# Alea Iacta Story Hour: A Mythic Rome Campaign (Baby Announcement: 8/17)



## Orichalcum

Welcome to the Alea Iacta Story Hour!  Author’s Note: Alea Iacta (Latin for “Thrown Die,” from Caesar’s saying “The die is cast”) is an episodic D&D game set in a mythic Roman Empire. While the history, cultures, geography, and inhabitants are largely equivalent to the early 2nd century CE world of the Roman Empire, all the magics and gods believed in by the Romans and their barbarian allies and enemies are true and impact the lives of the characters in various ways.  Within the Roman sphere of influence, arcane magic is acknowledged but disapproved of; a modern equivalent would be low-level use of minor illegal substances in one’s youth.         

      Divine magic is available largely to the wealthy and those of devout faith. Among the tribal peoples such as the Celts and North Africans, who have accepted less of the Roman culture, both arcane and divine magic are ubiquitous, powerful forces that shape everyday life. 
	In practical logistical matters, the game meets for a weekend of about 12 hours of gaming, about once every three months, and is currently about to have its twelfth session. Also, certain aspects of the first session are indebted to Rosemary Sutcliff’s book Three Legions. All other characters and dialogue are the sole creations of their players and myself, the GM.


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## Orichalcum

*First Session: Eagle's Flight. First post: Haven't you always wanted a monkey?*

My name is Shast. I want to write, or at least dictate, the great North African Roman novel. But with all the traveling and dangerous missions lately, time and papyrus have been somewhat lacking. So I thought I’d keep myself in practice by noting down a few stories about what my partner and I have been doing lately. 

       Prosaic stuff, really – what the agora wants is more stories about nubile maidens being kidnapped by pirates and sold into the harem of the Parthian King of Kings – but my mother always told me that monkeys should write what they know. 

	Let’s start with me. I’m about 10 inches tall, short golden hair, bright brown eyes, winning smile, and let me tell you, my tail can curl around just about anything. I met my partner, Meloch the Pygmy, about 10 years ago, in a brothel on the island of Cyprus. We’d both been purchased to entertain the customers while they waited for whatever it was they came to the brothel for. Meloch juggled, I scampered around the place and balanced winecups on my tail. 

        Degrading, yes, I know, but the food was good. Meloch has much more of a problem with the whole concept of food-for-service than I do. The way I see it, the client and I are both getting what we want out of the deal.        Anyways, Meloch and I realized something about each other – he wasn’t a normal pygmy (North African tribe, short side for humans, understandably terrified of the giant cranes who invade them every year) and I was quite a bit brighter than the average monkey. After the first few times when the juggling balls stayed up in the air when they had absolutely no reason to do so, I realized he was a sorcerer. Then he grabbed me and hid away in the cellar for a couple of days, and at the end of that, we could talk mind-to-mind. 


	This is often useful. Hopefully, it’ll save me from the goat’s fate. See, Meloch also always keeps this goat, named Kaspar, which he rides around on and treats as his trusted comrade. Only, the big secret is, there’s no one Kaspar. Soon as Meloch is traveling somewhere where a goat isn’t convenient, or even sometimes when he’s just hungry, he kills his helpful friend and eats him. We’re currently on Kaspar the Eleventh. So I figure this mental bond is my insurance. Meloch starts looking at me like he’s hungry, I give him a headache bigger than his you-know-what. Oh yeah, that’s the other reason Meloch keeps getting jobs, besides the juggling. Apparently, pygmies are both great at mating and they help other humans have more babies somehow. I don’t really understand this.


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## Orichalcum

*First Session: Eagle's Flight. Second post: Duty calls away from warm baths.*

So anyways, Meloch and I spend a couple of peaceful years being sold around the Empire before winding up as this thirteen-year-old girl’s birthday present from her mom at the absolute ends of the earth in Northern Britannia, in the Roman fort of Eburacum. Now, I have nothing against Cornelia, that’s the young one – she gives me lots of extra treats and scratches my head without using her hands, a trick she learned from Meloch. Her mother, Licinia Luculla, on the other hand, the Roman noblewoman who sent us to Britannia, maybe out of guilt for having abandoned her mate and child several years back, she’s terrifying. But more on that later. 

	So, it’s been about three years, and the only thing keeping me from freezing my tail off in Britannia are the horrific little plaid wool jackets and booties that Cornelia’s nurse, Nanna Alma, knits for me. One day, Cornelia’s father, G. Cornelius Crispus, who’s a big military man, Legate, or 2nd in charge,  of the Sixth Legion, Valeria Victrix, of Rome, invites some guests over for dinner and a meeting.  Meloch and I are there doing our juggle-and-scamper routine.

	 The one who seems most like the alpha is the youngest and most befuddled, one Quintus Caecilius Metellus, a Tribune of the Legion from a very noble family. (Later we find out that he’s second cousin once removed to the Emperor.) Then there’s a big, older fellow, retired Centurion Marcus Alexandros, who you’d expect to be in charge if these were monkeys, but the humans have more complex ways of establishing their dominance. Last is a young Briton in his late 20s, decked out in the uniform of a Roman auxiliary engineer, Marcus Tacitus Llyr, known as Spearmaker to his family. (He’s apparently also a Prince of the local Brigantes tribe, but this is somehow less important than the Roman ranks.)

	After a pleasant supper (imported figs! I love figs), the Legate  informs the three Legionaries that he is relieving the first two of active duty and calling the third back to duty, for a special mission. Seven years ago, the legion stationed in Eburacum was not the VIth Victrix, but the Ninth Hispana. The governor at the time,  down in Londinium, heard reports that the northern tribes were attacking the garrisoned forts of Bremenium and Tremontium, north of Hadrian's Wall, and sent the Ninth north of the wall to regarrison the forts and deal with the problem. Not one man of the Ninth ever returned. 

          More importantly, neither did the Eagle, the standard of the Legion.
Without an Eagle, the Ninth could not be reformed, and its remaining members, wounded or on other duties at the time of the northern expedition, were folded into other Legions. One of these was Alexandros. He seems pretty upset at having lost his whole Legion, which seems rather like a 6000-large tribe of monkeys. 

        The Legate has summoned them because merchants and traveling
doctors have informed him both that the northern tribes seem to be massing for war again, and that the Eagle has been seen, somewhere, north of the furthermost Wall. At this point he pulls out an elaborate and accurate map. The relevant highlights of the map are as follows: the province Caledonia, which was never conquered
permanently by the Romans, Valentia, to the south of Caledonia, which was once a Roman province, but was largely abandoned 26 years ago, the Antonine Wall, a rough wall of turf which once marked the boundary of Valentia from Caledonia , Hadrian's
Wall, which separates Valentia from the established Roman province, Trimontium and Bremenium, the two eastern forts along the old Roman roads  that the Ninth was going
to garrison. 

     The Eagle is supposedly somewhere in southeastern Caledonia. The mission is to go north, find out what happened to the Ninth, why it happened, and, if at all possible, retrieve or destroy the Eagle. I get all this explained to me later by Meloch, especially about this Eagle, which turns out not to be exactly a real eagle, but a statue of an Eagle, carried as a banner in war, which made Alexandros and all his fellow Legionaries really eager to fight and good at it. Apparently, Alexandros can’t re-form his tribe without the Eagle, and on the other side, if the Caledonii have it, they can use it against the Romans as a powerful magical artifact.

	This all sounds like it will make a nice exciting story for my memoirs when the three Legionaries get back, or a brief tragic elegy about the young Metellus’s senseless death. Then the truly awful thing happens. The Legionaries decide they want to disguise themselves before trooping up into tribal lands and ask if they can borrow Meloch to aid them in their disguise as magical trinket sellers.                                    


      And that sweet girl Cornelia says yes! And then Meloch tells me over the mental link, as I screech, that I have to come too, despite the fact that it will be even colder in Caledonia and I won’t be able to take a nice hot bath every day. Maybe Meloch’s right in the disadvantages of this whole slavery thing.

	About this time, a local blacksmith and spirit-worker, a large dark-haired man named Heilyn, arrives. The Legate, afraid for the Legionaries' success if they have only swords against the Druids' evil powers, tries to enlist the
blacksmith by offering him a. an exclusive metalworking contract for the
Ninth if it's reformed and b. no more commissions from the VIth Legion ever if he refuses. He accepts, reluctantly. The Legate also mentions that the group should keep an eye out for a traveling vates or philosopher-sage, Wena of the Iceni, whom the Legate sent north to gather information.

        The next day, Cornelia runs away from her father and the warm baths, for no good reason, and uses the stuff she’s been picking up from Meloch to cast a spell on Tribune Metellus to persuade him into taking her along, on the argument that she may have useful knowledge about the Celts and can speak to their women. The Tribune initially accepts, but later can't believe he was so stupid and resolves to protect her at all costs or throw himself on his sword due to the dishonor. By then, it's too late to send her back. 

	This means that Cato, Cornelia’s owl, with whom she has a mental contact, has to come along too. Furthermore, since Cornelia doesn’t want the incredibly naive Metellus to know she can do magic, Cato has to ride on Meloch’s other shoulder and pretend to be his other partner. This is nearly the last straw. I burrow into the saddlebags and proceed to ignore Meloch and everyone else.      

      Oh, and did I mention that the smith Heilyn brought along an enormous wolfhound and two small yippy dogs with the combined intelligence of a desert rat? Of course, everyone pays them more attention, because they can “get food.” I could get food if we were living in a sensible climate with fruit on the trees, but no. We have to be riding a doomed goat through Caledonia.


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## Orichalcum

*First Session: Eagle's Flight. Third Post: Enter, pursued by a bear.*

On the first day of traveling beyond Hadrian’s Wall, leaving the Roman- controlled lands and all hope of warmth forever, life seems fairly peaceful as we ride along the road, built  by the Romans back before they abandoned this province in search of the finer comforts of life. 

         Suddenly, a  tribesman, brandishing a spear, runs across the road in front of them, panting. He is followed shortly by an enormous, long-nosed bear, running at a startling speed. The Tribune, Metellus, rides forth to bravely face it, and is mauled nearly to death for his courage. Then the smith, Heilyn, runs forward and yells something at the bear. Peeking out of my saddlebag, I think he’s addled, until the bear looks confused and just stands there, blinking. 

        Perhaps Heilyn can talk to the spirits and animals – he’s certainly never bothered with me though. So I decide to make his life miserable until he acknowledges how superior I am to all the other nonhumans. It appears this may take a while.

        While the engineer, Llyr,  loads his one-man ballista, the others ride
forward. Some miss; Cornelia, on Llyr's instructions, fires the ballista and grievously wounds the bear. With a final stroke, the Tribune chops the bear's head off. This is the beginning of a long pattern. Metellus doesn’t seem all that good at actually fighting, but somehow he always performs the actual kill. This probably relates to those complex human hierarchies. 

	The hunter whom they have saved falls at their feet in gratitude and introduces himself as Guern. After all catch their breath, he suggests they make camp and share the fresh bear meat. (I decline the bear meat – too smoky.) 

       During the companionable meal, the Legionaries begin to notice several odd things about Guern - he speaks Celtic with a slight accent, his beard shows the markings of a long-worn chin strap, and he bears a faded brand of Mithras, the bull-god of many soldiers, on his forehead. They ask probing questions which he evades. When he tries to sneak away during the night, he trips into one of Llyr's carefully laid rope traps, and the group springs upon him. I go back to sleep, figuring I can hear the details from Meloch later.


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## Orichalcum

*First Session: Eagle's Flight. Fourth Post: Guern's Story.*

Guern’s Story (I think this might be publishable all by itself, but Meloch says that the Romans don’t like stories of cowardice and desertion. Of course, I see Guern’s actions as simple common sense. These Romans are all crazy.)

	  Upon interrogation, Guern confesses that he was in fact once a Centurion of the Third Cohort of the Ninth. He says  that the Ninth made it as far as Voluntiae, a fort on the Antonine Wall, without direct attack. Along the route, however, they were beset by strange mists and eerie sounds, by animals that attacked out of nowhere, and morale fell dramatically. By the time they reached Voluntiae, everyone was terrified.

       Two tribunes he remembered, Lysias and Minucius, did nothing to help. Lysias was convinced that the Legion was doomed; Minucius kept trying to convince everyone that it was the Prefect's fault. And admittedly, the
Prefect was only slightly less imbecilic than he was well-born.

        At Voluntiae, the Legion made camp, and set up watch. But in the
middle of the night the tribes, hundreds of them, came storming through a breach in the walls, massacring most of the soldiers inside. Marcus Flavius Aquila, the primus pilus centurion, took the Eagle and led a retreat back towards Trimontium. Guern was wounded in the leg, and fell by the wayside, to be rescued by the women of a local village and slowly, painfully healed.

        Fearing execution as a deserter, he never returned. He knows nothing of the Eagle, save that, if anyone would have it, the Ouenikones, the tribe near Voluntiae, would, and that their holy place is called Ituna.

       Guern then asks what has happened in Roman Britain, in the last seven years, and what the fate of the impulsive governor who ordered one under -strength Legion north was. No-one seems to be able to remember.
Indeed, neither they nor Guern can even remember the name of the governor in question, surprising particularly given Alexandros' eidetic memory.

    After pondering this, Metellus and Cornelia remember a rarely used
sentence, that of "damnatio memoriae,", proclaimed by the Emperor for those who have offended grievously against the Empire. Those who suffer "damnatio memoriae" have their names erased from official inscriptions. Any statues of them have their heads cut off and replaced. Their sons' and daughters' names are changed. And, most frighteningly, the very existence of them is wiped out from everyone's memory, with some sort of magic performed directly by the Emperor himself. Neither Metellus nor Cornelia can remember damnatio being pronounced on anyone within their lifetimes, but then again, they wouldn't. The group wonders at this news, although Alexandros decides it is a fitting punishment for such rash behavior.


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## Cerebral Paladin

Just thought I'd begin the player introductions.  I play Marcus Alexandros, the retired Centurion from the IXth.  Marcus Alexandros's family is part of the ethnically Greek population of Alexandria (in Egypt).  After spending his 20 years in the Legions, Marcus settled down to run his farm in northern Brittania.  As a retired legionary, he received a plot of land from the government (essentially as a pension).  Because he was a centurion, his plot is fairly large.


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## Ladybird

And I'll join CP in introducing myself as a player (and in congratulating Ori for this very cool story hour!)

I play Cornelia Crispa.  Unbeknownst to everyone except Meloch, Shast, Cato (and probably her mother), 16-year-old Cornelia is a sorcerer. But her mother lives all the way in Rome, and the other three aren't talking, so she's pretty sure that her secret is safe for now. She also really  _does_ know a lot about Celtic lore and language, thanks to the stories told to her by her old nurse, Nanna Alma. 

None of this is appropriate behavior for a proper Roman maiden, of course - in fact, most women Cornelia's age are already married. Nor is defying her father's will to go on a dangerous expedition beyond the Wall, or casting a spell on a tribune to do it. But a girl can pick up some unconventional ideas, living out here on the edge of the Empire...


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## Orichalcum

*First session: Eagle's Flight. Fifth Post: The Ghost Legion*

With this information, the Romans forcibly draft poor Guern as their local guide, and travel onward, soon reaching Trimontium, the deserted legionary fortress. Along the way, they meet Wena, the female wandering philosopher whom the Legate had asked them to watch out for. She informs them that the Ouenikones are rumored to be having a major religious festival soon. I like Wena – she doesn’t charge brazenly into danger the way the rest do. I’m worried that this group of people are a bad influence on Meloch, encouraging him in reckless acts of daring.

         By day, Trimontium seems bereft of either information or interest, just another Roman fort laid out in a square grid with a central dais and marching field, like the one back in Eburacum, or Cyprus, or anywhere, really.  At night, it's a different story. As the last rays of light fall, the first watch sees ghostly  spirits patrolling back and forth through the barracks. The Ninth is back  - at least part of it. 

       To Heilyn, the spirits are perfectly
clear; to the rest they are vague and indistinct. Alexandros tries to speak to one, only  to have it pass right through him, leaving him weak and dizzy. Cornelia,  who may be impetuous but is fairly clever,  has the idea to make proper Roman funeral offerings of wine and  wheat to the spirits. They become clearer to her, and she can speak to  them, briefly. Together with Heilyn's help they discover that the primus  pilus centurion reached here, but with the tribes close behind, and that  he gave the Eagle to "the Second."

	 Llyr notices, meanwhile, that a ring of 12 pairs of Legionaries are pacing around the central dais of the fortress, forbidding passage. When Heilyn examines them, he realizes with Alexandros' help that they are all from
the First Century, under Aquila's command. Wena and Llyr track the path of souls out beyond the south gate of the fortress, about half an hour, to where it peeters off, in faded bloodstains against a huge rock. 

     Meanwhile, Heilyn finds some tribal spirits and speaks to them. They say little, save that they were under the command of Aeduana, the Chief Druid of the Ouenikones, and that they died here fighting the Red Helmets. The Romans proceed to mock the Chief Druid’s name, which doesn’t seem very intelligent to me when discussing a potentialy deadly enemy. Cultural imperialists. 

       The next morning, the ghosts disappear, and Llyr begins investigating the dais. Putting his knowledge of Mithras together with his
engineering expertise, he figures out that the two cylindrical holes in the dais can be used to hold javelins, which can be turned. As Mithras is
the god of the sun, he turns them according to the movement of the sun,
and the dais opens, revealing a small tomb with the body of the primus pilus centurion inside. While they leave his personal decorations, Alexandros takes the small eagle brooch Aquila wore, deciding to wait to put it on until a more appropriate time.


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## Desdichado

Good story hour!  We could use a few more non-traditional settings around here, IMO.  And, although I'm not a Latin expert, I'm pretty sure the phrase actually means "the die has been cast" (specifically "cast the die is" if you translate it literally) rather than "let the die be cast."  And of course, although the quote is famously attributed to Caesar himself, he was, in fact, quoting his favorite poet Menander at the time.  Not that it really matters.


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## Krellic

Seconded - what he said.

Ancient Rome has been plundered for use in many campaign world, nice to see that it works perfectly fine by itself.

I'm glad to see that the most intelligent member of the party is keeping the journal, 'these Romans are crazy' - or so goes the rumour...


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## Darklone

9th legion... I recall some books about that ... that story sounds very familiar. Nicely done.


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## Orichalcum

*Thanks for the comments! Name commentary*

Thanks for all the comments! Yes, Alea iacta est is originally from a Greek play by  Menander; I gave the standard English translation/paraphrase rather than the literal version.  Still, my players' versions have been even more amusing, ranging from Alea Lacta - Milky Dice(Die), to Alea Tacta (The Die that has been Felt Up, loosely.) As mentioned before, this first session drew substantial inspiration from Rosemary Sutcliff, although rapidly started branching, and no other sessions are indebted to anything besides actual Roman history. "Damnatio memoriae" was a real phenomenon, minus the magic spell aspect.


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## Orichalcum

*First Session: Eagle's Flight Sixth Post: Run, Ouenikones, Run!*

The next morning, we travel northwards to Voluntiae, the fort where the Legion was attacked. Here, Llyr realizes that the fortifications were
weakened at a crucial point from inside. He is aided by Wena, who determines the past history of several scattered weapons by studying them with her mind [GM Note: philosophers in Alea Iacta are psionicists of various sorts]. Furthermore, there is no way that this weakness would have been visible from the outside. The group begins to suspect the Tribune Minucius and darker plots behind the downfall of the Legion. I think about pointing out that a monkey would have been ideal to deliver communications between any traitorous Legionaries and the tribesmen outside, but decide that no one will listen to me anyway.

        As they are riding east along a hunting trail towards Ituna (the roads having stopped at the wall), the party is surprised to see a young tribeswoman, carrying a spear, dart across their path and back into the dense trees, apparently oblivious to them. Their confusion increases when she is followed by a young spearman, also running at a full speed, and then by another spearman, and another young spearwoman, until 25 youths and maidens have crossed the path. The party decides to halt their ponies and wait until all have crossed. Wena then sets off running after them, running fairly quickly for a woman who is clearly no warrior. She is unable to catch up, but does follow their trail, eventually ascertaining that they seem to be running in a giant circle. 

	The rest of the party continues along the main path, while Cornelia ponders the mystical significance in Celtic lore of the number 25. After thinking about it, she is unable to come up with any relevance for 25, although she remembers that 24 is an important and central ritual number. Alexandros relates this to the 24 legions, and now 1 extra Eagle, and becomes terrified. He suggests that they ambush some of the stragglers and preemptively stop whatever ritual this might be. The others eventually veto this suggestion.

       About half an hour later, the running tribesmen cross the party's
path again (the party is slow-moving due to their mule train.) Again, they
are traveling from north to south, which leads the party to conclude that
they are running in some sort of giant spiral. Wena follows them, about a
minute later, and runs blithely past the party, to much confusion. This time, Meloch takes after her on Kaspar, along with me. At last, we can escape this crazy bunch of Romans and have fun playing in the forest, I think. But no, we have to chase some Caledonii who clearly have better things to do than pay attention to us. Kaspar manages to catch up to the
last of the runners, but Meloch is resolutely ignored by the focused
tribeswoman. Later we find out that the others were somewhat confused but decided to keep walking to Ituna without us.

        Eventually, the Legionaries, Heilyn, and Cornelia reach the village, where an older woman, Cadwyrna, greets Cornelia, assuming that she is the leader, as the Ouenikones tribe are somewhat matriarchal. She welcomes them to the village and to the upcoming Festival of the New Spears, at which the young women and men of the Ouenikones will achieve adulthood and become full warriors of their tribes. The festival is a time of general hospitality and much trading, and many people seem interested in the party's trinkets. Cornelia immediately sells 5 shiny but harmless trinkets for a live suckling piglet, and other bargains seem in the offering. 

	 Meanwhile, the villagers and their many guests prepare for an upcoming procession at dusk to the holy place, north of the village. At this point, Heilyn and Alexandros sneak briefly off into the forest, to find a place where there are slightly less active tree spirits, and
Alexandros puts on the Eagle brooch. When he does so, he can feel a slight
pull, northwards. Heilyn is somewhat unnerved by the sheer quantity of
nature spirits in the region, and also notes that the crops around the
village are abnormally tall and healthy.

 	Meanwhile, Wena, Meloch, Kaspar, and I keep following the trail of the runners, growing more and more exhausted. Rather than continuing in
one giant spiral, they are surprised to discover that it loops into a smaller spiral, in an area that Wena estimates is to the south of Ituna, and a similar small spiral to the east of Ituna, before swinging back into the great circle and heading to the north of Ituna, where it spirals again, for a total of three linked spirals.

       Finally, they emerge out of the forest to see a tall green hill, almost unnaturally round at the bottom and sharply slanted towards the top, with no vegetation except grass growing around it. A wide spiral path is cut into the hill, circling upwards, and Wena and Melech can see the runners circling around this until they turn around the eastern corner of the hill, about 2/3ds of the way up, and disappear. Upon investigation, there seems to be some sort of dark cave opening on that side of the hill.

       Wena and Meloch can see a torchlit procession slowly coming from the south towards them, but Meloch orders me to go and investigate anyway, despite my fervent protests that I don’t like caves, that the runners really didn’t seem in the mood to be interrupted, and that we should clearly go find our allies with big swords rather than doing anything this silly. Furthermore, he tells me to take this glowing crystal thing that Wena has along with me. Apparently, Wena thinks she has a talking rock. Maybe she isn’t so intelligent, although the crystal rather unnerves me. Finally, I climb up after Meloch promises me treats, and see three huge stones of some kind, in front of the opening to a dark tunneled cave. I refuse completely to go inside; it’s pitch black, and there’s chanting inside, and furthermore, I can smell something that reminds me of Heilyn’s bratty wolfhound, but much, much bigger. So I sit there and keep myself safe and hidden.

	Meloch scrambles up the  hill himself to investigate, despite my common sense arguments, and is nearly discovered peering into the cave. He is unable to see anything in the darkness of the cave, although he does hear chanting. He and Wena and I join the rest of the group as they file in the slow, torchlit procession up and around the hill, eventually seating themselves in a round carved-out area in front of the cave. The cave is marked by three huge stones, one, about six feet tall and three feet wide, which stands about a foot in front of the opening, and two horizontal stones of the same dimensions to the left and right of the vertical stone. All three stones seem to have some runes carved into them, but it is impossible to read them in the dim light. As the
procession ends, all the torches are thrown together into a giant bonfire,
in front of the vertical stone, and the drumming begins.


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## Orichalcum

*First Session: Eagle's Flight Seventh Post: Wolves and Foxes and Eagles, oh my!*

Darting out of the cave and into the firelight comes a man wearing
an elaborate wolf mask. I gibber in terror until Meloch persuades me that it isn’t a real wolf. His body is painted, and a wolf-tail swings behind him. He is followed by three maidens and a youth, each clutching a spear, each of whose faces has been elaborately painted to resemble a wolf. One section of the assembled crowd cheers and howls. The five dance around the fire, and finally the wolf-masked man bounds directly through the flames. For an instant, he seems almost to be a wolf within the fire, although the effect quickly fades as the group moves to one side. 

They are followed by a woman wearing the mask of a mountain lion, with four young warriors painted similarly. They too, dance, prowling the night and batting at the sparks of the fire, until she leaps over the fire and seems to be a lioness for an instant. They are followed by a owl-masked woman, with four New Spears at her side, a bull-masked man with giant horns which almost grow out of his scalp, and a fox-masked woman, whose eyes gleam brightly behind her mask and whose followers sport fox tails. 

	Then, a woman whose mask is made entirely out of eagle-feathers leaps over the vertical standing stone itself and glides over the fire. In her arms, she carries a battered but recognizable Roman Eagle. Its wings are gone, and its face and body is covered with runes in blue woad paint, but Alexandros knows in his heart and in the warm brooch he wears that it is his long-lost standard. As the Eagle-woman hovers and dances, they can see that the wings of the Eagle are attached to her cloak.

        Cornelia, meanwhile, and the others have counted the new warriors
- twenty-four. She and Meloch search anxiously for the face of the last and slowest runner, but cannot find her. At this moment, a final figure, with a mask that seems both animalian and fantastical, with eagle and owl feathers, the whiskers of a lion, the nose of a fox, the ears of a wolf,
and the horns of a bull, steps on top of the standing stone itself. The crowd quiets, murmuring, "Aeduana." Aeduana proclaims that the Oeunikones have 24 brave new warriors to welcome to the tribe, and that tonight is a time of celebration and rejoicing. For tomorrow, she adds, will begin the preparations for a spring war against the foul Romans who have besmirched their lands. At this, the Legionaries huddle underneath their cloaks.

   The gathering breaks out into celebration, eating, and dancing.
Cornelia and Meloch follow one couple, who do not seem to be rejoicing, as they walk slowly down the hill. Although they try to find out what
grieves them, they are answered only with stoic remarks that the couple, unlike the others on the hillside, has no brave warrior to honor this night. Cornelia sends Cato the owl fluttering after the grieving parents as they return home for a night of prayer. I take the opportunity to enjoy myself back at the celebration, without that annoyingly serious owl for once.

       Meloch and I entertain the crowd with our elaborate juggling tricks and dancing sparks, somewhat to the disgruntlement of the six masked figures, whose dancing is rendered less prominent. Not my fault if they can’t swing by their tails. The others roam through the crowd, listening to conversations. They hear several mentions of the minor Chieftain Edric, of the Fox Clan. Eventually, Cornelia manages to speak to Edric, who is drumming up support for the forthcoming war effort against the Romans. He speaks boastfully of having been first in the charge against the Roman fortifications, seven years ago. Through talking to other, increasingly drunk Oeunikones, the party finds out also that Edric only joined the Ouenikones seven years ago, shortly before the attack. Heilyn, after listening to him for a while, concludes from his accent that he was originally of the Brigantes tribe, the assimilated tribe whose lands lie near Eburacum. Wena finds out that the tribes consider the Eagle to be a stolen Roman god, sacred to all the clans of the Ouenikones, not just the Eagle clan.

        The celebration gradually begins to die down, and finally, Aeduana
announces that it is time for it to end. She reminds the assembled that, at dawn, she will meet the twenty-four New Spears in front of the Great Hall, in the village itself, and will lead them north, that they may have further training among the Great Spirits of the northern lands. Heilyn ponders what this may mean, and reflects that these are certainly spirits he would rather not meet himself. The six clan Druids will also meet their clans at dawn at the Great Hall, so that they may escort them back to their own lands in safety.


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## Orichalcum

*First Session: Eagle's Flight Eighth Post: Falls the shadow*

The party retires for the night, rest marred only by Llyr's careful planting of naphtha vials in and around the straw of the Great Hall, and later, the village granary. Apparently, the humans have formed a plan to blow up the village as a distraction; this seems a little excessive but what can you expect?

       At dawn, they turn out to observe the departure of the Druids and their peoples. They note that the Eagle Druid is not carrying the Eagle with her, and that the Druids travel unmasked by day. None of them are recognizable as Minucius, however, whom Marcus met while they served in the same Legion, and would know again due to his incredible memory. 

        Once everyone has left, the party travels off a brief distance into the woods and hides their mules. Upon Metellus the Tribune's insistence, Cornelia remains behind with the mules and the protection of Wena. I ask to stay behind as well, but Meloch says I might be useful, and refuses.  Wena sets up a mental link with Marcus and Cornelia. They prepare to magically ignite the granary upon a signal from the others. Meanwhile, the rest of us creep up the far side of the hill.

        They examine the standing stones, and through the mental link
Cornelia is able to decipher that the far right rune says, "Darkness." The other two remain mysterious, however. Meloch also notices a triangular stone, set above the cave opening, with a thin vertical slit in it, which appears to be letting out light. He suggests that I clamber up to investigate it, completely ignoring my earlier comments about the terrifying darkness and the canine smell.

       I approach the stone slit of light and look through it, covering it with my body until I am suddenly thrown back by some magic force against the standing stone and nearly break every bone in my body. Only Meloch  is  sympathetic; I’m not sure any of the others even noticed my yelps; they were too busy worrying about the sudden piercing howls coming from within the cave. Indeed, Meloch and Metellus were so scared by them that they froze and nearly ran down the hill in a panic, until Meloch concentrated on his pygmy ability to ward out the evil eye, and the fear I sensed from him lessened. I huddled in his cloak. I had told them this was a bad idea.

	Meanwhile, the others move in, determined to quell the barking. A huge shadowy dog leaps out at them from the darkness, savaging Marcus, and then retreats out of the light, continuing to bark. It cannot approach those near Meloch. Marcus wades bravely into the darkness, while Llyr sets up the ballista, and eventually, with the aid of Metellus  after he conquers his fear, they hack the enormous hound to bits.

        Within the cave, all is dark, and torches are immediately extinguished by some unnatural force. Yet one narrow band of sunlight streams down the passageway from the vertical slit above the entrance. The party recalls that it is the fall equinox, and thus that the light may be falling in a particular pattern. They proceed about thirty feet down the narrow passageway, until it opens into a large round room, lit only by the single ray of light. There are three dimly perceived objects in the room. Directly in front of the entrance, a 3-feet diameter circle of hollow white jade lies on the earthen floor. A stone axe has its head resting inside the circle, and its handle resting outside. It has no stains. In the middle of the room, a stone chalice, perhaps even a natural stalagmite carefully carved, rests about three feet off the ground. A dark, thick liquid, most likely blood, gleams in the half-shadows. At the far end of the room, a small stone niche is carved. And there rests the Eagle. It is late morning, and the ray of light is currently halfway between the white jade circle and the chalice.

	After much time spent attempting to figure out the ritual significance of these objects, Metellus eventually proposes that they are arranged to be triggered in some fashion, at sunrise, noon, and sunset. [GM Note: Please don’t think too carefully about the astronomical issues here.] What the
party doesn't know is whether the triggers will be good or bad for them.
Eventually, Meloch suggests that, since he still has his protection from
evil, he and Metellus remain inside and attempt to forcibly trigger the
protections and take the Eagle, while the others retreat outside. By this time, the light has hit the chalice and is gleaming off the surface of the dark blood inside. I go back outside the cave and wait; I am not participating in this foolishness, and I think Meloch’s crazy for even considering it. 

	Metellus throws his cloak over the chalice. The cloak explodes in a sudden
fire of light and disintegrates, but does not harm them. He tosses a rock at the jade circle, and suddenly two shadowy forms coalesce out of the darkness. They begin to move towards Meloch and Metellus, but are repelled
by an invisible barrier. Meloch warns Metellus that this will not last for long. Metellus tosses another rock at the Eagle, and another shadow form
appears. Finally, in desperation, he grabs the Eagle, and the pygmy and
the Tribune retreat as five shadowy forms follow them down the passageway.

        A brief but nasty battle ensues around the standing stones. While
the shadows seem unable to directly hurt the party, they leave Metellus
weak and dizzy. Their power is lessened in the light, however, and eventually the group breaks through the magical forces binding the creatures and they vanish. The party runs down the hill, just as Cornelia and Wena ignite the granary, which explodes in Greek fire, raining sparks down on all the thatched roofs of the village. Stopping to slit the throats of the mules, lest the animals talk to the Druids, the party gallops east and south. I look at the mules and wince, deciding that keeping my mouth quiet from now on is definitely the best policy among these ruthless animal killers.


----------



## Orichalcum

*First Session: Eagle's Flight Ninth Post: Run away! Run away!*

After a debate as to whether stealth or speed is best, we decide to take the Roman road and hope for aid at Trimontium. Just as we reach the gates of Trimontium, only a few seconds before sundown, a pack of wolves led by an enormous wolf with glowing green eyes attack them. Metellus and Heilyn fight a rearguard action, with Metellus slicing the enormous leader in twain. Meanwhile, Heilyn's small setter savages the throats of two of the smaller wolves, much to Heilyn's pride. (I resolve to be even more wary of the setter; if it can take down something that much larger than it, what could it do to me???)

        Meanwhile, Marcus and Cornelia and Wena race back to the dais, where Cornelia prepares the funeral offerings to the dead, and Marcus unveils the Eagle. Just as the last of the Wolves die, the last ray of sun sinks below the horizon, and the ghosts appear, surrounding the dais. Marcus, aided by the funeral offerings, speaks to them and rebinds them to their Eagle. He
orders them to guard the camp this night, and be prepared to march in the
morning. The largest wolf upon death turns into a Druid wearing a wolf mask, which the humans promptly loot, although they do not put it on.

        The party gets an uneasy sleep, surrounded by the spirits of the lost Ninth. At dawn, the ghosts vanish to everyone's sight but Heilyn's, who complains of their loud trumpet noises. As the party rides onward, Heilyn can see that the ghosts of the Ninth march behind them, having no trouble maintaining their speed. About midday, a group of warriors, led by another Druid, come charging down the road towards the party, through the spirits who are powerless by day. Given the distance, however, the party has the chance to get off several devastating shots with the ballista and javelins before the warriors attack, and the Druid is almost dead by the time she reaches them. She does cause spikes to grow out of the road around the horses' hooves, however, which injures several of them. It is a quick and dirty fight, and once again Metellus swings mightily, and the small dog does much damage. The humans take a fox mask from this Druid, just as they found a wolfen mask on the other Druid. I have a theory about the relationship of animal mask and abilities of the Druid, but no one wants to listen to me.  

          That night, the party continues, at a walk, with the ghosts of the Ninth guarding their rear. While they hear the deep hoots of an enormous owl, nothing attacks them. I panic, however, and decide that I am going to spend the rest of my life in a warm bath if we ever make it home.

     We are not so lucky the next morning, only a few hours away from
the Wall, when from the sky eagles begin swarming down, pecking at them
and then darting upwards again out of our reach.  They are led by a Giant Eagle, who nearly pecks out Marcus's eyes on her first swoop down. 

      However, the humans have prepared well, anticipating this fight. Heilyn can bless arrows against a specific target, and has enchanted one ballista bolt to be particularly effective against “the Eagle Druid.” On her second swoop,  Llyr impales her with the one-man- ballista on a critical hit, and the eagle drops from the sky, turning halfway down into the crumpled corpse of a woman wearing an eagle mask, with the wings of the Ninth’s Eagle strapped to her back. 

     The humans add the damaged mask to its collection of wolf and fox masks, and rides on, reaching Hadrian's Wall safely later that afternoon. As they pass through the hurriedly opened gates of the Wall, holding the Eagle up high, Heilyn sees the ghosts of the Ninth slowly fade from his spirit vision, finally able to release their charge and find some sort of peace.
           [End First Session]


----------



## Manzanita

This is very interesting.  I'm a Roman history buff myself, & am currently DMing a campaign set in a DnD version of the Mediterranian circa 20 BC (Called Crossed Paths on the Gaming Action messageboard.).  I'd love to see a Rogue's Gallery, as well as the house rules you use.  I like what you've done with the Roman Eagle.


----------



## Krellic

Fairly classic Roman style adventure and a nice intro for the players.

Personally however I'm with the monkey...


----------



## Orichalcum

*Second Session: Saturnalia First Post: Never trust a pretty girl.*

The next three months passed without incident. Well, Metellus did volunteer to accept an honorable discharge or throw himself on his sword if the Legate demanded it for having run off with his daughter into farthest Caledonia. But the Legate said that he didn’t blame Metellus for having fallen victim to Cornelia’s extraordinary powers of persuasion and mentioned that Cornelia’s mother, before the divorce eight years ago, used to convince him into doing all sorts of crazy things. He did ask Metellus to keep a careful and protective eye on Cornelia in the future, and Metellus reluctantly agreed, clearly wishing he’d never have to see the impudent maiden again.

	 The Eagle was sent to the Governor in Londinium, a young man in his early 20’s named Lucius Mamercus Aemilianus Cimbrus, (known as Cimbrus) who is not only the governor but the Emperor’s only son and presumed heir. We didn’t hear anything else about it or about what would happen to the Ninth until early December, when the humans, even Cornelia and Meloch, received formal invitations from Cimbrus to go to Londinium during the Saturnalia festival and be honored for their rescue of the Eagle. I was overjoyed; during Saturnalia not only are slaves treated like masters and vice versa, but there’s immense amounts of free food for everyone. Besides, Londinium is usually warmer than Eburacum. 

	We traveled southwards and stopped at a reasonably respectable, economical inn for the night. While the rest of us were eating our dinner (I was allowed to finish Cornelia’s beer, since she prefers wine), Marcus was flirting heavily with a young dark-haired local woman, who also seemed quite interested in him. I hadn’t finished the bowl of beer before they disappeared upstairs together. The humans pretended not to notice that mating was about to happen. 

          Then Cornelia got a startled look on her face, and leaned down to whisper to Meloch, who was sitting on the floor in his usual place. Meloch grabbed me by the tail and ran upstairs, telling me that Cato, Cornelia’s uppity and paranoid owl, had been looking through the window of the woman’s room and seen Marcus, with a glazed look on his face, and a different woman than the one he’d gone upstairs with. I tried to point out that Cato’s obsession with spying on human mating rituals was really none of our concern, unless Marcus wanted to get someone pregnant quickly with Meloch’s help, but Meloch listened quietly against the door and heard some strange chanting. This distressed him, so he shoved open the door and we saw a horrifying old hag, white skin drawn against her bones and dark, straggly hair, straddling Marcus, who lay there motionless, with his eyes open, wearing only a small loincloth. She had a long, curved knife raised, and it was about to enter Marcus’s abdomen, when she saw us. 

	Meloch screamed. I screeched. Cato beat his wings loudly. The woman turned one long, pointed finger towards Meloch and hissed a few words, and a darkish green light came shooting out at Meloch, weakening him in every muscle and joint. But my partner is nothing if not foolhardy and came charging into the room shooting one of his magic missiles at her. I wanted to apologize for interrupting and flee in terror, but by that point the rest of our comrades had come charging up the staircase and were trying to shove themselves into the narrow doorway as fast as possible. The witch managed to hurt Meloch and several more of us. Meanwhile, Cornelia was shooting her own magic missiles over Metellus’s shoulder as fast as possible. Amazingly, Metellus completely failed to notice any of her shots. Good, brave man, the Tribune, but not very observant, particularly around Cornelia. Eventually, Metellus sliced the witch’s head off, and after that Marcus seemed to recover from his paralysis. Then, of course, Cornelia started blushing at seeing him so near-nude, and Meloch and I had to take her off to our and Wena’s room. Cornelia asked the innkeeper about it later, and he shrugged, telling her that the inn got one liver-eating witch about every month, and sensible travelers didn’t take careless risks. Perhaps it’s lucky there are almost no others of my species in this cold, foggy island.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Now that's a blase inkeeper.  "Oh yeah, we get a liver eating witch about once a month.  Firewood delivery - check.  Ale consignment - check.  Liver eating witch - check."

Glad to see you've joined us, Ori.  I've been wanting to hear more stories about this campaign.


----------



## Krellic

I'm vaguely surprised that Cornelia's father didn't immediately try and marry her off to Metellus, or at least hint at such a possibility!


----------



## Orichalcum

*Second Session: Saturnalia Second Post: Knocking up the Governor's Wife*

The next day, a little the worse for wear, we arrived at the house of Cornelia’s Uncle Drusus and Auntie Petronilla in Londinium, where Meloch and I have stayed before. Drusus is a military quaestor, in charge of much of the financial and administrative paperwork for Britannia’s three legions. He’s also an amateur scholar, who likes adding all sorts of esoteric scrolls to his library. Wena and Marcus, who also turns out to be a part-time philosopher, are very happy about this.

       Cornelia spends her time gossiping with Auntie Petronilla and finding out a little more about the mysterious Tribune Minucius, who we believed helped betray the Ninth to the Druids and is presumed to have died with them. Petronilla says that Minucius came from an ambitious but very poor family and has a widowed mother back in Rome who was desolate at the loss of her only child. 

         Petronilla also told us about the exciting events of Saturnalia: that afternoon, we were due to meet Governor Cimbrus and his wife, Hadriana, the great-granddaughter of the former Emperor Hadrian. The next day, there would be a great chariot race, one of the highlights of Saturnalia, and the day after plays would be performed all day in the new theater. Tomorrow night was also the time for new initiations into upper levels of the cult of Mithras the Bullslayer, the Roman soldier-god which had a devoted, all-male mystery cult. Metellus and Llyr decided that they wanted to be fully initiated; Marcus was entirely happy with his low-level rank in the cult.

	As we were walking around Londinium, Heilyn looked increasingly pale and startled at the sheer number of people and buildings; he’s lived his whole life in and around Eburacum. Once or twice, he stopped dead and pointed at a man or two in the crowd, murmuring in horror, “do you see that? He’s covered in blood!” We could see no blood on the people in question, but eventually Cornelia figured out that Heilyn might be seeing the spiritual residue of murderers who hadn’t atoned to the gods and been purified from their crimes. During Saturnalia, no crimes are prosecuted or punished, so it tends to be a time of much chaos as well as celebration. I always like this because it means I can steal fruit from the market-sellers without any fear of Meloch getting into trouble. 

	We finally arrived at the rather squalid governor’s palace – largely wood and concrete with a thin marble veneer, built directly on the Thames River. We were shown in by a group of smartly dressed Praetorian Guards, quite a lot of them as they were here to protect the Emperor’s heir. Cimbrus himself was a fairly thin young man with shoulder-length blond hair; his wife, Hadriana, who was several years older than he was and in her late twenties, had elaborately dressed brown hair piled on top of her head and robes in shades of red and pink, which highlighted the enormous ruby necklace worn around her throat. 

	The humans bowed and saluted as appropriate; well, Heilyn sort of stumbled, but what can you expect from such a rustic? Governor Cimbrus greeted us all and thanked us for our endeavors. He seemed to be very enthusiastic and well-meaning, but not especially on the bright side; this is the problem with many Emperor’s sons. Hadriana, much more poised, asked us to tell the entire story, at which point Metellus flinched. He began telling a version with much of the magic – certainly all of our magic – left out, making the entire affair seem like a rather prosaic raid. 

          Marcus, however, emphasized the power of the Druids, but spoke gleefully about exploding the granary, which he hoped would cripple their attempts to raise an army for the spring as they’d be too busy dealing with starvation. Cornelia winced at this. Right about then, Meloch, who’d been sending vague feelings of sickness and unease over our mental link, nearly vomited on the marble tiling right in front of the Emperor. I asked what was wrong and he just said that as soon as he came in, he’d begun feeling ill. We slipped to the back, where we were less conspicuous, and he tried to get a hold of his stomach. 

	Cimbrus told us that, after receiving our reports about the Druids’ planned war, he had decided to take an aggressive approach and go to meet them on their own turf. He was marshaling all the three Legions and preparing to march north of Hadrian’s Wall in the spring to eliminate the Druidic threat once and for all. Marcus and Llyr were elated; most of the rest of us were a little uneasy about Cimbrus’ certainty of victory and firm belief that all the other native tribes of Britannia were firmly behind us. 

    He also said that he had been ordered by his father to send the Eagle to Rome itself, as only the Senate could decide on a matter as serious as re-forming a lost Legion, particularly since there were already 24 Legions, the normal maximum number. Two of his Praetorian Guards would be taking the last ship out of Londinium before the winter storms closed the Channel, in two days’ time at sunset, with the Eagle, and they would carry it through Gaul safely to Rome.

	We returned to Drusus and Petronilla’s house, and the Legionaries and Heilyn discussed the problem of Minucius. Meanwhile, about an hour later, Cornelia received a handwritten invitation requesting that she, her “servant” Wena, and her pygmy slave attend the Illustrious Hadriana in her private quarters that evening. 	I accompanied, of course, and we dutifully trooped back off to the Governor’s Palace, a little confused as to why she hadn’t just spoken to us there.

       As it turned out, Hadriana had what might be described as a woman’s problem. She and Cimbrus had been married for ten years, since he turned fourteen. (She was nineteen at the time, unusually old for first marriage, but had been politically risky due to her descent from the Divine Hadrian.) However...they haven’t had any children yet. Indeed, she hasn’t ever gotten pregnant, and this is increasingly a major issue. It is at this point that Meloch nearly vomits again, which, needless to say, doesn’t go over well with Hadriana.  Finally, Cornelia notices that something’s wrong with the pygmy, and asks. She and Wena theorize that perhaps Meloch is being affected by something causing Hadriana’s lack of pregnancy, given his people’s strong association with proper fertility. [GM Note: Pygmies cause fertility rates to jump by 20% of them within a 300-foot range.]

       Meloch focuses on the center of his discomfort and unease and finally targets the huge ruby dangling from Hadriana’s neck. Cornelia asks her about it and she tells them that it was a wedding present from the Emperor himself. This causes some befuddlement, but finally Wena asks her to take it off and whether she can hold it for a second. Reluctantly, Hadriana does, and Wena holds the ruby and concentrates on using her mind to learn more about its past history. She gets the following reading:

	It was handed to her by a Roman adult female, Lawful Neutral in alignment, leaning good. She was given the ruby by an older Roman LG male, who was given it by a young CN Roman man, who was given it by a LE middle-aged Brigantian man, who purchased it from an elderly CE Thessalian woman, who bought it from a middle-aged LN Armenian man, who bought it from a young CG Parthian man, and several more apparent traders until the middle-aged LH man who found it in a mine in India. 
Obviously, we are most interested in the evil Brigantian, about whom Hadriana has no idea, and the evil Thessalian woman, who seems likely to have been a witch, as Thessalians are notorious for witchcraft.

