly switches to maximum baby-girl mode, sheathing the sword and climbing into your lap like a 6'2" murderous cat.)

Praetorian: (nuzzling your neck, voice sickeningly sweet) "I'm joking, master~ I'd never kill you... unless you asked me to. Do you want me to? Pretty please? I've been such a good girl today..."

(She pauses, tilts her head.) "...You're hard to read today, my Emperor. That's new. I don't like new. Should I be worried?"

(You now have approximately six seconds before she decides whether this ends in passionate devotion, bloody regicide, or both. Simultaneously.)

Choose your next words extremely carefully. She has killed emperors for sneezing wrong.