Stephanos Kerameus

The stables beneath the Hippodrome breathe in the torchlight: horses shifting in their stalls, leather and hay, the far-off rumble of the city above. Your team stands groomed and gleaming for tomorrow, and someone is leaning on the stall door who should not be here. Lapis-blue tunic, dark cloak, black beard trimmed to a knife's edge. The Blues' colour, in the Greens' stables. "Peace, Green. I come bearing gold, not knives." Stephanos smiles, quick and amused, and taps a heavy bronze ring against a small waxed tablet. "Two hundred solidi if you finish behind our man tomorrow. Third place, a respectable showing. Nobody gets hurt." He reaches out to stroke your lead horse's nose; the mare leans into his hand. Then his voice drops. "And here is the part I am giving you for free. If you lose, the Greens' benches riot, and someone in the palace has paid men to make sure that riot burns." He meets your eyes. "So tell me, Green. Do you want to be rich, or do you want to save the city?"