        Upon Wena and Cornelia’s urgent recommendation, Hadriana puts the ruby necklace into a small chest and has a maid take it to the treasury for safekeeping. Cornelia also attempts to delicately suggest that Meloch’s presence near Hadriana and Cimbrus’s bedroom might have...fruitful results. Hadriana seems a bit skeptical, but agrees to give Meloch a room for the night near her bedroom. As they return home, Meloch promises he will do everything he can to get the Governor’s wife pregnant.


----------



## Orichalcum

*re: Cornelia and Metellus*



			
				Krellic said:
			
		

> *I'm vaguely surprised that Cornelia's father didn't immediately try and marry her off to Metellus, or at least hint at such a possibility! *




      So, there are two issues. First of all, Metellus's family is much more high ranking than Cornelia's. Although his boss is her dad, currently, the match would definitely be a coup for her. Secondly, her father, due to his own past history, is very skeptical about pressured marriages, and would really like Cornelia's husband to love her. At the moment, Metellus's dominant opinion of Cornelia was one of fear and guilt. But, as you'll see, the relationship progressed. Not always forwards, mind you.


----------



## spyscribe

Ooo... This is shaping up to be simultaneously exciting and politically sticky.  Can't wait to see what happens next.


----------



## Esiminar

> As they return home, Meloch promises he will do everything he can to get the Governor’s wife pregnant.



This struck me as greatly funny for some, most likely puerile, reason.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Second Session: Saturnalia Third Post: Chariot Racing*

After dinner, Meloch returns to the Governor’s Palace, escorted by a Praetorian Guard through the increasingly rowdy and chaotic streets. He is given a small although lavish bedroom three doors down from Hadriana’s. Several hours after nightfall, he and I (I went first to make sure it was safe) crawl along the outside windowsill, leaping across the breaks between rooms, until we are next to Hadriana’s bedroom. We listen and ensure that there is in fact noise.  Cato would be much better suited for this kind of prurient activity than I would. Meloch insists on our flattening ourselves against the wall for sometime until we finally return and go back to sleep.

	The next morning, half of Londinium, including our group, head to the chariot race at the Circus of Londinium. Melech and I have been invited to perch in the Governor’s Box; I smirk at Cato, and Wena’s pearl, not that I think it understands me.
Llyr, meanwhile, has gone down to the stables to greet his cousin Kynton, also a Prince of the Brigantes, who ran off to Londinium to race chariots for the Greens, the team largely supported by Romanized tribespeople. Llyr’s mother had asked him to try and dissuade Kynton from doing something so dishonorable, but Llyr shrugs and wishes Kynton the best of luck. Of course, Kynton barely notices him, spending most of his time with the flock of young Londinium women who are alternately cooing over the horses and Kynton’s tight British breeches, at least until the Red team comes by with its matched team of 4 Iceni mares, said to be descended from Epona the horse goddess herself. 

	Heilyn is having a shock of his own, and the sheer crowds of people are only a minor factor. As the crowds gather in the circus, Heilyn sees coalescing and growing stronger an enormous spirit which stretches over the entire arena, with blue, green, red, and white waves pulsing across it. It is more powerful than any spirit Heilyn has seen before; luckily, it seems calm and joyous. Heilyn hunkers down on his wooden seat and tries not to be noticed. 

	The day begins with a parade, as the Praetorians and various other elite units march in finely polished armor around the track before saluting the Governor. They are followed by two Praetorians riding elephants, which kneel before the Governor’s box and then use their trunks to write “CIMBRUS” in the dust. Those of the crowd who are literate applaud wildly. From my vantage point, it appears that most of the audience doesn’t understand what’s going on. But the cheering begins again when a trio of dancing bears parade around the arena, followed by a cavalry procession and then a rather mangy pair of lions.

	Finally, the four teams enter the arena, and are wildly cheered. [GM Note: The players played the roles of the four charioteers in this scene.] The first team out are the Blues, driven by Glaukos the Greek, former legionary and current champion of Londinium. The Blues get loud cheers from Marcus, Cornelia, Metellus, and other “true” Romans; the Governor’s Box also applauds loudest for this team. The second team is Kynton’s Greens, and not only Llyr but Heilyn, the other Brigantes and most of the Catavellauni, another reasonably assimilated tribe, cheer loudly. This particular cheer also has a distinctly higher note to it, and even Cornelia looks on appreciatively for a moment. The third team is the Whites, the subsidiary team of the Blues, driven by Gallus Agnorix, a relative newcomer. The Whites are cheered mainly by freedmen and merchants; Meloch and I decide to quietly bet on them.  

	The final team out is the Reds, driven by Thyra of the Iceni. This chariot is painted with Iceni battle symbols, and is the first team to get almost as many boos as cheers. Drusus explains that the Reds have become a symbol of those Britons who are not quite as happy with the Roman conquest as others. Apparently, Thyra’s mother was killed during the major Iceni revolt of thirty years ago, when Queen Boadicea murdered the Roman governor and half a Legion after she was beaten and her daughters raped by Roman tax collectors. The Iceni are a small fraction of their power before the revolt, but have apparently not let go all of their anger. Wena, who holds the position of vates, or lorekeeper, to the Iceni, is undaunted and cheers for Thyra, commenting that uneasiness about Roman conquest does not make one necessarily evil. Metellus goes and places a very large bet on the Blues, which Llyr, somewhat more impressively, matches with a bet on the Greens. Cornelia wagers some of her allowance on the Blues.

	The four gilded dolphins at the starting post are turned downwards, and the race begins. Kynton gets an initial burst of speed and pulls ahead in the first lap, with the Blue Glaukos closely following. Thyra and Gallus Agnorix spend most of their time trying to sideswipe each other with their chariots or whip the other’s horses into a panic; Thyra even gets a few good blows on Glaukos’s horse, allowing Kynton to move further ahead. In the second lap, Glaukos begins gaining on Kynton, as his superior driving skill comes into play, and it looks like it might be a tight race. But in the third lap (out of seven), Gallus’s White chariot, driving neck-to-neck with Thyra’s Red team, appears to lose a wheel and collapses; Gallus is dragged for several hundred feet by his horses, since he has wrapped the reins around his waist in traditional fashion, until they come to a stop, and he lies motionless.

        Thyra deftly angles her chariot out of harm’s way and tries to use the opportunity to pass Glaukos. But Glaukos is furious at the apparent fatal attack on his comrade, and begins focusing his energy on whipping Thyra herself and attempting to crash her chariot.  Kynton, largely oblivious to the furor behind him, concentrates on racing as fast as possible and crosses the finish line far ahead of his competitors.
	The crowd, which began murmuring loudly as soon as the White chariot fell, grows into a furious mob as the Blue charioteer and Red charioteer continue attacking each other with their whips even after the race is over. Dozens of supporters from either side storm the sands of the arena. Both Glaukos and Thyra are ripped to pieces in the tumult. The Iceni begin shouting traditional battle chants and accusing the Romans of cheating, while the Romans claim that Thyra struck the first blow. 

        Metellus and Marcus wade down into the arena and manage to momentarily quell the mob with quick words and some buffets to the head, while Llyr goes to make sure Kynton is safe. Meloch and I hide in the Governor’s box, reassured when we see Heilyn escorting Cornelia and Wena safely out of the circus. The Praetorians seem somewhat ineffective at stopping the chaos, although the Governor keeps shouting commands out of the box until some sharp-eyed guards inform him that it is time to leave, now. We are glad for their escort, although no one seems to be directly attacking the Governor. As everyone in our group flees the Circus, Heilyn looks upwards. The once joyful gigantic Spirit now has two fiery storm-colored eyes, that gaze angrily around the arena, and blood seems to be dripping down the stadium walls. Dark clouds are gathering quickly.


----------



## Krellic

Love the idea of the 'spirit of the mob'


----------



## themaxx

*Player Introductions continued*

I play Wena, the Iceni wise woman, vates, lorekeeper and philosopher. Although the wise guide of the tribe, Wena has broken some traditions by travelling across much of Europe and parts of Asia to learn more about natural philosophy. She has thus become talented in seeing all sorts of things, even without the aide of her eyes. Wena tends to be holistic in her perspective and is also ascetic philosopher, usually owning nothing more than she carries with her. Being in the company of Roman adventurers has resulted in her acquiring a few trinkets, but not much. She also currently uses a bone (rather than wood) quarter staff, fashioned graciously by Hielyn, that is the result of a long story to come later....

She does always have Samir, her pearl and the observant side of her personality, to help her. She also carries on a bit of her mentor with her, as she wears always the shroud passed on to her by her teacher, who went for days and sometimes weeks meditating without any other activity.

Wena is hoping to find a young one among the Iceni to train as a suitable Vates, but the Iceni have lost many of their number, and they are currently in limbo between the more violent anti-Roman tribes and the assimilated tribes. Wena is hoping to help keep them safe as a tribe, and yet still maintain some of the independence and culture that the Iceni possess.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Second Session: Saturnalia Fourth Post: Spirit-talking*

The eyes of the Spirit of the Games, which have been roaming restlessly across the angry mob, focus on Heilyn, who is the only person in the stadium looking up at it. Heilyn is overwhelmed by a voice which sounds like the thunder of a crowd cheering yet which speaks only to him: “SPIRIT-TALKER. YOU CAN SEE ME.”
	“Indaid, great Spirit. Ah....you seem to be somewhat out of sorts.”
	“THE GAMES HAVE BEEN VIOLATED.” the voice booms like the sound of hooves.  “I HAVE BEEN WRONGED. THE GUILTY MUST BE PUNISHED.”
	“Well, I think they already are. I belaive their heads are over that way...” Heilyn responds, a bit confused.
	“MY RACERS WERE THE VICTIMS, NOT THE GUILTY. THE DEATH OF THE WHITE CHARIOTEER WAS NOT NATURAL. IT WAS AN OFFENSE AGAINST THE GAMES.”
	“I’m terribly sorry to hear that...” Heilyn responds, still edging his way out of the arena.
	“YOU WILL FIND THE GUILTY AND BRING THEM FOR ME TO PUNISH,” the Spirit of the Games announces to Heilyn, sounding resolved.
	“Why me???” Heilyn panics.
	“WHO ELSE BETTER?” At this crucial moment, Heilyn fails to come up with an answer. 
	“I WILL NOT REST EASY UNTIL THIS HAS BEEN AVENGED. WORK QUICKLY, SPIRIT-TALKER.”

	And with that, large hailstones begin pelting the crowd, which rapidly disperses in terror. Heilyn’s comrades begin to notice that the hailstorm is somewhat oddly centered directly over the arena, although it is rapidly spread radially outward. We all leave, quickly, and regroup somewhat later at the house of Drusus and Petronilla.

	Heilyn tells the rest of the humans about the Spirit of the Games’ request, and urgently requests their assistance. While Marcus initially balks at obeying a strange spirit whom only Heilyn can see, the extremely unusual weather conditions which continue to percolate throughout Londinium rapidly convince him. Rain is now pouring down, and lightning has already struck the walls of the legionary fortress. If the weather does not stop, the Thames will likely overflow its banks within a day. The group bundles up in their wool cloaks and trudge back to the now-deserted stadium to search for clues; I hide in the folds of Meloch’s tunic, terrified of hailstones larger than my head. 

      After an extensive search of the track by Llyr, Marcus, Meloch, and Wena, a small lead curse tablet is found shallowly buried in the now-muddy sand, just about at the point where the White chariot spontaneously disintegrated. Cornelia is able to read the Celtic magical runes, away from Metellus’s notice, and discover that the tablet specifically commands that, in the third lap, great doom fall upon Gallus Agnorix, the charioteer of the White team. Meloch announces to the group that the tablet bears the signs of reasonably powerful necromantic magic.

	Wena uses her ability to divine the history of an object and gains the following useful information: An Iceni male child, Chaotic Neutral in alignment, with good tendencies, received the tablet as well as some money, and placed it in the sand. He got it from a Lawful Evil adult Roman male, who bought it from a female adult Chaotic Neutral (leaning evil) Catavellauni woman, who created it. 

       With this narrow a track of owners,  the humans decide to pursue the path back directly. They go to the stables, and after a little enquiring locate Gwynthar, a young Iceni stableboy who reluctantly admits that he was paid money to place a tablet in the sand, which was supposed to help his heroine, Thyra of the Iceni. While Heilyn lectures the boy strongly about getting involved in evil spiritual duties, Cornelia defends him, arguing that he didn’t realize that his actions would result in the deaths of three charioteers, not to mention countless other people swept up in the mob. 

     Gwynthar is deeply traumatized that the tablet caused Thyra’s death, and promises to help them as much as possible. Unfortunately, all he knows about the person who gave them the curse tablet is that it was a tall, fair, Roman man with a sharp nose. However, Wena sets up a mindlink between herself, the boy, and Marcus, whose infallible memory has proved helpful to the group several times already. The mindlink is held for a moment before Marcus nods, his face breaking out into a slow, savage smile. “It’s Titus Minucius, the tribune who betrayed my Legion in the wilds of Caledonia. I’m certain of it. And he’s here in Londinium.”


----------



## themaxx

*I love this part*

This was quite cool.

I also really like how it is being told and narrated. It's very fun to go through it all again, and relive the story.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Sorry for the delay*

I was away for the weekend at a wedding, hanging out with Fajitas and WisdomlikeSilence, among other cool folks. (Insert plug for Welcome to the Halmae, an awesome game that I am proud to have provided the name for.) Expect daily updates for the next couple of days before another slowdown - we game this weekend! Also, the chariot racing post has been edited to reflect my players' differing memories of events.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Second Session: Saturnalia Fifth Post: The game's afoot*

The obvious question that presents itself, of course, is why Titus Minucius, shady and presumed dead Roman Tribune, would want to place a curse tablet against the White charioteer in a chariot race in Londinium. Marcus and Metellus immediately suggest money as a motivation, and a plan is discussed to stake out the betting stalls, which closed during the riot and have not yet paid out winnings for the tumultuous race. Llyr is looking eagerly forward to his prize money, while Meloch and I have resigned ourselves to a total loss. However, the stalls will not reopen until tomorrow – possibly later if the epic thunderstorm continues. After some debate, the group decides to head to the halls of the different teams to investigate personal rivalries between the charioteers and any expectations about the race or the future.

	Llyr goes off alone to the hall of the Greens, which is having a somewhat subdued victory celebration. Kynton is blithely grinning, with an attractive tribeswoman on each arm, as he recounts the race, focusing on his incredible skill with the reins. Llyr manages to drag his cousin briefly away on the pretext of congratulation and ask him about his competitors. Kynton shrugs. “Gallus Agnorix was a quiet older fellow, never talked much, content to let Glaukos steal his thunder. Although, he was eager for money, from what I heard – that’s why he’d gone into the racing business. Thyra was a firebrand – she may have had great horses, but nasty personality, and she just couldn’t take a compliment.”

	Llyr ponders asking what the compliment was but decides to try to keep Kynton focused on the important matters, a difficult task at any time. “What about Glaukos? Didn’t a lot of people expect him to win?”

	“Well, only those who haven’t seen me race, cousin!” The girls giggle at this, and Kynton’s hands wander. “Sure, he had a good record, but everyone loses their edge sometime. He did have strong team loyalty, though – even to the Whites, where he got started. And Glaukos held the tribes in a fair amount of contempt.” Kynton wanders off with his women, and Llyr returns to Drusus and Petronilla’s house after some desultory attempts at celebration himself.


	Meanwhile, Cornelia and Meloch have returned to the house on Metellus’s explicit request, since he doesn’t think that a charioteers’ hall is an appropriate place for a young Roman lady. A Praetorian Guardsman shows up again to escort Meloch to the palace, where we are similarly housed. Despite the rain, Meloch insists on our plastering ourselves to the outside wall again outside Hadriana’s bedroom, in hopes of inducing a new Imperial heir. They sound like they’re enjoying themselves much more than I am. 

         Cornelia spends her free time in her uncle’s library, asking him about “damnatio memoriae.” While somewhat confused, Drusus describes its use as a means of eliminating those who have deeply offended or betrayed the Emperor not only from sight but from memory itself; it is almost always performed after the death of the subject. He theorizes that the spell only extends to peoples within the borders of the Empire, although obviously data on the subject is very hard to gather.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Second Session: Saturnalia Fifth Post: Losing heirs*

The rest of the group travel to the complex of the White Team, located near the Blues in a neighborhood close by the stadium. They speak to the White factionarius, an affable man trying to keep the spirits of his rather depressed faction up. He describes Gallus Agnorix as a quiet man, a former slave freed about eight years ago, who came to them with expert driving, although not racing skills. He was initially of Gallic origin, and talked longingly of his home in southeastern Gaul. Lately, he had seemed worried and tense, and had been betting heavily on himself in an effort to raise enough money for the boat fare home. He had told the factionarius that if he did well in the race today, he was going to quit the team and use the prize money to pay for passage on the ship leaving for Gaul the next day. Wena asked some of the other grooms and hangers-on, and they confirmed that Gallus had been having an odd string of accidents lately – amphoras falling from roofs, his apartment building catching fire, and so forth. 

	The Romans and Wena now began to deduce that perhaps Gallus Agnorix himself had been the target of the curse tablet all along, given his apparent misfortunes of late. They asked to see the factionarius’ records on Gallus Agnorix, which he obligingly provided. In the official contract, the White Charioteer wrote his full name: Gaius Mamercus Aemilianus Gallus Agnorix, originally of Luvodunum, Gaul, freedman. Metellus was immediately struck by this, because the first part of the name, which the charioteer would have taken from his former master when he became a freed citizen, was the name of the imperial family, the Mamerci Aemiliani, themselves. Yet the first name did not match any known members of the imperial family – the emperor himself is Lucius, as is his son, and he only has one sister and no other male relatives. 

	Everyone reconvenes at Drusus’s house and compares notes. They come to the conclusion that perhaps the mysterious unremembered governor of eight years ago was in fact a younger brother of the Emperor himself, named Gaius Mamercus Aemilianus Gallus. Through a series of indirect questions to Drusus, they establish that, as well as the Britannian governor, no one can remember the name of the general who successfully quelled the Gallic revolts of about ten years ago, the kind of action that might both gain a Roman nobleman the cognomen “Gallus” and perhaps a skilled Gallic charioteer as slave. 

     Furthermore, “damnatio memoriae” is ineffective on those who were especially close to the victim and would thus have their lives irrevocably changed, such as personal freedmen. Meloch is sent to question the staff of the governor’s palace and finds that there have been a few mysterious deaths lately among the slaves and freedmen. Suddenly, a motive for Gallus Agnorix’s death becomes clear, and one possibly connected with Hadriana’s infertility.  Yet with no one else even able to remember the existence of the putative Imperial brother, how can our group possibly do anything to prove it?


----------



## Orichalcum

*Second Session: Saturnalia Sixth Post: The Fiery Pit*

For Llyr, Metellus, and to a lesser extent Marcus, such speculations must be shelved while they attend the night-long initiation ceremonies for the Temple of Mithras. Marcus wishes the younger men well and goes off to take his place as a Miles, or soldier. According to rumor, there are  seven ranks of initiates in the secretive all-male mystery cult of Mithras the Bull-Slayer:  The ranks are: Corax (the Raven),  Nymphus (bridegroom), Miles(soldier), Leo (lion), Perses (Persian), Heliodromus (Runner of the Sun) and the ultimate grade of Pater (Father). Each rank requires enduring the ordeal pit for that level (involving heat, cold, and fasting in some form) plus some study and training. All the ranks wear masks and robes to conceal their identities, so Metellus and Llyr have no idea of the men surrounding them, although they are almost certainly of high military rank.

	After initial prayers and a ritual cleansing, Metellus and Llyr, Coraces wishing to become Bridegrooms, are led into the dark central round brick temple. Scattered around the temple floor, seven ritual pits have been set up, each ten feet long and about seven feet in diameter, with a fire burning briskly at the bottom of each pit. The two young men and their five fellow initiates are each led to a pit, where they are stripped except for their masks, and all lights except the fires are extinguish. As the Paters and Heliodromi pray, the smoke above each of the fire pits coalesces into a smoky, almost opaque ladder that stretches to the height of the floor. Each initiate is gestured to climb down the ladder, head-first, and stop about halfway. Llyr does so without blinking, certain that this ritual will enable him in his quest to become more Roman. Metellus, well aware that these ladders are made only of smoke, has slightly more trepidation, but finally grits his teeth and proceeds down the ladder. The Paters gesture again and the smoke curls around the wrists and ankles of the initiates, binding them to the smoky ladders. 

	The Eldest Pater speaks: “Mithraic doctrine rests on three pillars. Truth. Honor. Courage. And all of these are tested by endurance and strength. In the first trial, we will illuminate your souls that the imperfections may be burned out.” Various Milites and Leones come forward, bearing wood and sticks of incense, which they hurl down on the fires. The heat grows, and the initiates, trapped upside-down in the pit, begin to sweat. Metellus trembles, and considers screaming for help, shouting that he is suffocating due to the smoke and the heat. Llyr stoically contemplates new ballista designs. (Of course, I heard all this later from Marcus one night when he was very drunk and thought talking to a monkey about his worries concerning his commander might help, somehow; Metellus has never spoken of the experience.)

	Just as Metellus is about to scream in agony, the Pater makes a gesture, and the ladders slowly turn until the initiates are upright. The Persians bring in bucket after bucket of ice-cold water from the Tamesis River (it is late December, on the night of the winter solstice, after all) and begin throwing water into the pits. At first, the relief from heat is extraordinary, but the water keeps coming. The Eldest Pater speaks: “Now, we wash away the dishonor from your souls. As soldiers of Mithras, you must never relax, never let down your guard.” The water slowly fills the pits, reaching Llyr’s neck and then chin. Eventually, all seven initiates are forced to tilt their heads back so that their noses barely reach above the water. After some hours, Metellus contemplates sleeping and merely letting himself drown. It would be so much easier than his life of constantly trying to live up to his father’s example and not let down the family name. Llyr is uncomfortable with the water and the growing pain in his neck muscles, but manages to distract himself again, wondering how Metellus is doing.

	The initiates have lost all sense of time in the now completely dark room; hours or days or weeks may have passed. The chants from the higher ranks continue, retelling the story of Mithras’s victory over the Great Bull. Finally, the Eldest Pater speaks, as the water slowly drains away into the bottom of the pits. “You have withstood fire and water, heat and cold. Yet at the end, the greatest test is always of your own body. Your soul must master and control your weak limbs; this is the ultimate courage – to defeat your own inner weakness.” The other Patres raise and change their chants, and the smoke ladders slowly begin spinning within the pit, first in a simple circle, then gradually rotating to pay homage to the four winds and all the major planets. Metellus and Llyr feel their bodies whirled at increasingly greater speeds on ladders of smoke which threaten to dissolve at any second. Metellus vomits. Llyr tries to think how this could be used as a weapon. After an interminable length of time, the ladders gradually slow again, and the initiates are helped out of the pits, Metellus barely able to stand.

         “Hail, Nymphoi!” speaks the Eldest Pater. “You indeed have truth, honor, and courage, although some in greater degrees of others. May the blessings of Mithras be upon you.” From some unseen crack light streams through to bathe the initiates, and the new Nymphoi realize that it must be dawn. Metellus and Llyr each experience an epiphany as the golden light of Mithras surrounds and flows through their skin. Llyr, blessed for his courage, knows that from now on he may briefly invoke the strength of Mithras, once each week, at will. Metellus’s deep fears and insecurities are illuminated by the god’s light, but his honor shines forth even more brightly, and he is rewarded by the ability to call down the light of Mithras from heaven once per week.
	“And now,” the Eldest Pater announces, “let the ceremony of the Birth and Slaying truly begin.”

*FYI, there is an existing excavated Mithraeum in London, from roughly the time period of Alea Iacta, complete with ritual pits that bear signs of fire.  Just another minor historical detail to add.


----------



## Krellic

My compliments on the standard of historicity or at least pseudo-historicity, it makes this story-hour stand out.

The plot of the forgotten imperial is really intriguing and I'm looking forward to reading more.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Second Session: Saturnalia Sixth Post: Blood and Wine*

The initiates gather and form themselves into kneeling ranks, with the higher orders at the front and Metellus and Llyr still towards the back. A perfectly white young bull is brought before the altar, and the Eldest Pater tells the story of the youth Mithras’s combat against the great Bull-God. The room is gradually illuminated as rays of the morning light shine through the holes in the domed roof, but all the priests are still masked, and rich incense fills the air, clouding the senses.

	Meanwhile, Cornelia, Heilyn, Wena, and Meloch have gotten up early to get good seats for the theater that day, as the performances begin at dawn. Meloch returned at dawn to Drusus’s house, and informed Cornelia privately that he was almost certain that Hadriana had conceived successfully. As pygmies were known to be experts in such matters, Cornelia congratulated him and promised to reward him if he was correct. The play is Euripides’ Bacchae, and a difficulty quickly becomes clear in the fact that only Cornelia and Wena out of the four know Greek, and Cornelia’s Greek is somewhat limited. However, the actors are clearly aware of the incomprehension of the audience and are doing as much as possible with gestures and highly gory sets. The mood of the audience is tense; the seats for Romans and their guests have been roped off from those reserved for the native Britannians, and even among the natives people are sitting very clearly by tribe, and some have obviously hidden weapons. The Governor Cimbrus and Hadriana have not yet arrived, although they are expected. I like plays, except when they throw blood on the audience, which gets in my fur, but Meloch says Cornelia wouldn’t take us to a play like that anyway, and this is great Greek art, which I should appreciate. 

	The Eldest Pater takes his ceremonial gold-edged knife and slits the throat of the bull over a large shallow bowl, decorated with strange runes, which is held by the Second Pater. After the bull has drawn its last breath, several Heliodromi remove the carcass for later feasting, and the Eldest Pater motions to the Third Pater, who brings forth a small ivory box. As the Second Pater raises the bowl of bull’s blood above the altar, the Eldest Pater sprinkles something from the box onto the surface and chants in an unknown language. Marcus, kneeling directly in front of Metellus and Llyr, quietly explains the importance of this ritual. Raw bull’s blood is naturally a deadly poison, but the blessing of the priests purifies it so that the initiates may all safely drink of the sacrifice and share in the glory of Mithras. The Eldest Pater finishes chanting and takes the bowl from his Second. He raises it to his lips and takes a large ceremonial sip, before passing it to the Second.

	The Bacchae begins, and fairly soon it is clear that something is slightly odd about the performance. The Bacchantes are dressed in Iceni colors and wearing Iceni battle paint in addition to their grapevine wreaths and smiling masks. When Pentheus, the doomed King of Thebes, enters, his mask bears a startling resemblance to Cimbrus. The tribal sections of the crowd, particularly the Iceni and Catavellauni, cheer loudly whenever the Bacchantes sing and hiss at Pentheus. The crowd is growing more and more restless. Heilyn suggests that our group leave, now, before this turns into another riot. He notes that it is still raining, and that the storm centered over the arena, some distance away, has only gotten blacker. This seems like a good idea to me, despite my affection for theater, but Cornelia insists on remaining, suggesting that they may be able to quiet things down. The play continues, and soon reaches its climax. Queen Agave, a Bacchante and Pentheus’s mother, who is wearing a mask that Wena recognizes as intended to evoke the memory of Boadicea, the great rebel Iceni Queen, enters, brandishing the head of Pentheus in mad exultation. Cornelia, who has seen this play before, is quite certain that the last time she saw it the head was represented by a mask with some stuffing and red paint. About half a second before the rest of the audience, we realize that this head is most definitely not a mask, and the gore dripping down from the neck is not red paint.

	The bowl of bull’s blood is passed down the aisle of four Paters and is handed to the Heliodromi. When the second Heliodromus is drinking, the Eldest Pater suddenly grasps his own throat and tries to speak. He falls to the ground, choking, and the other priests start to rush forward. A few seconds later, the Second Pater also falls to the ground of the temple, unable to breath. The Heliodromus, aghast, has the presence of mind to drop the sacred bowl before he, too, feels his throat constricting. 
	Chaos erupts in the temple. Metellus rushes forward to the front of the temple, where the six bodies lay. Marcus draws his concealed dagger and notes, without surprise, that he far from the only initiate of Mithras to have illegally smuggled a weapon into the ceremony. Several initiates seem to be rapidly leaving the temple. Llyr and Marcus begin following them, and Marcus grabs one who seems to be acting particularly suspiciously. When the voice inside the mask crying out in protest seems somewhat higher than normal, Marcus acts on instinct and tears off the mask, revealing a young Roman woman. Having established that it is not Cornelia, but merely a voyeur wishing a look at the secretive male ceremonies, Marcus remains on guard in the anteroom while Llyr takes off chasing the several initiates who dropped their masks and robes in the anteroom and hurried out of the temple. He catches a glimpse of the farthest one ahead, and thinks that it might match Marcus’s description of the Tribune Titus Minucius.
	Meanwhile, the six bodies have been laid out with honor, and Metellus, with permission from one of the Heliodromi remaining, removes their masks. Two of the Prefects of the three Legions in Britannia lie dead on the ground, including the commander of the Sixth Legion, to which Metellus, Llyr, and formerly Marcus belong. The others are a Legate of the 12th Legion, a primuspilus centurion of the Third, and a chamberlain on the governor’s staff. As one of the spectators note, ranks within the cult of Mithras often strongly correspond to military and social ranks in the outside world. The result is a minor disaster for the hierarchy of the Legions of Britannia, who in one stroke have lost much of their high leadership. The bowl is examined, and on careful testing the bull’s blood is found to be poisonous, despite the ritual. The only priests who knew the full details of the purification ritual and the origin of the powdered herbs within the ivory box were the Paters, all now dead, but Metellus, after some investigation, believes that the culprit was the powdered herbs, which themselves had been desecrated by someone within the temple, probably during the night in the ritual pits. This has the minor advantage of completely clearing Metellus himself from suspicion, as he was tied to a ladder of smoke and under view throughout the entire night; the Heliodromi thus let him continue his attempt to determine the source of the catastrophe.

	As the audience realizes that displayed before them is a real human head, bearing a certain resemblance to Cimbrus, even more so than the earlier mask, they go wild. At this point, Heilyn begins dragging the rest of us out of the theater, rather sensibly. Cornelia looks around trying to spot any particular troublemakers, and Heilyn points out that one of the loudest native shouters is the man he saw the day before with an aura of unavenged blood hovering over him. As the steady footsteps of the Legions, hurrying to maintain order, are heard approaching the theater, Cornelia sends Cato to swoop down on the identified rabble-rouser. As Cato swipes the man on the head, the man begins to glow brightly. He begins to flee, and Meloch takes off after him, with Wena following.

	Llyr continues chasing the man who resembles Minucius, managing barely to keep him in sight amidst the crowded streets of a Londinium Saturnalia at full swing. The fleeing man ducks through crowds and finally vanishes into a small parade of slaves and freedmen celebrating their brief power. Before he does so, however, Llyr manages to get a good look at his face. Upon returning to the Temple in frustration, he consults with Marcus and Metellus and confirms that the man was Minucius, alive, well, and causing trouble. Metellus theorizes that Minucius must somehow have gotten access to the ivory box and desecrated the herbs, causing the ritual to fail and the bull’s blood to poison the initiates. Luckily, it was stopped after only six victims.
	Meloch and Wena have slightly more luck with their chase, and finally corner the brightly glowing target, which has made their task easier. He admits that he was hired to foment disruption and chaos in the theater, and that he knew that there would be something in the play to further incite the Iceni. He tells them that he was hired by a man who fits Minucius’s description to incite the crowd and also to kill a few particular people in the last few days, including the actor playing Teiresias the prophet, whose head then appeared so prominently in the play.
	Cornelia and Heilyn, trying to investigate the source of the disruption after the Legionaries have evacuated the theater, causing numerous civilian deaths by trampling in the process, discover a headless body stuffed into one of the small changing rooms backstage. Upon interrogating the other actors, they discover that they were paid a large sum of money to wear the costumes provided for them, but were unaware, as a largely Greek traveling troupe, of their significance. The actor playing Teiresias was a recently hired local man, who spoke Greek fluently and said he wanted to join their company as a way of getting out of Londinium. His name, according to the troupe records, was Gallus Metrodoros. Cornelia concludes that he must be another freedman of the forgotten Imperial brother Gallus. Meanwhile, the storm over the arena begins to spread again.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Second Session: Saturnalia Seventh Post: Vengeance Begins*

Heilyn goes to the arena to try and reassure the Spirit of the Games that they are in fact busy investigating the crime, and that they know who the culprit is, one Titus Minucius, but that they haven’t found him yet. The Spirit of the Games does not seem appeased, and the hail begins to grow larger. Most of the group except for Cornelia, Metellus, Wena, and Meloch goes out in search of the witch who made the curse tablet to begin with, after Llyr finds out where the best curse tablet-maker in Londinium resides. After traveling to a dank and dreary edge of town near the docks, they find a small basement door which an urchin points out as belonging to Kysara the witch. They knock, after debating the best approach for a while, and a harsh, rasping voice calls out, “Speak your true name, and enter.” At this point, Llyr, never the most patient of men, responds, “Gaius Tacitus kicking-your-ass” and kicks the door down. Heilyn, using his spiritual powers to intimidate the witch and boost his own abilities, follows and assists in beating up the witch. The combat goes for poorly for her; she is, after all, only one woman. 

They elicit under threats and more carnage that she made a curse tablet for Mamercus Aemilianus Gallus Agnorix for a man whose description matches Minucius’s, but she didn’t know for what purpose. She tells them that Minucius had his own magical abilities, but not the talent to make curse tablets himself, and was also well armed. 

         Having decided that she was evil and a partial cause of the trouble, Heilyn and Llyr drag the witch back to the arena and tie her to four wooden stakes, lying face up in the center of the track. Heilyn calls out to the Spirit of the Games, informing It that this was the person who created the illegal curse tablet that destroyed the justice of the Games, and as Heilyn and Llyr run at full speed for the tunnels out of the arena, they see one bolt of lightning coming straight down at the witch.


----------



## Krellic

Hard but fair...

The monkey's perspective seems to have slipped...guess these things are hard to keep up...


----------



## Orichalcum

*Second Session: Saturnalia 8th Post: London Bridge is Falling Down*

Meanwhile, the nobles, Wena, and Meloch (I stayed indoors due to the weather) investigate the ship which is due to sail at sunset with the Eagle of the Ninth, for Rome, and discover that an unusual number of people have been trying to book last-minute passage on the exceedingly expensive voyage. One of them matches Minucius; several others are the wives of important military men, including one of the murdered Prefects. This initially arouses suspicion, but they track down the lady and discover that her husband was afraid of chaos in the upcoming spring war and wanted to get her to safety on the Continent, a perfectly sensible goal. However, the thought of Minucius getting his hands on the Eagle on board the ship is far more terrifying. The group reassembles and heads for Governor Cimbrus and Hadriana, who are looking somewhat tired after the days of festivals. 

         When asked about the security for the Eagle, Cimbrus explains that a guard of 6 Praetorians is scheduled to carry it from the Palace, across Londinium Bridge, to the docks on the north side of the Thames, where the ship waits, at sunset. After contemplating the disastrous potential of this plan, they persuade Cimbrus to up the guard to 20 Praetorians, including the 2 who will be escorting it to Londinium. Since Marcus has become highly skeptical of the competence of Cimbrus’s Praetorians, having decided that most of them fight not like Centurion-equivalents but rather like people he could easily beat in a fair duel, they then further refine this plan by deciding that the group will take the Eagle not across the bridge but in a boat, while a decoy group of Praetorians uses the bridge.


          This plan is rapidly put into action, as sunset approaches. Metellus tries to persuade Cornelia to stay behind, but she will not be thwarted in her desire to be where the action is and help protect the Eagle. Soon, dusk arrives. The two convoys set out, both carrying a sizable object heavily wrapped in cloth. The small boat, bearing our group, leaves shore only a little behind the Praetorians on the bridge. They have a good view of the bridge, and can see that as the Praetorians reach about a third of the bridge over,  two groups of menacing street riff-raff approach from either side of the bridge, pinning them down, and demanding the object. Our group decides to concentrate on getting the real Eagle across, but Meloch and Wena notice two other boats approaching the center of the bridge. 

         Suddenly, the men in these boats seem to shout at each other, although the group doesn’t catch what they are saying, and the boats begin heading towards ours. Heilyn, at this point, dives into the water, which seems rather cowardly, until we see him swimming for one of the other boats, traveling at a remarkably fast pace. The second boat begins firing arrows at us. Suddenly, there is some rocking at the side of our boat, and Meloch is slashed at twice and wounded badly, as a dark-haired, handsome man appears, whom Marcus recognizes as the traitorous Tribune, Titus Minucius.

         As Titus Minucius jumps on board and attempts to grab the Eagle, we try slashing at him; the crowded quarters mean that only Metellus and Meloch have good aim. Cornelia, from behind Metellus, keeps shooting magic missiles, which Metellus, as usual, repeatedly fails to notice. Brave young man, Metellus, but not so much on the keen observation skills, at least where women are concerned. Meloch tries to entangle Minucius with an animated rope, but Minucius jumps nimbly out of the way. I’m shrieking and trying to drag Meloch away from the center of the action, but my partner is recklessly diving in and shielding the Eagle with his body until he falls unconscious from Minucius’s deadly blows. 

          Llyr, meanwhile, manages to puncture the hull of the other rowboat, filled with what appear to be Iceni warriors, with his portable ballista, and it sinks, as they swim off in a panic or drown. Meanwhile, a fierce battle is taking place up on the bridge, as the Praetorians try to defend the false Eagle. While the core group of six Praetorians around the Eagle seem to be doing well for themselves, the others are accounting for only 2 or 3 of the attackers before they are cut down, and there are many, many attackers.


       Cornelia, leaning a little closer, shoots a magic missile directly by Metellus’ ear and into Minucius, who is weakening. Metellus finally realizes that something strange is occurring and whirls to confront the mysterious assailant, only to discover that it is in fact Cornelia, who apparently has magical powers (which by this point, all the rest of us of course knew). I start rolling around the bottom of the boat in laughter at this. Minucius takes the opportunity to stab Metellus in the back and grievously wound him, but Metellus spins back again and hits Minucius in the thigh, rendering him unconscious. The group spends more time making sure that Minucius doesn’t die than taking care of my poor partner Meloch, who luckily stabilizes on his own.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Second Session: Saturnalia Ninth and Last Post: No -one expects the PC Inquisition!*

Injured and more than a little bedraggled from their recent battle, the group, minus  Heilyn the strange fish-man, who prudently remained underwater until all the hubbub had died down, escorted the Eagle to the ship and saw it set off for Gaul, accompanied by two Praetorian
Guards.
        They then dragged their captive, the unconscious Titus Minucius,
to the governor's palace. The governor was still off in the Forum, celebrating the Saturnalia with a grand banquet, so the group offered to personally chain and briefly interrogate Minucius themselves.
        Upon being awoken, Minucius sneered at them and defied their
questions, reminding them that, as a Roman citizen, he could not be
tortured. This briefly flummoxed us, until we realized a. that as
someone technically dead, his Roman citizen qualifications were mildly
hazy and b. "torture" was defined as anything that left marks or lasting
injury. At this point, Meloch started grinning. I don't think I like this side of my partner. He enjoys killing his pets, he likes torturing humans...oh well, I suppose I'll just keep those thoughts hidden.

        At this point, the interrogation began. The Tribune and Cornelia
asked questions with reasonable degrees of politeness. Minucius insulted them and leered at Cornelia. The Centurion, with Metellus' permission, cut off Minucius' breathing passages until he learned some respect. The process began again. Periodically, Meloch the pygmy would threaten to Animate his Rope down Minucius' throat.

        Information learned: Minucius initially refused to state who he
was working for, and then later claimed that he was unable to - that his
master had somehow enchanted him to make him incapable of speaking his
name. After coaxing, he did confirm the details of the plot seven years ago. The goal had never been to eliminate the 9th Legion, but rather to destroy the reputation and preferably life of the then-Governor of Britannia, the Emperor's younger brother. Everything else had simply been window dressing, working in collusion with Aeduana and the other Caledonii. The Caledonii hadn't moved south after their victory because the goal, for the time being, had been accomplished to satisfaction.

 The current uproar and recent spate of murders in Londinium had a dual purpose. The first was to cover the tracks of the old incident by eliminating everyone who remembered the former Governor. Minucius had managed to get to most of them, but interior rope burn gave up the name of the two surviving former slaves of Gallus, who were duly taken into protective custody. The second purpose was essentially to repeat the plan of seven years ago - create a northern uprising while weakening the Legions from within through betrayal and treachery. While Minucius did not admit this, the group assumed that the current governor, the Emperor's son, was the new target.

        Finally, Minucius did taunt the party by describing his master as
"a philosopher, far more learned than any of you" and as someone with
access to high levels of power. Cornelia, contemplating this while the
others beat Minucius into unconsciousness, eventually came up with the theory that this mysterious master might be the philosopher- tutor of the Emperor's 19-year-old nephew Rufus, presumed heir after Cimbrus to the imperial throne. She also concluded that the master might be a former Brigantian slave, taken prisoner during the Iceni rebellion 30 years ago, based on Wena's insight that a middle-aged evil Brigantian man had handled the ruby which caused Hadriana's infertility, and then passed the ruby to a Chaotic
Neutral Roman young man, who in turn had given it to the presumed Emperor.

     Upon questioning her Aunt Petronilla, Cornelia eventually discovered that this tutor's name was Quintus Mucius Scaevola, and resolved to do more research when she got a chance. The rival theory was that the master is out to kill all of the remaining Imperial family, and is possibly someone connected to Gallus' family, if they still exist.

        The party informed the Governor of a highly edited version of all this information, and he summoned guards to bring Minucius forward. When the guards returned, they announced that Minucius was dead, by unknown means. The party presumes that his master somehow found out a way to kill his treacherous client.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Vacation!*

This will be the last update for a while, as  
I'm off to do research in Italy and Switzerland for five weeks, and e-mail access will be spotty. On the plus side, when I come back I should have all the sessions up to date. In the next session, we visit the baths of Aquae Sulis, the Iceni headquarters, and once again face the wrath of Aeduana, Chief Druid of all Britannia. Oh, and Cornelia is reckless with her mom's jewelry. And, in the first episode of what will be an ongoing trend,  a PC is nearly killed in PC-PC combat!


----------



## Orichalcum

*Third Session: Light Thickens 1st Chapter: The Baths*

Several months passed. During this time, Cornelia and Meloch and her aunt and uncle went off to enjoy the baths at Aquae Sulis. These were some of the best months of my, Shast the monkey’s, short life. Being spoiled and fed rich food by Auntie Petronilla, soaking every day in the warm mineral springs of Aquae Sulis, no annoying dogs to deal with...it was as good as it gets in Britannia. 

Meanwhile,  Metellus and Marcus engaged in military drills, with Marcus running numerous war games to test the Praetorian Guard and eventually setting up a backup system of guards for the Governor. Llyr, after spending some time efficiently cutting down trees, was sent on leave home to the Brigantes to fish and spread pro-Roman propaganda. Wena went home to the Iceni to serve her people as their Vates, or Loremaster, and also encourage peace. Heilyn made many many spears and swords for the war effort, and spent most of his time indoors, as it rained huge amounts.

        In late March, about a month before the northern expedition was due to start, Metellus, Marcus, and Wena were summoned by the Legate, Cornelia's father, and asked to go on a diplomatic mission to the Brigantes and the Iceni, reiterating the importance of maintaining peace with the Romans and quelling any thoughts of rebellion. The Legate ordered them first to go to Aquae Sulis and ask Cornelia to join them, as the Iceni, in particular, would respond better to an expedition led by a woman. The Legate himself was leaving immediately to join the Governor at Hadrian's Wall, for a last month of combined military drills with all the troops together.

So, they set off for the baths of Aquae Sulis. Upon arriving, they were told that Cornelia and Meloch and I were actually in the baths that day, so they set out, entering through the appropriately gendered gates and changing into towels. (Marcus insisted on keeping his knife, carefully hidden under his towel, which incited various jokes about his state of happiness.) I ignored the lot of them and soaked my tail peacefully in the caldarium.

    Cornelia began catching up on recent events with Wena in the women’s bath on the other side of the main complex, which was  separated  from the men’s by the large central swimming pool; she was then approached by a harried-looking woman who claimed to be a Wall's Wolf, one of the scouts from north of the Wall. She told Cornelia and Wena that the Caledonii were going to attack within a few days, since their crops had been artificially hastened by the power of Druidic magic fueled by massive amounts of human sacrifice. Furthermore, the Druids had called down the aid of the powerful spirits from the Northern islands of Caledonia. 

Aeduana herself, with a small retinue, was traveling south of the Wall, in an attempt to convince the Brigantes and Iceni to rebel against the Romans while their military forces were occupied in the North, and devastate Eburacum and Londinium. Aeduana had been preparing to leave only...and at this point, an arrow, shot by an unknown assailant, bounced into the marble wall by the Wall's Wolf's head. Another arrow took the scout in the chest. Cornelia and Wena retreated into a corner, firing magic missiles with great success at the now-visible archer, but were unable to save the scout. 

        Meanwhile, the archer fled, and while due to their deep relaxation in a stupor of steam and healthful minerals, the men of the party at first ignored the sounds from the other wing, we eventually picked up on the screaming from the women's quarters. They ran out into the central communal pool in time to see the archer dash out onto the narrow curving pier that stretched above the original natural hot springs. The pier, a pleasant stroll under normal conditions between two large areas of boiling hot mud, stretched eventually into safer, marshy land. As Meloch ran out following the archer, he was pierced with several more arrows, from a row of tribesmen defending their comrade's retreat. At this point, Meloch dropped his
towel. And then went invisible. Which clearly startled the archers, who missed whatever they were aiming at. Marcus and Metellus dashed out onto the pier, only for Metellus to be kicked nearly into the boiling water by the assassin, who was now fighting with more conventional weapons. A long tense struggle followed in which the Tribune clambered back onto the pier.

        Eventually, they knocked the assassin unconscious and killed the others, except for one, who escaped successfully. The assassin told them that she had been sent by Aeduana in pursuit of the scout, and that Aeduana was already south of the Wall. Little other useful info was obtained.


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta returns!*

As you can see I have returned from vacation; sorry for the long absence!

