@PhilosophyForum,
Ave. I'm Catchabula the Mauritanian, ex-gladiator. I was born on the North-African coast shortly after the destruction of Carthago. In the aftermath of the Second Punic War the soldiers of Scipio ravaged our shores, burnt down our villages and murdered my family. As a child I was taken to Rome and I became the slave of a pensioned centurion called Maximus, an unsuitable name for a shameless and voluptuous rogue. I was noticed by the owner of a local gladiator school, was bought from my unworthy master and was given a gladiator training. I killed many in the arena, I let the crowds roar and obtained my freedom in 157 B.C. For a few years I lived on the streets, carrying bags for the merchants and playing dice with the boys, and I was satisfied with some dusty bread and cheap Falernum. One day I heard that a Greek philosopher called Carneades had come to Rome and I listened with astonishment to his lectures on Injustice. I shaved my head and began my own search for the Truth; those who laughed at me did not live long enough to boast on that. I went to the Ancient Lands in the East, and after long wanderings I knocked on the gate of a crumbling temple, where a fountain promised refreshment and relief of dust. I gave my last obole to a hierodule in a white gown and we both prayed with body and soul. Then we talked until the sun was set and we kept on talking under the light of the stars, and she taught me that only acceptance can make us wise. I have my home in the gate of the temple now, sometimes talking, sometimes silent like the statues inside. I get old and grumpy, and soon I will meet my family again in the realm of the plutonian gods. So many words and so many days, and time passing like the wind or the clouds... Talk stranger, but do not always expect an answer. An old man needs his sleep and snoars.
. Mainly because I can never remember strange nicknames, although sometimes I get called Caz as a abbreviation of Carol. 