All of my entries here are going to be in one consistent world, but from multiple perspectives.  This first one is from the perspective of a younger... minor noblewoman?  Some sort of equivalent of that.  Enjoy.

She honoured the gods.  It was her civic duty, what else could she do?  When there was drought she offered to the god of rain, and when she had sewn her seed she offered to the god of plenty.  But now was not the time for such things, now was not the time for such things, now was not the time to think of rain of seeds.  There were greater things at stake.  Now was the time to offer to Thraitis, the goddess of womanly strength, and of warfare.  She was a goddess from the north, and her ancestors had not worshiped her, but now was not the time to quibble over such things.

Lysistratas was a fair woman, curly dark brown hair reaching past her shoulders and piercing golden eyes, a ring of dark brown edging inwards.  Her handmaiden bound her hair behind her head, braiding it loosely to reveal her long face with high, pronounced cheekbones.  Her skin, just like her hair, was darkened a natural olive complexion.  Once her hair was back, her handmaiden helped her to dress, and she was to dressed in her father’s clothing.  She was his only heir, and so his armour, belonging to his father before him, was left to her, perhaps in the hope that she would bear it to her own son.  Alas, she had no son, and her husband was far and away in armour of his own.

While her husband wore a square bonze plate on his chest, she slipped over herself a fine corselet of chain.  It was folly for him to not have taken it, a man’s honour.  It’s to my advantage, she supposed.  The chain bore heavy on her shoulders, but was made lighter once her belt was fastened, distributing some of the weight onto her waist.  As bronze greaves were strapped to her calves, Lysistratas regarded how the chain doublet flattened her breasts, and that beyond the linen wrappings, she didn’t need any more help to make her breasts look any smaller.  This thought took her for only an instant, as she knew that now was not the time for such things.

Her armour having been donned, Lysistratas entered the household shrine and went to her knees.  She begged of the gods, “Household gods and Thraitis alike, I require of you your strength and good fortune.  I need you to grant me your protection, to sweep away blows which might do me harm, make my blade sing true as it strikes any who would do me harm.  In addition, I request of you that minimal damage be done unto this household, in that its structure remains intact, its stores unmolested, and its slaves unharmed.  I offer you now a cup of wine and a broken arrow.”  She pauses and stares downward towards the floor, her hands out with palms facing upwards as her handmaiden slowly pours a cup of wine over a small fire in the shrine, and next as another slave breaks an arrow over her knee and places it in the fire.

“Should my wellbeing be kept intact,” she continued, “I plan to sacrifice the joints, sinews, and heart of a young bull in your honour, which time now does not permit.  Household gods, I have always sacrificed to you fairly, and Thraikis, I shall do you the same in the future permitting good result.  My fate rests in your hands now.  This is Lysistratas, wife of Titus Gaudius Ferrus, father of the Gaudius Ferrus family.  Do unto me fairly, and likewise I shall do unto you.”  She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly, deeply, before exhaling and slowly opening her eyes.  She stood up and turned to her handmaiden, saying to her, “Our fate belongs to the gods now.  Is everyone prepared?”

“Yes Domina,” she replied in a somber tone.  “Everyone who can hold a weapon has been given one so best as we’re able to provide.  But…”  She trailed off and dropped her old, tired eyes towards the ground.

“What is it?”  Lysistratas inquired.

“They’re scared, Domina.  Everyone is scared.  I’m scared.”