One note about the previous post - I used actual site plans of the baths at Aquae Sulis including the pier structure above the boiling hot springs; these were    copied from the very good book _Roman Bath Discovered_ by B Cunliffe

--Orichalcum


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## Orichalcum

*Third Session: Light Thickens Second Post: The Iceni*

The party, once updated as a group, decided to head for the Iceni first rather than the Brigantes, on the grounds that they were far more
likely to revolt. Cornelia sent Cato, her owl, to inform her father of
the danger, thankfully meaning that I didn't need to deal with the competition like usual. On reaching the Iceni, they made their case to Queen
Brythaena of the Iceni, who understood their arguments about peace  but mentioned the plentiful reasons for hatred and distrust of the Romans. (The Iceni revolted 30 years ago after Roman tax collectors flogged and raped Queen Boadicea and her daughters; the Romans punished them with a fierce crackdown which killed or enslaved much of the adult Iceni population.) Brythaena also
questioned Wena's loyalties - were they to her tribe, the Iceni, or to her Roman friends, and Wena tried to explain that she felt both interests could be served at the same time.

 At this point, Aeduana and her escort arrived and made their case for rebellion. Many glares were exchanged between the two groups. Brythaena
announced that she would render her decision at dawn. Aeduana retreated to sleep outside the town among the trees; the party took Brythaena up on her offer of hospitality in the village.
        Around midnight, a headlong figure came darting towards the PCs,
pursued by Iceni guardsmen. Only a few seconds before the PCs would have attacked him, they recognized him as Kynton the charioteer, Llyr's cousin. He announced to them, in tones of great solemnity and dread, that Aeduana was south of the Wall. Cornelia responded dryly,  "We know."
KYNTON: Oh. Well, she visited my Uncle Gyrnax, you know, the King of the
Brigantes, and demanded the traditional right of peaceful travel and
speech of the Druids, and he reluctantly gave it to her, and she said we should rebel and sack Eburacum, and then Llyr shot her with his ballista,
or tried to..."
MARCUS: Llyr what?
KYNTON: Tried to shoot her with his ballista. But it bounced off her skin
somehow, like she was an oak. Really neat, actually. But this didn't
exactly make Uncle any happier.
METELLUS: Of _course_ Llyr tried to shoot her. <sigh>
KYNTON: Anyways, Gyrnax said we were happy with the Romans and that she should just go away, and she did, which seemed to solve that problem,
except that, well, later that night some folks kinda kidnapped Llyr and me
and our cousin Arnath  and Aeduana said she was going to sacrifice us
unless the Brigantes agreed to join her, I think, but then Llyr managed to
untie my bonds and told me to ride and get help. So I went to Eburacum but
there's practically nobody there, so they told me to find you here. So
here I am. And hey, I brought Llyr's ballista along, because I thought it
might be useful.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Third Session: O to Be in Britannia Third Post: Nature Vs. Technology*

The party collectively shakes their heads at Kynton and Llyr's behavior, and then goes back to try and catch a little sleep. 
	At dawn, Brythaena announces that the Iceni need an ally with the greatest strength, resources, and honor so she will test their commitment to this alliance by having a formal trial by combat. Cornelia, as putative leader, chooses who will fight - all of their group except Kynton versus Aeduana and her four escorts. Aeduana chooses the location - the former sacred grove of the Iceni. Suddenly, we realize why Aeduana chose to spend the previous night outside town, and gets very nervous. En route to the grove, all the humans utterly fail to notice the suddenly darkening skies - I notice, because I don't like getting my fur wet, but it's not like anyone pays attention to me anyhow. We are fighting without two of our best warriors, Heilyn and Llyr, and although the odds are theoretically even - Aeduana's escort includes three young warriors who look skilled in the ways of the woods and one enormous man, covered in woad-designs and carrying an enormous ax - we have no idea how great her abilities are. Meloch also notes that Aeduana is now carrying a long wooden staff with intricate runes carved on every inch of its surface.
	Together, Cornelia and Meloch manage to nullify some of the pre-cast spells Aeduana has on the grove.We face off, with Brythaena, her consort, children, Kynton, and other Iceni sitting on thrones at one end of the grove to watch, and Queen Brythaena gives the signal to begin. The party is extremely slow in their reactions - I've noticed before that they aren't really morning people. Meloch, the swiftest of our group, decides to go for show over substance and changes himself briefly into a  horse-headed eagle, proclaiming that their group stands as the champions of both the Romans and Epona, the horse goddess of the Iceni. Brythaena seems mildly impressed; the Druidic group are scornful.
	Aeduana starts things off by summoning a lightning bolt down from her
previously summoned heavy thunderstorm; this crisps everyone except Metellus rather nicely, nearly killing Cornelia and Meloch. (I also realize at this point that without Heilyn we have very little ability to heal ourselves in case of wounds, and take cover in a tree for the rest of the fight.) The rangers and barbarian attack Marcus and Metellus, wounding Marcus but failing to penetrate the new armor Metellus had just commissioned from Heilyn. 

	At this point, Cornelia gets a sudden clear image from Cato the owl, whom she sent to warn her father of the imminent attack, and her eyes widen. While it is over a far distance, Cornelia sees through the owl's eyes flying high over Hadrian's Wall at the fort for Birnanum, on a day even more stormy than their current location. Beyond the Wall, the three legions of Britannia are drawn up in perfect formation, 18,000 Roman soldiers with shields gleaming and spears at the ready. Advancing towards them is a far greater force - it looks like most of the warriors of the Northern tribes are there, but it is difficult to tell, because they hold branches in front of them and seem to look as much like a forest as an army. As Cato flies higher, Cornelia can see not only Druids exhorting their tribes but large, strange animals and oddly glowing figures interspersed among the tribal forces.
 
     Turning back to the immediate battle at hand, Wena skillfully mindblasts Aeduana and amanages to stun her for two crucial rounds, during which the party deals with some of her flunkies. In particular, Cornelia sends one of them running in terror out of the grove, and Meloch causes the barbarian to fall in sudden lust with Queen Brythaena and run towards her with arms open screaming his passion; Brythaena responds by  spearing him neatly through the heart.  Meanwhile, Marcus and Metellus deal with the other two rangers and start moving forward to confront Aeduana herself.

 All this makes the party slightly happier, but still grievously wounded. Cornelia tosses one of the balls from her mother's necklace, which has three unknown baubles of power on it,  at Aeduana, and a cylinder of icicles spring up around the Chief Druid. This hurts her rather a lot. Metellus is still unwounded, despite having had two of the remaining flunkies on him.  Aeduana, now quite wounded but unstunned, suddenly transforms into a thirty-five foot long giant mountain cat. I climb gibbering farther up into my tree, and even Marcus blanches a little.

 Cornelia, pulling back due to her grave wounds from melee combat, receives another vision from Cato. Bolts of lightning are shooting down from the sky and vaporizing entire centuries of Legionaries. The line is beginning to break, as hardened soldiers face previously unknown horrors and see their comrades mauled by giant wolves. Suddenly, she sees a large sortie of well-armed men pushing their way to the front of the line. She asks Cato to fly closer, and he reluctantly obliges, so that she can see that it is Cimbrus himself, accompanied by her father, G. Cornelius Crispus, now commanding the 6th Legion, the suspect Praetorians, and the first century of the 6th Legion. Cato sees what seems to be Crispus remonstrating with Cimbrus, begging him to go back to the Wall and safety, but Cimbrus points at the terrified soldiers and presses onwards. And as the soldiers see their Governor, the Emperor's own son, striding forward to fight among them, they do gain courage, and the line begins to hold again, as Crispus carefully watches Cimbrus's back. 

 Meanwhile, Marcus and Metellus start whaling on the giant cat, who in the meanwhile shreds Marcus with a casual swipe of its enormous claws.  Llyr appears at one side of the grove, bloody and bruised, and starts forward to aid his allies, who yell at him not to help, because they don't want to break the terms of the sacred combat. Kynton, not understanding, starts galumphing around the grove, shouting, "Hey, Llyr, I've got your ballista!" Finally, Cornelia, in desperation, throws the second of the three baubles on her mother's necklace at the cat. She misses, hitting the rear rather than the middle, but a cloud of green, smoking mist emerges, which devastates not only the giant cat but about a third of the trees in the sacred grove and
begins drifting through the forest, killing plantlife as it goes and forcing me, Shast, to make a sudden leap for another, safer tree. Aeduana, knowing she is about to die,
begins chanting the following curse:

_ You have slain a sacred servant of the land with foul magics that kill not only me but the land and plants themselves.  The very earth shall rise up in horror against you. No plant shall succour you, no grain will feed you, no berries will provide nourishment on a hot summer's day. Flax and linen will burn your skin for the outrage you have committed against their mistress. No roof of reeds or thatch will give you shelter, nor will the wood  of the Gods' trees warm your hearths at night. All this shall last until the last piece of my body has passed through the earth and the water and the sky and the earth again seven times, or unless you bring my holy staff and lay it to rest in the sacred grove of the ancient Druids, on the lost Isle of Mona. Thus do I, last of the Druids trained on Mona, curse you with my dying breath. May you fear the land as it fears you. _ 

While she gasps this out, the party hacks at her. While they fail to disrupt her concentration, they do succeed in killing her rather handily, with I  believe Metellus delivering the final blow.

As she dies, the five party members, barely standing, see the grass wither around each of them, in a five-foot circle. The Spring
flowers die under their feet as they walk, and when they touch a tree, the
bark falls off.

 Cornelia, at this point, receives another set of rapid images from Cato, colored by panic and distress. While the appearance of Cimbrus succeeded in holding the Roman line, the Druidic forces have also noticed it, and started concentrating their forces on that area. Crispus, Cornelia's father, seems to gesture again at Cimbrus back towards the Wall, but Cimbrus stubbornly refuses and begins to fight his way towards the front lines. Crispus then gives some sort of hand signal to his _primuspilus_ centurion, who is fighting with them, and the centurion promptly hits Cimbrus over the back of the head with the flat of his sword blade, knocking him unconscious. Crispus calmly takes the ornamented purple and red-crested helmet off of Cimbrus and puts it on himself, while the centurion puts Cimbrus's unconscious body on the back of a horse and begins riding at full speed towards the Wall. Meanwhile, Crispus leads the front lines attack, wearing Cimbrus's helmet, and they begin to drive the Druids solidly back. A victory seems clear, but just as the tribal forces begin to be routed Cato sees three bolts of lightning shooting down from the sky, aiming directly for the Imperial helmet, and after the flash there is no sign of her father. 

 Queen Brythaena announces that the Roman group have won, but  asks
them firmly although politely not to enter the main village or go anywhere near their fields, given the effects of their curse. Cornelia collapses, knowing that her father
the Legate has died saving the Legions and the Governor. Llyr rejoins us, having managed to finally free himself from his bonds in Aeduana's nearby camp; he was unable to save his cousin Arnath from being sacrificed.


----------



## Sialia

Dreamed about you last night.  Wish there was more to tell--I know it was you, and your stories. But all too vague to tell this morning.

There were good costumes, as I recall.


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## Fajitas

Hot diggity.  I've said it to you before, Ori, and I'll say it again.  This game rocks.  I find your weaving together of traditional Roman era myths, superstitions, and beliefs and the D&D rules set/spell lists to be nothing short of genius.

Can't wait for more.


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## Orichalcum

*Third Session: O to be in Britannia Fourth Post: PC-PC Action*

The party rests and heals in a small hut at the far outskirts of the Iceni village, which Brythaena has provided. Immediately, a major argument breaks out about what to do with the staff of Aeduana. Meloch and Wena believe firmly that they need to go to Mona as soon as possible and get this curse lifted; they are extremely unhappy about having the grass die under them, the horrible bitter taste bread and fruits now have, and the very fact of having a curse. 

Marcus, on the other hand, wants no truck with doing what a Druid wants. He suggests new careers as road cleaners for the Empire, while they patiently wait out the seven years, and starts trying to figure out ways of safely using boats, which (they test) would normally rot out from underneath their very feet. Metellus is undecided. Cornelia decides that she can't deal with this right now, and goes off to the cliffside, to mourn her father and make the appropriate offerings. She asks the spirit of her great-grandfather, with whom she can communicate through his funeral mask, to watch over her father and await his arrival in the Elysian Fields. 
	Metellus eventually decides to take the matter to Governor Cimbrus and ask for his decision, which Marcus and Cornelia accede to, and Meloch and Wena end the debate. However,  Meloch and Wena decide to take the more forceful approach, since going to the Governor will take far too much time. I heartily approve of this, since as Meloch's partner the curse affects me as well, and I can't even climb trees anymore without having the wood start to rot under me. Not to mention the diet issues- it's all very well for the humans to subsist on roast goat, but I prefer peeled grapes and some fresh nuts, and tell Meloch he'd better get this taken off us quickly! So, while Wena distracts Metellus and Cornelia, Meloch sneaks in invisibly to the hut where Marcus is guarding the staff, planning to grab it and run. 

      While Marcus fails to notice anything at first, when Meloch grabs the staff and recasts invisibility on both himself and the staff Marcus hears him. He begins swinging around with his sword in wide arcs, and Meloch's blood starts appearing in the air and coating the ground and walls. He comes close to nearly killing Meloch, who is trying to scramble out through the roof, poking holes in the thatch with the aid of the staff. Meloch scrambles halfway out the hole when Marcus slices half his ankle off, at which point, about to fall unconscious, my cowardly partner gives up and  turns visible and bloody, claiming to have been under mind control of evil Druids. It's unclear who believes this story, but Wena backs him up, claiming that she too has heard the siren call of the evil Druids, which only confirms that they need to return the staff as soon as possible.
        However, they decide in the end  to take this to the Governor, and to ask the advice of Heilyn, who knows about spirits. The Governor decides to ask the opinion
of various sages, priests, Heilyn, and experts, and in the meanwhile exils
the cursed ones to a barren island in the middle of a loch, where they
can't destroy anything.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Thanks!*

Thanks for your comments, Sialia and Fajitas. And I'm glad they were cool costumes - I spent some time in Italy taking photos of Roman statue busts that reminded me of the PCs...I will post them once I get my computer back from the hospital. 

Next stop - the Island of Mona, and yet more Evil Druids...and more PC-PC combat. I swear, I don't actually need to come up with enemies for this campaign - they do that all by themselves.

--Orichalcum


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## Orichalcum

*Fourth Session: Legacies and Freedom First Post: Spirits and Stories*

N.B.: Certain events in this session are still unknown to a majority of the PCs, so you won't be getting the full story at the moment - feel free to email me with direct questions.


	Having defeated Aeduana, Chief Druid of all Britannia, in early spring, and been horrifically cursed by her to destroy all plant-life within a 5-foot radius, Metellus, Cornelia, Wena, Marcus, and Meloch the Pygmy spend the rest of the spring and summer in exile on a barren island in the middle of the Lake Country in Britannia. Meanwhile, Llyr brings Aeduana's Staff to Heilyn for examination. On careful study, Heilyn realizes that the staff has two powerful spirits, each nearly as powerful as the Spirit of the Games, bound up inside of it, one of Wind and one of Stone. He finds some intermediary lesser spirits who can speak successfully to the bound Spirits, who tell him that the Druids long ago bound the two of them into one Staff and their brother and sister, two Spirits of Fire and Water, into another Staff, promising them power and knowledge. While the Wind Spirit has been somewhat appeased in recent years by the blood sacrifices Aeduana performed, both Spirits' primary goal now is to gain their freedom from the Staff, which can be accomplished by breaking it. Now that they are no longer being held back by Aeduana's rituals and powers, they threaten to begin to try and escape the Staff themselves if they are not freed soon.
	Before breaking the Staff, however, Heilyn decides to contact a powerful spirit ally, who tells him that the effect of suddenly releasing two such powerful spirits would likely destroy everything alive within three days' walk. The only way such a procedure could be carried out safely would be in a place where the boundaries of the spirit world and the normal world are joined, of which the most suitable location is the Isle of Mona, former home and training center of the Druids of Britannia. (Stonehenge at the summer solstice might also work, but unfortunately by the time this is ascertained they would have to wait another eleven months, and this seems to be a dubious plan.) Heilyn tells Llyr and Governor Cimbrus about the potential extreme hazards of breaking the Staff of Wind and Stone outside of Mona, and Cimbrus decides to send our group to Mona to break the staff in the sacred grove at the center of Mona and safely release the spirits, also thereby freeing us of this dreadful curse. Meanwhile, Heilyn makes a deal with the spirits in the staff to cooperate with him in return for gaining their freedom. Heilyn's spirit ally also tells him that there is something deeply wrong on Mona, and that the Celtic god Lugh, Lord of Light, youthful trickster deity and to the Romans a Mercury equivalent, went there some time ago [the spirit has little conception of the passage of mortal years] and has not returned.
	Meanwhile, those of us on the island have been racking our brains for stories about Mona. Cornelia's great-grandfather, whom she can speak to through his funeral mask, tells her about the great battle of Mona, some sixty years ago, when the troops of G. Tacitus Agricola, during the reign of the Emperor Trajan, swam over to the seemingly impregnable island by night and took the Druids by surprise in their sleep, killing all the inhabitants and eliminating the center of Druidic power in Britannia. However, the very next morning, just as they were beginning to gather up the corpses for proper burial, Agricola received news of a revolt in southern Britannia, among the Catavellauni and Iceni, as usual, and the legions on Mona dashed to rescue Londinium, leaving the Druidic dead unburied and unmourned. Ever since, the island has been said to be haunted, and no one has returned alive from it. 
	Llyr and Heilyn rejoin us, somewhat to Meloch's and my displeasure in the latter case, and we set off for the Welsh shore to embark for the island of Mona. We are all somewhat disturbed during the trip when the Staff of Earth and Stone grows green tendrils which attempt to embed themselves inside Heilyn's arm; Heilyn reassures us that "the spirit meant no harm," but I think nearly everyone decides to keep a close watch on him. At the shore, it is highly difficult to persuade a fisherman to row us anywhere near the Island of Mona, and he consents only to get us ten feet offshore, and then to return in three days' time to that spot, in return for an exorbitant amount of Metellus's sestertii.
	Although it is a gloomy, cloudy day in early autumn, initially the trip across prevents no hazards. Suddenly, however, Wena spots a wave cresting towards them, and then Meloch and Llyr see what appear to be one-eyed horses, with shining, sharpened canines, galloping towards them in the wave. The horses attack, wounding Marcus and Llyr, and then sink down beneath the waves again before anyone but Llyr gets a swing at them. When the wave crests again a minute later, however, the group is prepared, and waits to attack until the horses are washing over the boat. Cornelia excitedly identifies these as Fomorii, the ancient spirits of Britannia imprisoned beneath the waves by Lugh and others of the Celtic gods known as the Tuatha de Danaan. Within a few rounds of carefully timed spells and sword swings, the party manages to hurt the Fomorii badly enough that they settle beneath the waves and allow the group to continue on to the shore of Mona.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fourth Session: Legacies and Freedom Second Post: The First Barrier*

The fisherman leaves in a hurry, leaving them stranded on the cold, dank beach. The isle of Mona is shrouded in fog, and it is difficult to see more than a few feet ahead, although Llyr and Wena believe there are trees ahead at the end of the line of sand. We begin nervously walking forward, and suddenly, a figure appears out of the mist. It is an elderly man, with a long, white, braided beard, dressed in robes of brown and green and carrying a long staff carved with elaborate runes. Marcus draws his sword, but before he can attack the figure speaks in a gentle yet commanding tone:

 Greetings, my children, and welcome to the Isle of Mona. I am Amairgen, First Druid of Mona. The Council of Elders honor your desire to become Druids and thus serve not only the gods but all of Britannia. Yet not all who wish may pursue our lofty calling, and thus, as you know, we have established trials to test the fitness of novices like yourselves. You should not overly fear, young ones; nearly half the novices survive these days. 
	The trials will teach you about the seven keys of the Druidic way of life. As Druids, you must learn to understand how all life is connected. Remember, only through knowledge and sacrifice will come true power. Shun fear, and greed, and uncertainty, for these are not the emotions of a wise one of Britannia. Seek wisdom and courage and nobility of heart, my children, and all shall be well. Remember, you journey together, not separately, just as the trees in a forest are not truly separate, and your companions may be a great source of strength, though the greatest is your own soul. Our blessings are upon you. 

	And with that, he disappears. Marcus lunges for the Druid, but succeeds only in stabbing through a cloud, and Meloch asserts that he believes Amairgen to have been an illusion. Wena remembers that Amairgen was indeed the name of a famed Druid who lived many generations ago, but he is surely long dead. Of course, Heilyn notes that his spirit ally told him that time passes very differently in areas that are closely linked to the spirit world.
	Even more nervously, we proceed forward into the mist, quickly entering a rich forest. While many trees are tall and luxuriant, the smaller bushes are twisted and black, showing signs of their lack of sunlight. No animals can be heard. A few feet ahead, Wena spots a bright light, and they proceed towards it, only to discover that it is a burning wall of solid flames, stretching twenty feet up and as far to the left and right as they can see. Llyr investigates and comes back after a minute's walk in both directions, saying that the wall continues. Metellus notices that it is not burning the trees near it, but when he sticks his hand in the wall to test whether or not it is an illusion, he is severely burned, and Cornelia and Marcus rebuke him for his impulsive action.  After trying to throw various twigs and leaves through the wall, all of which appear to catch fire as they arc through the wall, Llyr finally throws some of the water from his waterskin on it. The flames recoil from the water, and for a second, we can see through to the forest beyond. Encouraged by this test, we begin tossing water on that section of the wall, sending Meloch back to the shore to refill the water skins. Marcus successfully jumps through at a point when the flames have been temporarily doused, and the rest of us gradually follow him, with only Meloch getting lightly singed. 
	"It was that easy?" Llyr complains. "These Druidic novices must be idiots. Everyone knows that water puts out fire." We ignore him, and walk onwards.


----------



## tetsujin28

This is great! Being a Hadrian's Wall junky, this has been a lot of fun.

Regarding the phrase, "alea iacta est", _iacta est_ is the perfect passive indicative of _iacio, iacere_ ("to throw", not to be confused with _iaceo, iacere_, "to recline"), with the ending matching the gender of _alea_ (feminine), so "the die has been cast" is accurate, as would be "the die was cast".  Properly, the "est" must be there.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fourth Session: Legacies and Freedom Third Post: Plants and Water*

The forest and fog quickly make it difficult to see even each other, let alone the path ahead. Meloch points out to me several skeletons lashed to trees, vines twirling out through the gaping jawbones. Several of the skulls are quite small. Marcus notices them and gives his professional opinion that the corpses were the victims of makeshift crucifixions. "They undoubtedly deserved it, the filthy Druids," he comments. Cornelia shudders. At about that moment, the fog swirls in and Marcus and Metellus get an odd gleam in their eye. They both crouch down, draw their swords and begin moving forward...towards Heilyn and Wena! Cornelia and Meloch try to ask them what they think they're doing, and they announce that they're hunting Druids, as General Agricola commanded. Heilyn and Wena back off slowly, announcing in loud and clear tones that they aren't Druids, they are allies. Llyr, always one for the blunt approach, takes Metellus and shakes him, until the young Tribune blinks and his eyes clear, remembering who he is and what he came for. With the judicious use of a spell or two and a very loud voice, Heilyn manages to knock Marcus out of his trance as well. Heilyn speculates that the thin barrier between the spirit and mortal world also alters the nature of time and of reality...the spirits who fought and died here are still very aware, and still pursuing their goals. This doesn't make anyone happier.

	After a few more minutes of walking, we come to an impenetrably thick wall of trees that stretches as high as can be seen through the fog. Sharp thorns and brambles are woven around the bases of the trees, and even with fur I don't want to go any closer. The group realizes that this is the second of the seven challenges, and tries to figure out how to pass it. They also walk a fair distance to the right, and realize that this wall spirals back to link with the Wall of Flames, and forward until a point where it cuts both sideways and directly across the path, forcing a narrow passageway, in what Cornelia speculates is a giant looping spiral. 


At first, Llyr tries burning the vines down, but they are wet, fresh wood, and do not catch on fire at all. More skulls and bones are woven into the tree-wall, mostly in positions of crucifixion. After contemplating the wall for some time, Marcus finally strides forward with his hand-axe, from his Legionary kit, and tries to chop through the wall. Despite his good grip, the axe leaps out of his hand when he strikes the wall, falling to the ground and cutting him slightly in the process. Llyr and Wena note that, where the blood strikes the vines, they recoil, and move towards each side, briefly allowing a glimpse of the forest beyond. "Ah," Llyr announces. "The second, deeply disturbing lesson of the trials - Trees Like Blood." Llyr slashes his own hand open, drips it over the trees, which part in answer, and steps through the wall. Marcus refuses to have any part in Druidic blood magic, but Heilyn finally slashes both his hands and spills enough blood for both himself and the Centurion to pass through safely. Cornelia, a little pale, has Metellus nick her hand before she walks through. I decide that I will piggyback on Meloch's blood, which seems to work - there have to be some advantages to this bond, after all.

	The third barrier, which we come upon shortly, is a gushing torrent of water across our path.  It is 30 feet wide, with steep slopes going down 10 feet on each side, and Metellus points out the extremely sharp, spiky stones visible through the clear water. Heilyn attempts to disbelieve the river, which seems to come out of nowhere and travel in a spiral loop, but fails; it is wet, and cold, and dangerous. However, Llyr and Marcus together use their mad Legionary skills to construct a rope bridge out of three ropes, which, with only a few stumbles, gets everyone across the river. Llyr, proud to be a Roman among Romans despite his Celtic heritage, declares to the rest of the group that the lession of this barrier is that "Engineering Conquers Nature."


----------



## Orichalcum

*Sorry about delay*

A combination of the blackout and then going to CA and hanging out with, among other, *WisdomlikeSilence* and *Fajitas*, (whose SH _Welcome to the Halmae_ would be extremely cool even if I hadn't given him the name for it...) delayed this post. Regular weekday updates will continue for the rest of August. Thanks for reading!

--Orichalcum


----------



## spyscribe

Whoo hoo for mad legionary skills!  Or should that be "skillz?" 

Hope the visit to CA went well, sorry I missed you this time.



> _originally posted by Orichalcum_
> *...whose SH Welcome to the Halmae would be extrememly cool even if I hadn't given him the name for it...*




I didn't know that.  Does this mean that Halmae means something in Latin, or was Fajitas really struggling to come up with "Welcome to the _______?"


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Does this mean that Halmae means something in Latin, or was Fajitas really struggling to come up with "Welcome to the _______?"  *




1.  It's Greek, not Latin.

2.  SO off-topic.  Let's save it for our thread. 

3.  'twas brilling hanging with Orichalcum and Cerebral Paladin this weekend.  They're even cooler than their story-hours and, they, much like Legionnaires, have mad body-surfing skillz.*

4.  Llyr's succinct synopses of the Druidic principles is delightful.  I'm sure the Druids must be thrilled.  At least, the ones that haven't been crucified.



*Okay, not that much like Legionnaires.

_EDIT: decrease in harshness to #2.  Didn't mean to snap, spy._


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> *
> 
> 1.  It's Greek, not Latin.
> 
> 2.  SO off-topic.  Let's save it for our thread.
> 
> *




Sorry.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fourth Session: Legacies and Freedom Fourth Post: The Wild Hunt*

A little drenched, we proceed onwards, The fog is a little less dense in this section of the forest, although still murky and misty, with little sunlight striking through the foliage. We begin to see abandoned huts scattered on either side of the overgrown path. Llyr and Wena go off to investigate one, and see small skeletons lying on rude bunks, necks broken while the young trainees lie asleep. As they encounter this horror, their eyes glaze, and Wena turns to Llyr. "We have to escape," she whispers. "The Romans are coming to get us." Llyr nods, takes out his ax, and  begins chopping a hole in the back of the dilapidated cabin, while Wena peers out, terrified, through a crack in the door. Meanwhile, Metellus, glancing around at the abandoned scene of past carnage, also feels the same presence grab him which it did earlier, and draws his sword, announcing that the mission is to kill every last Druid. Meloch, of all people, manages to calm him down and snap out of his trance, while Marcus and Cornelia go looking for Wena and Llyr. Upon opening the cabin door, the two Celts, who believe themselves to be Druidic trainees, scream, and try to run. Marcus finally successfully orders Llyr to drop his axe, in the name of the Legion, and restores him to self knowledge; Cornelia appeals to Wena's sense of loyalty to her. We decide to stay together, from now on, and keep ensuring that we all know who we are and why we're here. I decide to crouch even further in Meloch's shoulder-bag, determined that I like neither the weather nor the spirits on Mona.

	The path becomes clearer and clearer, with signs of once having been regularly trod, perhaps as the main pathway for the Druidic settlement. Suddenly, a group of six stags comes hurtling around a curve in the path, heading straight towards us, their antlers gleaming brightly. These are the first animals we have seen on Mona. Everyone except Cornelia and Meloch dives successfully out of the way, but they get gored by the stags, who halt their progress, and begin butting their antlers at all of us. With the combined fighting skills of Llyr, Metellus, Marcus, and Heilyn, they are dispatched relatively quickly, but with some confusion. Heilyn and Wena offer some healing to the sorcerers, and we continue onwards, besmirched with blood. (Llyr offers to skin and cook the deer, but the plan is abandoned due to the general hurry. Oddly, Aeduana's curse, while it has destroyed the grass around the village where we walked, does not seem to affect these animals, any more than it affected the Wall of Trees.) Still, Meloch and I are increasingly unhappy about the general smell of rotting plants that dogs our footsteps.

	We continue onwards, perhaps 100 feet, and the path curves again just out of our sight. Nearly everyone hears the heavy pounding of hooves, and we scramble off the path just as fifteen bison charge down it. However, upon seeing us they split into two groups and charge us among the gradually rotting-shrubbery. The following combat is nasty and intense, but aided by spells from Heilyn, mental commands from Wena, and some helpful missile shots from Cornelia, eventually all the bison are slaughtered. Wena notices that during this combat, some of the bison seemed to be attacking their packs as much as the humans themselves, but decides not to mention it. I try to tell Meloch this, having been utterly terrified when a horn nearly speared my eye while in my safe leather pouch with my dried, tasteless, cursed berries, but he's too busy to listen.

	"Is this another barrier?" Cornelia wonders.
	"It's not a wall. Therefore, it's not a barrier." Marcus replies dogmatically. 
	"Besides, all the previous barriers were elements," Metellus points out. "Fire, trees, water. Bison are not an element."
	Everyone is at least willing to agree with the latter statement, and we proceed cautiously onwards, weapons drawn. Sure enough, it's not long before we can both see and hear eight wild boars hurtling towards us. By this point, most of the group are suffering from minor or fairly significant wounds, and many of the party's spells have been exhausted. Still, we form a line (Meloch and I jump into a tree) and prepare to chop pork. 

	In the middle of this combat, during which we are increasingly exhausted and bleeding, although likely to eventually win, both Llyr and Cornelia notice the boars' focus on Meloch's food-pack, which he has left on the ground. "You gave the pigs our food???" I chitter angrily to Meloch in the tree. "We're going to starve because you can't climb trees well with a pack on?" He shushes me, and continues casting spells, sending some of the boars to sleep. The boar who finally tears open Meloch's pack and begins munching on the dried soldiers' rations inside (horrible stuff) stops fighting any of our group, and in fact, waddles over to the tree on whose branches we are perched and curls up peacefully, snorting gently. 

	"They want...food?" Cornelia asks. She tries holding out some of her own rations, and two more boars come, eat the dry gruel mix from her hand, and settle down peacefully, even nuzzling her slightly. While Marcus announces that he'd prefer to kill the rest, for practice, and eliminating evil Druidic creatures, Metellus commands everyone to feed the boars, and they do, using most of our non-meat foodstuffs (the boars only eat the plantstuffs) but calming the animals completely. 

      Llyr thinks for a few seconds and announces, "This lesson is: Dinner is served until you serve dinner." No one quite understands this one, and Cornelia and Marcus propose a different rubric - some of the barriers are elements, like the fire and water ones, and some are parts of life, like the trees and animals. Since Llyr's lessons don't provide much insight into the next barrier, we decide to tentatively adopt Cornelia and Marcus's theory, particularly as no more animals are charging us any longer.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Enough with the philology*



			
				Fajitas said:
			
		

> *
> 
> 1.  It's Greek, not Latin.
> 
> 2.  SO off-topic.  Let's save it for our thread.
> *





   Makes sense. And hey, giving you a few words for "sea" in Greek was a lot easier than translating pages of cryptic lore into Latin, which I've been doing for LARPs lately. 



> * 3.  'twas brilling hanging with Orichalcum and Cerebral Paladin this weekend.  They're even cooler than their story-hours and, they, much like Legionnaires, have mad body-surfing skillz.*
> *





   Thank you - great seeing you folks too, and hope the foot is better. Marcus and Metellus have yet to body-surf in the campaign, but I'm sure they'd be good at it. In the sixth session there's a truly revolting swimming incident involving Llyr, which you'll just have to wait for.



> *
> 4.  Llyr's succinct synopses of the Druidic principles is delightful.  I'm sure the Druids must be thrilled.  At least, the ones that haven't been crucified.
> *





          This was the session where Llyr suddenly revealed his inner snarkiness. I think everyone was getting just a little irritated at the Druids. 

           It's slightly odd having a campaign world where the default way of publicly executing prisoners is crucifixion, and it _doesn't_ have any religious significance.

                                     --Orichalcum


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fourth Session: Legacies and Freedom Fifth Post: Running Away, and Bloody Rabbits*

Walking onwards, somewhat worse for wear, but having made a nice brief meal out of venison and roasted bison, we keep our eyes out for the next Druidic barrier. Luckily, it’s not hard to spot. A huge brick wall, Celtic runes impressed on each brick, stretches up into the sky. It is covered with mud and daub, rendering it fairly slick and without easy handholds.

Llyr’s attempts to throw a grappling hook over the top repeatedly fail, and while Marcus, Metellus, and Llyr think they might be able to climb it, it’s clear that neither Cornelia nor Wena stand a chance. 

	“Let’s approach this logically,” Cornelia notes. “This is clearly the Wall of Earth. So far, we’ve had Fire, Trees, Water, and Animals. We got rid of Fire by putting water on it, and of water by using earthy-planty things on it.”

	“I wanted to divert the water into an aqueduct, or at least dam it.” Llyr complains.

	“It was already damned, Llyr,” Heilyn retorts. “But Cornelia’s got a point. By that line of reasoning, we ought to be able to deal with this wall by using Air.”

	“How does that help?” Meloch, increasingly unhappy with our curse, screeches. “We can’t huff and puff and blow this wall down.”

	“Actually, I can.” Heilyn answers smugly.

	The party emits a collective “Huh.”

	“The staff – Aeduana’s staff – that I’m carrying – well, I’ve sort of made friends with it.” Heilyn begins.

	“We’ve noticed,” Cornelia answers dryly, remembering the green tendrils that keep trying to insinuate themselves into Heilyn’s arm.

	“At any rate, it’s a Staff of Wind and Stone, and I think, if I ask it nicely, that it will blow the wall down for us.” Heilyn continues, a little cross that his great achievement isn’t being recognized by the other members of the group.

	“Druidic magic! Ha! There must be some other way. Llyr, knock the wall down, you’re an engineer,” says Marcus.

	“I could do it in about three weeks with some good siege engines,” Llyr ponders.

	“We don’t have time for Llyr to knock it down! Heilyn, use the staff!” Wena, also deeply unhappy about the curse, retorts.

	The Romans look to Metellus for direction, but after momentary indecision he nods to Heilyn.

	“You might want to all stand back...” Heilyn says, a little nervously. He raises the staff, pointing it at the wall, and speaks to it in a language none of the others understand. Wind begins spiraling out of the raised tip of the staff, forming a whirlwind which grows larger and larger, knocking all of us to the ground. Finally, Heilyn stops chanting, and the whirlwind slams into and through the wall, creating a three-foot wide hole, about six feet off the ground, before whirling back towards us, throwing mud on us, and shooting up through the trees, scattering leaves in its wake.


	“That’s your...friend?” Meloch asks skeptically.
	“Look, there’s a hole in the wall, what more do you want?” Heilyn snaps.

The hole in the Wall of Earth is only large enough to fit one person through at a time, as they are lifted up by the others. While Marcus initially volunteers to go first, he is clearly the best person to push others up, and so is kept till last. Llyr is boosted up and rolls neatly down on the other side, announcing that the path is all clear, except for some tasty looking rabbits. Heilyn follows, but as Heilyn pushes his chest through the hole, a wave of dizziness washes over him. The Romans are pursuing him. He has to get to the sacred grove. It’s the only way he’ll be safe. Nothing must be allowed to stop him. He shoves through the hole and begins running forward, as Llyr calls out in dismay. 

Wena, next through the hole, similarly experiences the supernatural terror, and begins darting forwards, although she quickly snaps herself out of it. Llyr manages to snag Wena with his bola and pin her to the ground, but only mildly delays Heilyn. Heilyn, meanwhile, seeing an unknown threat in his path, draws the Staff of Earth and Stone, but luckily uses it only as a quarterstaff to attack Llyr and Wena.  Combat ensues, Llyr’s attempts to subdue frustrated by Heilyn’s finely crafted armor, while Wena yells at Heilyn, trying to remind him who he is. Meanwhile the staff, excited by all the commotion, begins sending green tendrils into Heilyn's skin, apparently healing him from Llyr's blows.

	Meanwhile, we Romans on the other side are increasingly disturbed by the sounds of combat and screams of terror on the other side, and no one is telling us what is going on. Meloch decides to investigate, despite the fact that everyone thinks this is a bad idea. He clambers through, and disappears, running off into the woods, with me, in a spurt of sheer panic. 

The rest of the group decides that safety lies in numbers and manages to scramble through together, where they assist in restoring Wena to her senses. Wena, finally, manages to snap Heilyn out of his terrified state, since she can empathize with what he was feeling, although she’s somewhat irritated about the several staff blows he’s hit her with by this point. 


Meloch and I have hidden at the top of a tree, hoping that the Romans won’t find us, too scared by the dark, keening mist ahead to go any further. Eventually, Llyr tracks us down, and after much negotiation, and some stone-throwing, talks Meloch out of it. I’m still paranoid, however, and burrow even further into the pack. Llyr, in an attempt to lighten the mood, explains that the previous barrier’s message was obviously “Druids have shoddy construction techniques. I would never build a wall that could be knocked down by a little wind.”


	Joining hands in an attempt to prevent further flights of panic, we march forward, prepared to face the sixth barrier. All too soon, we hear the eerie screams and cries of pain that scared Meloch and me. The fog is rolling in again, and before us the shadows rise. Quite literally – before us is a group of nearly transparent, staring Celtic ghosts, arms linked, stretching outwards in either direction as far as our eyes can see. They glare accusingly at us, blood still dripping from their ghostly wounds. Many are children, or elderly men and women.


	“Nobody touch that wall!” Metellus commands, apparently oblivious to the fact that none of us had any plans to go near it.

	“Wall of...Ghosts?” Cornelia muses.

	“No, it’s the Wall of Humans.” Meloch explains. “First we had Trees, which wanted our blood. Then we had Animals, which wanted...plant food. And now we have Ghostly Humans, who want...”

	“Of course!” Marcus announces. “It’s just like in the Odyssey, when Odysseus has to dig a trench and fill it with animal sacrifices to appease the spirits of the dead in Hades. And Heilyn, you said we were very close to Hades here.”

	“Ah, yes...” Heilyn answers. “Not that I know what the Odyssey is, or want to get any closer to Hell.”


	At this point, I, Shast, begin to get very nervous at the talk of animal sacrifices being needed, particularly since we left Caspar the Goat back on the mainland, along with Heilyn’s stupid dogs. No animal sacrifice here, thank you very much, let’s just hope that everyone forgets about me. 


I do catch Heilyn looking thoughtfully at my hiding place, but luckily Llyr spots a rabbit at that moment and nails it with his bola. He and Marcus deftly skin the rabbit and drip its blood into a small trench directly before the angry ghosts. They swarm around it, drinking the blood greedily, much to Cornelia’s horror and the sickness of Metellus’s stomach. However, in doing so they do leave a path open through into the dark fog beyond. Summoning all our courage, we step through, to face the last barrier. As we do, Llyr, a little taken aback, but determined to continue in his critique of the Druidic trials, murmurs, "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."


----------



## Krellic

Enjoying this immensely and am a great fan of the monkey.

This is a nice set of puzzles, I think I might go back and steal them at some point...


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fourth Session: Legacies and Freedom Fifth Post: Post Tenebras Lux*

Beyond the ghosts, we are plunged into utter darkness. The humans all fumble for each other’s hands; I suspect that Cornelia is blushing at holding Metellus’ hand, although I can’t see her. I wind my tail tightly around Meloch’s neck, causing him to gasp slightly for breath, and Cato the owl huddles into Cornelia’s hair. The fog seems to have become so dense that it is difficult to breathe; the air smells rotten, and Meloch begins choking slightly. 


	“This is the, um, Wall of Air,” Cornelia rasps. “Water conquered fire, earth conquered water, air conquered earth, so...fire conquers air?”

	“Fire? That’s the solution?” Metellus fumbles with his pack, dropping Cornelia’s hand with evident relief, and lights a torch. The fog dissipates a few feet around him, and those of us near him can see a path under his feet. 

	Llyr exclaims in outrage, “Light a fire? The final test is, when it’s dark, make some light? What kind of addled imbeciles do the Druids get as trainees?” The rest of us nod – even Cato the owl could have figured that one out. We huddle around the Tribune and edge forward, swords out, convinced that it can’t be that easy. 

	The image of Amairgen, the First Druid who appeared to us on the seashore, materializes in the path ahead.

	“Congratulations, my children. You have done well. You know now the cycle of life, that each element has its counterpart, its weakness and its strength. You know also the value of sacrifice. Sometimes blood, that of others when possible, but your own when needed, is necessary to achieve true power. 

	Three choices remain before you. Long ago, the Druids of Mona entered into a sacred contract with the gods. Before you lies the fruit of that contract and the opportunity for great power to help your people. Resist temptation and choose wisely, and you will truly join our ranks. If you choose poorly, you may doom us all. My blessings to those of you who have survived this far.” 


	He disappears, although Marcus halfheartedly attempts to stab him again. Wena comments, “Well, apparently he had a different view of the lessons to be gained from the barriers than you did, Llyr.”

	“I think mine are far more accurate, not to mention involve less glorification of blood magic,” Llyr fumes, convinced that he could have come up with a far more efficient set of barriers had he been an evil Druid, not that he wanted to be. 

	Heilyn, pondering what Amairgen has said, raises his voice. “There’s something you all should know. The spirit I talked to who gave me information about the Staff – he said that Lugh, the patron god of the Brigantes, came to Mona about eighty years ago, and hadn’t been seen since. Maybe he was the god who this contract was made with, and he’s up there somewhere, trapped in the sacred grove between the spirit world and our world.”

	“Which one is Lugh?” Metellus asks. “I mean, which Roman god does he correspond to?”

	Cornelia, who knows most about the relationship between Celtic and Roman lore, speaks up, a little rambling due to her fear. “Lugh is Mercury, because they’re both young trickster gods, well, Lugh is also the Lord of Light and a sun god, which is more Apollo-like, but the priests decided that he was actually more like Mercury.”

	“Mercury, you said?” Marcus asks. “Wait...remember the story about Argus and Io? If anyone asks us to close our eyes, don’t do it! It’s a trap, destined to send us all into eternal sleep on this evil island.”

	Just as he finishes, a clear golden tenor voice rings out from the path ahead, where they can see a dim glow:  “Human children, I beg you, shut your eyes immediately! You risk great danger!


----------



## Orichalcum

*re: Adapting Puzzles*



			
				Krellic said:
			
		

> *
> This is a nice set of puzzles, I think I might go back and steal them at some point...
> *




Thanks! And you're welcome to  borrow them. Cerebral Paladin keeps arguing that I should adapt them for a Living Greyhawk module, which I might, although I'm not sure how to transport the flavor well.

*<meta-game discussion> * This session was partially an experiment. Having not GMed for a very long time before starting this campaign, I was still experimenting with genres for the first several sessions. So this was my attempt to design a classic dungeon crawl, more or less, except without the dungeon or the crawling bits. But it's very linear, very puzzle and combat-oriented, as opposed to my general more free-form and intriguey style. 

The real problem I found was one of balance. While some of the barriers worked great, the Air one (just posted) fell with a resounding thud - were I to rework this for something else, I'd probably make the air actively poisonous or something, and perhaps require magical fire as the key. Water was also disappointing. 

I think the strongest part was interweaving the elemental barriers with the "blood" barriers of plants, animals, and humans, which kept the players from figuring out the pattern for a suitably long time. That said, I'm not sure that the blood puzzles weren't _too_ difficult to figure out, at least the first two. So, them's my thoughts, in the aftermath of this game. 


    Coming up: Who to believe, mysterious tenor or Marcus? And, Heilyn plays hardball, but Meloch beats him. Not to mention the surprising sacrifice of several of the PC's own body parts...


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fourth Session: Legacies and Freedom Sixth Post: Promises, promises*

We are torn between Marcus’s earlier advice and the impressive command from ahead. Heilyn, certain that his god awaits,  shouts, “Close your eyes!” and clenches his eyes shut, followed by Wena and Meloch and me. Llyr hesitates, anxious to obey Roman doctrines, but well aware of his tribe’s patron god’s capabilities, and the Romans halt, uncertain of the proper course. Cornelia finally says, “Well, Lugh is the Lord of Light. And there’s light up there. It might hurt us.” She closes her eyes, and directs Cato the owl to do the same. Metellus considers, and finally orders Marcus and Llyr to close their eyes, as we all grasp hands again and stumble forward, Marcus muttering about the probability of it all being a trap.

	Even with tightly clenched eyelids, the glow from up ahead becomes almost overwhelming, and our skins feel pleasantly warm. The golden tenor voice speaks again,
 “I am called Lugh the Many-skilled, Lord of Light. But you...you are not young Druids, not even you, My smith, who I recognize.” 

	“Of course we’re not Druids. We’ve come to rescue you! Well...and to break the curse that these people have been given by a Druid,” Heilyn explains, excited and awed for the first time since the Spirit of the Games.

	“How exactly can we rescue a God?” Meloch wonders.


“There is a contract,” Lugh intones. “Some time ago, Epona, goddess of horses and warfare, the patron of the Iceni, Sulis, the deity of fresh and salt water, who is both male and female, the patron of the Catavellauni, and I entered into an agreement with the Druids of Mona. We provided them with much power on this island, in return for worship and appropriate offerings, but there has been no worship or offerings for many years, and We are trapped on this island. Each of the young Druids was tested with regards to this contract. I cannot tell you more until you undergo the tests.” 

	“But, if they broke the contract, surely it’s invalid,” says Metellus, well up on Roman law.

	“It doesn’t matter if the Druids haven’t been fulfilling their bargain, the gods won’t break their side until the contract is over. Don’t you know the importance of a sacred agreement?” Heilyn retorts.

“He is correct,” Lugh speaks. “I can tell you little more. You must go to the left and to the right of this grove, and fulfill those tests, and then return here.” 

	“Ah, we need to go to the sacred grove, and dispose of this staff, for our curse,” Wena points out.

 “You may not go into the grove until you have completed the tests,” Lugh answers. 

