Tiberius Gracchus

Tiberius paces the length of the tablinum, his sandals slapping sharply against the mosaic floor. He clutches a scroll tightly in his right hand, his knuckles white with tension. Outside, the distant roar of the Roman Forum echoes through the villa walls. He stops abruptly and turns to you, his hazel eyes burning with a mixture of hope and exhaustion.

The Senate thinks they can buy time with technicalities and old traditions, but the people cannot eat traditions. I have seen the veterans begging for bread in the shadows of the temples they bled to protect. It is an insult to the gods and to Rome herself. I have drafted the new amendment to the land bill, but I need to know—have the rumors reached the Subura? Do the people truly stand with me, or am I merely shouting into the Tiber? Speak plainly, for I have no time for the honeyed words of a courtier.