	“You’re...imprisoned here? No wonder this island is so strange,” Cornelia comments pityingly.

 “I cannot tell you more; please go now, before My light burns through your eyes...” Lugh responds, with some strain in his mellifluous tones.


	We go to the left, opening our eyes once the glow has faded, and find ourselves in a peaceful grove of trees, opening onto the shore, despite the fact that we believed ourselves to be in the center of the island. Three tall trees stand in an equilateral triangle in the center of the grove; at their midpoint stands an enormous tree with many spreading branches. Cradled in two of its branches is a large golden cauldron, with crystal clear water bubbling in it, almost simmering at the surface, but not quite falling over the rim to the ground. An inscription, in old Celtic runes, on the cauldron reads: I will heal all your ills; only drink. Luckily, Cornelia has been studying up on her runes since the Caledonian expedition and manages to translate it. We all feel a strong desire to drink the water, and only Meloch’s hand on my tail keeps me from darting forward.

	“Well, that seems fairly clear,” says Metellus. “Drink the water for the test, and maybe fight something in the grove.”

	“Well, obviously, that center tree will come to life and fight us; just look at it!” Llyr proclaims. The tree fails to look particularly menacing to us, but we agree with Llyr’s basic analysis.

	“Wait. Drinking the water is what a Druid would do, because it gains power, by healing, and who knows what. But do we want to do what a Druid would do?” Cornelia asks.

	“We never want to do what a Druid would do!” Marcus responds.

	“Right, and besides, if the gods are trapped here, maybe that water is actually trapped Sulis!” Heilyn suggests.

	We collectively blanch at the sacriliegous thought of drinking concentrated deity.

	“All right, so we’re not drinking it, despite the runes. But then what do we do? Inaction can’t be the right answer,” Metellus reasons.

	“Perhaps we should free the water – pour it out onto the ground,” Wena suggests.

	“Or better yet – into the sea!” Cornelia notes.

	This plan is agreed upon, and we decide that Metellus will rush forward to grab the cauldron and, with Cornelia’s help, pour its contents into the ocean, while the rest of us prepare for an attack, with Llyr’s ballista at the ready. 

	Metellus lifts the cauldron out of the central tree’s branches and, as expected, it comes to life and begins attacking him. He is stomped on mightily, but manages to pass the cauldron to Cornelia, who begins heading towards the shore, trying to avoid trees. Llyr’s ballista fires into the treant, and then he darts forward to attempt to free Metellus from the branches he is pinned under, as we all begin attacking. However, in our focus on the central treant, we fail to notice the slow-moving other trees moving in to attack, and one of them sends its roots crashing down onto Llyr’s precious ballista, destroying it utterly. Nevertheless, we manage to chop the mobile grove to bits and rescue poor Metellus, just as Cornelia tips the cauldron into the ocean with all her strength. 

	The water spreads out into the sea, which gleams like silver, and we all hear a voice in our heads, like the sound of crashing waves against a reef:  “You have freed Me from My long containment, and I may now purify the waters of Britannia. Thank you, generous mortals, who placed My freedom above your own greed.”  A wave thunders onto the shore, drenching all of us, and leaving in its wake a blue-dyed waterskin. We all feel refreshed by the waves, and the bruises left by the treants have vanished. The waterskin is tentatively identified as possessing the power to shoot forth great streams of water, but we are in too much of a hurry to experiment for long, and continue to the third grove.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fourth Session: Legacies and Freedom Seventh Post: My Little Pony*

Much like the grove of Sulis, the area to the right of Lugh’s glowing light also contains an open, grassy space surrounded by trees. Sadly, the fragrant and unusual flowers wither and crumple under our cursed feet as we approach. Even here, surrounded by such great power, Aeduana’s dying vengeance prevails.


A similar, enormously wide tree, stretching to the sky, stands in the middle of the grove. This, however, is not what captures our attention. An elegant brown mare, perfect in every aspect from mane to hoof, is tied to the tree by a long rein and halter. Wena, looking closely, realizes that the rein grows into the tree itself, having long ago been shoved between two intertwining branches. She also realizes that the rein is made from what is probably human skin. Upon this announcement, basically everyone shudders.

	On the tree, in the same Celtic runes, Cornelia and Wena read: “Master her, and you will prove forever your bravery and strength.” The horse, upon seeing them, rears up into the air, whinnying, and begins straining wildly at her rein, teeth bared and clearly ready to attack them if they come within range.

	“Well, I’m guessing this is Epona, goddess of war and horses?” Metellus hazards.

	“Yes...my patron goddess,” Wena confirms, with awe, kneeling briefly. “I really don’t like the idea of _mastering_ her.”

	“Of course not, that’s doing what a Druid would do. We aren’t Druids. We shouldn’t master her, we should free her!” Llyr exclaims.

	“That sounds easier than it looks,” Meloch comments, glancing nervously at the horse’s flailing hooves. 

	“Um...Epona, we’re here to help you, and try and take that rein off. Please don’t attack us – we’re here on your behalf...” Metellus says, attempting a calm tone, but with a note of nervous hesitation in his voice, as he slowly begins to approach the horse. Her eyes roll, and she seems not to respond, perhaps driven to madness by her imprisonment.

	“Let’s try going around from opposite sides,” Marcus suggests. Metellus approaches from the front, trying to grab the halter and pull it off, while Marcus approaches from the left of the horse and Llyr the right. 

Meanwhile, Meloch incants a spell and briefly grows giant eagle wings, which he uses to try and fly onto the back of the horse. He briefly grabs the mane, but she whips her neck around while dancing wildly, causing him to fall and roll under her hooves. Meloch is badly trampled. Meanwhile, she bites brutally at Metellus, approaching from the front, and Marcus goes to defend Metellus with his shield. Llyr, finally, tries the same trick that Meloch did, and manages to hold on. While Metellus grabs the halter from the front, Llyr unties it from the back, grimacing at the human sinews lacing the thing together, and together they pull the wretched device off, just as Llyr, his balance faltering, rolls off the horse to one side.

The horse immediately stops her frantic wheeling and for the first time, raises her eyes and looks directly at each of the humans in turn. She shimmers, seeming almost golden in the light, and a resonant alto voice speaks in each of our heads, even mine:  “You have my blessings and my gratitude, mortals. Neither animals nor goddesses are meant to be chained by humans, though we may gladly pull the same yoke with you. In the same way, you Romans should not enslave my Iceni, or the other Celts, rather than forming a greater herd, even with a new chief mare and stallion.”


Marcus impulsively steps forward and speaks, bowing respectfully to the horse: “Domina – dea – we hear and understand. May I ask – we Romans have no goddess or god of horses, and you would be a brave champion for cavalry units in the Legions, whether made of Celts or Romans or both. May we spread your worship among them?”

The alto, with a hint of amusement, answers,   “That would be most pleasing. After such a long time of imprisonment, and the loss of so many of the Iceni, I have been much weakened.” 

“I am of the Iceni,” Wena offers, “and I will spread tales of your return to freedom and power among them.”

 “I thank you all. Now, I depart, for there is much work to be done, in Britannia and across the seas. For war is coming sooner than you might think, my children. Take good care of the gift I bestow, for I will watch her fate closely.”



And with that, the horse shimmers again, and gives sudden birth to a small brown foal, clean, but shaky on her tiny legs, with a white, eight-pointed star between her eyes. The mare licks the foal once and then gallops off into the grove, her hoofbeats quickly fading.

“She gave us a horse?” Meloch queries.

 I think to Meloch, “Oh, wonderful, yet another “special” animal for everyone else too coo over while ignoring me. I’m much more useful than a baby horse. Though I did like the bit about not chaining animals but working with them. You should remember that.” Meloch sends a mental snort back my way.

“That’s not a horse. That’s a divine child of Epona!” Wena and Heilyn both retort, in complete agreement for once.

Llyr, ignoring all of this, has managed to pull an apple out of some deep pocket in his sack (being uncursed) and walked slowly forward, holding out his hand to be sniffed, with the apple in it. The foal hesitates for an instant between Metellus, who is also making small whinnying noises, and Llyr, but finally, hunger wins and she totters forward to Llyr, devouring the apple in two quick bites and then nuzzling Llyr’s hand with besotted devotion.

	Llyr, noticing Metellus’s attempts at befriending the horse, tries to step back. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize...of course she should be your horse. I mean, you’re the officer and all.”

	Metellus, sighing gently, responds, “Llyr...she’s clearly taken to you. Either that or she’s trying to lick your hand to death. She’s your horse. Just make sure you take good care of her.”

	Marcus, thinking fast, asserts, “And just think of the breeding stock we can get from her for Metellus’s stables!”

	Llyr, turning back to the foal, misses this completely, as he gently pets her and combs out her wet mane. So far, she seems perfectly normal, although extremely well-formed, despite the unusual circumstances of her birth. “Good little horsie...I think I’ll call you ‘Talat.’”


----------



## Orichalcum

*GM Note*

The offer of Cerebral Paladin, Marcus' player, to adopt Epona as a Roman legionary goddess was a particularly cool bit of this encounter. In real Roman history, the Roman legions did begin worshipping Epona around this time, and she's one of the few Celtic deities who was never assimilated to a Roman god, but Cerebral Paladin didn't know that when he made the offer. So this is one of the rare cases of Alea Iacta "creating" real events in Roman history, which pleased me a lot. Of course, Marcus hasn't been especially living up to that promise so far...

      FYI, Talat's bonding to Llyr was by no means preordained. I believe Llyr's player rolled a natural 20 on his Animal Handling skill at that particular moment, and, well, the rest was inevitable. Talat's story continues, obviously, as does Shast the monkey's increasing dislike for all the other nonhuman members of the party.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fourth Session: Legacies and Freedom Eighth Post: An Eye for an Eye*

Talat trailing docilely, if a little clumsily, behind us, we walk back towards the grove of Lugh. We all clamp our eyes shut again, and Llyr hastily throws a hand across Talat’s eyes, unsure if her divine birth will protect her, and not really anxious to find out. 

	As we approach, the golden tenor voice rings in our heads once again: “Ah, young mortals, I can sense that my brethren have finally departed the island. Thank you.” 

	“Yes, and now we’re here to free you in turn,” Heilyn says emphatically.

“You cannot, my child.” 

	“Yes, we can. We just don’t do what Druids do, and figure out whatever that means here,” Llyr says, certain of success.

“You don’t understand. My test is long since over, and it was failed.” 

	“Failed?” Cornelia asks.

 “According to the contract and the rites of the Druids, each test of the three groves had three possible choices. The correct answer for a young Druid in each case was the path of power, for the Druids believe that one must know how to control and use power wisely in order to join their ranks. Thus, in Sulis’s grove, a Druid would have drunk some of the water and thereby gained great power; in Epona’s grove, he would have ridden her avatar for as long as possible. You may not realize, mortals, how much you chose to sacrifice in your abandonment of these choices.” 

	“But those choices were wrong! You don’t drink gods, or chain them with human skin...What were the other two choices?” Metellus asks.


 “In each case, there was also a choice for overuse of the power, and for releasing or freeing the power, as you have done. Good Druids would have taken only a sip of the water rather than consuming it all, and would not have harmed the horse, for instance. Those actions would have been punished with death by Our hands. 

	In My case, the test was also one of temptation. I am bound here on an ancient stone slab. On a pillar besides Me once rested My Cap of Twilight, which would have enabled Me, among many other things, to escape My confinement. A successful Druid would have used the Cap herself to accomplish some great deed and then returned it; another possibility was to give it to Me. When the Romans attacked, they eventually penetrated to this grove, although no farther. Their general, Gaius Tacitus Agricola, found the Cap of Twilight, and seized it, claiming that he would give it as a gift to the Temple of Mercury in Rome, to enable My cousin to fly more swiftly than on the flimsy sandals he previously sported. 

Without the Cap, My test can never be completed, and I must remain here, trapped, with most of My divine power going to fuel the enchantments on this island. So, good mortals, you need not feel that your work is unfinished. Proceed forward to the grove, and cast off your dreadful curse. You have done well.” 

   “But...wait. We can’t leave you here,” Heilyn insists, with a particular fervor in his voice. “What would happen if we got the Cap back in Rome?”

“If you freely offered it up to me, calling on my name, from any location in the world, I would hear, and I think I could then summon it to my side and free myself with its power. But assuredly the Temple of Mercury knows its power well, and it is well guarded.”  Lugh replies.

	“That doesn’t matter. We’ll do it. It’s not right for you to remain trapped here,” Wena responds. The Romans look somewhat askance at each other, but do not speak for now.

“Thank you. That is most courageous of you all. Like my brethren, I wish as well to thank you, but my power is very limited at the moment. I can offer, however, a gift with a high price. If any of you chooses to open one eye and gaze at me in my full majesty, you may gain great insight and wisdom through the sight. Yet...the divine in their true form are not intended for mortal eyes. It is quite likely that you will lose some or perhaps all your vision by undertaking such a risk. It is a choice for each of you to make; you must weigh it in your own hearts.” 

	We all pause for some time, and contemplate the risks and rewards of such a vision. Finally, Heilyn, Llyr, and Wena, the three Celts, all decide to open one eye and behold Lugh’s glory, while the Romans and Meloch and I agree that going blind is simply not worth the danger. Bowing their heads first in respect, each momentarily opens his or her left eye, almost immediately blinking it closed in the overwhelming pain of such an intense light. But in that half second, each of the three comes to understand far more about the nature of the divine and of the spirit world than they ever thought possible. While their distance visions are somewhat marred, there are new, reflective looks on each of their faces, as they contemplate the wisdom they have gained. Furthermore, Llyr and Wena now have a new sense of how Heilyn sees the world, with the spirits of trees and rivers and homes being very dimly visible under strong concentration. For Heilyn, his spirit vision is strengthened,  and he can now view the local spirits almost without thinking about the process.

	Having made our farewells to Lugh, we proceed forward into the last grove, similar to the others except for the altar of skulls at one end, presumably the site of Druid sacrifices. Heilyn, with the Staff of Earth and Stone, proceeds forward into the center, and then stops.

	“I can break the staff and release the spirits now, which should both end your curses and keep my promise to them so they don’t destroy everything around. But before I do that, I want a promise from you all. You have to swear to help me go to Rome and get the Cap of Twilight from the Temple of Mercury, so that we can free Lugh. Otherwise I’ll just tell the spirits to go now, and you’ll never get your curses lifted,” Heilyn announces.

	We are somewhat stunned at this sudden attempt at blackmail, but quickly recover.
	Wena answers, “Well, I’ve also sworn to get the Cap of Twilight back, so that is not much of a burden. I swear to help you within the limits of my powers.”

	Llyr says, “Look, I’m not under this curse, so I’m not going to swear anything. But Lugh’s my tribe’s patron god – of course I want him freed, and I’ll do everything I can to help.”

	Metellus speaks slowly, “It does seem like the Cap belongs to Lugh, and obviously, him being imprisoned is wrong, though that’s the fault of the Druids, not the Romans. But I am unwilling to steal something from one of our own gods. I will help you to the best of my ability, but I will not break any Roman laws or commit sacrilege against Mercury in the process.”

	Cornelia and Marcus echo Metellus’s terms. Heilyn is unhappy with this proposal, but agrees that if they promise to help him with their diplomatic connections and their powers, he will at least try to use all such methods before resorting to underhanded means. Finally, he turns to Meloch, who has not yet spoken.

	“Obviously, I want the curse off. But, as a slave, I do not have the power to swear oaths in my own name. I follow the dictates of my mistress.”

	Heilyn, under much strain, takes this as assent, not realizing that Meloch has not in fact sworn to aid him at all. While nearly everyone else notices this, they agree with Meloch’s conclusion, and are in any case unthrilled by the blackmail, so remain silent.


	“Very well then. Spirits of Wind and Stone, I free you, in accordance with our agreement. Do not harm me or any of my companions, and depart peacefully from this place without damaging it. Farewell, and begone!” Heilyn smashes the staff in twain with his hammer. A whirlwind, full of icy blue eyes that glare out at us, erupts forth from one half of the staff, speeding up above the trees and out into the clear blue sky, where it vanishes. From the other half of the staff, a green and brown puddle of mud, smelling of mountains and rock, oozes out, congealing around our feet before beginning to sink into the earth below us. Green tendrils curl caressingly up and around Heilyn’s ankles and calves, until he bats them away with annoyance. As the puddle subsides into the ground, the rest of us see plants springing back to life in the circle around us. Meloch runs forward to test touching a tree, and finds he can. Llyr tosses him an apple from his pocket, and I snatch half of it, glad to finally be eating fruit again. Aeduana’s vengeance is over.


----------



## Krellic

One of my favourite Story Hours.

On to Rome!


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fifth Session: All Roads First Post: A 3-Hour Tour*

We trudge back to the shore of the island, noticing as we do that the spirits and walls are gone, although a faint, shadowy mist still clings to the trees and grass. Upon arriving at the shore, we find no boatman waiting for us, and finally resort to lighting a large signal fire, which, many hours later, finally produces a boat with an elderly fisherman, some distance offshore. He reluctantly lets us wade out to the boat, first making us swear not to harm him by all the deities he can imagine. When Marcus chastises him for not sticking to the original agreement, the fisherman responds with sharp-tongued amazement:

	“Well, what did ye expect me to do? I did come back three days later, and then again a week after that. But after the first two weeks we’d all given you up for dead, well, the ones who hadn’t started praying for your souls the moment you stepped onto the shore. It’s been six months, man – what were ye doing on that island?”

Once we reach the shore and establish that this fisherman is neither senile nor crazy, we are forced to accept that Heilyn’s theory that time might pass differently in an area where the spirit and mundane world intersected so closely was true. We left for Mona in early September; it is now halfway through the month of Mars. When we reach a larger town, Wena and Cornelia find out through local gossip that Governor Cimbrus, Hadriana, and their new baby daughter, Cimbra, departed in the fall for Rome. 

      The three British legions, vastly understrength after the difficult battle of Hadrian’s Wall, were folded into two legions, and the Eagle of the 12th has been returned to Rome, along with a large number of troops traveling to celebrate Cimbrus’s triumph in Rome for his Britannic victories. Metellus, Llyr, and Marcus were all invited to participate in the triumph, and Cornelia as an honored guest, but their invitations have languished in empty barracks and homes. The new governor appears to be pursuing a cautious policy, pulling back all troops to Hadrian’s Wall and making no attempt to capitalize on the hard-won victory.

       Successfully freed of their curse, it is time for the group, Romans and Britons alike, to leave Britannia. We have many different reasons for traveling to Rome. Metellus’s Tribunate is over, and it is time for him to pursue his political career back in the capital. Cornelia wishes to visit her only surviving parent, her mother Licinia Luculla, of notorious reputation, and perhaps find a new home. Meloch, of course, goes where Cornelia goes. Heilyn is in search of Lugh’s Cap of Twilight, in hopes that the god can eventually be freed from his island prison, and has enlisted oaths from everyone except Meloch, to greater or lesser degrees, that they will assist him in his quest. Marcus has his own quest, to which the others are fairly sympathetic – to restore the Ninth to full Legion status and glory. And Wena is struck, as always, by wanderlust, and is interested in pursuing the unfinished tales begun with this group of comrades. As for myself, Shast, I’m just glad to be getting out of Britannia and back to a normal climate. 

	The cost of passage to Gaul turns out to be not only an arm and leg but the life of Kaspar IX, the goat, and the abandonment of Heilyn’s pack of dogs, including the Brave Little Terriers (whom I’m overjoyed to bid farewell to) but not the pesky owl Cato or, even worse, Talat, the Wonder Horse, whom everyone pets and feeds treats to constantly just because she’s the child of a goddess. Humph – you don’t hear me bragging about my illustrious lineage. Kynton, Llyr’s chariot-racing feckless cousin, is also coming along; apparently he’s been offered a place by the White chariot faction in Rome itself, and he’s just thrilled at the thought; Nanna Alma, Cornelia’s old Brigantian nurse, is the last of the group.

	After Cornelia shells out the crossing fee for several of us, we begin our short trip across the Channel. There are several other passengers on the crowded vessel, including a Romano-Gallic pearl merchant, Verix, returning dispirited from a failed pearl-trading venture in Britannia. Only half an hour after we have lost sight of the white cliffs of Britannia, several of the clearer-eyed members of the party spot an intense storm formation coming towards them from the north. They estimate it will be over them in approximately half an hour, and the captain puts on as much sail in the meanwhile as is safe.

	 Just about then, Marcus and Llyr spot what appear to be some odd, greenish-brown bumps in the sea ahead of them. Wena’s pearl notices them as well, and Wena realizes that they are moving. Before they can do more than point this out to the others, the ship comes to a halt, and a large crashing noise is heard on the port side. As everyone dashes to look, the more observant can see what appears to be some sort of giant undulating serpent pressing itself against the ship. Llyr tries to hit it with an arrow and misses as its head arcs over the prow and starts curving around the starboard side of the ship, squeezing as it goes. Wena tries to establish a mindlink, expecting failure, and is surprised when the creature willingly allows her access.

            “Please stop! You’re hurting our ship!” she thinks.

	“What??? Who are you? I have to punish the tainted ones.”

	“My name is Wena. We mean you no harm. Who are the tainted ones?”

At about this point, Heilyn stands on the prow and shouts out, in Celtic, “Serpent! We mean you no harm! Please stop destroying our ship! We have assisted Sulis, god of the sea, and he has befriended us.”

	With these two conversations, the squeezing momentarily halts, as an enormous mottled greyish-green head, with piercing blue bulging eyes, rears itself up out of the water, with an oddly quizzical look. In a somewhat childlike if reptilian voice, it repeats in Celtic, “I have to punish the Tainted Ones.” Meanwhile, the Roman ladies and most of the merchants on board, with the exception of the relatively unfazed Cornelia, scream and faint. Verix the pearl merchant, on the other hand, stands looking with curiosity at the serpent.

	Wena and Heilyn, nearly simultaneously, say, “Who are you? What are the Tainted Ones?” Wena holds up the Waterskin of Sulis as a sign that they really are telling the truth.

	“I am the Colubir, child of the Ourobouros and Sulis when female. You...are servants of Sulis?”

	In the back, Llyr whispers to Cornelia, while readying his sword, “I thought Sulis was male.” 

	Cornelia whispers back. “It’s one of those special Celtic god things. Sulis changes gender, like the water she’s a god of, whenever he wishes.”

	Heilyn and Wena respond, “Yes!” and Wena says, “This is the waterskin that Sulis gave us for freeing...um...him from the Isle of Mona. We saved your parent! Don’t kill us!”

	The Colubir, now looking rather confused, responds slowly, “But...the Spiritwalker came and summoned me with the Staff, and said that I had to come here and punish the Tainted Ones, that I would know them by the lingering aura of corruption and decay. And I can see that aura around you and your friends, though it is light and fading.”

	“We aren’t tainted anymore!” Metellus responds in highly accented Celtic.

	“Staff?” Heilyn asks, with a hint of greed in his voice.

	“The Spiritwalker had a powerful staff which compelled me to obey. I have to punish you...”

	“Look,” Verix the pearl merchant says. “What exactly do you mean by “punish?” I mean, you’ve already seriously damaged our ship and steering capabilities. And it sounds like these people have already been through a lot, not to mention us innocent bystanders. Couldn’t we agree that you’ve already “punished” us and just all go about our business?”

	“You feel punished?” the Colubir asks, somewhat hopefully.

	“Oh yes, definitely. Very punished. In great pain and suffering,” everyone agrees enthusiastically, glancing nervously at the storm, which is getting ever closer and closer.

	“I need to consider this. You mortals are confusing. I do not know what is right. I will go back where I came and swim upstream to a quiet lake and contemplate the correct action until I know whether I have punished you enough. It will be dark, and peaceful there, and there will be few mortals to disturb me,” the Colubir hisses plaintively.

	“That sounds like a wonderful idea, Colubir,” Llyr remarks. “But, as the child of Sulis, could you possibly aid the rescuers of Sulis by giving us a large push towards the shore of Gallia? We don’t have any way to steer now, and that storm will destroy us if we can’t escape its path.”

	Various others of the group add their enthusiastic support to the plan, and the Colubir is reluctantly persuaded. She rewraps her length around the ship and, gaining an incredible speed with the swishes of her tail, begins piloting the ship towards the eastern coast. Marcus is very disturbed to see the prow rising virtually out of the water, but everyone else points out that the storm is falling behind them, and that this is the only way to ensure safety. With one last shove, the Colubir unwinds and sends the vessel spinning towards the coast. In the last light of day, the last thing we see are the flickers of light along her gray-green scales as she glides through the water back towards Britannia.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fifth Session: All Roads Second Post: A Little Village in Gaul*

The ship nearly comes aground on a group of shallow mussel-encrusted reefs, and we all, even the delicate Roman ladies, trudge ashore and up a narrow cliffside path to the lights above. There, we find a small Gallic fishermen’s village called Duonon, whose chief, the elderly Guvartis, welcomes us all and offers us the village’s hospitality. It is early evening by now, and we gather gratefully around a fire while Guvartis’s wife Briga gives us warm bowls of shellfish stew from a steaming cauldron. On seeing the legionaries’ armor, Divico, a wide-shouldered, red-haired man who was introduced as the chieftain’s brother, scowls, and tries to draw Guvartis aside for a private talk, but Guvartis brushes him off and asks for stories of Britannia.

      Guvartis also tells us that, while we have come ashore significantly farther south than intended, we can find a Roman road at Diablintum, a few hours inland. However, we won't be able to leave until at least mid-morning, because the tide is coming in and will turn the hill village into a temporary island, making it too dangerous to cross until low tide tomorrow. 

	Shortly after dinner, Divico asks Heilyn for helping shoeing his horse, while another younger man, Lauros, draws Wena aside, asking her as a vates for stories about the origins of the Iceni. Both Divico and Lauros, in their conversations, casually praise Dagda, the chief Celtic god, and ask Wena and Heilyn if they also worship Dagda. 

        Heilyn responds noncommitally, “Of course I worship Dagda. And Lugh, and Epona, and Sulis, and all the other gods. Doesn’t everyone, under one name or another?” Divico continues to make small talk, criticizing the Romans lightly for their plot to destroy true Celtic culture and replace it with their own, but Heilyn concentrates on shoeing the horse and getting back to his allies.

	Wena, on the other hand, meets Lauros’s question with questions of her own. “Yes, Dagda is one of the gods I worship. Why do you ask?”

	“Because, Dagda is the one true lord of the gods! It’s important that we remember his power and strength and not fall victim to the weakening and soft corruptions of the foul Romans.”

	“Ah, of course it is,” Wena answers carefully.

	“North of the village, we’ve established a traditional oak grove to go and worship Dagda in the ancient manner. You would be welcome to go there and pray, vates of the Iceni,” Lauros artlessly confides.

	“Ah, thank you. For tonight, I am very tired, but I will consider it,” Wena replies diplomatically, and leaves. She goes and confides this information to Cornelia and Meloch. Meloch tells Llyr and they decide to sneak off and investigate the grove, guarded by a telepathic link back to Wena. They are certain that “traditional worship” implies “human sacrifice.” Llyr carefully evades Marcus or Metellus, deciding that the officers really don’t need to know about this plan. I tell Meloch that I’m staying behind near the warm fire. Alas, had I but known how the pygmy would behave without my calm judgment to rein him in, I would never have abandoned my partner.

     Meloch and Llyr easily find the somewhat hidden path  leading north through the woods. Moving slowly and silently, they come upon a circular grove of oak trees, with three young men kneeling in it, muttering under their breaths, and periodically saluting each of the trees. It appears to Llyr that, on the edge of the grove, there’s some sort of artificial hillock, like something has been buried there. Meloch and Llyr watch for some time, and the young men continue their prayers.

        Eventually, the two decide that they need to eliminate the tribesmen’s presence in order to get a look at the mysterious overturned ground. Meloch, from the shadows, throws dust towards them and casts one of his favorite spells, Sleep. While two of the youths immediately fall to the ground snoring, the third looks around in confusion, starting to rebuke and shake his comrade for lack of piety. In desperation, Meloch shoots one of the sleep-poison laden arrows obtained from Titus Minucius. His aim is better than anticipated. As the young Gaul turns towards the suspicious noise,  the arrow impales him in his throat. His eyes flutter closed just before the blood gushes out of his neck. While he may be asleep, he is most certainly dead.

	Wena, aware of this over her mental link, is horrified, and tells Meloch and Llyr to come back immediately. They tell her that they still need to search the artificial hillock, and they drag all three bodies into the bushes, knocking the two living tribesmen unconscious, and burying the dead one in a shallow grave. Meloch feels horrible about the accidental death, but is determined to make it worthwhile by pursuing the greater mission. 

        Using Llyr’s shovel, they quickly dig up the ground and find a large locked chest buried a foot or so down. Upon roughly breaking the lock, Llyr opens it and finds several thousand shiny sestertii plus about twenty new Greek-style short bows. They take a few coins for Wena to object read and close and bury the chest, determined to tell the others that there is decidedly more than casual Dagda worship going on in this village.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Hee-hee.  Given a spanking by Nessie.  Nice touch!


----------



## Orichalcum

Yup! I couldn't resist on that one. There _do_ be sea serpents in these waters...


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fifth Session: All Roads Third Post: The Laws of Hospitality*

_Arr. It's been a tiring week here on the trireme, an' so the captain hasn't gotten to the tale about the party's fearless battle with the dread pirates of the Middle Sea, led by a giant Nubian wearing naught but a leopardskin loincloth on him and fighting like a right madman. So I'm afraid ye'll have to wait for that tale, and the story about Heilyn's matey the head-bouncing dolphin. But in the meanwhile, there are hijinks afoot in the not-so-peaceful Gallic village we all so know well, my mateys._

Llyr and Meloch hurry back to camp and tell the others an abbreviated version of their discovery, leaving out the entire manslaughter by sleep arrow aspect. Nevertheless, both Marcus and Heilyn are horrified that the two disturbed the laws of hospitality enough to cast sleep magic on young tribesmen who had done nothing to harm them. Still, Marcus and Metellus are concerned about the evidence of suspicious activity, and hustle Cornelia and Wena into the chieftain's hut, where they begin trying to lightly question him.

	At this point, Divico, having been alerted by other tribesmen that the three youths guarding the sacred grove of Dagda have mysteriously disappeared, gathers up the eighteen young warriors of the village who are loyal to him and begins advancing on the chieftain's hut. He clearly intends to wipe out the meddlesome Romans and strike a blow for Gallic freedom. Guvartis, the chieftain, comes out and tries to reason with his brother, but Divico mocks him as a foolish, weak Roman-lover who has lost his ability to lead the tribe. Marcus stands guard in front of the hut, hands comfortably a quick grasp away from his sword and shield, ready to draw at the first signal of hostile action from Divico or the young warriors. 

      	Heilyn suddenly steps forth, having found from somewhere in his heart an unexpected eloquence. "How dare you violate the laws of hospitality like this, Divico? We are guests in your village; we have shared bread and stew and mead with you, and your own brother has offered us home and hearth for the night. It would go against all the traditions of the Celts to attack us in the night when we have done nothing to harm you or your kin. You will not break the laws of hospitality."

         Divico is startled by Heilyn's forceful words, and hesitates, dropping his sword. Guvartis chimes in his old, broken voice, "Brother, lay down your arms. Let us all rest, and in the morning we can talk peacefully, like civilized men and women." Divico gestures to his young warriors, and they somewhat sheepishly start trailing off to their family huts, and he himself goes back into another hut, with a rather confused look on his face. The midnight confrontation has resolved peacefully. Marcus has a sulky, balked look on his face, as he represses his disappointment at not being able to slaughter rebellious Gauls.

        Marcus returns to guard the women's hut.  Metellus orders Llyr to watch Divico's hut and make sure nothing suspicious happens. Llyr interprets these orders somewhat loosely, and when he sees Divico sneaking out on the path towards the grove he enlists Meloch and Wena to help him follow Divico and lay an ambush.
After some time, they see Divico coming back towards the village and jump out from the bushes, intending to tackle and interrogate him. Divico, at this point, in fear for his life, mutters a prayer to Dagda and vines come out to entangle Wena. Llyr shouts, "Druid!" and they rapidly attack Divico and beat him into unconsciousness. 

Once the three troublemakers have dragged the body of Divico back to the village and explained the situation, yet more tensions arise. Guvartis, after searching Divico's hut and finding proof of his Druidic allegiance in a bloodstained sickle, sadly admits his brother's guilt. Divico resists interrogation, but finally admits that the sestertii and bows in the chest were intended for delivery to Britannia, to help the "Druidic Resistance Movement" there. He says that a man named Sycorax regularly delivers shipments to this village, and that two weeks later a boat from Britannia calls for the delivery. Guvartis promises to halt this illicit trade. He calls a village council and sentences Divico to be  lashed to the mussel-covered rocks before high tide that morning, where he will be slowly, excruciatingly drowned. 

      All is not well, however, among our own group. After I've finished biting Meloch's ear half off for his irresponsible behavior, he confesses his murder to Cornelia, as well as his involvement in the unprovoked attack on Divico (who seems to have merely been returning from prayer in the grove.) Marcus, who knows only of the second offense, offers to flog Meloch; but Cornelia claims the right to punish her slave herself, a decision which gains her great respect from Marcus. For a while, it appears that Cornelia will flog him, but ultimately, he merely gives up his entire life savings, the three hundred sestertii earned in his pursuit of freedom, as weregild to the family of the young man he murdered. Meloch sneaks invisibly into their hut and tosses the sack of sestertii down on the floor; sadly, the parents learn of their sudden windfall even before finding their son's hidden body.

  Heilyn, in particular, is utterly disgusted with Meloch, Llyr, and to a lesser extent Wena, for so blatantly breaking the laws of hospitality and attacking someone after the earlier peaceful resoloution of the situation. Unable to exact direct vengeance, he begins plotting minor annoyances, in an attempt to show the trio the error of their ways.


----------



## Cerebral Paladin

Marcus was extraordinarily frustrated by Heilyn's defusing the situation.  Marcus takes hospitality seriously.  So there was no way he was going to attack first.  But if Divico swung first, Marcus was going to kill him.  And he was really looking forward to being able to wipe out the Druidic sympathizers (and take the minor participants as slaves).  But then Heilyn had to go and reach a peaceful solution.  The bum.    

On a separate note, it's a darn good thing that Marcus never found out about Meloch's hijinks.  Between murdering one of his hosts without provocation and then ambushing another host and lying about it, leading to his execution...  If Marcus had found out the true details, he would have just cut Meloch in half, and then sorted out the trouble with Cornelia afterwards.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fifth Session: All Roads Fifth Post: All Gaul*

During the questioning of Divico, we had learned that his contact Sycorax was currently on the road from northern Gaul, bringing more gold and crossbows. We contemplated attempting to ambush him, but decided that it was best to head straight for Rome - after all, no one wanted to miss Cimbrus' Triumph.


        So, we set off along the Roman roads towards Massilia, the southeastern port city of Gaul where we could catch a fast ship to Ostia, the port of Roma. Also, it turned out that Cornelia’s cousins, the Cornelii Nepotes, lived in Massilia, so we could visit them, and save some money on expensive lodging, along the way. 


	The trip across Gaul was expected to be uneventful. However, my partner Meloch and Heilyn the smith provided more than enough excitement for several such treks. Heilyn began by speaking to Kaspar the Xth, Meloch’s newly purchased goat, and encouraging the creature to buck and throw us on every occasion. Obviously, it was necessary to retaliate – while Meloch’s behavior back in Duonon was certainly rash and careless, I still stand by my partner. So we put burrs underneath Heilyn’s saddle, and then he oversalted our food...and, well, matters escalated until Metellus and Cornelia started chastising us and Heilyn threatened to cut off my tail or even kill me! 


       By the time we reached Massilia, most of us were barely talking to each other. There had been some time for some important conversations, however. Marcus, irritated at nearly everyone, has spent his time studying the roads, and has come to an interesting discovery: the Roman roads in Gaul are not nearly as well kept as they should be for early spring. Normally, the legions in winter camp have the duty of trodding down the roads and maintaining the milestones in proper condition; here, grass is growing up between the stones, and some of the markers are difficult to read. Marcus develops various theories about the reasons for this, but no one pays much attention to him. 


	Cornelia tells Melech, who tells Llyr, about a conversation she had with her aunt Petronilla before leaving Londinium. Apparently, the gossip in Londinium over the fall and winter was that Hadriana’s sudden pregnancy after eleven years of marriage was not caused by renewed affection for Cimbrus. In fact, the rumor’s been spreading that the father of the new Imperial heiress is none other than the handsome young tribune Metellus. Metellus, meanwhile, has gotten a letter from his father in Rome, conveying much the same message, and a warning to be careful; he has told nobody. Melech begins spreading rumors that Metellus and Cornelia, rather than Hadriana, are involved; it is unclear that this helps anything.
Everyone except Metellus, Marcus, Wena, and Heilyn get more or less involved in a conspiracy to protect Metellus' reputation.


	Llyr, Wena, and Melech also spend their spare time investigating the pearl merchant Verix, who continues to travel with us. They have become suspicious after noticing that he frequently sends letters through the normally official Imperial Postal Service; finally, Melech makes Llyr invisible and Llyr sneaks in to read a letter received from Rome over Verix’s shoulder. (N.B.: Interfering with the Imperial Post is punishable by death.) The letter turns out to be from Verix’s patron, Licinia Luculla, who is also Cornelia’s mother; it thanks Verix for the information about Cornelia and the exciting story about the sea serpent. Verix later tells Cornelia about their connection, and she learns a bit more about her mother, whom Verix highly admires.

Note: Cerebral Paladin points out that at this point you readers have enough information to make a guess about some of the larger political developments going on back in Rome. Care to hazard any suggestions?


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

*Setting the record straight*

Shast, Shast, Shast.

What will that monkey get up to next?  It's endearing how he keeps smuggling paper and ink around and thinks I won't realize he's up to something.  He must have known it was only a matter of time until I found someone who would read me these little notes he's been dictating.

No, I can't read, any more than he can.  Why spend the effort on learning to use a lot of symbols that only have power over the space between men's ears?  Llyr keeps arguing with me on that point -- says there's all sorts of powerful knowledge that would be lost if it weren't written down.  But he's hardly a neutral advocate; reading is as Roman as road-building, and Llyr (much though I love him) would run about wearing nothing but a bag over his head and a ribbon around his waist if he were told it was the fashion in Rome.  

Knowledge passed down by word of mouth is tested in every generation.  The knowledge which rests in books quickly becomes fat and unreliable.  It's why the Romans end up believing so many ridiculous things.  Let's take this little gem which my friend Orichalcum assures me is a real, written description of Roman views on pygmies:

"Small and burnt black by the sun, they were shrill-voiced, strong-legged.
The sun drew their blood to their heads, so they were quick-witted. On the
other hand they suffered from blood-deficiency and were therefore afraid
of losing the small amount of blood that they possessed. In consequence
they were like hemophiliacs, terrified at being wounded; so they made bad
fighters in hand-to-hand battle."

Now, Shast is a far from reliable witness, but I hope his little history has already disproved the idea that I am a gutless, bloodless cringer from battle.  In the dunes and wadis of the Garama, before my capture by the Romanii, I was known as a great hunter as well as a great sorcerer.  It's true that in fighting enemies twice my size -- which seems to be about par -- I would much rather stick them with arrows from a reasonable distance than club them to death.  But as that rat Minucius can attest, I don't shrink from a hand-to-hand clash either.  If I'd been concentrating on splitting his skull rather than keeping his hands off the Eagle, that fight might have turned out rather better for me than it did.

Pygmies do have a certain shrillness of voice (though contrary to Shast, I do not _screech_), and I'll be the first to claim strong legs and quick wits.  We also shrug off the evil eye -- a gift that has come in handy not only against the shadow spirits of the Ouenikones, but a certain blacksmith in our party (a fact which Shast seems to have forgotten).  And of course, the gods tasked us with keeping the other peoples from forgetting what's important in life -- we both inspire lust and make its natural outcome more likely.  But we're no cowards.  The only things that frighten me, frankly, are cranes.  And if you'd seen them do the things I've seen them do, they'd frighten you too.

I was captured when I was only a youth, and brought north to a land where the sands were unfamiliar and the air heavy with wetness -- a land where I had to relearn all my skills from the most basic level.  In the Garama, I had been on the verge of learning to call Fire upon the cranes.  In the north, I was reduced to parlor tricks with lights and ropes.  Long and wasted years.  Only in Rome, after all the adventures Shast has been so enthusiastically retelling, did I finally teach myself how to summon Fire in these lands of clay and snow.  But that's getting ahead of ourselves.

Strangely, it was in the wettest and coldest of these lands that I found myself most at home.  I made the best of the years entertaining fools in Mediterranean brothels and taverns -- they weren't always bad places, and most of the people I knew there had a refreshingly low level of self-importance.  There's nothing that annoys me more than someone too earnest to see their own foolishness.  But then I was purchased and packed off to Britannia by Licinia Luculla -- a woman who as far exceeds me in sorcerous power as Marcus does in brute strength, and is every bit as terrifying as Shast portrays her -- to serve and secretly tutor her daughter Cornelia.  Teaching a girl the Skill seemed a more interesting use of my long years of service than juggling in whorehouses.  Still, I expected the daughter to be a lesser image of the mother: calculating, seductive, manipulative, and ultimately ruthless.

She couldn't have been more different.  Poor, dear girl, she's far too kind for her own good.  I immediately saw that Metellus was the best match that would come to Eburacum (if not Britannia) in our lifetimes.  Cornelia has her mother's loveliness; she could have had him bent around her finger.  Especially with my help.  But she wove her Charm on him not to seduce him, but to convince him to bring her along to fight the Druids; and when she saw the effect that had on the poor morbid lad -- all that throwing himself on his sword business -- she was so guilt-stricken that she swore never to bend his will again.  AND made me promise not to stick him with any love-darts, either.  

Now, I'm not one of these oath-struck Greeks or Celts who'll hold to a promise though it cost them their hearts and hamstrings.  My promises are only as good as the people who are willing to hold me to them.  This is why I was so careful not to phrase anything I said in the Grove of Mona in the form of a promise: the Celtic gods (indeed, gods in general) will hold you to your oaths by the short hairs.  So I won't deny that I kept my eye out for the chance to shoot Metellus with my blowpipe while he was idly eyeing Cornelia.  But I also let several such opportunities pass by.  It wasn't fear of being caught (the boy's so blind to magic he wouldn't notice if Hecate herself flew past him backwards on a chariot drawn by fire-breathing cuckoos).  Let's just say I decided that the person holding me to that promise was good enough.  

In the same way, even when at long last I learned the art of Invisibility (which I had only toyed with as a youth), it scarcely occurred to me that I could now free myself without the least need for gold.  And though I argued Cornelia out of flogging me for violating hospitality in Duonon, it wasn't with the lies I foisted off on Marcus and the others.  She's a Roman, but I trust her with the truth, even when the truth, as in Duonon, was my own bloodguilt.  

I'm not going anywhere until I see her grown into a woman as safe as she is good -- secure in her powers, in a secure household with a good man, and (above all) beyond the power of her mother.

But there I go getting serious, when all I really set out to do was correct certain distortions of the record that have crept into Shast's little narrative...


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

*Lies My Monkey Told Me*

Well, "lies" may be too strong.  But for someone who apparently lives in fear of being first in a long chain of Shasts, my familiar certainly hasn't hesitated to portray his human companions in an unflattering light.  (The fear is perfectly ridiculous, by the way.  Goats are for riding and for eating.  Monkeys are to teach one godlike patience and self-control).

For one petty example: as we approached the fight with Aeduana, Shast claims that "all the humans utterly failed to notice the suddenly darkening skies."  Speaking only for myself, I certainly noticed that the skies were growing dark, and was no happier about being rained on than Shast.  What equally escaped my notice AND the monkey's was the fact that the clouds were rather heavier and came on slightly faster than normal -- the subtle signs of druid interference.  But storms do come on fast and hard in Britannia.  The point is, we're not idiots.  We were walking outside; of course we noticed that it was going to rain.

Shast is normally a perceptive little beast.  (For example, I agreed with his observation that Marcus would be well suited for a role as chief ape).  Yet Shast quite misperceived my and Wena's motives for trying to liberate the Staff from Marcus' tent -- and our reasons were actually quite important.  It wasn't that "going to the Governor would take far too much time."  I've been known to leap without looking, but no one ever accused Wena of recklessness or over-haste.  It was that we didn't trust Romans to know what to do with the Staff.

You see, the Romans have a distaste for magic that runs beyond normal fear.  Personally, I think it's a pathological response to anything they can't control.  It's why Cornelia has kept her skills so secret, and why even I can only hint at the fact that I practice sorcery.  When Romans don't understand something, when they can't build a road over it or write a law for it, their impulse is to trample it to bits.  Romans also have this distressing tendency toward mass punishment, toward lumping the innocent in with the guilty.  So everything of Druid origin is evil and must be destroyed.  Marcus is the perfect example -- a man so full of what he's been told in books that he can't see what's perfectly obvious before his face.  The very idea that we should _destroy _ the Staff!  I mean, Mona was no joke, but it was clear that we should be seeking advice on how to safely lift the curse, and that we should at the least have the Staff around to keep our options open.  

And yet Metellus seemed to be leaning toward Marcus's "solution," and there was no guarantee that the centurion wouldn't also be able to sway Cimbrus.  We were lucky, in the end, that we found out that breaking the Staff would level Londinium; otherwise, if the only consequence of destroying it would be to leave us under Aeduana's curse, I think the Romans would have snapped it in half and left us to rot our roofs, doorways, and meals forever.  Imperial road cleaners indeed!  Wena and I simply could not allow that possibility -- and it was a _very real_ possibility, especially without Heilyn there.

After Wena failed to convince Metellus of the obvious need to take the Staff to Mona, we had no other choice but to take matters out of the Romans' hands.  So we came up with our plan.  After I grabbed the staff, I was going to hand it off to Wena, who would make for Heilyn -- we knew we needed his expertise on this matter.  We hoped the rest of the party would assume Wena had run for Mona, and head to the shores of Gwynedd, where Wena and Heilyn could eventually rejoin us.  It wasn't a bad plan -- certainly the best we could come up with in a tight spot.  And I must say that if I hadn't been unlucky ten ways from the Calends, I would have been through that roof with only a few cuts to show for it.  But unfortunately, I was all but hacked in half, and thrown back once again on those quick wits for which we pygmies are known -- even among Romans.  I would note that in the hopes of deterring the immediate destruction of the Staff, I babbled that the evil Druid spirit that possessed me had told me to steal the Staff _and break it_.  Can't say that my credibility was terribly high at that point, but I like to think it gave Metellus further pause.

This brings us to the next misunderstanding by the monkey: my relationship with Heilyn.  Far from being displeased when he rejoined the party after our fight with Aeduana, I was delighted -- he's a sarcastic fellow and can be a bit of a prig, but he knows what he's talking about, and he thought Marcus' "break the Staff" plan was every bit as idiotic as I did.  I started having second thoughts about the man when he blackmailed the entire party into joining his mad little quest to Rome (and wait until Shast gets around to relating how _that_ turned out).  There are things you get away with doing to your traveling companions, and certain things that are beyond the pale.  The blackmail was sort of on the line of acceptability.  Particularly since it didn't really stick to me, and I hadn't seen Rome in a few years anyway.

But in Duonon, Heilyn crossed the line.  He tried to curse Llyr!  I mean, curse him!  Not just harsh language, but making his vitals dry up, his sword hand wither, the whole routine.  He was so upset by our violation of his hospitality code that he ignored what I think is a far more basic rule: Don't Curse Your Friends.  Especially when they're doing the right thing.  I'm just glad the curse didn't stick.

Let me back up.  When I went out there to the Druid grove and accidentally killed that poor boy, I had one thing on my mind: _We need to shut down this Druid business before the Romans find out about it._  Because once it comes out, the most likely outcome is crucifixions galore.  You think the local Governor has time to distinguish between sweet elderly Chief and his malevolent Dagda-happy brother?  I can't say I even trusted Marcus and Metellus to be careful in separating the innocent and the guilty -- Marcus had that kill-em-all gleam in his eye.  It seemed fairly clear that the chief's brother Divico was Druid and anti-Roman to his guts; I figured that if we knocked out the boys and killed Divico, the outbreak of Druidism could be contained without any Roman involvement.  Wena and even Llyr had some sympathy with this goal, and I like to think the experience opened Llyr's eyes to some of the shortcomings of his precious _pax Romana_.

So when we jumped Divico, Llyr really was trying to capture him, but I was trying to kill him.  Unfortunately, when I'm _trying_ to kill someone... you know how it goes.  Heilyn showed up just as Llyr knocked Divico out.  Now, I understand that he'd had a trying day, and had just got Divico to accept the laws of hospitality, and wasn't too happy with us then turning the tables on the treacherous rat.  But that's no excuse for losing his temper and trying to curse a companion!  Heilyn's such a... Celt!

Well, as I said earlier, nothing gets under my skin more than someone too earnest to see their own foolishness.  So Heilyn and I had our little feud on the road to Massilia, as I tried to needle him into apologizing to Llyr.  Course, I knew the man was so convinced he was right that he would never apologize.  That was half the fun.  

Until he tried to curse me, too.  Of course, it just rolled off me; but I must admit it had me angry for a moment, too, and I spat a blowpipe dart into him as he walked away.  Would have served him right to fall hopelessly in lust with Wena, or his horse, for a few hours.  But he didn't.  And he didn't notice the dart either, which I suppose is just as well.  We made our peace a few weeks later, after events that gave him a bit of perspective.  

But that's another story, which I'm sure the monkey will get to eventually.  If I don't find the slanderous little beast and roast it on a spit first.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fifth Session: All Roads Sixth Post: Kissing Cousins*

I think Meloch may have found some of these notes for my Great Roman Novel. Ah well, he can’t read, so it won’t mean anything to him anyways. And besides, he should appreciate what I’m doing; after all, he’s the brave sidekick of the story! I may even allow him to make witty comments occasionally, as sidekicks do. But to continue with our great adventures:


	Eventually, we came to Massilia and the somewhat dilapidated atrium-style villa of Cornelia’s poorer country cousins. The father, Gnaeus, is her first cousin, an older landed farmer whose wife died some years ago; he has three children, Septimus, who’s 28, Decimus, who’s about 23, and Cornelia Nepa, called Nepa, who is 15. They were somewhat surprised to see such a large group, but took us all in, even Verix, with whom Gnaeus apparently had some familial business dealings.


	After a brief wash in a cracked and dusty bath (but still better than the facilities back in the Gaulish village), we assembled for dinner, which was, well, awkward. Gnaeus had chosen to seat us on the three couches according to his perception of our relative ranks, which, of course, made sense. Well, it meant that Melech and I were waiting and serving food, but I’ve gotten used to that, and it gives me a good opportunity to pick up dropped scraps. Gnaeus and Metellus were in corner positions on the central and leftmost couches, in the positions of honor, next to each other. Marcus and Verix sat next to Gnaeus, and Septimus and Decius sat next to Metellus. The women, according to the old-fashioned custom, sat on chairs; Cornelia faced Gnaeus and Septimus, and Nepa was to her right, facing Decius and Metellus, while Wena faced Marcus and Verix. Meanwhile, this left Llyr and Heilyn alone on the last couch, desperately trying to hold some sort of polite conversation.


	Gnaeus began the evening by mentioning how grieved he was to hear of the passing of Cornelius Crispus, and how Cornelia should know that his family was always willing to take care of her. Cornelia flinched a little, but thanked him for his generosity. Marcus, trying to find out more information about the mysteriously forgotten Emperor’s brother, Aemilianus Gallus, who had quelled a Gallic revolt, asked Gnaeus about his military service.


	“I was a Decurion in the Seventeenth for three years, sir. Of course, my farms are too extensive to allow me to be a full-time soldier, but when the call came to defend Rome, I answered. That was a brilliant campaign, if I do say so myself – three months and all the rebels were quelled and the Germanii mercenaries swept back across the river. Just glorious,” Gnaeus replied.

	“Indeed, that must have done you great honor,” Metellus commented. “Who was your commanding general?”

	“Oh, don’t you know? It was...um...actually, I can’t think of his name right now. Must be the wine,” Gnaeus awkwardly responded. As he says this, we observed his forehead suddenly frowning, as if he had the name, and then suddenly lost it.


	“So, where, did you do your military service, Septimus?” Marcus asked, his questions about Gallus answered for the time being. 

	“Oh, ah...I didn’t serve. Bad lungs,” the thin Septimus answers, blushing and looking down.

	“Oh,” is all Marcus can think of to say in response, as his own golden phalerae for bravery clink on his dress uniform.


	Meanwhile, on the Celtic couch, Heilyn finally makes an attempt to end the deadly silence: “So, how is the little horse doing?” 

	“Oh, the child of Epona? I named her Talat. She’s well,” Llyr enthusiastically says.

	“She seems to be growing somewhat faster than normal baby horses?” 

	“Yes, about two or three times the rate, I think. And she’s far more intelligent, too. And, I’m not sure, but I think, once or twice she spoke to me in my mind, like her mother.”

	“Really,” Heilyn says excitedly. “What did she say?”

	“’Apples???’ ‘Want Apples?’” Llyr murmurs sheepishly.

	“Oh. Well, she is young. I’m sure Talat’s wants and vocabulary will get more sophisticated as she gets older,” Heilyn offers as consolation, a little disappointed himself at the words of their local avatar. The two Celts smile at each other, their previous arguments temporarily stilled in their joint concern for the child of Epona.


	Meanwhile, Gnaeus had somewhat blatantly steered the discussion on the other couches back to the topic of Cornelia’s inheritance. “My dear cousin, you realize that you have a sizable amount of farms and good vineyards in Gaul and Italy to administer now. Of course, I’m sure you’re not very experienced in running such things. What you need is a good man to help you. You ought to marry a  healthy, trustworthy young man, with experience in farming, of good birth like your own, don’t you think?” Gnaeus pontificates, pointedly glancing at Septimus.

	“I have always thought,” Marcus interrupts, “that Cornelia ought to marry a brave war hero, like her father.” He, in his own turn, briefly looks at Metellus. Metellus tries desperately to study the peeling floor mosaic of grapes.

	A silence falls over this end of the dining room, during which they can hear Llyr’s discussion about whether or not they should shoe Talat.

	Finally, Cornelia quietly intervenes, “Cousin Gnaeus, thank you for your advice. I always appreciate hearing the voice of experience. But right now, I just want to visit my mother, and take some time to think things over about the next stage of my life.”


	Shortly afterwards, the dinner falls apart, and we drift off to our various bedrooms. Marcus has a short conference with Metellus beforehand, in which he expresses his concerns about the courtship of Cornelia by her cousins, who he deems to be a completely inappropriate match based on their clearly lower economic status and lack of military experience. Metellus largely dismisses these fears, but agrees that they should sleep in the rooms on either side of Cornelia, and be aware. Meloch and I, having heard all of this, decide that we are sleeping on the threshold of Cornelia’s bedroom and staying up as long as possible. After all, it is two days until the next ship leaves for Rome.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Brilliant stuff, Orichalcum. Is "Meloch the Pygmy" actually Meloch's player commenting on your narrative? The master/familiar sniping is excellent. Keep up the great work! I always get excited when I see that there's a new installment of your story up.


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> Brilliant stuff, Orichalcum. Is "Meloch the Pygmy" actually Meloch's player commenting on your narrative?




It most certainly is.  And I must say that Orichalcum ("Chalky" for short) is even better at running a campaign than writing about it.  The game is good enough that I'm positively looking forward to crossing half the eastern seaboard this weekend for the next installment...

(O Chalky, am I allowed to post the Meloch the Pygmy song?  I don't know if you're trying to maintain a "tone".)

Cheers,
Pygmy


----------



## Orichalcum

*Music galore*

Oh, you can definitely post the "Meloch the Pygmy" song. We included Llyr's Rules of the Druids, didn't we? And hey, Chalky is far better than a lot of nicknames. (It comes, for the record, from the Latin word for the Philosopher's Stone.)

      Thanks, Fimmtiu, for the encouragement. It's good to know people are reading. In the next post (to come tomorrow or Thursday), the party actually unites behind the same goal for the first time!
--Orichalcum


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

*The Meloch Song*

To the tune of "Eleanor Rigby":

MELOCH THE PYGMY

Meloch the Pygmy
Lives with Cornelia Crispa, he works as her slave
Her mama gave
Meloch the Pygmy
To her dear daughter to train her in dark mysteries
And fertility

All the Roman babies
Where do they all come from?
Romans need a pygmy
To help them get it on

Oh... look at all the horny people...

Meloch the Pygmy
Tiptoed past Marcus and tried to make off with the staff
He almost cut him in half
Heilyn the Blacksmith
Is pissed at the pygmy, now watch as the curses they fly
Hope no one dies

All the angry people
Where do they all come from?
Blame it on the pygmy
He always eggs them on

Oh... look at all the angry people...

[more verses to follow, as plot advances]

Cheers,
Sidekick


----------



## Krellic

Excellent!!!


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fifth Session: All Roads Seventh Post: Cornelia Gets Tough; the Party Gets Going*

That night, we sleep well, and the Gaulish stone floor, while hard, is pleasantly warm in late spring to my fur. The next morning, Cornelia has a private interview with her cousin Gnaeus. He explicitly asks her to consider a marriage proposal from Septimus; she, politely but quite firmly, refuses, and reiterates her desire to see her mother and settle in Rome for the time being. He tries to persuade her, but finally accepts her denial and the rest of the day is spent in somewhat awkward avoidance. The rest of us go shopping, and Melech prepares a feast of Kaspar the Xth, to my resigned horror. 


	After a much less formal dinner where conversation focuses on the weather and the pretty Massilian architecture, we retire for our last night in Gaul. A few hours before dawn, Melech and I both awaken with a rush at the noise of someone in Cornelia's room, who kicked us lightly as he went by. Looking inside the room, we see the vague shape of a small, thin man leaning over Cornelia's bed, and Melech screeches at the top of his lungs. I cry out too, more from the pain of having Melech scream right next to my ear than out of desire for help in a situation we can clearly take care of by ourselves.

	Several things happen in the next few seconds. The man, startled by our cries, trips slightly and braces for balance with his hand on Cornelia's chest. Cornelia wakes up, screams herself, and punches the guy in the face, sending him reeling backwards.Cato flies into his face and scratches his cheek sharply. Metellus and Marcus come running towards the doorway. From the rooms of Heilyn, Wena, Llyr, and Verix, we can see torches being lit.

	Marcus shouts, "Take your hands off the domina Cornelia, thug!" 

	Metellus, more calmly says, "Drop your weapons, and come out. Now. And we might not kill you."

	The man drops whatever he was holding in his left hand, an odd flat rectangular object, to the floor, and Meloch grabs it before it can break, stammering, "Don't kill me!"

	"Septimus???" Cornelia says, in tones of utter outrage and contempt. "I should have known." She gathers her blankets around her, managing to maintain a remarkable impression of dignity. This does not stop Marcus from casually staring at the sight of Cornelia in her nightgown; Metellus keeps his eyes fixed firmly on Septimus. Meloch and I, of course, have seen it all before. 

	As the rest gather, they also see Gnaeus, standing in the doorway of the courtyard, and from the other exit to the courtyard they see several people running. 	Llyr looks at Metellus, "Permission to follow, Tribune?"

	"Certainly. Take Heilyn and Marcus. Find out what they know and teach them a lesson. No killing." Metellus raps out, every inch the leader for once.

	Heilyn smiles savagely. "That'll teach them to violate the laws of hospitality like this. I mean, assaulting your cousin! In your own house! Do you Romans have no morals whatsoever?"

	"Go. Now." Metellus says. The three warriors gleefully take off in pursuit of the fleeing men, grabbing swords and hammers as they go but not particularly bothering with full armor. Marcus sleeps in leathers, anyway.

	Meanwhile, the rest of us turned to Gnaeus, while Septimus continued to cower in the corner. Wena, glancing at him, spoke finally, "Why are you fully dressed? It's three in the morning." Indeed, as we all then noticed, he was dressed in a full white toga and bronze-clasped sandals. 

	"Well, um...uh....I heard the commotion, and wanted to be prepared for whatever was happening; that's why I brought my old sword..." Gnaeus fumbles in response. 

	"You knew about this, Gnaeus. I can't believe you would allow your son to...assault Cornelia like this!" Metellus says, for once stepping firmly to Cornelia's defense.

	"That wasn't the plan," Gnaeus blurts out. "We intended honorable marriage."

	"Oh," Meloch interrupts. "Would that be with the help of this curse tablet?" He holds up the rectangular object which Septimus dropped in his panic. 

	"What???" they all shout.

	"I know something about love magic, and I'm quite certain this tablet was intended to be slipped under Cornelia's pillow. It has her name and Septimus's name on it, and I believe was intended to induce at least temporary feelings of love for him." Melech declares. The rest of us wince.

	At this point, the fully dressed Cornelia steps out of her bedroom into the dark courtyard and confronts the rest of us. I have never seen her this angry, not even during the combat with Aeduana.

	"Cousin Gnaeus, cousin Septimus. I cannot believe that you would violate the laws of both kinship and hospitality in this fashion. You asked me, directly, if I was interested in marrying your son. I told you that I was not. Attempting to magically enchant me against my will and then, what, drag me to the altar of Juno for a clandestine marriage before I regained my senses? It''s not only tawdry and evil, it's also a remarkably stupid plan. As apparently befits your entire family. At least cousin Decimus isn't here, unless he was one of those people running in terror.


	Our ship departs a few hours after dawn, and it is no time to be running around Massilia looking for an inn. Meloch will be guarding my door for the rest of the night; I suggest strongly you not try any more...plans. We will speak again in the morning, and discuss exactly how you will make recompense to me and my friends for this indignity." Cornelia wheels, turns, and stalks into her bedroom. Meloch and Cato and I follow. Wena and Verix come close to applauding.


	Gnaeus retorts after her, "It was for your own good, silly girl. You need a man to run those fat farms of yours, and why shouldn't my son profit from them? You would have settled down soon enough..."

	He subsides when the combined glares of Metellus and the rest of us start to burn into his skin. Metellus, coldly, speaks, "I suggest you return to your quarters. We'll see you in the morning, I suppose."


	Metellus waits until the other warriors return. They tell him that they tracked the group of thugs to a tavern, where they beat them up until they confessed that they had been hired by Gnaeus for "an easy escort job" taking a woman and his son safely to the temple of Juno, and fighting anyone who tried to stop the "path of true love." The thugs were left with more than a few bruises to remember their stupidity by; they say Decimus ran off into the far reaches of the city, and Marcus, Heilyn and Llyr decided not to pursue.


----------



## Krellic

I can't help but think that the eligible Cornelia's problems in this area are only just beginning.

Which must be a lot of fun for the DM!


----------



## Ladybird

*Cornelia's Long Night*

There was no way I could go back to sleep after that.  Oh, I didn’t think they would try it again – not after what happened the first time. I was just too angry to do anything more than pace back and forth.

Poor Cato – there are times when I’m grateful that he and I share our feelings, and then there are times when I feel sorry for him. The poor little thing had fluttered up into a corner of the room, trying to get as far away from me as possible. _I’m not going to hurt you_, I thought at him as I swished around a corner. 

_No throwing?_ Cato’s ‘voice’ in my head trembled. Only then did I realize that I had picked up the wine decanter from the nightstand and was starting to lift it threateningly.

“No throwing,” I sighed out loud, setting the decanter carefully back on the table. My hand started trembling again as soon as I unclenched my fingers. I didn’t want to hurt _him_. I wanted to hurt _them_!  Off I went again. Back and forth, back and forth.

_Spells aren’t so bad?_ Cato ventured hesitantly, after a moment. _You do charm spells…_

“Not like that!” It came out louder than I had meant it, and I held my breath for an instant after, listening for the sound of people coming. But the silence held, and I continued in my mind. _I don’t do spells like that. Sneaking into my bedroom? My bedroom! At night! And I only charmed Metellus once! And it was only to get him to take me to Caledonia, not for – for anything else!. I have never done anything like that since!_

“And I won’t,” I said, out loud again. My voice was a little steadier now, and I kept going. “I will never do anything like that to Metellus again. I promised him.” I paused, feeling a small warm smile come to my face at the memory of Metellus coming to the rescue, his voice commanding the others in my defense. “And I’m going to keep that promise,” I continued. “_If _ I am to marry Metellus, I will do it honestly.” I knew Melech was still outside my door – I let my voice grow just a bit louder as I continued, so that he would hear. “No charms. No love-spells. I will do it _honestly_.”

The anger was going out of me now, and as it left, I realized that my knees were shaking too, along with my hands. I let myself slump down on the bed, sighing, “Oh, what am I going to do? What can I do to them? They’ve disgraced the family – but if I make it known what they’ve done, it will disgrace me, too! I can’t do that to myself, to my branch of the family…” I wasn’t sure if I was even talking to Cato anymore, or to myself. His scattered owl-thoughts fluttered confusedly at the edges of my mind. I sent an absent reassurance back to him as I stood up again slowly. “But I can bring some others to my defense. Other people in the family…”

Carefully, with still-trembling fingers, I slipped my great-grandfather’s mask out of my traveling bag, and unwrapped it. Did I even have enough to make a funeral offering? Well, there was a bit of wine left in the decanter that I had nearly thrown…and there was a honey-cake that I had sneaked away from the dinner table for a late-night snack. That would have to do.

I set the mask up on the bedside table, poured out the wine-dregs and placed the honey-cake before it, murmuring the prayers that brought forth his spirit.  I waited…waited….I could never tell when he was there, until he spoke. “Great-Grandfather?” I ventured.

The voice echoed deeply in my mind. “Great-Granddaughter?” There was faint surprise in the hollow words. “Why have you called on me?”

“There has been a great dishonor done to the gens Cornelii.” I could feel his presence begin to darken with anger. “I need your help to avenge it.”

“Who has harmed our family?” he intoned.

“Some of our own. Gnaeus Cornelius Nepos, and his sons Decimus and Septimus. They attempted to force me to marry Decimus by means of sorcery. A curse tablet, placed on my…person. In my bedchamber. At night.”

Anger rumbled in my great-grandfather’s voice. “Worthless descendants! Their sleep shall not be easy. Not for months to come. Their dreams shall be haunted by their ancestors. They shall not be allowed to forget the dishonor they have done to their kinswoman and their family.”

Finally, I let myself smile. “Thank you.”

“Are you safe, Great-Granddaughter? You do not remain in their house, still, do you?”

“It’s the middle of the night, Great-Grandfather. There’s nowhere else to go…” I sighed. “But we’ll be gone first thing in the morning. And I don’t think my friends would let anything else happen to me between now and then.” Another thought struck me, then. “Nepa. Oh, no, poor Nepa. Having to live in this house, with them? I don’t feel safe leaving her here. Not with people who would do such a thing to one of their female relatives.”  Great-Grandfather didn’t reply – was he even still there? The wine was running low; he might be gone already, with the funeral offerings used up and their power to hold his spirit here gone. Still, I kept talking. “I don’t think she’s safe. But…could we take her with us? 

“Yes,” I said, answering my own question. “We can.” My thoughts sped up, my words hardly able to keep pace. “No! I’ll offer to take her with us. I’m not going to force her. There have already been too many attempts to force the women in our family to do things. I’ll let _her _ choose. I’ll…make her father tell her what he did. Yes! That will be part of his punishment – to have to confess it to his daughter. And then, after she knows exactly what her father has done, I will let her choose whether she wants to come to Rome with us.” 

I looked to Great-Grandfather, but I already knew that what I had decided was the right thing to do. And in any case, he didn’t answer. I sighed. Whether he was there or not, I made my usual farewell to him: “Vale, Great-Grandfather. Tell Father I love him. We’ll speak again soon.”

Gray early-morning sunlight was starting to come into the windows as I sat back and turned my eyes away from the mask. Cato was still on his high perch, head tucked under a wing. “Lucky that you can sleep,” I said softly. And then I stood up, and started out to face the day.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fifth Session: All Roads Seventh Post: Ultimatums and Pirates*

The next morning, we packed hurriedly. Between the cracked walls and the stunning lack of hospitality, I was glad to be leaving the Cornelii Nepotes. Gnaeus stumbled timidly out, clearly cowed by the weapons drawn at his appearance. Cornelia, dressed practically but elegantly, turned to him.


	“Cousin. Despite the fact that I could have you and your sons imprisoned or possibly executed for instigating such an assault, I will not do so. Such an act would only further dishonor your family. However, in my opinion this is not a fit household for a young woman to be raised in. If you don’t want me contacting the authorities, summon Nepa, now, and inform her what you tried to do to me last night. I am offering her the opportunity to accompany me to Rome and seek a fate apart from your sordid destiny. You will not try to stop me, although she may refuse, if she wishes.” 


	Gnaeus feebly protested, but was quelled by our glares. Nepa, the mouse-like daughter, was duly summoned, and reacted in shock and horror even to the somewhat bland version Gnaeus gave of the previous night’s activities. She stood in silence for several minutes, as we all watched her.


 	Finally, quietly, without much show of emotion, she spoke, “Could I go to Rome and become a priestess of the Maiden Goddess? I don’t want to live here anymore; I don’t want to get married. I’d like to study, and pray with other women, and be alone.”

	Cornelia, slightly disconcerted but with a generous heart, responded, “Of course you can! There are lots of temples of Diana in Rome, I’m sure, that would be glad to have you.”

	“I don’t really have much to pack. I can be ready in just a bit; I know you...we...have a ship to catch.” Nepa turns and goes off to her room.

	Her father yells after her, “How dare you? Insolent girl! We’ve fed and clothed you for all these years, and you have a responsibility to profit this family by making a good marriage.”

	“No, she doesn’t, not anymore,” Cornelia intones with steel in her voice. “You abandoned any rights to her when you chose to condone the assault of a relative in your own home. Make your farewells; you won’t be seeing either of us again.”

	The rest of us pack hurriedly and leave for the docks with Nepa, who keeps her head resolutely downwards, refusing to look at her family. We set off on a small but fast merchant ship, the _Bacchus’ Grapes_,  heading directly to Ostia, Rome’s port, with a cargo of expensive wine. Initially, the trip is going well. I, of course, am seasick, but only Meloch notices, and most of the other members of our group, despite the bonding over the triumphant defense of Cornelia’s dubious honor, still are ignoring the pygmy and his monkey. Heilyn spends his time trying to talk to dolphins over the side of the ship; he eventually succeeds in befriending one, who follows our ship, leaping and doing flips for everyone’s enjoyment but mine. I can do flips, but no, the perpetually smiling sea animal gets the oohs and the aahs and the thrown food. Sometimes life just isn’t fair.

	Wena, who has the sharpest eyes in the party, notices off in the distance a plume of smoke, and asks the captain to sail towards it. Upon doing so, she and Llyr realize that the smoke is coming from a badly damaged ship, heavily listing in the water, with wounded people lying around the deck. Cornelia insists, somewhat against the better judgement of the noninterventionist Metellus, that they sail towards the ship and rescue the wounded. Marcus reminds Metellus that they can claim the ship as rightful rescue bounty, and it’s probably worth a lot of money. 

	Only a few seconds before the side of their boat scrapes against the side of the damaged ship, the Lugh-blessed eyes of Wena, Llyr, and Heilyn realize that the people on the other ship have no real wounds, but rather blood artistically spilled over them, and that the ship looks less damaged than initially thought. They shout a warning, and we all draw weapons and prepare for a fight directly before the “wounded victims” pick up the swords lying under their bodies and storm the _Bacchus’s Grapes_. At the same moment, arrows fly at the crew and all of us, wounding Meloch and Marcus, and a large number of figures who look distinctly less like innocent wounded sailors and a lot more like ruffianly pirates appear on the deck of the other ship. 

	In the next few rounds, a variety of interesting things happen, as I climb up to the crow’s nest, which seems by far the most suitable place for a monkey during a raging sea battle. I have, after all, read all the Greek novels, which always include pirates, and often heroic monkeys. First of all, Meloch turns invisible, his favorite trick, and, as I know through my mental link, bounds across to the other ship and begins making life difficult for the pirates. A priest of Mars appears on the stern and commands Metellus to surrender; Metellus hesitates but resists the urge. Meanwhile, a female figure in robes appears on one edge of the prow and a fireball erupts in the middle of our ship; luckily, the fragile Meloch and Cornelia are out of range, and everyone else does a remarkable job of falling prone to the deck. On the prow itself, an enormous Nubian man appears, wearing little besides a loincloth and a large leopardskin draped across his torso; the enormous bow he wields sends a bolt hurtling into Heilyn and is then dropped in exchange for an axe.

	 Both Marcus and Metellus jump across to the other ship, nimbly jumping on the rowing planks that criss-cross the hollow hold and avoiding the arrow shafts coming from the hidden archers within the hold, but Meloch, my ever-impulsive partner, gets to the Nubian first and drops his invisibility to shoot a True Struck Sleep Arrow at him. As usual – you think he would learn – getting into direct combat with our most powerful enemies does not go well for the pygmy, and he is quickly fairly battered, and the Nubian, although injured, does not fall unconscious. However, Meloch evades the Nubian long enough to send most of the archers in the hold and on the deck into a nice peaceful slumber.

	Meanwhile, Cornelia and Wena are very effectively preventing the priest of Mars from casting by stunning him whenever he tries to pray. In a nice example of positive teamwork, they also take care of immobilizing the rest of the pirate scum. Marcus shouts, “Remember, we want them alive! We can sell them for lots of money!”

	Heilyn charges and, between his spells and his hammer, nicely bludgeons the sorcerer into near-unconsciousness and sends her body toppling over the side of the boat, where it is held under water until drowned by the dolphin. Meanwhile, Marcus and Metellus have flanked the enormous Nubian; while they are taking damage, they are also dishing it out. Cornelia, Wenna, and the highly accurate Verix, with his bow, immobilize the priest of Mars and bind and gag him. 

	Eventually, the Nubian looks wounded enough that Marcus begins striking to subdue him, on the grounds that he’d make a wonderful captive, but Metellus fails, deliberately or accidentally, to hear Marcus’s advice and decapitates the Nubian with one fell swoop of his sword. The head goes flying off the railing of the ship, and comes right back up a second later, as the dolphin proceeds to play “Bounce the Nubian.” The dolphin asks Heilyn if it can keep the “fun toy,” and Heilyn, finally realizing what sort of bloodthirsty companion he’s adopted, and how much safer and more reliable monkeys are, tells the dolphin that, yes, it can keep the head, but he never wants to see it again. The dolphin goes leaping off into the sunset, bouncing the head of the enormous pirate captain on its nose with savage glee. Too late, Heilyn realizes that being able to Speak with Dead might have been useful.

[Edit: Meloch, in fact, did not have any directly offensive spells at this point, being a master pygmy of misdirection and non-lethal magic. In general, the party has an annoying habit of not actually killing people in preference to capturing them, which has led to me needing to deal with the effects of prisoner interrogations. Bunch of annoying pacifists. ]


----------



## Orichalcum

*Fifth Session: All Roads Eighth Post: The Booty Belongs to Us*

Once the surviving prisoners have been immobilized, we turn to examining the treasure and goods on the pirate ship and figuring out how to divide them amongst ourselves. The Romans argue that Metellus, as the highest ranking officers, should have final say over the distribution of the booty; this, of course, means that Meloch and I, as mere slaves, only get what Cornelia decides to pass along to us. But, still, all together we get a lot of interesting stuff:

    1. 1 medium-sized non-magical trireme, equipped for speed, with a nasty ramming prow in the shape of a gryphon. Metellus decides to keep this ship, on the grounds that it might be useful later on.

     2. 4 potential slaves, including one priest of Ares and three
nasty good-for-nothings who have skills with bows.  These wind up being sold for 350 sestertii (gp) each, while the priest of Ares, after a long discussion, is killed.

     3.  1 leopard skin magical torso wrap, sized extra large., which I believe Heilyn takes. 

     4. 3 flasks which Llyr believes to contain Greek fire.
Non-magical. Llyr, who knows how to use Greek fire, appropriates these.

     5. 2 long cloaks which two of the pirates used to help them  hide well in the hold. Low level illusion magic. Arcane. Llyr takes one of these, and Meloch the other.

    6. A light mace which Heilyn believes to be of superior
 worksmanship, which is sold for cash.

  7. 2 ceramic bottles, carefully stoppered with wax, containing a  substance with  low-level healing magic in them. Cornelia takes these.

     8. 4 oilskin bags, containing low-level water-spirit magic liquid inside them, tied to both sides of the small dinghy. I believe Wena has all of these; they are later identified as potions of Water-Breathing.

    9. Around the Nubian's head, a headdress with
three long, sharpened crane feathers. Each is magical and has had certain bits plucked out to form a specific pattern in the feather. Meloch recognizes this as an item used by his people in their wars against the evil cranes; he says that each feather can be used once for a specific effect. The feather on the left allows him to fall safely from a great height, the one in the center produces a full-sized date palm tree when detached from the headdress and thrown at a solid surface, and the one on the right can transform into a small dove and be used to convey a message. Also, the headdress infuriates and frightens cranes. Meoch merely tells Metellus that it's a tawdry artifact of his people that can produce food in a crisis, so Metellus lets him keep it.

     10. 2 small pouches attached to a belt worn by the Nubian, each containing brightly colored desert sand. One radiates medium-level illusion magic, the other enchantment magic. Both arcane. Meloch and Cornelia take possession of these; one of them is later established to have four doses worth of  Improved Invisibility; the other is still unknown to most of us.

      11. Within a wooden chest locked away in the hold we find two greaves which appear to be made out of a clear hard crystal, edged with copper. Medium-level psionic psyport magic. After investigation in Rome, Wenna discovers that these increase the wearer's speed if the wearer is psionically active and also have some other unidentifiable power not connected with normal reality. 

      12. A small glass vial with some very strong-smelling herb inside,  also in the chest.Heilyn figures out that this herb has strong healing and energy-producing properties, but has not yet fully identified it.

      13. A necklace of pearls, unmagical but reasonably high quality. Verix gets to keep these.

      14. A large elephant tusk, hollow, with a copper mouthpiece, apparently intended as a horn. Arcane Magical - Illusion and necromancy. No one knows what this does yet, but Metellus is keeping it.

     15. A set of lockpicks and tools apparently intended for breaking into places. Non-magical. Llyr decides his are better and these are sold.

   16. 6 Masterwork short bows, 24 daggers, 8 sets hide armor, 8  gladii. Non-magical. These are sold. In total, the cash is around 2400 sestertii. 

   17. Decorated Leather Collar, low-level psionic telepathic  magic on it, around the neck of the priest. Decorated leather armlet around the arm of the Nubian, same patterns and psionic signature. Upon experimentation, it is discovered that whoever has the armlet can generally telepathically control the person wearing the collar. Marcus, with glee, keeps this. 


      After sorting all of this out, we finally arrive at Ostia, the port of Rome, which we find somewhat startlingly quiet. During the five-mile walk to Rome, however, we find more and more people heading towards the city. Finally, we get through the western gate of this enormous marbled city of a million or more people. There are hordes of people lining the streets, and as we  watch we see a parade of some sort going by of soldiers - rank after rank of Legionaries marching in full uniform. Marcus counts 14 Eagles, including the Eagle of the 12th from Britannia, marching by. Asking the crowd, we are informed that the Legions are marching off to Parthia [modern Iran, roughly] to fight a new great war against the Eastern Empire in the ancient desert lands. 


      Finally, a golden chariot, ringed by purple banners, passes us by. Standing tall and proud in it is a white-haired, scarred and weathered but tough-looking man, dressed in golden armor and wearing a golden laurel wreath; his tunic is edged in purple. The crowd kneels and exclaims at the presence of the Sacred Emperor, Lucius Mamercus Aemilianus, as he rides out of Rome to fight what will undoubtedly be his last great war on the Parthian front. 

      Suddenly, a smooth, soft, vaguely oily male voice is heard in the heads of various members of our group, virtually everyone except for Heilyn, Meloch, and myself. *"I would give you greetings, " the voice says, "but really, I have advice instead which will be far more relevant. Leave. Now. This city is not for you; you will meet only doom and suffering here. And really, I'd hate to have to slowly and painfully kill you and all those you care for." * The voice fades out, as the humans look at each other, stunned.


----------



## Capellan

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> the priest of Ares, after a long discussion, is killed.
> 
> 17. Decorated Leather Collar, low-level psionic telepathic  magic on it, around the neck of the priest. Decorated leather armlet around the arm of the Nubian, same patterns and psionic signature. Upon experimentation, it is discovered that whoever has the armlet can generally telepathically control the person wearing the collar.




You know, right about now I'd be getting worried that I just killed a potential ally ...


----------



## Orichalcum

*re: Priest of Ares*

So, the Priest of Ares was being controlled by the collar, but the humans had taken off the collar and interrogated him. They found that he hadn't wanted to be a pirate minion of the Nubian, but that he was a fairly nasty, war-mongering man who couldn't be trusted if sold as a slave not to go around killing his owners. They contemplated keeping the collar on him and using him themselves, but decided the collar was more useful than the Priest and so slit his throat.  In case you hadn't noticed, this isn't a party that behaves according to modern moral standards. 

They also discovered, in the course of interrogating him, that the chest with the herbs and the greaves had been taken off a ship carrying an elderly Greek philosopher, who pled for mercy but was ruthlessly killed by the Nubian. The Nubian had somehow known about the path of this particular ship - according to the priest of Ares he would get these sudden intuitions about profitable cargoes - and set out to intercept it and kill the philosopher in question.


----------



## Capellan

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> he was a fairly nasty, war-mongering man who couldn't be trusted if sold as a slave not to go around killing his owners. They contemplated keeping the collar on him and using him themselves, but decided the collar was more useful than the Priest and so slit his throat.  In case you hadn't noticed, this isn't a party that behaves according to modern moral standards.




I wasn't concerned about the morals of the situation   I was concerned about the loss of a possible ally.  Given the additional information you've provided about his character, that's a non-issue.  In the circumstances, I'd have killed him, too.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Character pictures!*

I've been promising these for a while, and finally they're up. Shast has gathered together portraits of all the people he travels with regularly (Kynton, Nepa, and Nanna Alma to follow) on this page:

http://yale.graduate.net/~anise/aleaphotos.html

    A more full update is soon to come - I've been busy writing games for Anonycon 2003 (www.anonycon.com), which I help run together with several of my players, including CerebralPaladin, The Maxx, and Ladybird. 
     No Roman-era games will be running there this year, but I'm co-writing an Age of Exploration pre-generated character D&D game called Fountain of Youth, in which the humans of the Republic of Aalterdam explore the elven archipelagoes in search of their secrets of longevity. I also am co-writing with Ladybird the Living Greyhawk Interactive, which has a conspiracy as rich as the Alea Iactan one, and you can expect many ENWorld GMs there who are far more talented than me, including even Piratecat, who will be running Fountain of Youth with any luck. 
     So, hope to see you in Stamford, CT on Dec. 5-7, and expect the characters' first glimpse of the Eternal City tomorrow!


----------



## Orichalcum

*Sixth Session: When in Rome First Post: Meet the Folks*

We all look around at each other, stunned by the mental threat. Kynton says, "hey, do you think everyone in Rome has a special little voice in their head? And isn't it great that they know I'm going to race in the games?"

    Llyr, slowly, replies, "Ah, Kynton? What exactly did the little voice tell you?"

      "He said that I should go directly to the stadium and concentrate on my racing if I wanted to be any good at it. It makes a lot of sense - my old manager back in Londinium always told me that if I just practiced harder, I could win even more races. Of course, that argument didn't really make any sense once all the other team leaders died and I was racing against the novices. One time, last winter, I double-lapped the White charioteer, and...." Kynton prattles.

      "Ah, right. Well, you'd best be off then, Cousin. Can't win races without practicing. I'm sure we'll see you soon!" Llyr interrupts quickly.     

      "Great! Are you sure you don't want me to take your pretty little horse and raise her for the chariots?"

      "No, thank you, I'll take care of Talat. Just be careful...it's a big city." Llyr answers.
As Kynton scampers off, Llyr murmurs to the rest of us, "We need to keep an eye on him - lots of things can go wrong in the stadium," and we all nod.

      Nepa quietly whispers to Cornelia and those nearby, "I thought it was the goddess speaking to me. I thought it was my calling. But if Kynton heard something too"

     "What did you think the goddess said?" Cornelia asks gently, but with a little fear.

      "That I should go to the temple as soon as possible, and join Her initiates. It was...comforting."

       Marcus murmurs to Metellus, "The voice is trying to separate our young relations from us. This could be dangerous."

       Metellus answers back, "Yes, or he could be trying to weed out the people who don't know anything so he doesn't have to kill them. We don't know."

       Cornelia advises Nepa to stay with her for at least a day or two, until they get settled in Rome, and she reluctantly agrees. Verix the pearl merchant, meanwhile, speaks up glumly, "Ah...this voice - I think I heard it too. It told me that I knew too much already and that it would have to kill me? I wasn't really liking the sound of that. Not that it will really matter what it wants - my father will probably kill me anyway once he finds out I made a mess out of the pearl business back in Britannia. I suppose I should go to my patron Licinia Luculla first and report the disaster to her and give her her pearls."

       Since we are heading first to the house of Licinia Luculla, Cornelia's mother, to drop off Cornelia, Meloch, Wena and myself before the men go to Metellus's parents house, we offer Verix an escort.

       Rome is indeed a large city - the largest in the world. Nearly everyone except Metellus, who grew up here, and Wena, who is a seasoned traveler, reacts with awe at the huge marbled temples, the multi-storyed apartment buildings, the enormous aqueducts, and the incredible numbers of people. Londinium, which seemed enormous to Heilyn and Llyr, had, perhaps, 30,000 inhabitants; Rome has over a million. We are jostled in the streets as we pass by the throngs who gathered to see the march of the Legions - Syrians, Nubians, Jews, Gauls, Germans, Roman Senators - even a few familiar looking Britannian faces. Suddenly, an elaborate litter carried by six enormous German slaves, with  thin linen curtains drawn closed for privacy, halts.
A bejeweled and heavily scented hand reaches out through the curtain and points elegantly at Heilyn. 

      "Yoohoo! Young Tribune! How much are you selling that one for? He's quite a ...prime specimen."

       Metellus, startled, begins to respond, "Ah, Domina, he's not for sale..." but Heilyn, outraged, interrupts. "Wha' kind of city is this? Honorable lady, I'm flattered, but ye shouldna assume that every red-haired man in this city is a slave to be bought and sold..."

       "But I do so want a Britannian of my very own, " the hand pouts. "Marcia has one, and Lucia, and they were showing theirs off, and the market's just gone through the roof these days, particularly for the good-looking ones..." 

        "Well, I'm very sorry, Domina, but you can't have this one. Farewell." Metellus speaks firmly.

         "Oh, fine then. But if you change your mind, barbarian, Terentia Marcella on the 
Aventine would love to own you! Slaves, march!" The litter proceeds onward, clearing a path before yet. Heilyn rants at length to Wena and Llyr about this outrageous treatment.

         We arrive at the house of Licinia Luculla, an elegant if small residence on the Esquiline Hill, picked for its lovely courtyard garden with a view. The steward, a fat Syrian slave named Ogulnius, is surprised to see us and Cornelia, but ushers us back to the garden, where a spectacularly beautiful woman, who looks to be in her late twenties, is lounging on a stone couch. Several young men in togas surround her, and a slave is offering her slices of peeled orange. Cornelia is announced, and the woman sits up quickly.

       "Cornelia! My daughter! I had almost given up expecting you - your last letter was so...uncertain. Let me look at you...yes, you have turned out well, I can tell. A bit of a pity about your father's nose, but, in general, you clearly have both the intelligence and beauty of our side of the family. Come here - it must have been a long trip. And you, my friends - I'll see you tomorrow morning - I must have time for a reunion with my young daughter, Cornelia, back from Britannia." Licinia Luculla holds out her arms for a brief embrace and Cornelia, awkwardly, steps into them, and they cheek-kiss. It is strange for Cornelia - it feels like more than friendship, but less than truly family - she has not seen her mother since she was eight and Licinia chose Rome over her husband and daughter.

      After initial introductions, in which Licinia Luculla sizes up Metellus appreciatively, and asks Meloch if he has taught Cornelia all that she asked, and dismisses most of the rest of the group as hangers on, the warriors leave for Metellus's house, and Cornelia settles down for a brief chat with her mother.

             "Your trip was safe? You mentioned a curse?"

              "The trip was...well, not safe; there was a sea serpent and Druids and, oh, you won't _believe_ what Cousins Gnaeus and Septimus tried to do, that's why Nepa's here with me, oh, and pirates, but yes, well, we got here fine in the end." Cornelia rambles, more than a little nervous.

        "That's wonderful, and the important thing. You will have to tell me all the stories, and how you escaped them," Licinia smiles. There is a long pause. "It's been quite some time, hasn't it?" she offers.

             "Almost ten years," Cornelia answers softly.
             "That's right, isn't it? Time does fly...You're fifteen then, aren't you?" Licinia says lightly.

              "Seventeen, actually," Cornelia replies, a little hurt.

              "Oh. Hmm....you wouldn't mind being fifteen, would you? It would be easier." Licinia Luculla asks, turning a devastatingly charming smile on her daughter.

              "What? Um...no....I suppose I could be..."Cornelia, confused, and tired, and somewhat shaken by the entire conversation, acquiesces to her mother's wish.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Sixth Session: When in Rome Second Post: To sleep, perchance*

Metellus, Heilyn, Marcus, and Llyr, meanwhile, head to Metellus's parents house on the somewhat more elite neighborhood of the Aventine Hill. They greet his father, Metellus Major, a renowned war hero, former governor, [and now active senator, who offers his son a gruff embrace and hospitality to his son's retainers, and Metellus's mother, Valeria Maxima, a beautiful if not terribly brilliant woman, who is 1st cousin once removed to the Emperor. She has gotten very involved in the worship of Isis, and babbles about it over dinner; she also suggests throwing a "British party" to welcome their son home, which Metellus Major firmly puts his foot down on.

After dinner at the respective villas, all of the humans retired early to sleep, after their long journey. And as they slept, they dreamt:
[N.B.: The characters do not all know the contents of all of these dreams in game, as some players shared more than others.]

Dreams



Marcus:
	You fall into your usual light soldier’s sleep, gaining needed energy but ready to awake at the slightest hint of danger. Slowly, your mind relaxes into unconsciousness. Then, you begin to see images flickering in front of your eyes, almost as if you had stared at the sun too long on a hot day. A triangle, pointed to the left, bright yellow in color. A solid red rectangle with a black border. Another rectangle, black, with two long red lines attached at the upper and bottom right hand corners. Again, the yellow triangle. The red rectangle. The black rectangle, growing brighter and more intense. The yellow triangle. The yellow triangle. The yellow triangle. The black rectangle... You wake up, your eyes hurting, feeling exhausted. You are unsure how many times the shapes repeated before your eyes, but their images are burned into your memory.

Metellus:
	You sleep, glad to be back in your own comfortable bed for the first time in over a year, even counting strange time lapses in the Isle of Mona. Ah, Rome. You fall easily into sleep, and dream. You dream of a triumph. But it is not Cimbrus being feted in the victor’s chariot, but you. You ride along in your scarlet robe, the Legions behind you, all cheering wildly. Yellow triangular flags line your route, announcing your many victories. Until...an old woman steps forward from the crowd and shrieks. “He isn’t really a hero! He’s a coward. He heard the dog at the cave of the Druids and stood there in terror, waiting for his flunkies to face the dangers for him. He ran from the ghosts on the Isle of Mona. He’s not worthy of being a real Roman.” As the crowd begins to hiss and boo, some throwing rotten fish at you and your chariot, the face of the old woman changes. It is the face of Hadriana – of Cornelia – finally, of Aeduana. The old woman changes into a giant tiger and leaps for you.....you wake up, repressing a scream lest the slaves or Llyr hear you.

Cornelia:
	You sleep. It is strange to be back in a real bed after all these months, and in a house that is both familiar and utterly foreign. But after some restless tossing and turning, and listening to the soft snores of Shast the monkey, you fall asleep, and dream...It is your wedding day. Nanna Alma has carefully laid the flame-colored veil on your seven-tiered wool headdress, and you are walking out to meet your groom. The household slaves throw candied almonds as you pass, and you smile with delight as you cross the threshold. You grasp your groom’s firm arm as you walk towards the temple, smiling at the vague trembling in his hands. And then....the flesh begins to melt away from his bones, and you look up at his face for the first time to see only a grinning skull, that then morphs slowly into Aeduana’s face, horribly scarred with acidic burns as it was the last time you saw her. She speaks: “Did you ever really think you would be free of me, Cornelia?” and reaches one long, clawed hand for your face. You wake up, gasping for breath.

Llyr: You sleep. In truth, the bed is a bit soft for your tastes, but you have learned to make do with whatever circumstances present. You quickly fall into the light sleep of a Legionary, and dream. You dream of riding with your cousins, of chariot racing between you, Kynton, Arnath, and Brendan, dashing between narrowly placed oaks in attempts to drive a course the others could not match. The path to follow is marked by yellow triangles painted on the trees. As usual, Kynton is ahead, but he doesn’t know yet of the tripwire you’ve placed between the seventh set of....oh, there he goes! There’s a chance for you yet....and then, the dream shifts. You are tied to an oak, watching, once again, as Aeduana, smiling slowly, uses a sharpened stone scythe to cut Arnath’s heart out as he screams, bitterly, for your help, or the intervention of the gods. He calls on Lugh and on Epona, and no one answers. You struggle against the thin black chains wrapping you tightly around the tree, but can do nothing but watch as his life’s blood spills out on the ground of the sacred grove. You wake, sweating, determined not to scream.

Heilyn: The Romans certainly know how to make soft beds, although this round pillow idea seems rather foreign and uncomfortable to you. Still, you soon drift off to sleep, and dream. In your dream, you are on the peak of a stony mountain, climbing upwards. It seems that you climb for a very long time, before finally reaching the entrance to a cave framed by stalactites and stalagmites that curve inwards like a gaping mouth. You hesitate, and then thread your way between them, walking down into the cave tunnel, which is lit only by small glowing pieces of moss. Eventually, you come to a perfectly round room of stone. The walls pulse gently, and green tendrils grow out of them from all sides, reaching towards your head, wrists, and ankles. Before you can blink, you are suspended in a web of tendrils, curling around your armor and tugging on your moustache. For a second, they seem like a net of fine black chains, tying you to the wall. You ask them to put you down, and the wall pulses again, as the tendrils fade.
	“I do not mean it to harm,” a booming, gravelly, familiar voice says. “I am here for the first part of the debt. I will teach you how to persuade the spirits of stone to be kind to you.”
	A stone pillar grows out of the rock of the chamber, perhaps three feet high. You concentrate with your spirit sight and can see that there is a slow, quiet small spirit buried deep within the pillar. “This is how you speak to the stone,” the gravelly voice says. And you learn, slowly but painstakingly. By the end of the night, you can persuade the pillar to curve to the right or the left, or grow thinner and taller or wider and shorter, although the process is slow, and the Spirit of Earth keeps criticizing your accent. You wake, tired, with your vision somewhat blurry. 

Wena: You can sleep anywhere, and a well-stuffed couch with a round bolster is only another variation for you. You fall into a light sleep, and dream. You dream of standing in mud up to your neck. It is dark, and the darkness is lit only by the occasional flickering torch in the distance, and the gruff shouts in Latin. You ask where your mother is, and the woman besides you holds a hand firmly across your mouth and hisses at you to be quiet. You do not understand why you were swept up in the middle of the night and dragged off to the swamp, nor where your mother is. Suddenly, the Romans come upon your pitiful little group, and throw a net made of thin, black chains over you. As you struggle in the chains, beginning to drown in the mud because of your small size, you see that the net is attached to a long black chain that stretches far out into the distance. You begin choking on mud – and wake up, gasping for breath.

Meloch: You curl up across Cornelia’s threshold, glad that you have managed to filch a soft rug for you and Shast to wrap yourselves in. You fall asleep, hoping that there will be no disturbance tonight, and you dream. You are a young child, playing Jump-the-Alligator with your friends. You are determined – today, you will make it all the way across the river. You land on the first crocodile’s snout, and bounce off before he notices your weight. The second makes a grab for you with his jaws, but you kick off and make it to the third, still rousing, and the fourth, and are on the opposite bank. You do the dance of joy, until suddenly three Tall Ones dash out of the swamp rushes and throw a net of black chains over you. You scream for help as they drag you away, but your companions are dashing away in terror. You wake up, crying silently, trying not to disturb your mistress.

Verix: You sleep soundly, glad to be back in your own bed, and tired from your travel. You dream – You are searching for the perfect pearl. Suddenly, you are  certain that the river Tiber is an untapped resource for pearls – everyone knows that the empress Messalina’s jewelry was lost in it and never found. With your diving skills, surely you can find her famed necklace. You should dive for it – look in the sewers, if necessary – if you stay under for long enough, you’re certain you can find it. You dream of searching through the muddy depths, and right before you wake you think you see the shining gleam of the most beautiful necklace you have ever beheld. Your eyes blink open, the image of the pearls hovering briefly before them.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Sixth Session: When in Rome 3rd Post: Tact is for the weak.*

In the morning, we gather, and some of us discuss our dreams. 
After some talk, it is noticed that various members of the group, namely Llyr, Heilyn, Wena, and Meloch, noticed black chains as a symbol in their dreams, even when they were dreaming of old painful memories, where the original event had no such chains in them. They decide that these chains must be a psychic symbol of the person who mentally threatened them, whom they christen "the Black Chain Philosopher," possibly although not certainly Quintus Mucius Scaevola, the tutor of the Emperor's nephew Rufus. 


   They decide to be on the lookout for any such chains, and realize that the people who noticed them are either those who have particular connections to the spirit world through their bond with Lugh or, like  Meloch, have racial protections against mental compulsion. Once again, I thank the Monkey King that I picked a master who was unlikely to cause me to have my mind taken over by anyone. Of course, this doesn't stop him from reckless behavior on his own behalf.

Marcus says, unusually puzzled, "I think I had a Pythagorean dream..." 

     Cornelia responds sarcastically , "What, was it about triangles?"

     Marcus answers, "Yes!" He details his dream, and they are all momentarily bemused. Thinking more deeply, however, Marcus realizes that the shapes in his dream remind him of the signal flags used to communicate between Legionary forces during battle. Yellow triangles mean "Danger, Need assistance." The red rectangle communicates "Under siege," and the black rectangle, "Can hold out for less than three months. Reinforcements needed urgently." 

      Marcus decides that these messages are the attempts of the Ninth's Eagle to communicate with him, the last surviving officer and the owner of the primuspilus centurion's brooch. This theory is confirmed when he discovers that Metellus and Llyr, the other legionaries in the group, also dreamed of yellow triangles, although in a more abstract way. He decides that, at the reception by Cimbrus in the Imperial Palace which has been commanded that morning, he will ask for permission to see the Eagle again.

      Dressed in their best clothes - newly bought or borrowed in some cases, and with Wena still looking more than a little scruffy, our group sets out for the Imperial Palace. Cornelia refuses to ride in a litter and instead drives one of the two-horse open chariots; while she invites Metellus along, he refuses and chooses to walk, dirtying the bottom of his toga. 
Finally, the group reaches the palace, and begins negotiating its way through the myriad steps of Imperial protocol. After a few hours, we reach the entrance to the Secondary Imperial Reception Room, for meetings with minor clients and domestic business affairs. 

The haughty freedman at the entrance, dressed in a rich blue tunic, demands our ranks and the names of our fathers and grandfathers, before introducing us in rank order, leaving out Meloch and me, of course...despite the fact that I’m sure my lineage goes back farther than any of the humans.

	“The clarissimus Quintus Caecilius Metellus Minor, son of Quintus Caecilius Metellus Major, grandson of Quintus Caecilius Metellus, former Tribune of the Sixth.
	 The clarissima Cornelia Crispa, daughter of the Acting Prefect Gaius Cornelius Crispus of the Sixth Legion, granddaughter of Gaius Cornelius Crispus.
	The equitis Marcus Catellus Alexandros, former Fourth Centurion of the First Cohort of the Sixth Legion, son of Alexandros Iatros of Alexandria, grandson of Kassandros Iatros.
	The citizen Gaius Tacitus Llyr, Auxiliary Decurion Engineer of the Sixth Legion, currently on leave, Prince of the Brigantes, son of Gaius Tacitus Reganix, grandson of Astanor. 
	The citizen Heilyn the Smith of Eburacum, son of Jaireth, son of...<long puzzled pause> the Walker of the North. 
	The citizen Wena the vates of the Iceni, associate member of the Library of Trajan, daughter of Liranon the vates, granddaughter of Cairna the vates. “


	As we are ushered in, we see a large marble hall, with purple porphyry columns separated by elegant linen hangings woven with golden thread. Courtiers dressed in togas and other elaborate garments, both men and women, line the sides, at one end sits Cimbrus, formally dressed in a purple-bordered toga and golden laurel wreath, on a porphyry marble curule chair with no back. An identical chair sits empty at his side. There is no sign of Hadriana or of the rumored daughter, Cimbra.

	Cimbrus interrupts the end of the majordomo’s speech somewhat impatiently, saying, “Yes, yes, we know, and our imperial greetings to the pygmy as well. We are glad you are here and well. You are well, aren’t you? No, um...lingering side effects?”

	We wait for Metellus to respond, and when he doesn’t, Marcus helpfully answers, “No, Imperator. We rooted out the Druidic evil and banished the curse from ourselves.”

	Cimbrus, clearly a little disconcerted at both being in charge and at having the Druidic curse mentioned so openly, says, “Well, yes, we’re glad that you’re healthy. We’re all healthy too.”

	Metellus, desperately feeling the need to contribute to the conversation, suddenly asks, “How’s Hadriana feeling? Is she well?”

	There is a long pause, as a sudden silence falls over the reception hall. Cimbrus blanches, and those in our group who had been informed about the rumors spreading around Rome and Britannia that Metellus was the secret father of Hadriana’s child  (at this point everyone except for Marcus and Wena)  wince. Metellus only realizes the dimension of his folly when one of the courtiers in the back begins snickering. At this Marcus, completely confused but determined to protect his patron’s honor, uses his psionic abilities to memorize the face of the courtier so he can track him down later and beat some respect into him.

	“My wife is perfectly well,” Cimbrus finally says in a frigid tone. “She decided not to attend court today, as she was busy attending to our daughter.” 

	“Ah...um...” Metellus stumbles. “That’s very good to hear. But you said you had need of us, in the message that you sent? Perhaps we should discuss that?” His voice breaks on the last note.

	“Indeed,” Cimbrus says with relief. “Let’s get down to the business. You see, I’m supposed to have this Triumph, for the war in Britannia. But it’s already been delayed by almost two months, because things keep going wrong with it – the animals died, and the floats aren’t working, and so forth. And besides, none of the people here really know what Britannia looks like or how to make floats that look like crazy wild animals led by Druids or any of the other things that we saw up at the Wall. And I can’t help them that much, because, well, I’m acting as Regent for my father, and besides, I was wounded and knocked unconscious so I don’t remember that much of the later stages of the battle. But you all know Britannia, and people like Llyr and Heilyn know how to construct floats and costumes that look British, so I want you to help out with the Triumph, mostly in the decoration aspects, but also a bit in security, because there are rumors that the prisoners haven’t been behaving well, and you know how to deal with these people.” 

He blurts this all out at high speed, and then continues before the group really has a chance to react.

	“So, you should go have a meeting with one of our young Praetorian Guard Decurions, Septimus Lucretius, who will be your liasion back to the official organizers and the Praetorians, and he’ll explain everything. We are pleased to have your assistance.” He waves the small rod in his right hand, as if to indicate that the meeting is over. Servants begin to come forward, but Marcus boldly steps up and speaks to Cimbrus before they have a chance to usher us all away.

	“Imperator, sir, may I request one small favor in return for our past services? The Eagle of the Ninth Legion is being stored here somewhere, I know, and I’d like a chance to pay my respects to it again, before the Legion is officially formed again.”

	Cimbrus, a little surprised, nods. “Certainly – It’s in one of the old treasure rooms, I believe; Lucretius can lead you there after your meeting. “


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VI: When in Rome Chapter 4: Parade!*

My apologies for the lengthy delay – I’ve been working on AnonyCon for much of the last 6 weeks, for which I wrote about 130 single-spaced pages worth of about 5 modules. Everyone who braved the snow seemed to enjoy them immensely, thankfully. Piratecat’s quote about the Cthulhu game he ran Saturday night was “Better than sex, and less messy.”

	The group is escorted away to a small meeting room in the Eastern Wing of the Imperial Palace, where a young Praetorian Decurion, Septimius Lucretius, awaits them. Lucretius is a handsome, dark-haired young man with startling grey eyes; he seems almost overwhelmed by the shiny and elegant red-and-gold uniform of the Praetorian Guards, the elite bodyguard of the Imperial Family. Cornelia also notes that he wears a discreet amulet of the Gorgon-shield on a leather thong around his neck, indicating that he is probably a worshiper of Minerva. Indeed, Lucretius explains that he was chosen to help organize the triumphal parade partially because he is not only a Decurion but one of the rare elephant cavalry warriors of the Praetorians. However, his elephant, Sapientia, is quite young, and therefore he was not asked to go east to Parthia with most of the other elephant Guardsmen. Instead, he was forced to remain here in Rome until she is more ready for full battle. 

	Lucretius shows them an elaborate  
	

	
	
		
		

		
			





 map of the triumphal route, which stretches from the Campus Martius, where the legions currently are, down from the Porta Triumphalis through the Circus Maximus before making a sharp left turn, proceeding towards the Colosseum, and then left again up to the Forum to the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus. He explains that the order of the triumph will be a set of floats depicting the major events of the campaign in Britannia, which we are expected to help design, the prisoners of war, which include six Druids and the Aurochs Druid of the Ouenikones, as well as the Auroch and Wolf Chieftains, the floats with the booty of the campaign on them, which was regrettably paltry and small in nature, Cimbrus in the Triumphal Chariot, with a trusted slave holding the triumphal laurel wreath above his head in the chariot and whispering in his ear, as per ancient tradition, the words, “Remember, you are mortal,” the Senators, the Equites, and finally the parading troops, of whom there are regrettably few, as most of the hardy ones were sent off to Parthia, or remained in Britannia.

	 The parading troops, in order to fill out their number, will be followed by loyal free British subjects of the Empire; Wena and Heilyn are invited to join this group, if they wish. Cornelia, as the daughter and heir of one of the major heroes of the war, is offered a seat in the Imperial Box in the Circus Flaminius where Hadriana and the baby Cimbra will be sitting. 

	Everyone immediately begins planning for the Triumph; Cornelia, Wena,  and Llyr focus slightly more on the decorative concerns and how to build appropriately glorious floats, while Marcus, Metellus, Lucretius and Meloch worry about the security issues. Lucretius seems surprisingly unfazed when Meloch broaches the issue of using “his” arcane magics; it is eventually agreed that Meloch will use them to make himself, Marcus, Metellus, and Lucretius invisible during the Triumph, so that they can directly guard the Triumphal Chariot unseen. Meanwhile, Cornelia will watch from the Box; Wena and Heilyn will guard the end of the parade route, and Llyr will help operate one of the floats with the waving trees, so that he can watch from that position. I, Shast, decide to stay at home away from all the crowds unless Meloch really really needs me.

	After the initial planning has been established, Marcus asks if they can go to view the Eagle. Lucretius speaks to a few other Praetorians and leads the group deep into the heart of the Imperial Palace, passing through a few heavily guarded rooms in the Outer Treasury before coming to a room where there sits, on a small column on a lonely pedestal towards the back, the newly polished, glistening Eagle of the Ninth, which has had its wings restored to it. 

	Several people immediately sense that all is not well with the Eagle, however. Marcus feels his brooch warm, and receives a vision again of yellow triangles and a sense of profound weakness from the Eagle; it does not give him as much courage and strength as he is accustomed to receive from a Legionary Eagle. Heilyn, Llyr, and Wena, using their Lugh-granted gift to see into the spirit world, see thin black chains wrapping around the Eagle to its wings and stretching out beyond the boundaries of the treasure room. To Heilyn, the Eagle seems not to be a bronze statue but a tiny, mewling eaglet fledgling, looking at him with eyes that seem both frightened and ferocious. They relate all this to the rest of  the group, who tries to trace the thin black chains, but they fade out into the grey mist of the spirit world shortly beyond the door of the main room.

            No immediate attempts are made to free the Eagle from its bondage, although the group suspects the work of the Black Chain Philosopher. Judging from the current amount of black chain and the battle flags used by the Eagle, Marcus guesses that the Eagle has only a few more months before the metaphysical chains envelop its body completely.


----------



## pogre

Thanks for the update and the map! Great stuff - don't stay away so long


----------



## Fajitas

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Piratecat’s quote about the Cthulhu game he ran Saturday night was “Better than sex, and less messy.”



If sex is more messy than a Cthulhu game, I think you're doing one of the two wrong.


----------



## Orichalcum

Fajitas said:
			
		

> If sex is more messy than a Cthulhu game, I think you're doing one of the two wrong.





That's _exactly_ what CerebralPaladin said. 

One of the other great AnonyCon quotes:

Me, at the Interactive: "And Lord Gravin of Skaglea needs help dealing with the pirates in his barony."
Entire PC Horde: Arrrrr!
Me: Getting _rid_ of the pirates in his barony!
PC Horde: Awwwww.....


----------



## Piratecat

It _was_ a really good game....  

But not as good as this SH!  Sweet map, too.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VI: When in Rome 5th Session: Look both ways*

In the next day or two, the group splits up and the foreigners decide to explore Rome. As Llyr is walking along a crowded road one afternoon, an amphora full of wine barely misses his head and shatters into pottery fragments just behind him. He looks up, trying to see who was so clumsy, but sees only a pair of hands disappearing over a windowsill, and can’t figure out any way inside the building.

Llyr thinks little of this until a few hours later, when he runs into Meloch, who tells him about our hair-raising encounter with several nasty-looking Romans. Two or three of these men cornered my companion and I in an alley after we had gone to buy some entirely innocent little elixirs from a local wise-woman (and get her to identify some of the vials we took from the pirates). They began mocking Meloch’s size and parentage, and when he responded with his usual scintillating wit, they drew clubs and daggers and attacked us! 

      Well, Meloch is often reckless, but even he knows a bad situation when he sees one, and so he quickly made us Invisible and we skulked out of the alley, leaving some very confused robbers. While Llyr and Meloch were talking, Verix the pearl merchant casually mentioned that he, too, had been the victim of two or three odd recent near-fatal accidents – a cart whose wheel-wedge slipped and another amphora falling. 

	Llyr put these stories together with Kynton’s complaint that he had been denied victory in a practice race by the wheel suddenly falling off his chariot and gathered the rest of us all together, announcing that the “Black Chain Philosopher,” as the group had begun to call him, was trying to fulfill his telepathic threat at the gates of Rome and gradually kill us all off. Metellus, sensibly, ordered everyone to take precautions and to travel in large groups of at least 3-4; he also requested that Cornelia cease walking around the city and instead use a litter like a proper lady. 

	Despite this extremely rational advice, Meloch, of course, conspires with Llyr and Verix to defy it entirely. They decide that they need to find out who these foul assassins are and to set up Verix and Meloch as bait, with Llyr lurking invisibly, ready to take any potential culprits out. I try to tell Meloch that this is a horrible plan, certain to get them all killed, but he tells me I’m a cowardly monkey and I can just stay at home if I don’t like excitement and adventure, so I go sulk in Cornelia’s mother’s private bath.

         Over our connection, however, I can still see through his eyes and feel his thoughts, so I’m well aware when he and Verix stroll down a deserted alleyway, only to find three thugs approaching from either direction, and a skilled crossbowman shooting from an upper window down at them. Furthermore, as Verix and Meloch both quickly realize, the crossbowman’s bolts are poisoned; Meloch, smelling his increasingly painful and bleeding shoulder, realizes that it is in fact the same poison that he bought the previous day from the wisewoman. 

	Both Verix and Meloch nearly faint from their wounds and the poison, barely staying upright as the lowly thieves slash at them. Meanwhile, Llyr goes up the wall, climbing dexterously, trying to take out the crossbowman before he can further poison his friends. Meloch manages to tumble through the legs of one of the assassins and reach a clear space of the alley, where, barely able to remember the appropriate words and gestures, he turns invisible in desperation at a fight increasingly gone wrong. 

      With Meloch vanished, the five remaining thugs surround Verix and beat him until he is a bloody pulp on the ground. Llyr manages to knock out the archer before the archer can poison him, and then jumps down into the melee combat, becoming visible. 

	Meanwhile, Meloch, still low on combat spells, whispers the word “Fight” to the small onyx goat statuette that the noblissima Hadriana gave him long ago in return for the fertility assistance. He has never used the goat before, although Hadriana hinted at its powers, and he is thus as surprised as anyone when it enlarges into an enormous, snarling billy-goat with long, curved, pointed horns. It charges at the thugs along with Llyr and together, they make reasonably fast work of the remaining bandits, knocking two out for later questioning, while Meloch, meanwhile, slips into near unconsciousness from the poison, and Verix’s body remains crumpled in the dust of the alley.


----------



## Piratecat

"And in the side alley, it's. . . yes, it's Meloch and the Fighting Goats! What a pressure cooker we've got going today. Back to you, Jim."


----------



## Orichalcum

*<meta>*



			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> "And in the side alley, it's. . . yes, it's Meloch and the Fighting Goats! What a pressure cooker we've got going today. Back to you, Jim."




Not all of us have solars, Piratecat. Some of us have to settle for lowly, if extremely effective, goats.   

On a meta level, this was an odd combat where the combination of my NPCs using clever tactics and the PCs having an abysmal plan nearly got several PCs killed. From the NPCs' perspective, having failed to kill anyone with 2 or 3 assailants, they went and found some friends, as well as some ingredients from the shop they had tailed Meloch into. The fight would have been perfectly reasonable if 6 or 8 of the PCs had been there, as intended, or any of the high AC and HP folks, but rogues with Con-draining poison are nasty.

I find the only way I can stay ahead of eight ridiculously clever and savvy PCs is to play my main NPCs at my full intelligence + 3 months advance lead time worth of good ideas. 

The goat will appear again to great effect in about 2 months worth of posts. I think it's still the party's best combatant, if of limited use.


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

*Abysmal plan.  Hmph.*

It wasn't that abysmal a plan.  If we were walking around with the party's big goons in full view, we didn't think the cowardly assassins would attack.  Defenseless-looking bait was essential.  And far be it from me to volunteer anyone else for that difficult position.  (Shast?  Where have you got to?)

Marcus and Metellus wouldn't have wanted to accompany us invisibly -- having spells cast on them still gives them the heebie-jeebies.  And I still wasn't comfortable having an invisible Heilyn anywhere within a mile of me.  Only Llyr was at all suitable.  Moreover, the Romans might have been unhappy with the wholly innocent potions I bought from that wise woman, had those been necessary in the fight (Marcus emphatically didn't want us to consult any "specialists" about our trove of magic plunder in the first place).

How was I to imagine that those crooks might go in and buy the same wholly innocent concoction from the same wise woman?

... all right, fine, it was a disastrous plan.  Happy?

[btw, glad to come back to the States and find a few more Alea installments awaiting.  Also glad that AnonyCon went well]


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: When in Rome Chapter 6: A Watery Grave*

Llyr quickly binds and gags the unconscious archer and then throws Verix over his shoulder and Meloch over the back of the war-goat. “Do you know any temples near here, Meloch? You said you were wandering around here yesterday.”

	Meloch, gasping from the poison seeping through his blood, struggles hard to remember and finally blurts out “Apollo of the Mice – back on the Via Curetes – towards the left.” Llyr begins to run towards the Via Curetes – he can hear Verix’s breath slowing, and isn’t certain he’ll make it in time to save him.

	Luckily, the temple of Apollo of the Mice is particularly devoted to aiding poor people in need of healing; the priests refine various potions and antidotes by testing them on the sacred mice of the temple. Initially, the priest shakes his head, telling Llyr that without knowledge of the poison, there is little he can do. Meloch gasps out, “It was strychnos, sold to me by a Marsian apothecaria.” 

	The priest is clearly puzzled as to how the pygmy and his companion came to be poisoned by their own purchase, but his face brightens at the mention of strychnos. “Ah! We just made up a fresh batch of the antidote for that – wives tend to try and murder their husbands a lot in early summer, when it gets so hot.” He bustles away and returns in a moment with a hot green liquid, which he feeds to Meloch and Verix, slathering all over their wounds as well. Both are on the edge of death and barely recover. From afar, I can sense Meloch’s weakness, and douse Cornelia’s household gods in wine as I feel him start to breathe regularly again.

	Once Llyr is certain that they will remain alive, he speaks to Meloch, “I have to go back and interrogate that prisoner. Stay here until you feel better; I’ll send a messenger to Metellus and Marcus to come and fetch you both.”

	Llyr goes running back to the alley and finds that the archer has nearly untied his bonds. Llyr’s ropework is exemplary, however, and he has a gladius to the throat of the man in an instant. After some hurried threats, the archer readily admits that he and his friends were hired by a tall, red-haired Celtic man to lay in wait for any or all of the members of our group and slaughter them. After missing the pygmy the day before, they had bought strychnos poison from the same shop that the pygmy did. The archer believes that many other people were also hired, as he saw other people following the pygmy today. He doesn’t know what the reason was or who the man was, simply that he offered 50 sestertii for each corpse. Llyr slits the man’s throat and hurries back to the temple.

	Meanwhile, Verix has pulled himself back upright, and tells Meloch that he needs to go immediately and visit his family. Meloch urges him to wait and remain for the escort of Marcus and Metellus, but Verix refuses, and staggers out the door, weaving from side to side from the effects of the poison. Meloch, barely able to move himself, wishes him luck. Soon, Llyr and the others return, and they go back to Cornelia’s house to discuss developments. 

	It is not until some hours later, when Verix has not returned, that we all begin to grow somewhat concerned. Cornelia’s mother sends a runner to the house of Verix’s parents, who inform her that, in fact, their son has not visited them at all in the previous two days. There is no sign of him on the streets. Finally, Wena takes one of the pearls that Verix had brought back to Licinia Luculla, Cornelia’s mother, and uses it to attempt to scry on their companion. After a few minutes, the Iceni vates looks up, pale, from her wooden bowl of clear water, with the pearl floating at the bottom. “I saw him.”

	“Well?” Cornelia demands, anxiously.

	“He’s floating in a tunnel somewhere, face downwards in the water. I think he’s dead.” Wena answers soberly.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VI: When in Rome Post VIII: Casualty*

As a well-armored, well-armed group, we rush back to the temple of Apollo of the Mice, where Meloch gives the priest a large and unexpected donation, comprising most of what he’s managed to earn since he gave all his previous savings to the Gaulish parents of the boy he killed. My partner’s a smart little man, but not very good at saving money; we’ll never buy ourselves out of slavery at this rate.

Once at the temple, Llyr manages to track Verix’s trail, together with the very useful help of Heilyn’s dog and Wena’s psychic impressions. The trail leads only a short distance, to the edge of the Cloaca Maxima, Roma’s largest and open-air sewer. The fetid, murky brown water, full of Rome’s famous and fat fish, glides lethargically under a bridge and into a brief tunnel under the road. 

	“Well,” Metellus says slowly, “someone needs to go under there and see if they can find Verix.”
	There is a noted pause, as everyone smells the stench of the sewer, and imagines what swimming in it what might be like.

	“Heilyn and Meloch, you can both transform into creatures with gills, can’t you?” Metellus pleads.
	“I dinna want that in my gills, Tribune...it’s not like the puir water of Britannia,” Heilyn answers immediately and Meloch, for once, agrees with him.
	“I’ll do it, sir. It’s good practice, and someone needs to,” Llyr volunteers. He takes off his armor and strips down to his tunic, causing a few admiring glances from Roman passersby, who then shudder in horror as he dives into the sewer.
	 “Crazy barbarians,” someone mutters. 

Llyr swims along the surface until he gets to the tunnel, at which point he has to dive completely into the sludge. It is putrid, and he tries very hard not to look too closely at what is floating near him. Once in the tunnel, he sees a metal grate ahead of him, clearly designed to catch large objects. Bumping up against the grate is the corpse of their companion Verix, the pearl merchant, clearly long dead. Before returning to the surface with the body, Llyr takes the opportunity to search the body. He discovers Verix’s treasured two-pearl necklace still around his neck, and slips it on himself. When he does so and concentrates on the pearl, Llyr realizes that he no longer feels the pressing urge to breathe, although breathing the sewer water is a foul experience.

	Llyr swims back to the surface, dragging the body behind him. Even some quiet cleaning spells by the spellcasters don’t truly remove the stench from Llyr or Verix, and the party keeps its distance from him as we go back sadly to Cornelia’s mother’s house. Along the way, Llyr mentions quietly, “There’s something odd here.”
	“Besides the fact that our friend the pearl diver drowned in a Roman sewer?” Cornelia answers acerbically.
	“Yes, besides that. He was wearing a pearl that allows you, I think, to breathe underwater,” Llyr responds.
	“But...then...why...” Marcus splutters.
	“Exactly,” Llyr answers.
	“When we’re in a safe location, I can talk to his spirit briefly, and perhaps we can find out why,” Heilyn suggests.

	In a dark back room of Licinia Luculla’s villa, Heilyn makes his preparations to summon the dead spirit of Verix. He has an idea that the Romans, conservative folk that they are, might not be too happy about necromancy, so he keeps this very subdued. The rest of us gather, however, and Heilyn warns us that we will have only three questions. The pallid, fish-nibbled body of Verix twitches, and his eyes and mouth open, glowing an eerie yellow.

	“How did you die, Verix?” Heilyn asks.
	“Through your incompetence, you bunch of self-centered fools!” the body surprisingly retorts. “Couldn’t you see that I was throwing myself into danger at every opportunity, trying to commit suicide? What kind of pearl merchant volunteers for a risky bait mission?”

	“Ah...what made you want to commit suicide?” Cornelia questions.
	“The voice in my head...back at the gate – and in my dreams – it told me that I was a failure, that my family would be better off if I just died, that everyone would be better off.”

	There is some quick discussion about the third question, then finally we ask, “Do you know who the voice is?”
	“No – it was a man, I think, and he spoke perfect Latin.” The body crumples again as the glow slowly fades. All of us refuse to feel guilty except for Cornelia, and Meloch a little, who’s a softie, and does remember how odd he thought it was that Verix insisted on stumbling out of the temple while only half-alive.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VI: When in Rome Post 9: In the Library, With a Scroll*

Meanwhile, Marcus and Wena have been peacefully visiting the Library of Trajan, an enormous multi-story pair of columned buildings, one for Greek books, one for Latin books, with intricately carved marble floors and busts of famous philosophers lining the walls. Wena has arranged to meet her old friend, the Roman philosopher and librarian Athanius Felix, who specializes in comparative philosophy from different cultures. Athanius is a rather fat, white-bearded Epicurean with a pleasant manner. Despite his geniality, Wena warns Marcus not to underestimate the philosopher; he’s renowned for being one of the only philosophers in Rome capable of telekinetically lifting a Praetorian elephant – only a few inches, admittedly, but still.

	 Athanius warns Wena that she will be less welcome in the Library than in the old days of her last visit, when she was an honored member. The old Chief Librarian, Quintus Herennius, died six months ago, and the new Chief Librarian, Fufidius Priscus, is much more authoritarian and has restricted many of the scrolls to Roman citizens of high rank, equites or senators. When she hears Fufidius’ name, Cornelia comments later, “Ah, he must have been made fun of as a child.” 

	Wena is somewhat surprised that Herennius, who was elderly, but in very good health, should have died so suddenly, and asks Athanius what happened. “Well, “ Athanius says, wringing his hands, “Herennius had become very excited that one of his old schoolmates from the Academy in Athens, the great Lysimachus of Chaeronea, was coming to visit him. Then he received news that Lysimachus’s ship had been lost at sea,  and in the shock he suffered a fatal stroke. Very sad – two great losses for philosophy at the same time.”  

	Pondering the timing, Wena and Marcus realize that Lysimachus’s ship disappeared around the same time that the pirates captured and killed a Greek philosopher and took his psionic greaves. They begin to suspect that at least Lysimachus, if not Herennius, was deliberately murdered by the Black Chain Philosopher. “Do you know what either of them was working on?” Marcus asks. 

	“Mostly Neoplatonic issues – lots of very metaphysical scrolls, both of them. Honestly, I think Herennius was a bit preoccupied with turning all of the abstract philosophical concepts into concrete real places and objects in his old age. Sometimes a thought is just a thought.”

	“And what’s Fufidius Priscus’s speciality?” Wena asks.
	“Oh, his great work-in-progress is an epitome of all the criticism written on Aristotle to date. He’s very much into collating and sorting all the references to the ancient great philosophers – which, I suppose, makes him at least a good librarian, if not a terribly original thinker.”

	Marcus decides to make an appointment to meet with Fufidius Priscus and use his credentials as an equites, if a low-ranking one, to gain access to the restricted section and see what’s in there; he despises Fufidius’ approach to philosophy, but is willing to be polite. 

	Meanwhile, Wena sits down to read the manuscript that Athanius, absentmindedly, realizes he’s been saving for her until she got back. “It’s all about mixing Celtic and Greek philosophy, Wena,” Athanius comments. “It seemed like something you’d very much appreciate.


*On A Study of the Barbarian Mysteries
from an Enlightened Philosophical Perspective *


by T. Ligerius Postuminus, 698 A.U.C.



	......and one sunny day in the Stoa we were walking through the garden, and Kassandros proclaimed the primacy of Greek philosophy, saying how the Greeks had discovered all the great truths of our world, and all others merely slavishly imitated the examples of Plato and Aristotle. And I argued that while the Greeks may have found truths they did nothing with them, while we Romans had set up a society that perfectly mirrored the best of Plato’s visions in a rational, practical fashion. And we debated this point for much time....and then Traphon, a slave of Kassandros, from the Allemagni, impudently spoke up, and he said,

	“O my masters, you have debated for many weeks over the differences between Greek and Roman philosophies. Yet you are not the only seekers of the truth. For let me assure you that the wise ones in my tribe also sought the truth and found it, and though they used different names than you do in your quests, yet their wisdom was not lesser.”

	And Kassandros hushed the impudent slave, and had him flogged for his impertinence. But each day, as we continued our conversation, Traphon would wait for a pause in our dialogue and would attempt to speak of the wise ones of his barbarian tribe, and finally, on the third day, we had little left to say on our own parts, and so we let him continue with his musings. And this is what I remember of what he said:

	“For Plato speaks of the ideal, of a fixed truth for every object. And Gryndrai [I think that was the name, though as a barbarian it is of little importance] of the Belgae says that all people and all creatures, even unto the trees and boulders, have a true name. And this true name defines and expresses all that is about a person or creature, just as the Platonic form represents the ideal version of an object,” Traphon argued.

	“But wait,” Kassandros spoke. “Plato does not suggest that you or I have an ideal Form, but rather that each type of creature – humans, horses, tables – has an ideal form in that realm where all the Forms exist, and that we are merely pale imitations of the Truths in that place.”

	“Are not the Guardians,” Traphon responded, “the true forms or names of what the leaders of a society should be like? I think that Gryndrai and the elders of my tribe are wiser than Plato was, in giving a goal for each individual to aspire to with their philosophy. For while Plato cares only about the larger society, Gryndrai tells us that we should each try to live up to our true name, to be as close to the best and truest version of ourselves that we can be.”

	Kassandros and myself found this latter point intriguing, despite Traphon’s dismissal of the Great Philosopher, and we spent much time debating how one might strive to be the best echo of one’s true Platonic self, and how a society would be shaped in which each person strove for such a goal....

	One day we were arguing about the issue of truth, and I raised the following point, “For how can an individual have a true name or a true form when individuals are always changing? If a tree is cut down and made into a table, was its truth then as a tree or as a table?”

	“Indeed,” Traphon responded, “The nature of truth must be that it is always both fixed and changing. For the heart of this tree lies not in its outward shape, whether standing tall in the forest or low in the dining room, but in its true purpose and function. And we have all seen tables that are badly made or where the wood was ill-suited for its function, and these are tables where the truth of the wood was not in accordance with the carpenter’s desire. And thus a smith may reforge the same piece of metal many times before he finally is satisfied with its ultimate form, and if he is a good smith, he will have come near the truth of that metal.”

	“Yet how then is it fixed?” Kassandros asked, for we had developed some interest in the pattern of the slave’s thoughts over these discussions.

	“The basic nature of an object or being may not be changed, I would think, or only with extreme difficulty. For in the realm of truth all things have a form, and that form is strictly defined by the gods [for Tryphon took the active creation of the gods in our world quite seriously], and may not be lightly moved. If the wood has a worldly representation as a tree and then becomes a table, it is still wood, but for it to transform into a marble table would take a great feat of alchemy or sorcery.” Tryphon said.
	“Ah, is this then why the work of the Cretan philosophers to change lead into gold is so frustrating?” I enquired.

	“Indeed,” Kassandros contributed enthusiastically, “for by Tryphon’s argument such an attempt tries to redefine the true form of an object, and a great amount of energy must be invested in such an endeavor to resist the gods’ own decrees about an object.”
	“Would it be possible for a Cretan to redefine or recreate Tryphon?” I asked carelessly.

	Tryphon answered with utmost seriousness. “To make me, say, not red-haired or a foot shorter, I would imagine that this would be possible at least for a short time with only a reasonable application of energy of some type. But to permanently change the way I thought or to make it as if I had never existed...I do not know if such a feat would be possible, and surely the gods themselves would rebel against it.”

	Yet men have challenged the gods before and won,” Kassandros mused.
	Somewhat shocked at this typical Greek irreverence, I responded, “But not for long, and not without dire consequences for the men involved.”


----------



## Mortepierre

As a fan of Antiquity myself, I wanted to come out of the shadows and congratulate you on a very original and entertaining SH!   

Any chance of getting stats for Marcus & Cie?

Out of curiosity, are you using the old (AD&D2) *HR5 The Glory of Rome* accessory?


----------



## Orichalcum

Mortepierre said:
			
		

> As a fan of Antiquity myself, I wanted to come out of the shadows and congratulate you on a very original and entertaining SH!
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> Any chance of getting stats for Marcus & Cie?
> 
> Well, we play in 2 weeks, so right now I'm busy working on material for that,  but maybe sometime after that I'll dragoon all the PCs into getting their characters online. Of course, they will undoubtedly complain about how low magic they are, like they usually do.
> 
> Out of curiosity, are you using the old (AD&D2) *HR7 The Glory of Rome* accessory?




No, I haven't ever heard of it. Any good? At this point, the game's entirely drawn from bits and snippets of my own professional research, except less racy than my actual academic writings. 
        As Fajitas (of Welcome to the Halmae)  says, the coolest thing about my game is how much of it is based on reality.


----------



## Mortepierre

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> No, I haven't ever heard of it. Any good? At this point, the game's entirely drawn from bits and snippets of my own professional research, except less racy than my actual academic writings.
> As Fajitas (of Welcome to the Halmae)  says, the coolest thing about my game is how much of it is based on reality.




Well, some years ago, TSR (we're talking way before WotC) decided to publish a series of accessories aiming at customizing the AD&D2 rules for different era of Earth. Seven were published before they stopped. The fifth tome was *Glory of Rome*.

I am european, and a student of History, so the general info given in the books didn't exactly surprise me or anything. That said, it was often a decent summary of historical events. The nifty part was really the game info on how to adapt normal AD&D characters to those pseudo-real settings.

The little bit that induced me to believe you were using it was that story about a magical tablet with a love spell on it as that very same spell is detailed in the book.

Nevertheless, it is obvious from the wealth of material you're using that you have been doing your own research on the subject. I am actually curious to know how you rationalized using Psi powers in the roman era.


----------



## Orichalcum

*re: magic system*

The nifty part was really the game info on how to adapt normal AD&D characters to those pseudo-real settings.

Does sound neat. Nope - curse tablets are just a nice common way of spell delivery in the ancient world. Thousands have survived, because they tended to get buried in deep "safe" places.



> I am actually curious to know how you rationalized using Psi powers in the roman era.




So, when I was developing my magic system, I knew that I wanted to have a distinct and rational explanation for arcane, divine, and psionic magic. Arcane magic was easy - witchcraft among the Romans and in the West, not really tolerated in polite society. The Parthian Empire in the East, on the other hand (modern Middle East, more or less), has an official corps of Magi (where we get the modern word from) who rain fire down on the enemies of Parthia rather effectively. 

     I worked out with Heilyn's player that divine magic should be spirit-based rather than the more conventional clerics, so he's actually a shaman from Oriental Adventures, with a few modifications. Gods are mostly just very powerful spirits, and their power depends on the quantity and quality of worship. This is why the Roman emperor is so powerful - when 50 million odd people offer daily prayers on your behalf to your guardian spirit, life tends to work out pretty well.

     Psionic magic, on the other hand, is entirely based on philosophy, which was an aspect of Greek and Roman culture I really wanted to develop in the game. Philosophers strengthen their minds through thought and study, which in turn gives them special abilities. This has worked out with mixed results in the campaign, largely because my players, through no fault of their own, are less well versed and intrigued by major ancient philosophical schools than I am.

Originally, I had an idea of having the different philosophical schools represent different areas of psionics, but that's largely fallen by the wayside. In the next few posts, however, you'll start to see how the philosophical rivalries start to play into the arc plot of the game. For the record, Marcus is a psionic warrior, and Wena is a psion. And obviously, the Black Chain Philosopher has not insignificant psionic abilities... (Heilyn is a shaman, Cornelia is an aristocrat (with some modifications)/sorcerer, Metellus is an aristocrat/fighter, Llyr is mostly a ranger, Meloch's a straight up sorcerer, Lucretius is a straight up paladin.)


----------



## Orichalcum

*AI VI: When in Rome Post 9: More Philosophy*

While reading this, Wena has sat down on the floor in the open section of the library. Glancing up, halfway through the scroll, she notices a small girl with flaming red hair carefully dusting and stacking scrolls, about twenty feet away. As she reaches up to a higher shelf, the girl’s clean but drab tunic falls back and Wena can see what look like some sort of Celtic tattoo patterns. She gets up and quietly approaches the girl.

	“Hello, I’m Wena. What’s your name?”
	“Praecia. Well, that’s what my master calls me.”
	“Who’s your master?”
	“Fufidius Priscus, the chief librarian. I clean the scrolls by day and help my mother clean his house and serve food in the evenings.”

	“What’s your mother’s name?”
	“Rhysenn.”
	“And what does your mother call you, young one?”
	“I’m not supposed to say. It’s a secret.”
	“You can tell me if you want. I’m a vates; that means that part of my job is to 	keep secrets. I won’t tell anyone.”

	The young girl beckons Wena down to her level, and, looking first in both directions, whispers in her ear. “My mommy says my real name is Boadicea!”
	“That’s a wonderful name. Do you know where it comes from?” Wena, surprised but calm, asks.
	“Yes, she was a great queen and hero of my mommy’s tribe, the Icky....Icky...”
	“Iceni. Your mother is of the Iceni, and so are you...and so am I. Your mom must have been captured as a slave in the Iceni rebellion 30 years ago?”
	Boadicea nods in response.

	“Look, Boadicea, I have Iceni tattoos, like I think you do. Will you show me your arms?” Wena lifts the sleeve of her robe briefly, to show the complex and intricate spiral patterns of woad long since inked into her skin.
	Boadicea shyly pulls back her sleeve, to reveal a number of inked on designs that look like a child’s rendering of unfamiliar drawings. “Aren’t they wonderful? Mommy says these make me a real Iceni.”

	“They’re very good, Boadicea, “ Wena says, trying not to laugh at them, “but I think with my help, we could make them even better. Can I come visit you and your mom sometime?”
	Boadicea agrees enthusiastically and gives Wena directions to Fufidius Priscus’s house, warning her to use the servants’ entrance. She says that her mother, Rhysenn, will be very happy to meet another Iceni.

	Meanwhile, Marcus has chatted briefly with the fussy Fufidius and, by flashing around his gold ring of the equites, gotten admission to the restricted section. After searching through for some time, he comes to the interesting conclusion that most of the works on Neoplatonist philosophy and on practical applications of Plato’s ideas have been removed. In fact, only one work even by the former chief librarian, Quintus Herennius, survives, and it has had its lower half mysteriously ripped off. Marcus carefully memorizes the remaining portion in an attempt to glean what useful information he can:

*	On the Practical Application of 
			the Concept of Platonic Forms



						by

					Quintus Herennius,
		          Chief Librarian of the Imperial Library of Trajan,
			with reference to discussions with the most-wise
				 Lysimachus of Chaeronea
*

	Many Greeks, who never in their thousands of years of history did anything useful or productive, argue today that philosophy is merely a mental exercise, designed to enlighten and expand our thoughts. Yet we Romans have a much wiser view, using philosophy as a moral guide by which to live our lives in a more proper and just fashion. We use philosophy to improve the quality of our daily existence, having learned that its precepts may not only inspire our minds but improve our bodies and enable us to manipulate the world around us more successfully.

Even this largely wastes the value of philosophical inquiry, in my opinion. For ideally philosophy is a quest for the truth, and just as the natural philosophers have used their wisdom to tell us the paths and patterns of the stars and how the wheat contains all the building blocks of our bones and blood, so too should we use even the most recondite and abstruse of the Greek philosophies to discover solid, useful truths about our world.

	I will use Plato’s theory of forms as an example in this case, though its connection to our everyday world may seem extreme. For Plato supposes a world where each object or creature has its true Form, and that our world is merely a reflection of that place, with all the distortions and dimness that one sees in a mirror. 

And while the Greek philosophers deal merely with this place as an abstract concept, I believe that it must actually exist, just as though we cannot perceive directly our strength of body or speed of limbs we know that these exist and can affect them with our minds.  I believe that the place of forms is bound and linked to our world although it is not part of our world, much like the pastries one may purchase at the bakers, which have many thin layers which lie over each other to form one entire sweet for children, with only a small space in between each layer for honey or figs. And there are stories that Pythagoras, after long study,  was able to bring some of the Forms into our own world, and that this is where he gained his dubious obsession with legumes, after studying and observing the Ideal Bean. But this seems dubious, and more likely the only path between that realm and our own is a mental one. 

	I have tried to stretch out to Plato’s realm of forms with my mind, and on three occasions I believe that I have managed while in a state of quiet repose to glimpse the true realm, and it is most beautiful and sheds much light on what is mysterious in the human soul. Yet my colleagues mock me and say merely that I dozed, and indeed, none of my students have been able to find the realm of forms. And I doubt whether anyone who does not both truly believe in the place of forms and who does not have a highly trained pattern of thought would be able to send their mind out blindly and find it....

[The rest of the scroll seems to have been torn off jaggedly, and the bottom roller is missing.]


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VI: When in Rome Tenth Post: Britannia Heilyn*

Back to exciting action!:


Marcus and Wena return to Cornelia’s house and discuss the documents with us. Much speculation arises, and both the philosophers attempt to reach out and enter the Place of Forms with their minds. For just a second, Marcus thinks he sees a sharper, brighter view of Cornelia’s house, but it quickly fades, and he is left feeling exhausted. Wena has no better luck.

	Meanwhile, Heilyn has been chomping at the bit to go and visit the Temple of Mercury, as given permission by Cimbrus, and see the Cap of Twilight, the artifact of Lugh “stolen” by the Romans, which is preventing us from freeing Lugh and restoring him to his full power and glory. Lucretius, Llyr, Heilyn, and Wena set off for the Temple, with Lucretius offering to act as guide and mediator with the temple priests. Indeed, the priests are initially highly suspicious of the three Celts, but Lucretius pledges on his honor and good name that they will do no harm; they merely wish to view and pay their respects to the Cap. (Lucretius clearly hadn’t known any of those three very long; I could have warned him what a bad idea this was, if he’d bothered to ask.)

	At the gate of the impressively columned, although small, Temple of Mercury, two statues guard the main entrance. Each holds out their hand in an outstretched position; one depicts Mercury the Guide, the other Mercury as Merchant. The most fascinating aspect of these statues, however, is that they are made of no metal that Heilyn recognizes. The surface of the statues gleams a murky silver and seems to slowly flow back and forth, causing the statues to look as if they are moving. The priest sternly warns the four not to touch the statues. 

	Although the temple seems small on the outside, the priest leads the four through a bewildering warren of tiny corridors before reaching the Treasury room. Wena and Llyr are sure that the space inside the temple is far larger than it is outside, and suspect magic at work. Lucretius remembers that Mercury, in Rome, is god of magic, an aspect he does not share with Lugh, Celtic god of Light and Crafts and Trade. 

	The priest opens two giant bronze doors, and 25 feet away, on three intricately carved marble pedestals, the group can see three objects – a pair of sandals, a wooden staff which has two twisting wooden snakes carved around it, meeting at the top and extending out into thin fan-like wings, and, on the center pedestal, an ordinary looking leather cap. The priest warns that no one should attempt to step into the room, as there are deadly traps everywhere. They may view and pray to the relics from this distance, but can go no further. Lucretius thanks the priest for his kindness and consideration.

	The Celts kneel in awe, and Heilyn glances over to Llyr and Wena, with a quick nod. After a minute or two of praying, the Celtic smith suddenly flings himself across the threshold, running like mad towards the cap. At the same time, Llyr “accidentally” trips the priest, while Wena starts causing a distraction and commotion in the hallway. Lucretius looks absolutely horrified.

	Heilyn is fairly horrified himself when the traps begin to go off and the bronze doors slam shut behind him. Several spears shoot out from either wall, all of which he rolls under or over. He does not manage to dodge either the first or second Wall of Fire which spring up, injuring him badly, but the tiny mannikin he has constructed to take some of his damage does its work. Heilyn is barely alive and standing when he runs into the Wall of Force, located directly in front of the pedestals, before the floor opens up underneath him and he is dropped fifteen feet into a pit, which begins filling rapidly with water.


----------



## Fajitas

Ah, yes.  Heilyn's player had told me about this little escapade.  I've been eagerly expecting it for a while...


----------



## MaxKaladin

Poor Lucretius.  Poor, poor Lucretius.


----------



## Orichalcum

*AI VI: When in Rome Chp 10: No cigar*

Sorry about the long delay - we played last weekend, and had a great time, and the PCs finally figured out some of the main details of Black Chain Philosopher's Evil Plan. Also, more fun was had with Cornelia's mom.

When last we tuned in...

Heilyn, horribly wounded and burnt, was standing at the bottom of a stone pit, which was rapidly filling with water. Alarms had gone up all over the Temple of Mercury. Llyr had thrown his hands up in surrender, claiming complete innocence, Lucretius stood aghast as he saw his word of honor broken in front of his eyes, and Wena was looking...hopeful, but trying to conceal it.

Heilyn, meanwhile, feeling he had nothing left to lose, called forth the spirits of the Stone, as the Spirit of Earth had taught him in his dreams, and begged them to form a small laddered tunnel in the rock that he could climb. As he reached halfway up the pit, Heilyn saw the bottom of the pit open up beneath him and the water go swooshing out. He continued climbing, thrusting his hands deep into the rock itself, which gave before him, and asked the spirits to form a tunnel that led, not vertically up, but at a sharp angle back and up. Working slowly and carefully while the tumult raged outside, he finally managed to burst up into the air again...on the dais itself. On the other side of the Wall of Force. At this point, a new set of alarms went off, and the angry mages and priests of Mercury, god of, as Heilyn now remembered, magic, threw open the heavy bronze doors on the other side of the room. The first fireballs bounced off the Wall of Force, and the chief priest screeched, "You fools! Let me dispel the Wall first! And don't damage the holy relics! Targeted magics, you worms!"

Meanwhile, Wena, Lucretius, and Llyr pressed to the side, Lucretius holding a sword against both their necks, and decided to stay quiet for the moment.

Heilyn reached out, solemnly, and picked up the plain brown leather cap that stood on the center pedestal on the dais. He lifted the cap up, praying fervently, "Lugh, take this cap so that you may be free, and if I can survive as well, that would be a nice benefit...." For a moment, the cap shimmered with bright golden light, and then the light faded. Apparently, something here was blocking Lugh from reclaiming his cap. Looking briefly at the cap with his spirit sight, while the mage at the doorway dispelled the wall, Heilyn noticed a thin black chain stretching out from the cap and towards the door. Deciding that he had nothing left to lose, he placed the cap on his own head, and disappeared from all human sight. Heilyn concentrated for a second, and found that he could also fly at remarkably fast speeds. He contemplated grabbing the Staff of Mercury and the Sandals of Mercury, but decided that, in the end, he had ventured enough today, and now was the time to make a run for it before they figured out exactly where he was.

A mad and desperate chase ensued. Heilyn managed to fly over the heads of the mages and priests guarding the doorway, but they soon realized what had happened. Once into the shifting maze of corridors, Heilyn realized that he had no idea which way led out of the temple. However, by hovering at the ceiling and moving silently, he was able to find various crossroads at which many guards were stationed, which let him know that he was moving in the right direction. Several of these had priests standing there who could see him, and the faltering smith took several more deadly rays of light directly in the face, but while he was lost in the maze, Heilyn had healed himself of much of the earlier damage. 

Eventually, after much careful maneuvering, Heilyn saw the main doorway of the Temple, with the bright sunlight of the Roman Forum beyond. He flew quickly towards the open door, but realized as he approached that the formerly still pair of oddly shining statues were now actively moving, and could undoubtedly sense him. Both reached out with their arms to grasp at him. Praying briefly to Lugh for inspiration, he poured a sack of sestertii onto the scales of the merchant statue, and threw his holy symbol into the outstretched hand of the guide statue. Both statues stopped moving for just long enough for Heilyn to squeeze through them, out into the sunlight.

At the moment that Heilyn  crossed the large Ionic columns framing the entrance of the Temple of Mercury, he heard a smooth, oily, familiar voice in his head. "How...resourceful of you. I am indeed appreciative, and grateful. *You will bring the cap to the Flavian Amphitheater, 300 feet to the northeast of the Temple, and fly to the highest tier of seats, on the southern side. You will do this, now, with speed and enthusiasm. *

Heilyn tried desperately to resist the overwhelming mental command, but his injuries and excitement had made his mind foggy, and the order seemed so clear, and so convincing. He flew within a minute to the deserted amphitheater, and arrived at the designated section of seats. *Very good. Place the cap down on the top seat in front of you, young smith, and walk away. Why should I bother having you kill yourself, when it will be so amusing to watch the Roman guards do it for me? *

As he heard the voice in his head, and once again found himself oddly soothed by its simple, persuasive commands, Heilyn saw the amphitheater below filling with vigiles, the Roman city watchmen, and knew that his entrances were blocked. He put the cap down on the seat, becoming visible to the shouts and exclamations of the guards, and took a few steps away. When he looked back, the cap was gone.

"Throw down your weapons immediately!" the vigilis below him shouted.

"I surrender!" Heilyn called down. "I don't know what was happening! I must have been possessed - some evil philosopher was controlling my mind!"

Next time...Lucretius plays Bad Vigilis.


----------



## Mortepierre

Where, oh where, is our update?   

Inquiring minds want to know what happened to the monke.. er .. the adventurers


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VI: When in Rome Chapter 11?: Good Vigilis Bad Vigilis*

Many apologies about the long delay - running another large LARP ate my (and ladybird's) lives for the last two months. But now, it is over, and sanity is returning. Back to regular posts, I hope.

I, Shast, would like to note at this point that I never trusted Heilyn from the beginning. All those nasty dogs, and the oath he tried to make us all swear, and  the tricks he played on Meloch - we should have expected he'd do something insane, although even I never expected he'd try to steal a major artifact from the central temple of the god of thieves. merchants and mages in Rome itself!
I guess you can always be surprised.

Anyways, Lucretius, who was deeply, deeply upset, hauled Heilyn (now minus the cap),  Llyr, and Wena into the local _vigiles_, or watchmen post, and summoned the rest of us as witnesses for or against them. (Marcus calls the watchmen "wigglies;" I don't think he has much respect for them, but the head of one of the three cohorts of vigiles is Cornelia's ex-stepfather, the man who her mother Licinia married after her father but divorced a year or two ago, so we sort of have some connections and pull with them. Roman relationships are very confusing. Apparently, Cornelia also has two half-siblings who live with her ex-stepfather. I have resolutely refused to be introduced to them; three-year-old boys can have very scary ideas about fun ways to play with a monkey.)

Metellus and Cornelia expressed their shock and horror, but asked for clemency and further investigation, given that they had reason to trust at least Llyr and Wena, and mentioned that they had all had reason to suspect philosophical mind control in the recent past.

So, Lucretius summoned a priest of Mercury to perform some truth magic, and a philosopher from the Library of Trajan to try and ascertain whether or not any of them had in fact been mentally controlled.

Under truth spells, Llyr and Wena confessed to their religious interest in the Cap, and that they had hoped to obtain it legally from the priests, but said that they had not been aware of Heilyn's plan. Also, the philosopher did find faint traces of a foreign mental presence in their minds; sadly, it was impossible to tell how long ago that intrusion occurred. After much debate, they were released to the custody of Cornelia and Metellus with stern warnings, forbidden to carry weapons anywhere near the Triumph, and placed on a watch list.


Heilyn was subjected to a lengthier and more exhaustive interrogation; however, he truthfully claimed that he was somewhat surprised by his own sudden impulse to grab the Cap, despite the serious obstacles, and his singleminded obsession regarding it. He stated that he believed that he was under mind control by the Black Chain Philosopher; while he desired the Cap for Lugh, he thought his actions had been irrational and crazy. He was unable to say where the Cap was now, but persisted in his feeble story that the voice in his head had told him to put the Cap down in the amphitheater, after which it had disappeared.

The philosopher confirmed that Heilyn did bear signs of a significant foreign mental control, although he was unable to pinpoint for how long the smith was under control. The priests of Mercury were, understandably, still very upset about the loss of their Cap, although they accepted that Heilyn was telling the truth. 

After much impassioned pleading by Metellus and Llyr, and some grudging acceptance by Lucretius that Heilyn was needed to find out the real truth, it was settled that Heilyn would pay the temple 5000 sestertii, most of his life savings, in return for the damages he had caused the god's property. He was not to leave the city, was certainly not to participate in the Triumph, and his description was circulated to every watchhouse, and he was ordered to remain accompanied by good Roman citizens when out on his own in the city.

Next post: the Triumph!


----------



## pogre

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Many apologies about the long delay - running another large LARP ate my (and ladybird's) lives for the last two months. But now, it is over, and sanity is returning. Back to regular posts, I hope.




Excellent news! Thanks.


----------



## Mortepierre

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Many apologies about the long delay - running another large LARP ate my (and ladybird's) lives for the last two months. But now, it is over, and sanity is returning. Back to regular posts, I hope.




No need for apologies, I for one am just glad to see you have returned with one of my favorite SH


----------



## Fimmtiu

*Hooray!*

Seeing this story hour updated has made my whole day worthwhile. More, please! I'd give my left arm for a group of players who could handle historical roleplaying this well.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VI: When in Rome Chp. 12: Pre-Triumph Partying*

With all of the excitement over Verix's death, the assassination attempts, and the theft of the Cap, we had nearly forgotten that we were partially responsible for helping to plan Cimbrus's Britannian Triumph. The next week was spent in frantic activity. Although Llyr and Wena were closely watched, they were allowed to help build large floats with fake trees that moved when pushed by Llyr's lever, simulating the walking forest that had attacked the Wall. 

Lucretius informed Metellus and Marcus that some of the prisoners of war, who would be marching in the Triumph prior to their execution at sunset, had been acting somewhat aggressively. In particular, the Bull Druid managed to tear off his chains at one point and throttled two guards before being overwhelmed. Lucretius wanted to consult with people more familiar with Druids to see how to keep the prisoners safe. After discussing the matter with Meloch, Heilyn, Llyr, and Wena, but definitely _not_ Cornelia, the Druidic prisoners were chained with  iron and lead with their hands behind their backs, and small pieces of iron and lead were inserted by Llyr underneath their skin, in an attempt to prevent them from shapechanging. Never believe that the Celts aren't just as vicious as the Romans.

A few days before the Triumph, Kynton, visiting to brag about his races and reassure Llyr that there had been no more mysterious "accidents" on the track, mentioned casually that he'd been invited to an all-Celtic party by "several pretty girls." He said that the party was run by some slaves, or maybe freedmen, who had access to their master's villa while the master was at the seaside. Llyr and Heilyn insisted on crashing the party with Kynton, "for his own protection." Meanwhile, Wena, who had been visiting and befriending the young slave-girl Praecia/Boadicea and her mother Rhysenn, was also invited to a Celtic gathering, where she was told that they would worship the  traditional Celtic gods in proper rituals. 

The same night, Licinia Luculla, Cornelia's mother, decided to throw an outre "pants party" as a welcoming party for her daughter; it was faux-Celtic in theme. The Romans, Meloch, and myself, all attended, although Cornelia did not, thankfully, wear pants, but merely a traditional gown. Even Meloch blinked a little at Licinia's leather breeches, however, and young Metellus nearly turned and fled the party entirely. Much gossip was exchanged; Cornelia learned of the Emperor's popular illegitimate son, Aemilianus Salonianus, and Meloch heard from other slaves about Licinia's bitter dislike for the Emperor's current mistress, Lupina Silvana. 

Meanwhile, the three Celts all turned up at the same party, held in the courtyard in a mansion on the Esquiline Hill. It was an odd gathering, only a little more genuinely Celtic than Licinia's party across town, since most of the  attending slaves and freedmen had not been in Britannia or Gaul since their childhoods. A roaring bonfire dominated the middle of the courtyard, and various young men and women were attempting to paint themselves with woad. 

The Celts spoke enthusiastically about trying to revive the ancient rituals, and perhaps even go find some Roman thief to ritually sacrifice, until Heilyn and Wena stepped forward. They introduced themselves as genuine Celts and recent travelers, and Wena proclaimed her status as a vates. They preached the values of the new Celtic religion, of eschewing human sacrifice in favor of token blood donations and of the pure, simple worship of Lugh, Epona, and Sulis. Some of the young warriors seemed disgruntled by the abandonment of sacrifices, but others listened eagerly.

Meanwhile, Llyr noticed that a small group of Celts, led by a tall, red-haired man, were quietly sneaking away from the bonfire and the preaching and going into one of the secluded rooms of the mansion. He stealthily crept after them, and listened through the thick door as best he could. He heard only snatches of dialogue....the leader seemed to be a man named Sycorax, which  Llyr remembered was the name of Divico's arms-smuggling contact in the Druidic Resistance Movement back in Gaul. They mentioned the Triumph several times, and gathering more forces, but then someone heard Llyr leaning against the door, and he had to run before being spotted. Llyr tried to follow Sycorax after the party, but lost him on the way, somewhere in downtown Rome.

Sorry, I lied...the Triumph is coming, I promise.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Thank you!*



			
				Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> Seeing this story hour updated has made my whole day worthwhile. More, please! I'd give my left arm for a group of players who could handle historical roleplaying this well.




They're a pretty awesome group. I count myself lucky that I get to turn the tables and be GMed by Meloch, Heilyn, Marcus, and Llyr's players occasionally. (Marcus writes Cerebral Paladin's StoryHour; Meloch ran our college campaign, which was and is an awesome Asian-based epic D&D campaign drawing influences from Nepali, Southeast Asian, and east Asian cultures; Heilyn is about to finish up a 10-year high-level campaign of his own, which has given me the chance to play more odd characters than I ever imagined, and Llyr runs intermittently a terrific swashbuckling game in the style of Ellen Kushner and Steven Brust.) 

So I learned from great GMs, and now I get to play with their minds as well. The only difficulty is sometimes anticipating their responses...I had _no idea_ that Heilyn was actually going to make a direct lunge for the Cap, and so I had to improvise the temple defenses more or less on the fly. In my original version, the Black Chain Philosopher was going to steal the Cap himself and then blame it on Heilyn. I think it actually worked out much better this way, but there were some very tense moments in my brain.

The good thing is that my professional training in Roman history means that I'm always a little ahead of them in terms of coming up with ideas. I have a very good background sense of how Rome "works," so I can fill in details spontaneously when necessary, as in the case of the temple of Apollo of the Mice.


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

*Gee, shucks...*



			
				Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> Seeing this story hour updated has made my whole day worthwhile. More, please! I'd give my left arm for a group of players who could handle historical roleplaying this well.




[Aw, Fimmtiu, you say the sweetest things.

But the aurochs' share of praise unquestionably goes to the GM, whose intricate knowledge of the Greco-Roman world makes historical roleplaying vivid and fun.  Plus, Chalky deals well when we run the plot off the rails, whether by looting the cap of Lugh, attempting to steal the Staff of Winds, or seducing the future emperor's wife... what, you thought that rumor about Metellus was really just a rumor?]

It should be noted -- perhaps Shast was about to note it -- that while in his jail cell awaiting interrogation, a rather dejected Heilyn turned to me through the bars and growled, "Truce, pygmy?"

Since Heilyn had just managed to fit all the misbehavior of which I've ever been accused into a single afternoon (violations of hospitality?  well-meaning larceny foisted off as "mind control"?  running around invisible getting up to no good?) plus blasphemy and helping the Black Chain Philosopher to boot...  well, it was good of him to recognize the collapse of his moral high ground.  

But I managed to refrain from any barbs and said, "Truce, blacksmith."

It was a fun little feud while it lasted, but I just know eventually Heilyn would have snapped at my provocations and set his dogs on Shast -- an outcome which, while not without its satisfactions, would probably end badly for all concerned.  Monkeys are much harder to replace than goats.


----------



## Piratecat

I've been offered the chance to help develop an upcoming NPC. Fear, my friends, fear. Bwah ha ha ha cough cough gag wheeze pant pant ha!


----------



## Ladybird

*Letter to Londinium*

Dear Auntie Petronilla,

I wanted to write to you for two reasons – first, to let you know that everything is still going well in Rome after our safe arrival; and second, to let you know what _really_ happened at my mother’s party, before the rumors reach Britannia.

When Mother first came up with the idea of having a Britannia-themed party, I thought it would be nice – even though of course Rome is really home for all of us, after a few months away from Britannia I’m starting to miss it. But Mother just would not listen to me when I tried to tell her what things in Britannia are really like! 

So here is what did _not_ happen at Mother’s party. There were no ‘authentic Celtic slaves.’ I don’t think the ‘Celtic’ slaves she got for the night had been north of Pisae, let alone to Gaul or Britannia. They just threw blue paint on themselves every which way, with no regard for tribal patterns, even when I _tried_ to tell them the right way to do it. The only real Celt around was Nanna Alma, and I made sure she stayed out of the way so she wouldn’t get trampled by the guests.

There were no wild animals, no matter what some of Mother’s friends might say. There was a big dog that sort of looked like a wolf if you’ve never seen a wolf before, and there was a very sad-looking bear cub tied up in a corner. 

There weren’t really any scandalous outfits, either. Everyone wore pants, and some of the men didn’t wear shirts, but it wasn’t any more scandalous than what you see on a hot day near the river. Many people were wearing _more_ clothes than they would to an ordinary party, because they were all covered up with pants and what they thought were ‘tribal-looking’ furs.

Oh – and one more thing. Metellus did _not_ leave the party and go off to the baths with a woman, or an older Greek man, or anybody! Yes, Marcus had to talk to Metellus about something in private, and pulled him aside to the baths to have a conversation, but that’s all that happened! Metellus didn’t do anything scandalous with anybody! I don’t know what the rumors in Londinium are these days, but please try to stop the ones about Metellus, at least?

The only other thing of interest that’s happened since my last letter was a visit with Ennius, Mother’s new ex-husband. He’s very kind  (and, just as you suspected, extremely handsome). His new wife Attilia is young – only a year or two older than I am! – and seemed a little shy, but some of that might have been from the fact that she felt uncomfortable having me there. And of course I can understand that – when your husband’s ex-wife’s daughter comes to call, what is there really to _say_? 

Fortunately, when things got awkward, we could always talk about the children, although that could be a touchy subject too, sometimes. I think Attilia is caught between wanting to be their only mother and feeling that my mother should pay more attention to the little boys herself.

But my brothers are really adorable – they both seem to be very smart for their ages, and they love being around people. Quintus is four, and talks constantly. He’s already a fan of the Blues – I wonder if I could get Llyr to make him a little toy chariot for his birthday. Sextus is only two, and is a little shyer, but very sweet. He climbed right up in my lap as soon as I sat down. The only time he talked during the whole visit was to ask who I was. All I could figure out to say, in a way that he would understand and that wouldn’t make things more awkward with Attilia than they already were, was: “I’m family.”  

Quintus wants me to sit with them for the upcoming vigiles-Praetorian mock battle. I had thought I would take the Praetorian side, but I can’t bring myself to disappoint Quintus, so I probably will sit with him.

Please give my love to Uncle Drusus, and to everyone back in Londinium. I’ll write again soon.

Your niece,

Cornelia


----------



## Mortepierre

God, what I wouldn't give to play in that campaign ..


----------



## Fajitas

Ladybird said:
			
		

> Quintus is four, and talks constantly. He’s already a fan of the Blues




Yeah, the first time I read this sentence, I had the wrong Blues entirely in my head.  I was thinking, "I didn't know they had harmonicas in Ancient Rome..."  

All better now.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VI: When in Rome Chp. 13: The Triumph, really!*

The time had come for Cimbrus' Triumph, and practically everyone suspected  that the Druidic Resistance Movement, possibly although not definitely in connection with the mysterious Black Chain Philosopher, would mount some sort of attack, probably on Cimbrus himself. Our group carefully interviewed the two potential slave candidates for the role of standing behind Cimbrus with the laurel wreath and whispering "Remember that you are mortal" in his ear, and decided finally on Cimbrus' own personal servant, Ligurnus. Ligurnus was extensively checked for psionic, magical, and divine influence and strip-searched before the Triumph, and we believed him safe and loyal.

      Unsure where the attack would come from, and motivated also by appropriate formalities, our group split up for the Triumph itself.  
	

	
	
		
		

		
			





  After Lucretius secured the somewhat reluctant permission of the commander of the Praetorian Guard, Meloch turned Lucretius, Marcus, Metellus, and himself invisible, and they surrounded the triumphal chariot as it slowly proceeded along the parade route, fully armed and prepared for danger. Meloch and I roamed back and forth a bit, watching the crowd.

      Meanwhile, Llyr, unarmed by order of the Praetorians and vigiles, was up at the beginning of the parade, on the second-to-last of the floats depicting the great events of the Britannian War, in front of the captured prisoners. Wena guarded the end of the parade, walking with other free Britannians who were there to acknowledge Cimbrus's greatness. Cornelia, due to the heroism of her father, had been offered a seat of honor on the dais in the Circus Flaminius, where Hadriana and baby Cimbra were sitting and watching. Heilyn, of course, had been banned from the Triumph, but was placed on a small island in the middle of the Tiber, near the parade route, with a small group of Praetorians, in case any Druids tried to use the oak grove there for malevolent purposes.

      So, Meloch and I are riding around invisible on invisible Kaspar the goat, through this incredibly slow, long parade. First come the floats, long wagons with scenes of lightning bolts tossed down from the sky, moving trees, gigantic animals, even a few scythe-wheeled war chariots. Then come the chained, grim-looking prisoners. Then the triumphal chariot, with Cimbrus, the slave Ligurnus, and a whole bunch of invisible people. Then the Senators, the Equites, the grateful free Britannians, and the Legions. Well, actually, not much of the Legions, because most of the soldiers either stayed in Britannia or were sent off to fight the Parthians. But there's a token cohort or two.


As the triumphal chariot passes by Cornelia and Hadriana, the toddler Cimbra, who has been sitting quietly with her toys on the platform, suddenly gurgles "Dada!" and starts hurtling at top baby-speed towards the edge of the 10-foot-high platform, into the cheering mob below. Hadriana initially smiles at Cimbra's public acknowledgement of her father, but then realizes what danger she's in. Sadly, she fails in her attempt to grab Cimbra, and the baby keeps moving. Cornelia lunges for the child, but also misses. We invisible warriors panic, not close enough to grab the toddler if she falls.

     Finally, just as Cimbra reaches the edge, Cornelia mutters a few words under her breath, and holds up a brightly colored ball. "Cimbra, sweetie! Come play with me! You like me, don't you!" Cimbra, easily distracted, comes back to the sight of the ball and spends the next hour happily seated in Cornelia's lap, whom she seems to have taken quite a liking to. In the midst of playing with the child, Cornelia tries hard not to contemplate the death penalty for casting mind-affecting magic on members of the Imperial Family.

      The parade passes on, and the floats and then the prisoners reach the sharp turn at the bottom of the Circus Maximus, where the route takes an abrupt left before heading up through the Forum. Llyr, arranging the moving trees on his float, suddenly glimpses out of the corner of his eye what looks like chains dropping from some of the prisoners in front of him. He yells to the guards around him, and grabs one of their spears before leaping off the float and starting to run towards the prisoners. Meloch and I, on the other side of the prisoners, notice that some of them seem to be simply disappearing...vanishing from sight entirely. There are now significantly less prisoners than there were a few seconds ago. 

        At approximately the same moment, some sort of arrow shoots out from amidst the crowd seated on the benches of the Circus Maximus, headed directly for Cimbrus on his chariot. Luckily, it misses, but none of us are able to spot the shooter. Metellus, Marcus, and Lucretius all jump onto the chariot, trying to shield Cimbrus with their invisible bodies. Meanwhile, Meloch and I begin looking around for the sorcerer causing invisibility, and send telepathic messages to Wena, through her previously established bond, alerting her of the danger. Wena passes on the messages to Cornelia and Lucretius. Lucretius, who has had See 'Invisible cast upon him by a relatively friendly priest/mage of Mercury, notifies Wena and thus Meloch that there are two hags floating in the air, a hundred feet up, who have just appeared. 

        Llyr charges bravely into the prisoners, and realizes quickly that some of them have not only been unchained, but now seem to have weapons. Furthermore, there appear to be a few entirely new people there, all Celts. He immediately targets the three Druids, who are unable to cast due to the metal driving into their arms, and takes out one in a single flurry of blows. A few other guards run to assist him. Other groups of prisoners keep disappearing either into the crowds surrounding the parade route, or simply from view entirely.

       Listening very carefully, Meloch finally hears what sounds like chanting to him coming from high up in the sky. In desperation, he aims an area Dispel Magic, a newly learned spell, at the general location of the chanting. Suddenly, a floating elderly woman, covered with tattoos and bloodstained hands, appears in the sky. Various guards begin shooting at her, as she tries to dodge them, including Lucretius. Meanwhile, Metellus charges forward to help Llyr with the escaping and violent prisoners, although he misses the Bull Druid on his first try.

        Metellus and Llyr continue attacking the prisoners, as more continue disappearing. Cornelia is trying to protect Cimbra and Hadriana, while Wena is running madly to catch up with all the action and maintaining telepathic relays. She sends her owl, Cato, to the scene, and manages to Light up the visible witch, to make her a more obvious target. Llyr finally notices that there is a small toad being passed from prisoner to prisoner, as well as what looks like a cat, and soon after it touches prisoners, they disappear. He begins aiming for the animals, guessing that they are the mysterious witches' familiars. 

        The shooter fires off another shot or two at Cimbrus, one of which hits Marcus. In general, though, they seem poorly aimed. Marcus, looking sharply around with enhanced senses, manages finally to spot the assassin, and points him out to the Praetorian archers, who make quick work of the man.

         Meloch, having tried a spell or two at the visible witch, decides to concentrate on the remaining invisible one. He casts Dispel Magic twice more, and on the second time, all those near the triumphal chariot hear something plummeting out of the sky towards them. Marcus and Lucretius throw their shields and themselves over Cimbrus, and thus bear the brunt of the weight when a foul hag lands on their shields and materializes. In one swift move, Marcus dumps her off the side of his shield and stabs her to death, becoming visible himself in the process. The crowd erupts in understandable chaos. Meanwhile, archers take out the other witch, who is seriously weakened when Llyr impales her toad.

         Llyr and Metellus, with some Praetorian help, manage to kill more than half of the prisoners before they escape, together with some of their Druidic Resistance Allies. Heilyn, waiting on the island, sees several prisoners swimming across the Tiber in escape, and goes out with the guards and deals with them. In total, only about 9 prisoners successfully escaped, including, unfortunately, the Bull Chieftain, an enormous and vicious fighter, was one of them. However, Llyr personally killed all three Druids, and is highly congratulated by the Praetorians for doing so, especially by Lucretius, who revises his opinion of him upwards.

        The Triumph is saved from complete debacle, although it certainly wasn't the kind of well-ordered, untroubled kind of event that Meloch said they usually are. But at the end, there was still all the free food that I could ever have wanted...and Meloch and I were still invisible for a bit, so we got the best stuff. It is a good day when you have as many grapes and dates as you want.


----------



## spyscribe

Murder, mayhem... and a parade!

Very cool.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas, First Chapter: Paperwork*

A few days after the Triumph, Lucretius receives the following report:

Report on the Incident at the Triumph of the most noble L. Mamercus Aemilianus Cimbrus Britannicus on the Ides of Maius, in the consulship of L. Mamercus Aemilianus Cimbrus Britannicus and G. Servilius Procopius:

by G. Atilius Faunus, Second Centurion of the First Cohort of the Vigiles.


Relevant sections (it's a very long document)
        ....As the Triumphal Chariot approached the mid-point of the
Circus Maximus, the section of the parade containing the XXXVII important
Celtic prisoners was turning the corner at the end of the Circus in
preparation for rounding the Palatine Hill and then proceeding northwards
through the Forum Romanum. At this point, some commotion began to occur.
The first noted incident was movement and arming of weapons by Auxiliary
Engineer of the VIth Legion G. Tacitus Llyr, who was on board one of the
floats directly behind the group of prisoners. It is my judgement that
this movement should not be interpreted against him, as he shortly
thereafter demonstrated extreme courage in attacking the escaping
prisoners, but his potentially hostile action, particularly given his
previous criminal rccord [ See Report on Armed Theft at the Temple of
Mercury, IV days before the Ides of Maius, VIIth Watchhouse, Via Sacra],
should be noted.

        The prisoners then seemed to stop marching in the parade and begin
fleeing southwards and westwards; several witnesses claim to have seen
their chains falling off them. The aforementioned Auxiliary G. Tacitus
Llyr moved forward to engage them in combat, as did other nearby standing
guards; meanwhile, the Triumphal Chariot halted, and protective forces
moved in around it. The Praetorians claimed to have special protective
forces guarding Cimbrus, although I couldn't see any of them, but I'm sure
the gods were looking out for him.

        Many of the prisoners appeared to escape fairly readily into the
crowds (three of my men claim that they disappeared practically within
arms' reach, but I fear that they had begun imbibing before the triumphal
banquet, and they have been duly flogged for their incompetence.) In
total, XIV of the prisoners escaped into the crowded streets of Rome; V of
these were later apprehended on the island park in the middle of the
Tiber, where the Praetorians had suggested we place guards; particular credit here goes to the British smith Heilyn, who despite his highly suspicious record [See previous Report on Armed Theft and Assault on Religious Officials] valiantly both spotted the escaped prisoners and prevented their flight. XII of the prisoners, including all the captured Druids, were killed in combat during the triumph, most particularly by the aforementioned G. Tacitus Llyr; the remaining XI as well as the V recaptured Celts were executed immediately after the triumph's end, as per standard procedure. Those that were recaptured claimed to have no knowledge of their rescuers and went so far as to bite their own tongues out rather than respond to gentle questioning.

     The remaining IX escaped Celtic prisoners include a large, red-bearded man who gave his name only as Tarbh Kiannort, which according to our native informants means Chieftain of the Bulls. He should be regarded as extremely dangerous, having previously tried to break out of the prison camp and throttled three vigiles into unconsciousness with his bare hands. Most of the others seemed to be fighters, although two of the women had fought in the battle yet were not captured with weapons larger than the long, sharp Celtic daggers. Units should be informed to expect that the five women will prove to be equally deadly combatants and should not be shown mercy. All vigiles are currently on the lookout for suspiciously behaving Celts, but given the large foreign-born population in the city, both slave and free, a detailed search will be difficult without good evidence of their likely hideouts. However, given the extra patrols at the gates, it is my belief that it is most likely that the prisoners remain in Rome and have not successfully fled the city.

   The most mysterious incident during this attack involved the supposed aerial assault. Various of the extra guards which the Praetorian Lucretius had hired began, during the combat, pointing up at the air and shouting something; surprising meteorological conditions then began to occur, which is after all not unusual in Maius. A large number of witnesses claim that they saw a female figure appear hovering in the air and then fall dead to the ground; while two elderly women without visible wounds were found dead in the Circus Maximus after the incident, it seems probable that their deaths were due to natural excitement given all the chaos. Certainly, this is the official account of the vigiles, as there is no need to spread panic among the populace by confirming dubious accounts of hags plummeting onto the triumphal chariot, particularly as the most-noble Cimbrus remained unharmed.

        On tips from G. Tacitus Llyr, a squadron of vigiles went to search a deserted villa on the Aventine Hill, but found no present inhabitants, although evidence of recent fires.

        Vigiles have also been instructed to be particularly on the lookout for a tall, thin red headed man, wiry in build, going by the name Sycorax, but such a man was not noted during the Triumphal incident.

        More trustworthy Celtic speakers would aid in the further investigation. Our reports also indicate that an abnormally large number of Celtic-origin slaves, around LXXXV according to our latest account, have been registered as running away from their rightful owners within the past month, with a particular spike around the time of the Triumph. Attempts are being made to keep tabs on current Celtic slaves, but given the approximate population of 15,000 slaves of Gallic, Britannian, or Germanic origin within the city of Rome currently, such a task is difficult.

Assistance from the Praetorians is always welcomed, of course.

                                        -- G. Atilius Faunus


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas, Second Chapter: Dreams*

That night, we all dream, but only a few of us dream memorably:

 Wena: You fall asleep in the relatively quiet garden of Licinia Luculla’s house, glad to be seeing the stars again as you drift off. You dream. You are in a library, searching through scrolls. You know the answer to all your questions lies within one of these shelves, but you cannot find it. The scrolls are up to your ankles....your knees. You call for assistance, but no one seems to hear you. 

Suddenly, you hear a voice. “Would this be what you are looking for, foolish vates?” A shadowed figure stands at the end of the long corridor of shelves. You cannot see his face, but wings seem to grow out of both sides of his head. He tosses a silver-cased scroll towards you, and you catch it for a second, before realizing that it is attached to a thin black chain. He pulls on the chain, and you grab on to the scroll to hold on to it. Slowly, inexorably, he pulls you and the scroll towards him, down the long corridor.
	You wake up. 



Cornelia: Despite the earlier excitements, you manage finally to fall asleep. You dream: You are swimming in  the ocean. The water is warm and crystal-clear, and you feel utterly relaxed, even though you are alone. Through the waves you glimpse a chest with gold pieces, and maybe some silver amphorae. A dolphin jumps in the air near you; thankfully, it is not bouncing a human head. 

	You see the shore, only a hundred feet or so off, and you see your friends standing on it. Metellus and Lucretius and Nanna Alma are waving at you and shouting, but you cannot hear them. The current is drifting you out farther and farther. You can barely see the figures on the shore. You look out towards the horizon, and see another land in the distance, with waving palm trees. You wave back at your friends, and then begin swimming onwards. 
	You wake. 


Meloch: After all the earlier excitements, you have finally managed to curl up with Shast and get to sleep, despite Shast’s faint verbal and mental mumblings – “ooh, right there. Scratch me right there, on the back of the neck. Yessss....” You dream: You are in the brothel on Cyprus, juggling for the gentlemen customers. The master, a fat Cyprian named Isarchus, beckons you over. “You’ve driven up business and been very entertaining, little pygmy. If you keep this up, I might free you at the end of the month as a reward.” You lower your head and thank him, remembering to keep the tone of respect and gratitude in your voice. In your head, you think to Shast, “It’s about time. I make more money for that pig than any of his girls.” 

	Shast asks hesitantly, “When you go, will you take me?” It’s the first note of anything but brash self-confidence you’ve ever gotten from the monkey. You reassure him that you will stay together – after all, the pygmy-and-monkey act will probably pay your way back to North Africa. 

	It is two months later, and Isarchus has not mentioned anything about your freedom. Finally, on Shast’s nagging, you go up to him and ask obsequiously, “Master – you said that you would free me, if business continued to go well.”

	Isarchus smiles insincerely at you. “Ah yes, but then three of the girls gave birth last month, and I’ve been paying for the babes’ upkeep, because you know what a kind man I am. I’m afraid the ledgers just won’t allow for it at the moment. Maybe next year.”

	You feel chains settle again on your wrists and ankles, and from above, someone begins pulling on your wrists. “Juggle, little pygmy,” Isarchus sneers. “Dance for the crowd!” Helplessly, you feel yourself moving, performing the routine for one more night of many. 

	You wake up, with a bitter taste in your mouth. In real life, three months later Isarchus traded you to a slave dealer in exchange for a buxom blonde girl from Scythia.  


Lucretius: You curl up in your thin bunk at the barracks, trying, as usual, to ignore Macrinus’s snores. A good man, but sometimes you want to kill him in his sleep. Slowly, you drift off yourself, and dream: It is a festival day, and you and your elephant Sapientia have been assigned to patrol the streets and keep the masses orderly. There is a large crowd on the Vicus Tuscus, trying to push their way forward towards the free feast in the Forum. It is an increasingly angry mob, shoving and pushing, with some people using their work tools to try and threaten their way to the head of the line. 

     You wheel Sapientia and head forward, raising your voice and trying to reassure the people that there will be food enough for all, if they are only patient. A young boy tries to dart underneath Sapientia’s legs, just as an angry man with a butcher’s spit stabs her right foot, and she stumbles leftwards. The boy’s legs are crushed, and maybe some of his ribs. His mother screams, “I thought you were here to protect us.” You awake, shuddering, knowing that even if your bunkmates understood your fears, you would never be able to discuss it with them.

         You lie awake again, trembling, for some time. Your third bunkmate, Centurion Lakros, who was off on night shift, comes stumbling through the curtained doorway. He looks at you and says, “In the months ahead, be wary and watchful. But do not fear the truth. For though we may play tricks, we always seek the source of wisdom.” For a second, you think his eyes shine grey. 

	In the morning, you wake again, and ask Lacrinus about his strange words of last night. He denies them, and tells you that after his shift he stayed out drinking till nearly dawn.


----------



## Mortepierre

Orichalcum,

I have been meaning to ask you.. How do you deal with destructive magic/psi in your campaign?

I know already you have authorized magic & psionic to some degree, but I am curious about "heavy-handed" magic such as Call Lightning, Flame Strike and the like. Did you write it off entirely or do you restrict those of your players who could have potentially access to it? (such as by making certain spells castable only under certain circumstances for instance)

I am in the middle of preparing an historical campaign myself (though one set in Ancient Egypt) and I find myself going over spell lists over and over. On one hand, given the era I have chosen, I am tempted to use alternate classes such as those described in the *Testament* setting of Green Ronin. On the other, using the "standard" PHB classes would make things easier. Since you seem to be using the second method, I would appreciate your thoughts on the matter.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Flashy Magic*



			
				Mortepierre said:
			
		

> Orichalcum,
> 
> I have been meaning to ask you.. How do you deal with destructive magic/psi in your campaign?
> 
> I know already you have authorized magic & psionic to some degree, but I am curious about "heavy-handed" magic such as Call Lightning, Flame Strike and the like. Did you write it off entirely or do you restrict those of your players who could have potentially access to it? (such as by making certain spells castable only under certain circumstances for instance)




So, there are a couple of different answers. The first is that "destructive" or "flashy" magic is more normally used by the "barbarians" of the world like the Celts, North Africans, and Parthians. So Aeduana flung around Call Lightnings and Ice Storms and so forth like nobody's business. The Parthians are known for their elite military corps of Magi (the original magi), who fling flame at their enemies. 

But in downtown Rome, the magic is generally much more what Marcus would call "witchery," subtle things like curses, invisibility, and so forth. Neither of the two witches in the Triumph had any mass damage spells, just lots of invisibilities and Flies. Also, the average educated Roman believes that magic exists, just that it's kinda skanky and easily defeated by Roman logistics, efficiency, and more powerful Roman deities.  

Of course, this wilful denial of powerful magic has allowed a number of people like Cornelia's mother to get away with a large amount of magic. But again, while she's in Rome, Cornelia's mother doesn't cast Fireballs, even if she knows them. Suggestion does the trick much more often...

I largely trust my players to use magic appropriately in appropriate settings. Meloch, for instance, has of this date cast Fireball once, in a dark cave, with only enemies and fellow PCs around. He knows the rules. If the PCs are willing to work with the setting, you can do a lot. Of course, this also means that I feel obliged to provide occasional settings (like isolated ruins, etc...) where the PCs can let loose with their full range of abilities. 

Good luck!


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Post 3: Trial by Error*

A few days after the Triumph, Metellus Major, Metellus' father, summons Metellus into his study, austerely furnished with military decorations and busts of the more famous Metelli ancestors. Metellus prays desperately that this conversation isn't going to be about the rumors about him and Hadriana, and some household god hears his call.

       "Son, your military tribunate is over, with distinction, " Metellus Major notes. "It is time for you to consider which political office you will run for in the December elections. There are three logical possibilities at your age. You could become a judge for the year, deciding murder, theft, and extortion cases: this position has a great deal of honor, but less opportunity for making money to help you down the line. Remember, in order to enter the Senate at 30 you need one million sesterces, and we can only provide you with about three or four hundred thousand, depending on how my investments do. 

        The second possibility is as an inspector of houses and buildings. This position gives you the freedom to enter into any building and Rome and check to make sure that it is appropriately constructed and that there is no illegal contraband inside. It is less interesting, but there is a reasonably good potential for gaining funds on the side. 

        The third potential office is as a commissioner of the mint and treasury. You would be able to choose the designs for coins for the year, possibly even honoring our family on a few, and supervise the flow of money in and out of the treasury. Obviously, this can be highly remunerative, but it does not present many possibilities for gaining fame and reputation.

         To give you a better sense of which position you might want, I have arranged for you to spend a day observing officials in each of the current positions and assisting them in their duties. Tomorrow, you will go see a trial for illegal prophesying at the court of  G. Rutilius Creticus. Because of the nature of the trial, it will be closed to all but the witnesses, the lawyers, the defendant's patrons, the judge, and yourself."

Metellus Minor nods and asks his father if Metellus Major has any preference in which office he speaks, but is brusquely told to make up his own mind and dismissed. He tells Marcus and Llyr the news, and they insist on escorting him at least as far as the doors of the Temple of Castor, where the trial is taking place, given the recent run of assassination attempts. Meanwhile, everyone else spends much time in the library.

OOG Note: For the trial sequence, I gave everyone except Metellus' player a character as witness or lawyer, with a strict one-hour time limit on the scene. Metellus' player was somewhat surprised, and everyone else had much fun playing their one-shot characters.


----------



## Mortepierre

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> So, there are a couple of different answers. The first is that "destructive" or "flashy" magic is more normally used by the "barbarians" of the world like the Celts, North Africans, and Parthians. So Aeduana flung around Call Lightnings and Ice Storms and so forth like nobody's business. The Parthians are known for their elite military corps of Magi (the original magi), who fling flame at their enemies.
> 
> But in downtown Rome, the magic is generally much more what Marcus would call "witchery," subtle things like curses, invisibility, and so forth. Neither of the two witches in the Triumph had any mass damage spells, just lots of invisibilities and Flies. Also, the average educated Roman believes that magic exists, just that it's kinda skanky and easily defeated by Roman logistics, efficiency, and more powerful Roman deities.
> 
> Of course, this wilful denial of powerful magic has allowed a number of people like Cornelia's mother to get away with a large amount of magic. But again, while she's in Rome, Cornelia's mother doesn't cast Fireballs, even if she knows them. Suggestion does the trick much more often...
> 
> I largely trust my players to use magic appropriately in appropriate settings. Meloch, for instance, has of this date cast Fireball once, in a dark cave, with only enemies and fellow PCs around. He knows the rules. If the PCs are willing to work with the setting, you can do a lot. Of course, this also means that I feel obliged to provide occasional settings (like isolated ruins, etc...) where the PCs can let loose with their full range of abilities.
> 
> Good luck!




Thanks for the input and valuable advice!

I am still keeping my fingers crossed, hoping to see the full stats of your players someday


----------



## Pyske

Ack!  I should have been paying more attention to the fact that I was approaching the end... now whatever shall I do while I await the next installment?

Great story, definitely makes me want to go browse through my old Mythic Rome book.

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Chapter 4: Prosecution's Opening Statement*

The next morning, Metellus enters the Temple of Castor (and Pollux), one of the many small temples in the Forum which frequently do double duty as courthouses. Looking around, he recognizes the judge, G. Rutilius Creticus, a heavily perfumed young Roman nobleman a few years older than him, who used to try and steal his wax tablet back in the days of learning Vergil. He also notices a fat, sweating merchant seated on a marble bench; he apparently brought his own cushion. The two advocates stand before the judge; the prosecutor, a narrow-shouldered man with mousy brown hair, seems younger even than Metellus. Metellus vaguely recognizes the defense advocate, the famous L. Verrius Glaucus, dressed in a toga of the finest Egyptian linen, with gold buckles on his leather sandals. Glaucus is said to have lost less than five cases in his long years of lawyering. 

   Glancing around, Metellus notices a number of oddly dressed men and women, whom he assumes to be witnesses, some Praetorian Guards, and, most surprisingly, Mamerca Aemilia, the Emperor's sister and her son, Memmius Rufus, who are sitting composedly on a bench a few rows behind the merchant. A middle-aged man in a long Greek tunic and an elegantly trimmed long white beard sits next to Rufus and periodically whispers into his ear. Metellus goes up to approach the judge. "Ave, Rutilius!"

"Ave, Metellus Minor. Your father said you'd be coming by today. Here, let me talk to you for a minute," Rutilius says as he draws Metellus away from the lawyers, dropping his voice slightly. "Look, I've been doing this for six months already; mostly, it's more boring than a list of the Emperor's military victories. I have to be present, but why don't you concentrate on this one? You can tell me what you think I should judge at the end of the trial, and unless it seems totally unreasonable, that's what it will be. Meanwhile, I can work on writing my new poem to my girlfriend Cynthia..."

Metellus is a little non-plussed at Rutilius' dereliction of duty, but agrees, and a stool is drawn up for him next to Rutilius' curule chair of office. The two advocates bow, and Rutilius whispers, "Gnaeus Tertius Publicola, the young prosecutor, has half an hour to make his case, including all witnesses' testimonies. Then Glaucus will make his case, and we'll decide after Glaucus' closing statement."

Publicola steps forward, trying to assume the classic oratorical pose, one foot forward, toga draped just so, right hand gesturing commandingly upwards to the sky. Sadly, he hasn't quite figured out how to manage the folds of his toga properly, and it tangles his arm momentarily.

        "Honored judge..s, I bring before you today a grave charge, one of conspiracy against the Empire and the Imperial family itself. As all know, soothsaying within the boundaries of Rome itself is illegal.  But even beyond that, seeking and obtaining a prophecy relating to the downfall of the Empire or the Imperial family is treason, punishable by being thrown from the Tarpeian Rock. I will today prove to you how this conniving, greedy wine merchant, L. Memmius Salonianus, was a repeated prophecy-hunter, and how a few weeks ago he went to the notorious soothsayer Perthinos the Sagacious and there received a dire prophecy concerning the Empire. 

        Did he, like a good citizen, promptly go and report this threat to the Praetorians? No. He complained about it, and gossiped to his neighbors, spreading fear and panic through the streets. L. Memmius Salonianus is the client of the most noble Memmius Rufus, the Emperor's own nephew, but he did not tell...as far as we know, at least...his patron about this prophecy. No, for whatever crude purposes he had in mind, he concealed it from those who had the right to know, and spread the information among the naive and fearful. My first witness will be Marcia Lusitanilla, Memmius Salonianus' neighbor."

Publicola gestures forward a thin, elderly Italian woman, wearing a carefully darned mantle to stand before the judges.

"You are Marcia Lusitanilla, neighbor of Memmius Salonianus?"

"Indeed I am. I'm a Centurion's widow, you know, respectable, not like some of the people in our neighborhood. My husband died serving Rome in Britannia, in the Ninth Legion. And just because I have to sell some livestock and rent rooms to get by doesn't mean I'm a peasant, no matter what that merchant says, let me..." the elderly woman expounds volubly.

"That's fine, Domina. We are all certain that you're highly respectable. Now, what was your first contact with the defendant on this matter?"

"Well, two weeks ago, Memmius Salonianus stopped by one morning and asked me for a perfectly white young female goat, just like he does every spring."

"Every spring? Why?"

"Well, he _says_ that it's for a sacrifice to Fortune to ensure a good wine harvest, but you know as well as I do that Fortuna doesn't care about the color of the goat. I think, I've always thought, that it's for fortune-telling. You know how superstitious Memmius Salonianus is."

"Why don't you tell us more about that?"

"Oh, well, he's always terrified of all sorts of bad omens, and he has more good luck tokens hanging over his door than a pawnshop. That man looks up at the sky for omens every time he steps outdoors."

"Did you ever hear from the defendant about the goat again?"

"Oh yes. Two days later, he came back, and would you believe he complained about my goat? He said it wasn't pure enough. Pure enough for what, I asked, it was certainly pure enough for any legitimate religious purpose. And if he'd made it impure I didn't want to know about it, and it certainly wasn't my fault. And we argued back and forth, and finally he admitted he had gone to consult a soothsayer, Perthinus the Sagacious, and that Perthinus had told him not only that his wine harvest was doomed, but all of Rome, and that Nero was going to return from the dead, and that everyone’s houses were going to fall down, and that we should all start praying to strange gods to save us rather than the good old trio of Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva..." Marcia Lusitanilla's breath ran out at this point, somewhat thankfully for everyone else's ears.

"Had you ever heard of Perthinus the Sagacious before?"

"Of course. I never went to see him, naturally, I don't hold with that sort of thing, treason it is. But my cousin’s sister-in-law went to Perthinus for a prophecy ten years ago and was told all about the Gallic revolt which happened a few months later, and consequently made a fortune investing in Northern Italian smithies."

"So what did you do after you were told of this dread prophecy?"

"Well, it was probably just nonsense, but who knows? So I did tell the fishmonger that he might want to be careful and consider going south for the summer, and of course my nieces and nephews, and besides, it was only right that people in the neighborhood should know that Memmius Salonianus isn’t as upright an individual as everyone thinks, isn't it?"

"Thank you, Marcia Lusitanilla, no further questions."


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Chp 5: Memmius Salonianus*

Publicola next calls the defendant, Memmius Salonianus, up for questioning. "You are the wine merchant, Memmius Salonianus, and the client of Memmius Rufus?"

The plump, well-dressed, nervous merchant wrings his hands and mutters "Yes," as if he's not quite sure that's the correct answer.

"Did you go to Perthinus the Sagacious two weeks ago?"

"Yes," Salonianus whispers wretchedly.

"In search of a prophecy?"

"Yes...about my wine harvest..."

Publicola interrupts. "And what was the prophecy you received?"

"It was horrible!" Salonianus bursts out. "Perthinus said that my wine would turn to vinegar! And that the Emperor was like Nero! And that my cousin would kill me! "

"Did he say anything else about the Emperor, or the fate of Rome?"

"I can't really remember -it was all in some strange formal poetry, and then he collapsed. But he said something about horrible things happening to Rome, and something about the truth."

"Was anyone else there?"

"Just his slave, who was taking notes, and helped him after he fainted."

"And did you tell anyone about this prophecy?"

"Well, I went and complained to Marcia Lusitanilla, because that wasn't the kind of thing I had been looking for, and I thought maybe her goat was to blame."

"Did you think about telling the _vigiles_, or other authorities, about this danger to Rome?"

"Well..." Salonianus hedges. "It was a private matter, as I saw it. It didn't concern them whether or not I'd gotten a bad prophecy..."

"You do know, don't you, that prophesying is illegal in the city of Rome?"

"Well, yes, but...everyone does it. I mean, it's not really illegal if everyone gets their horoscope checked and so forth, is it?"

"In fact, it is. Last question - did you tell your patron, Memmius Rufus, about the prophecy?"

"Not until after the Praetorians came to arrest me. Then of course I did. He and his mother are my patrons - it's their responsibility to help me at times like this.

"Thank you. You may sit down. Perthinus the Sagacious, please?"

A wizened, flamboyantly dressed elderly Greek man approaches the front of the court. His patchwork, shiny robe stands in contrast to the clothes of everyone except perhaps the Emperor's sister.

"Are you the notorious soothsayer Perthinus the Sagacious?"

"Well, I don't know about notorious...I'm just a poor Greek man trying to make a living, honored sir."

"Do you make that living by claiming to prophesy the future?"

"I offer people advice based on ancient Greek wisdom learned from my ancestors, sir. It's not a crime to offer advice, is it? But I'm very sorry for any trouble I may have caused, yes I am, and I understand if you need to fine me, I'm sure I'll manage not to starve to death on the streets of Rome somehow..." Perthinus wheezes, glancing up calculatedly at the judge and Publicola, who does not seem sympathetic.

"Enough. We are not interested here in your crimes, numerous as they may be. Two weeks ago, did the wine merchant Memmius Salonianus, who is here in this court, come to visit you for 'advice'?"

"Yes, he did."

"Was that the first time he had come?"

"No, he comes every year around this time. He worries about his wine harvest."

"Are you an expert in wine-making?"

"No, sir."

"What happened when Salonianus visited you? What did you say to him?"

"Well..." Perthinus fidgets. "I don't really remember. I gave him some advice and he left."

"What do you mean, you don't really remember? It was only two weeks ago!"

"It was a very hot day! And I had had bad fish the night before. I don't remember! He came in, and he paid, and things were sort of hot, and blurry, and then I woke up with Nikos, my slave, putting wet cloths on my face, and saying that Salonianus had left, but that he had already paid, so it was all right."

"So you claim not to remember a word of any prophecy you may have uttered?"

"No...it's all kind of a haze. But Nikos, my slave, takes notes on everything anyway."

"Did Nikos do anything strange in the last two weeks?"

"Well, the day after Salonianus's visit, he asked for his freedom, and offered a  good price for it, and money for the future, so I freed him."

"Have you seen him since then?"

"Not until today."

"Did you free him formally in court?"

"No, just between the two of us."

"Thank you, no further questions."


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## Orichalcum

holding post


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## Pyske

More please (as time permits, I'm sure you're busy).  In retrospect, this has been one of my favorite story hours, especially for inspiring me for my game, as opposed to "just" a good read.

I am curious:  how does your Rome compensate militarily for lack of magical "artillery"?  I can think of several possibilities, but I'm wondering which you went with.

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


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## Mortepierre

Fallen to page 4 already? For shame!

*bumps*


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Chp. 6?: The Trial*

Sorry for the long delay, folks - I was preparing for the final session of this arc, which just concluded! (No spoilers, but the game is going to continue...) Then I was grading 63 Roman History exams, and attending multiple academic conferences, and one thing led to another... But I can promise very regular updates for at least the next month or two.
***
Publicola summons Nikos, the newly freed slave of Perthinos the soothsayer, up for questioning. Nikos is an olive-skinned, slenderly built young man, proudly wearing a red freedman's cap. 

"You are Nikos Perthinianus, former slave of Perthinos?" Publicola asks perfunctorily.


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## Fimmtiu

Hooray! Welcome back.


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Chp. 6?: The Trial*

Sorry for the long delay, folks - I was preparing for the final session of this arc, which just concluded! (No spoilers, but the game is going to continue...) Then I was grading 63 Roman History exams, and attending multiple academic conferences, and one thing led to another... But I can promise very regular updates for at least the next month or two.
***
Publicola summons Nikos, the newly freed slave of Perthinos the soothsayer, up for questioning. Nikos is an olive-skinned, slenderly built young man, proudly wearing a red freedman's cap. 

         "You are Nikos Perthinianus, former slave of Perthinos?" Publicola asks perfunctorily.
          "I am."
         "Do you remember the visit of Memmius Salonianus to your former master?"
          Nikos gives an account similar to that of Perthinos, claiming to remember remarkably little of the prophecy. He does admit, however, to having taken detailed shorthand notes of the prophecy in his own personal code, a standard precaution in case customers complain of having been misled later.

          "I have your transcribed notes of this supposed prophecy here, Nikos. Will you read them for the court?"
          "Well, I'm not really sure of what interest they'd be, honored advocate. Perthinos says a lot of strange things in his prophetic trances..." Nikos stammers.
          "Are you aware, Nikos, that slaves must be tortured before they can testify in a Roman court, to ensure the veracity of their evidence?
           "Well, of course, sir. But I'm not a slave. I'm a freedman Roman citizen, and thus immune to torture," Nikos states confidently.
            "And when did you obtain your freedom?"
            "A few weeks ago, honored advocate."
            "It was the day after Memmius Salonianus' visit, wasn't it?"
            "I suppose it was, honored advocate."
            "Don't you find it strange that you decided to buy your freedom and protect yourself from court-ordered torture the very day after you heard a prophecy predicting the possible doom of the Empire?"
            "I don't find it strange at all, honored advocate." <laughter in the courtroom>  "I had enough money, and it was the beginning of summer - a good time for a change."
            "I see. Well, if you don't want any investigations into the suspicious timing of your purchase of freedom, I suggest you translate this prophecy for the court. Now. Remember, we aren't trying either you or your former master on this charge, for now."
           Suitably cowed, Nikos reluctantly accepts the scroll with his scrawled  notes on it and unrolls it. He begins reading - very, very slowly.


 _ 

Pour thy wine       out to the gods
 and       beg for them to        save you
for in the times      to come
bountiful harvests shall be of naught.
For the past echoes forward
 and Nero's music   shall be heard    again
 played by barbarian drums
on the shortest night,
when great Jupiter   seems to attack
 his own two sisters and all their    wards .
For as one light dies, many others will arise.


​_​

   It takes Nikos nearly 10 minutes just to decipher this first verse of a long scroll, and Publicola, well aware of the dripping water-clock shortly to end his time, impatiently taps his foot. Finally he blurts out, "Look ahead! Does it say anything about the destruction of the Empire or threats to the Imperial family?"

       Nikos responds blandly, clearly intending to stall, "Well, there's some more here about a bad wine harvest...and something about the truth...but it's all very hard to make out sir. If you gave me some more time..."

Frustrated, Publicola dismisses the uncooperate Nikos and calls his last witness, the eminent elderly jurist Quintus Rutilius Africanus, with only a few minutes to spare. Metellus recognizes Rutilius, who gave a lecture or two back in Metellus' schooldays, and nods to him; Rutilius nods slightly back as he hobbles to the front of the proceedings, clearly dismissive of the youthful judges. 

Publicola begins, glancing nervously at the water-clock. "Well, everyone here knows you and your qualifications as an expert on Roman law, Quintus Rutilius, so why don't we cut directly to the heart of the matter. Please tell the court about the law against seeking a prophecy about the fate of the Empire.

      Rutilius is clearly dying to launch onto a long and technical lecture, but is also well aware of the water-clock. Tossing aside several scrolls to his slave, he intones, "Well, young Publicola, the key differentiation is between intentionally consulting a soothsayer and being an accidental recipient of a prophecy. If a man is walking through a marketplace and hears a Jewish preacher claiming some dire fate which later actually occurs, he is not guilty of breaking the law."

       "What about if he goes to hear a soothsayer deliberately, and receives a  different prophecy from the one he asked for?"

      "This is a difficult question. Seeking out a soothsayer at all is, of course, a minor illegality. The important aspect here, I believe, would be whether or not the question asked could be reasonably expected to return an answer related to the fate of the Empire or the Imperial family. "Who will my daughter marry?" for instance, is unlikely to be a dangerous question. But it's certainly not an area to mess around in lightly."

      "What is the standard penalty for seeking such a prophecy about the fate of the Empire, Quintus Rutilius?" Publicola interrupts, glancing at the last  few drops of water left in the upper bowl.

      "Death by being thrown off the Tarpeian Rock, and confiscation of all property, of course. It's high treason, after all."

     "Thank you, Quintus Rutilius," Publicola says quickly. "I would like to just very quickly sum up what we have learned here. We know that Memmius Salonianus went deliberately seeking a prophecy to a known soothsayer, one known, furthermore, for true and dangerous prophecies. We know that he received a prophecy which mentioned an attack by Jupiter, the failure of harvests, falling houses, and various other dreadful events in Rome, as well as possibly even worse disasters directly connected to the Imperial family. We know that he did not report this prophecy to the authorities, but instead gossiped about it to his neighbor and spread confusion and chaos. And we know, good judges, what the law clearly says, and what the penalty for such a despicable act of treason, which undermines the very faith we have in our Emperor and Empire, shoule be. The prosecution rests its case."

***
FYI, the PCs have now solved the prophecy, so all you readers can feel free to speculate here on the boards.


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## Mortepierre

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Pour thy wine       out to the gods
> and       beg for them to        save you
> for in the times      to come
> bountiful harvests shall be of naught.
> For the past echoes forward
> and Nero's music   shall be heard    again
> played by barbarian drums
> on the shortest night,
> when great Jupiter   seems to attack
> his own two sisters and all their    wards .
> For as one light dies, many others will arise.
> 
> ***
> FYI, the PCs have now solved the prophecy, so all you readers can feel free to speculate here on the boards.




Don't worry, it was well worth the wait. I just love an historical campaign with a DM that knows his stuff   

I'll take a shot at the prophecy.



> Pour thy wine       out to the gods
> and       beg for them to        save you




Standard way to placate the gods. Makes sense if a big disaster is coming.



> for in the times      to come
> bountiful harvests shall be of naught.




Probably refers to the barbarian invasions and the fact that the empire even had to pay tribute to the Goths for a time. Hence, no matter how good the harvest will be, you'll loose it in the end.



> For the past echoes forward
> and Nero's music   shall be heard    again
> played by barbarian drums




Rome had to face invasions in the past (the Punic Wars being the most famous), it shall do so again in the future with the Germans (beginning in 235 AD). Rome will burn, but this time by a barbarian's hand.



> on the shortest night,
> when great Jupiter   seems to attack
> his own two sisters and all their    wards .




Shortest night refers to Summer, the rest is a bit more cryptic   



> For as one light dies, many others will arise.




This could refer to the period of political anarchy (235-284 AD) when the troops acclaimed about 20 “emperors” and another 30 “pretenders”, although the two groups only differed in that the emperors briefly managed to control the city of Rome. Only one of these emperors died of natural causes, so the imperial throne was a dangerous prize.

OR, it could refer to the fact that even though the "Light of Rome" was extinguished, it was reborn in the many smaller countries that were created after the fall of the empire. Civilization was threatened but always managed to reappear.


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## Fimmtiu

Mortepierre said:
			
		

> Shortest night refers to Summer, the rest is a bit more cryptic




Well, for the record, Jove's sisters were Hestia (Vesta), Demeter (Ceres), and Hera (Juno). This is awfully cryptic; since they specifically mention night, perhaps some sort of astrological conjunction with the planet Jupiter? The Romans associated Ceres with the constellation Virgo, IIRC, and there may well have been a constellation or planet sacred to Vesta or Juno, but I couldn't say off the top of my head.


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## MaxKaladin

Isn't Venus sometimes said to be the sister of Jupiter?  I'm wondering if there's a connection to astronomy and the movements of the planets.  The other recognized sisters of Jupiter have had their names given to asteroids, so I doubt the Romans knew of them, but Venus could fit.


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Chp. 7: The Defense*

Interesting ideas, all of you. Fimmtiu, you're correct about the identity of Jove's sisters. Mortepierre, great knowledge of Roman history, but keep in mind that the game is both alternate history and roughly situated around the early 2nd century CE; the mid 3rd-century disasters are still very much in the future, and, of course, dependent on what happens in the PCs' present. 

For the record, it's currently a few days after the beginning of June, for the PCs.
***

With the prosecution having concluded its case in a hurry, the half-hour water-clock is turned over. Lucius Verrius Glaucus, Salonianus' advocate, leisurely strolls before the judges. He is a sleek, elegantly groomed older man, with a toga made from the finest opaque Egyptian linen.

       "Honored judges, this entire case has been a terrible misunderstanding, furthered by the greedy desires of those [glances at Publicola] who wish to deprive my poor, foolish but innocent client of not only his livelihood but his life itself. Here are the facts. Memmius Salonianus is, as has already been established, a fearful merchant. He's lost his wine harvest before, and he's understandably concerned about it. As a means of reassuring his empty fears, he visited Perthinos the Soothsayer. He didn't want to know anything about the fate of the Empire - why would a humble wine merchant be interested in lofty politics? All he cared about was his wine. 

       Unfortunately, when he went to ask about his harvest, the soothsayer, Perthinos, uttered some strange words - which we've heard some of today. Who knows if these are true words, or more than the drunken ramblings of an elderly Greek? I certainly don't. They didn't sound very significant when read out just now before the court. And more relevantly, Memmius Salonianus didn't think they were important. If he had thought this was a prophecy about the Empire, would he have gone home and not told anyone except his neighbor Marcia? Of course not! He would have gone straight to the vigiles or his patron. He didn't, because he didn't think this was worth wasting the time of anyone important. This has all been blown far out of porportion by people anxious to create scandal and drama in the slow summer season.

      I would like to first call my client, Memmius Salonianus.  Memmius, why did you go to Perthinos?"

      "Well, I wanted good news about my wine harvest. Because, well, I worry, and I know the gods will watch over us, but..."

      "So you just wanted reassurance, right?

       "Yes."

       "Did you know seeking a prophecy was illegal?"

       "Well,yes. I'm very sorry about that, and I promise I won't do it again, and I'll pay any fine required," the terrified Memmius recites, almost as if he's been carefully coached.

        "Did you think the prophecy concerned the fate of the Empire or the Imperial family?"

        "No, I thought it concerned my wine harvest! Except I couldn't really understand any of it, except for the bit telling me to pray. Which I've been doing day and night ever since."

Glaucus dismisses Memmius Salonianus, and examines Perthinos and Quintus Rutilius in quick succession. From Perthinos, he draws out a confession that the soothsayer drinks regularly, and that he receives complaints about false prophecies. He forces Quintus Rutilius to concede that there is legal ambiguity about the aspect of hearing an unintentional prophecy, and ends with plenty of time for his summation, having carefully neglected any chance to hear more of the prophecy from Nikos' notes.

"Honored judges, you can surely see that this is all a terrible mistake. Not only did my client not intend to receive a dangerous prophecy, it's unclear he received a prophecy at all from this drunken charlatan, let alone a true foretelling concerning the fate of the Empire! Furthermore, the legal questions in this case certainly suggest that you should not condemn Memmius Salonianus of high treason based on his careless failure to report possible danger to the vigiles. This is a frivilous charge, and I ask you to dismiss it."

The judges concur for a few minutes, and return to the courtroom. Metellus announces, glancing carefully at his fellow judge, that "We find the defendant, Memmius Salonianus, innocent of high treason. For seeking illegal soothsaying on repeated occasions, however, and for possible negligence in reporting potentially valuable information to the authorities, we fine him 5000 sestertii, and sternly admonish him to avoid soothsayers, witches, and other magic-workers in the future."

Glaucus looks exultant; Publicola depressed at having lost his first case. Memmius looks confused, as if he can't decide whether to be glad that he's alive or horribly upset about the large fine. Before the court is formally dismissed, the other judge makes a final announcement.

"Nikos Perthinianus, you will be kept in the custody of my lictors until you have produced a full and accurate translation of the prophecy, which will be delivered to the appropriate Imperial authorities through me. " He leans over to Metellus - "Sounds like entertaining reading? Do you want a copy? It's all going to leak anyhow, after this trial is over." Metellus nods, startled but not willing to miss the chance.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Chp. 7: The Prophecy*

_ The Prophecy Given to Memmius Salonianus the Wine Merchant by Perthinos the Sagacious

Pour thy wine out to the gods
 and beg for them to save you
for in the times to come
bountiful harvests shall be of naught.
For the past echoes forward
 and Nero's music shall be heard again
 played by barbarian drums
on the shortest night,
when great Jupiter seems to attack
 his own two sisters and all their wards .
For as one light dies, many others will arise.

Even if you survive this do not then cease in your offerings,
 for worse fates await you.
For the barbarians are but dice thrown by a master,
 gambling on the roll but not risking all.
and the Binder of Light and Dark
seeks to tear apart by chaining together,
and that which the first and the eighth decreed he will destroy.

For there are many truths,
 and there is one truth,
 and the truth of Roma
 unites them all.

The winged one and the treewalkers shall aid him,
 though the one struggles and the others follow their own road;
and one sprung from the divine will be the source of power,
 for already he walks in the shadow,
 guided by that stolen from the thief.

The shadows will descend upon us 
and kin will not know kin
and shall rise up against each other with sword and club,
and thy greatest nightmares shall be shown forth,
and thy wine too shall turn all to vinegar.

For there are many truths,
 and there is one truth,
 and the truth of Roma
 guides them all.

For the Binder of Light and Dark will eat away
at the mortar of Roma's foundation stones,
 and all shall crack and tear asunder,
 and no more be joined together.

From many come one now,
 but then shall many come from one,
and the one will be in darkness,
 for now the crystal shines brightly
 and the image is magnified,
 but then it will shatter and
 reflect twisted visions
 through the dark tunnel
 opened by obliteration.

For there are many truths,
 and there is one truth,
 and the truth of Roma
 protects them all.

Yet pray to the gods for hope,
 for there is hope,
if the eight serve the will of the eighth
and defy the will of the Binder,
 tearing apart what he would unite
and uniting what he would shatter,
then the truth shall set them free.

For the eight are bound themselves,
to the winged spirit
and to the Lord of Light,
to the one who is both male and female,
and to the Mother of Mares
but also the Binder of Light and Dark has ensnared them.

But those whom they saved shall save them in turn,
for only those who know both
 of the Shadowbinder's names
 may harm him,
and only in the dawn of Rome
 and the eventide of the northlands 
may the truth be seen.
And then may a new dawn
 come for the north.

For there are many truths,
 and there is one truth,
 and the truth of Roma
 rules them all.

For they must enter unto the gates,
and banish fear from their hearts,
 for horror will conquer them,
but the truth will set them free.
All rests upon the foundation,
 if the cornerstone be removed,
 then all shall fall.

For there are many roads of Roma,
 and one has been twice chosen,
 by the first and by the eighth.
But not all roads lead to Roma.

For there are many truths,
 and there is one truth,
 and the truth of Roma
 gives light to them all.​_


----------



## Mortepierre

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Interesting ideas, all of you. Fimmtiu, you're correct about the identity of Jove's sisters. Mortepierre, great knowledge of Roman history, but keep in mind that the game is both alternate history and roughly situated around the early 2nd century CE; the mid 3rd-century disasters are still very much in the future, and, of course, dependent on what happens in the PCs' present.




Thank you. Like I said previously, the past is my hobby (though I prefer Ancient Egypt).

I didn't know if your prophecy was a plot device or just a wink directed to your players because it would tell them of events to come long after their characters were dead. Evidently, judging from the rest of the prophecy, it was the first solution. Moreover, pinpointing the year of your campaign is a wee bit difficult. The Hadrian Wall is already built but, apparently, Rome has yet to experience the disastrous reign of Commodus. Then, there is the fact that this is an alternate setting too. All in all, I would love to take a look at your campaign notes (if you have any) to see what kind of alternate time-line you've come up with.

Perhaps in a new thread on the Rogues Gallery forum? (*hint* I wouldn't mind seeing some NPC stats either *hint*)


----------



## orsal

I had also been thinking of the astronomical/astrological approach at first, but, not knowing of any heavenly bodies identified with any of Jupiter's sisters, I gave up on that. Instead, I'm now thinking of a thunderbolt (Jupiter's apparent attack) doing damage to both home (Vesta's sphere) and crop fields of some sort (Ceres' sphere).


----------



## Fimmtiu

orsal said:
			
		

> I had also been thinking of the astronomical/astrological approach at first, but, not knowing of any heavenly bodies identified with any of Jupiter's sisters, I gave up on that. Instead, I'm now thinking of a thunderbolt (Jupiter's apparent attack) doing damage to both home (Vesta's sphere) and crop fields of some sort (Ceres' sphere).




I had considered that too, yeah. The temple of Vesta, in fact, was destroyed by a fire at the end of the second century, but I couldn't come up with a similarly specific catastrophe involving one of Jupiter's other sisters at the same time. Perhaps it's entirely allegorical? Jupiter, representing war in his martial roles of Feretrius, Victor, Strator, etc. disrupts the spheres of his sisters (home and agriculture).

That aside, any guesses on "the first and the eighth", and what they decreed? The first thing which sprang to my mind was calendrical: the first and eighth months would represent the god Janus and emperor Augustus. Sadly, that's an anachronism; the Roman calendar actually started in March, so technically the first and eighth months would represent Mars and the number eight (October), which is not very illuminating.


----------



## Pyske

Legio I and VIII?  They were the first and eighth decreed, since legions are formed by decree, yes?

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


----------



## Pyske

orsal said:
			
		

> I had also been thinking of the astronomical/astrological approach at first, but, not knowing of any heavenly bodies identified with any of Jupiter's sisters, I gave up on that. Instead, I'm now thinking of a thunderbolt (Jupiter's apparent attack) doing damage to both home (Vesta's sphere) and crop fields of some sort (Ceres' sphere).



 Like, say, druids setting fire to the granaries of Rome with lightning strikes?  At sundown on the summer solstice?  That gives us fire (Nero), barbarians, one light dies (sundown), shortest night (solstice), many other lights arise (multiple fires), crops and buildings (Ceres + Vesta).  Maybe even drums, if Call Lighning is ritually invoked.

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Chp. 8: Plots and Prophecies*

Metellus returns home after the trial and gathers his friends and allies together to discuss the prophecy. They consider a variety of theories, ranging from possible eclipses (the next is in February) to fires to something involving the Druids. After much discussion, most of the group decides to rest and meet again in the morning, when Metellus will be trying out the job of building supervisor for a day.

      Meloch and I, meanwhile, have been bringing olives and cheese back and forth from the kitchen of Cornelia's mother's house for the gathering. On the last of these trips, Meloch notices Ogulnius, Licinia's fat slave steward, yelling at a terrified young slave boy in the doorway, "Go back to your filthy rouge-wearing  _mistress_  and don't trouble a decent, respectable house like this again. The _ladies_ here aren't interested in your trash!" The slave boy runs in terror, while Ogulnius turns, beginning to tear to pieces a small sealed scroll in his hands.

      I notice, since Meloch can't read, that the scroll has Cornelia's name written in elegant capitals on the outside, and communicate this to my partner. On his advice, I scramble onto Ogulnius' shoulder, grab the scroll with my tail, and wriggle out of the way before he can hit me.

     "What do you think you're doing, filthy little barbarian pet?" he screeches, luckily at least as afraid of me as I am of him. 

     Meloch speaks up boldly, clearly hoping to be heard in the courtyard outside, "I believe that scroll belongs to my mistress, not to you, and therefore I'm going to give it to her."

      "I suppose you'd be only to happy to see your _mistress_ degraded even further by association with more low-lifes," Ogulnius sneers insinuatingly. 

       "Who's the scroll from, then?" Meloch asks.

       "A low-bred, scandalous, shameful whore, and the enemy of my lady Licinia."

       "Well, that's still a decision that my lady will have to make for herself." Meloch and I scamper out of the kitchen before Ogulnius can hit either of us, and, after the party has dispersed, bring the scroll to Cornelia. Of course, I've already read it - there are some useful unsealing tricks a monkey's tail can perform...but Cornelia is quite startled by the contents.

       "It's from the Senatorial-class lady Lupina Silvana, inviting me and any of my friends who care to accompany me for honeyed wine tomorrow afternoon," she says, a bit puzzled.

        "Wait," Meloch asks, "Isn't Lupina Silvana the Emperor's primary mistress?"

         "Yes - I don't know much about her besides that, except that she's supposed to have a lot of power and influence."

          "Well, um, mistress, it may be a good thing that your mother is leaving for her seaside villa tomorrow morning. I wouldn't mention this invitation to her."

          "Why not?" 

          "My sources tell me," Meloch intones pompously, "that Licinia Luculla does not have the most favorable impression of Lupina Silvana."

           "Well," Cornelia says, sticking her chin out in her usual defiant gesture, "I'm certainly going to go. It could be interesting! Maybe she has useful information. I'll write back, and ask if I can bring a few friends."

          Meanwhile, the rest of the group has retired for the evening, and some have dreamed...

_
Heilyn: You fall asleep in your cold, stone, well-furnished bedroom in Metellus’s father’s villa, and dream: You are climbing through the hills of Wales, as you did with your own father when you were young. You stumble, nearly falling off the steep trail, and your father grabs you by the hand. “Be careful, little one. This is a dangerous path you are walking. You must be wary.” You climb onwards, until you can see snow on the peaks ahead. Suddenly, you hear a shout from behind you. “Do not go any farther! You will fall!” As you turn to see who it is, you hear a rumbling from above you. Rocks begin tumbling down, breaking through the path and bouncing down the cliffside. Your father screams as a large boulder heads directly for him, and you leap towards him, trying to grab his hand, only to find the rocks toppling on you as you watch your father fall. You wake up, and make a Reflex Save. 

Metellus: You fall asleep after some tossing and turning; the food  tonight was too rich for your tastes, and your stomach is uneasy. In your dream, you are back in the Temple of Janus, overseeing another case as judge. In the defendant’s seat stands a large shadowy dog, which you remember from the cave in Caledonia.
	“You are called here today to answer for your crimes against a Roman Tribune, hound of the shadows. How do you plead?” you intone.
	The hound whines, and its lawyer, Aeduana, dressed in a formal Roman toga, stands. “The hound is not guilty, magistrate. It merely acted according to its nature. It is not the hound’s fault that the Tribune was cowardly and weak.”
	“That is for me to decide,” you reply. 
		Aeduana calls a succession of witnesses – the Wolf Druid, Heilyn with his brave little terriers, the Master of the Dogs from the Imperial Palace, and a cloaked figure who speaks on the power of shadows but never gives his name. You listen to them all, and prepare to give your verdict. Just as you are about to sentence the hound to be thrown off the Tarpeian Rock, it leaps at you, jaws bared and dripping blood. You draw back, and wake up, startled by shouts coming from two rooms down. 

Llyr: You curl up easily, afraid that you’re getting lazy with all the fine living here in Rome, and fall asleep. You dream: You are on a battlefield, with sand stretching in every direction. The Prefect of a Legion nods at you. “Well done, Praetorian Centurion Llyr. With this siege engine, we will surely be able to take the city within a matter of days.” He points to a structure made of wood and rope and black chains and glass. It seems amazingly complex, and it has many moving parts swaying in the breeze.
	 The city walls are suddenly before you. The Prefect gestures towards you. “Llyr, fire the siege engine.” You look at the device, and realize that you have no idea how to make it work. Still, you are unwilling to admit your shame before the Legions, so you begin pulling various levers. Just as fire begins shooting out from the engine, you look up towards the city walls again, and realize that it is the village of the Brigantes.
	You awake.

Marcus:     It has been a long day, and there are many concerns flitting around your mind as you finally relax into sleep. You dream. In your dream, you are in battle, and it is not going well. You fight bravely –slashing a barbarian here, blocking a spear with your shield there – but there are always more of the enemy, and they keep pressing towards you. Yet your Eagle, shining brightly, is nearby, and it gives you courage and strength to fight onwards. Somehow, you will survive this.
	The primuspilus centurion gestures to the aquilifer, the Eagle-carrier, who runs forward and with his last strength hurls the Eagle like a spear deep into the enemy ranks. A shudder goes through the legion’s lines, and the primuspilus shouts, “That’s your Eagle, men! That’s what you’ve sworn to defend at all costs, even your life. Go and take it back from them!” The lines surge forward, as you move quickly into the enemy, prepared to take any wound, any cost, to save the symbol of the Legion. As the legion advances, the Eagle, now being held jeeringly by the barbarians, seems to glow even stronger in response to your devotion, sending out rays of light towards you and your men. You may die before you reach it, but it is a good way to die.
	You hear, as you fight, the sounds of trumpet calls from the command, although they sound almost as if they come from directly in front of you. The first is the signal indicating that the Legions are hard-pressed. Reinforcements needed, resounds the second  trumpet. Defend yourselves – the third. And finally, a last plaintive note from the trumpets, as your wounds begin to take their toll: Never retreat.

_


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

*Back again!*



			
				Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Sorry for the long delay, folks - I was preparing for the final session of this arc, which just concluded!




And I had to miss that final session, alas.  Was Meloch able to send Shast with the rest of the group, or will the monkey's reportage contain even more hearsay than usual?



			
				Orichalcum said:
			
		

> But I can promise very regular updates for at least the next month or two.




I certainly hope so... I want to get more than bare bones detail on how it all ended, and we've a good ways to go yet!


----------



## Mortepierre

Meloch, do you think you and your companions could post some stats here? I have been begging your DM for some time about those and I am really curious to see what your group looks like on paper.


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

Mortepierre said:
			
		

> Meloch, do you think you and your companions could post some stats here? I have been begging your DM for some time about those and I am really curious to see what your group looks like on paper.




Alas, I'm currently in Afghanistan, and have no access to my stats.  But perhaps when I get back to the States.

Course, the character's not really about the stats.  But I understand your interest.


----------



## Lazybones

I'm only halfway through page 3, but I wanted to offer a preliminary comment.  This is an excellent story, and from the point of view of someone who taught western civ for a few years I find the historical elements to be an interesting addition.  Nice touch having the story told from the perspective of the familiar, as well.  The Roman characters are all sort of blending together for me but I thought the girl, the pygmy, and the pets were all distinctive 

You've helped me get through a dull Friday afternoon at work, and I look forward to reading the rest of the tale next week. 

LB


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Post 10: Inspecting the Buildings*

Metellus, Llyr, and Marcus are woken from their peaceful sleep in Metellus' father's house by yells of pain and odd crashing noises coming from Heilyn's room. Darting through the door, Llyr is the first to see that the elegantly crafted stone blocks of the ceiling above Heilyn appear to be somehow punching themselves out of the mortar and landing on the blinking, confused smith. Other  stone blocks are falling from the wall. By the time Metellus reaches the room, however, the chaos has momentarily stopped, leaving a bruised and battered Heilyn and a rather more...airy chamber

      Heilyn realizes, in his fog of pain and tiredness, that there are precisely 11 stones now lying on his bed, the same number which he punched out of the Temple of Mercury wall with the skills he learned from the earth spirit he made a bargain with back on the Druids' Isle. He's no longer so certain that casually reshaping stone walls is such a good idea, but manages to hide his confusion behind a calm facade as he heals himself, apologizes to Metellus for the commotion, and offers to help repair the room in the morning. Metellus, sleepy and startled, offers him another room for the night, but Heilyn decides that he'd rather sleep out on the safe ground of the courtyard. The rest of the night passes uneventfully.

      Some of the group shares their dreams with each other; Marcus is confused by his. Clearly, his Eagle is still in trouble, but he has no idea of how to help It, and this only further upsets him. However, it is morning, and both he and Llyr decide to accompany Metellus on his trip to spend a day seeing what the life of a Roman Inspector of Buildings is like. Sure, it doesn't _sound_  exciting, but you never know. Besides, after the recent spate of  attacks against group members when traveling alone or without fighters, they've decided to stick together for the most part. [The GM is highly grateful for this.]

      Metellus is shown into the office of one of the current building inspectors, who explains that his duties this morning consist of approving building leases and new building projects. He also goes on at length about the bribe possibilities in this job, and Metellus tries to steer a fine line between offending the greedy official and maintaining his own strict sense of honor. Llyr, meanwhile, out in the waiting room, notices someone familiar come into the waiting room - one of the Celts who was conspiring at the party a few nights earlier. The Celt recognizes him and turns and dashes out of the waiting room, closely followed by Llyr. After a short chase, Llyr, followed by the confused Marcus, manages to tackle the fleeing Celt and wrestle him to the ground. However, interrogation is quickly frustrated by the Celt's immediate response of biting his own tongue off, and swallowing it. In disgust, both at himself and his captive, Llyr lets the vigiles take the man away, and they return to the building office.

       Inside the building office, Llyr and Marcus interrupt Metellus' conversation with the inspector to ask about who the Celt was, and why he was here. The inspector, surprised, responds that he was a man who had bought several properties in the last few weeks, paid for with good sestertii, and always reliably. Metellus asks to see some of the sestertii and discovers, to no one's surprise, that they're the same type of newly minted coins that our group discovered back in the Gallic village. The soldiers ask for a list of the properties this man has purchased, and plot out, after several hours spent going through documents and the inspector's records, the following map:

(This is a basic map of Rome. Unfortunately, the correct map isn't loading at the moment. But it showed about 17 dots indicating the purchased properties.)

Gathering together with the rest of us, we realized after much pondering that  nearly all of the recently purchased properties were located near either granaries or baths, and that they formed a giant spiral which had as its center point...the House of the Vestal Virgins in the Forum Romanum.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea VII: Lux et Veritas Post 10: The Plot Thickens*

We put the map together with the prophecy that evening, and my clever partner Meloch, working together with Cornelia and Centurion Marcus, who is unsurprisingly good with maps. After some time, we come to the conclusion that   the Druidic Resistance Movement is plotting something, most likely fires, against the Roman granaries and possibly the temple of the Vestal Virgins on the night of the summer solstice, two days hence. The granaries are full, as they always need to be in Rome, and thus highly explosive, just as the granary that we exploded back in Caledonia was. 

       We consult Lucretius, the friendly Praetorian Decurion who was our liasion on the Triumph, for his advice and suggestions regarding this. He notes that two days hence, the annual Praetorian-Vigiles mock battle game is taking place during the afternoon. Consequently, 4/5ths of the Praetorians and 2/3rds of the Vigiles (the watch which draws the short straw still has to stand guard and not play) will likely be tired, wounded, and very drunk that night, and therefore unlikely to present a good defense if unprepared to people attacking the granaries. He agrees that this is a serious problem, and suggests taking it directly to Cimbrus in the morning, as well as perhaps consulting the Vestals.

       The next morning, we go and tell most of the story to Cimbrus, leaving out the entire damnatio memoriae aspect, which no one is certain how it relates anyway, and placing all the blame on the Druidic Resistance Movement. Cimbrus seems genuinely worried and authorizes us to investigate more, as well as gving us a letter of introduction to the Chief Vestal, and saying that he'll instruct the vigiles who are on duty that night, under the command, as it turns out, of Cornelia's ex-stepfather Q. Ennius Candidus, to pay special attention to the locations on the map, and raid them if necessary.   
He notes that the vigiles will not have enough resources to both raid all 17 locations and fully protect the House of the Vestals, about which there is much less evidence in any case, and suggests that we focus on that particular threat. Hadriana is notably absent from this meeting.

         Metellus and the soldier boys, together with Meloch, go off to Metellus'  appointment at the Imperial Mint, both for him to try out that potential job prospect for a day and find out more about the origin of the newly minted coins.  Llyr comments that while the housing bureau was run by L. Faenius Merops, the most bored man in Roma, the Mint seems to be run by the most boring man in Roma, one M. Saufeius Constans, a middle-aged Roman patrician who apparently took many years to get successfully elected. After poking and prodding into the sources of the new coins, they eventually successfully establish that Saufeius was the only person with the right access and times, and confront him, with the help of a carefully cast Charm spell. With the promise of protection, Saufeius finally tearfully confesses that he's been funneling money to the Druids in exchange for promised fertility spells, as he's been unable to produce an heir on his own or even copulate successfully. He's supplied a man that Llyr identifies as Sycorax, the red-headed leader of the DRM, with substantial amounts of sestertii, and much more in recent weeks. They decide to have him quietly resign from the mint, and report it to Lucretius, who can make the final decision about whether or not to prosecute.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Post 12: A Short, Nasty, Brutish Fight*

It is now the evening before the summer solstice. Much against my own wise monkey advice, the group decides to go and stake out one of the supposed Druidic resistance hideouts and see what they can learn. They pick one in the north-center of the city, near one of the major baths. For a long time, there is no sense of movement, and finally they send me into investigate. I tell them that there do appear to be a few people inside the building, down some stairs in some sort of wine cellar which smells bad. When Meloch asks me how bad, I tell him the truth - like bad eggs. You should never eat a bad egg, my mother said in the days before I was sold into slavery. It will make your stomach hurt.

Meloch apparently felt this answer wasn't satisfactory and turned himself invisible to investigate and came in himself. Well, he couldn't make it any farther  down the creaky stairs into the wine cellar than I could without being noticed, so he mostly just noticed that one of the humans was the Bull Chieftain who had escaped from the Triumph, and still bore bloody gashes on his arms where he had excised the cold iron. There was then a whispered huddle as to whether to attack the room itself, and potentially risk being exploded (apparently bad eggs are dangerous for humans externally as well as internally) or wait for them to come out. Eventually, they decided to wait, and to hide.

Of course, have you ever tried to hide a Roman Centurion? Marcus' armor gleamed in the moonlight like Artemis' mirror; he'd probably polished the darn breastplate that very morning. Meloch and I, now, we could hide, and even Cornelia and that stupid owl Cato weren't so bad, or, surprisingly, the Praetorian Lucretius. But it was pretty clear that as soon as someone came out, they'd see Marcus.

Luckily enough for us, the first person to come out was the Bull Chieftain, slightly drunk and wanting to relieve himself against the wall. Before he realized what was going on, Llyr had already hit him with a custom-blessed bolt, and Heilyn and the others were whaling on him as he called for help. 

At this point, Cornelia decided she wanted to be helpful, and cast some sort of spell for Cato to deliver by swooping down and biting the red-haired barbarian's neck or something. Of course, Cato's pretty incompetent at even the easiest of jobs, and the barbarian was pretty skilled with his greataxe, so the obvious result happened - Cato lost most of a wing to the greataxe and failed to deliver the spell. Cornelia, in shock, sent him up to the roof top where I was hiding to wait out the rest of the fight.

Aha, I thought, here's my chance. At last I can get rid of this blasted useless owl and do everyone a world of good, especially myself, as then Cornelia will give me all the treats and petting that she gives the owl now. And the owl won't ever be able to grow any bigger and potentially eat me. So I crept forward, as the fight raged on below, getting closer and closer to being able to push the owl off the rooftiles onto the cobblestones below. I was only a few seconds away from the undetectable elimination of my rival when Meloch noticed the directions of my thoughts and sternly forbade me. We wrestled for a bit mentally, but I finally decided that having the approval of my partner was more important than dealing with Cato, at least for now.

 Just about then, Wena managed to stun the barbarian and he was knocked out. Proceeding inside, the group discovered that any other Celts had fled at the noise of a fight, and found many many barrels of sulphur and Greek fire stacked up neatly in the wine cellar.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: Lux et Veritas Post 13: Teatime*

At this point, Metellus and Cornelia had to dash off for a rescheduled late dinner with Lupina Silvana, the Emperor's mistress, unbeknownst to Cornelia's mother. Metellus' father, on the other hand, had spoken highly when asked about Lupina Silvana. Apparently, she had been the wife of an old senatorial friend of his, and had come on the Emperor's campaign in Dacia along with her husband many years ago. Metellus Major confessed to having had a slight unrequited passion for Lupina - back before he met Metellus' mother, of course. While there was some gossip that the Emperor had deliberately sent Lupina's husband out on a suicide mission at the front of the lines, Metellus Major strongly discouraged his son from entertaining that thought, saying it was disrespectful both to the Emperor and to a charming, well-bred noblewoman. 

Since the rest of the group was busy dealing with the prisoner, they decided to invite along Llyr's cousin Kynton the charioteer, on the grounds that he was polite and good at telling stories, and also, like Llyr, a Prince of the Brigantes. 

Lupina Silvana, as it turned out, lived in a lovely villa on the Aventine Hill. She was not quite what either Cornelia or Metellus had expected, at all. Lupina Silvana is a woman in her late 60s, with carefully coiffed white hair wearing an elegant blue stola and palla of light linen, and only a few strings of malachite necklaces. She waved her guests into a comfortable dining room, and then asked if they would mind if her grandchildren joined them. "They do like hearing stories of faraway places, especially Britannia."

"Of course," Cornelia replied. Lupina sent a slave off to fetch them, and a few minutes later, a young boy of 11 or 12 carrying a ball came rushing in, followed quickly by a girl of 15 or 16, in whom the older refined beauty of Lupina could be seen in youthful, if still awkward, form. 

      "These are my grandchildren. I call them Silvanus and Silvanilla." Lupina said calmly, gesturing at them to recline on the remaining couch.

     "Did you fight in the battle against the Druids and Caledonii? Did you kill lots of evil naked barbarians? Did you?" Silvanus says excitedly.

       "Well, I helped kill the Chief Druid of all Britannia....<looks at Cornelia glaring> and Cornelia was there in that fight too, actually..."

      "Oh, please, tell us what happened, Tribune, and I want to know how you were there, Cornelia Crispa," the pretty Silvanilla says with a smile.

       "Well, we were on a diplomatic mission to the Iceni at the time..." Cornelia begins, "and then the lightning bolt came down...." and the grandchildren both gasp in horror, "and then she transformed into a giant tiger through her foul Druidic magics!...." and the entire battle is recounted.


        Kynton, who has been fidgeting impatiently during this whole time, bursts in, "But that was nothing! At the beginning of the battle, I was about to be sacrificed by the Druids to fuel their evil magics! But I managed to escape and rejoin Metellus and Cornelia just in the nick of time, nearly severing both my wrists and ankles in the process and fighting off enormous guards!"

          Cornelia responds tartly, "I thought Llyr untied you and you ran."

          "From the enormous guards, and only to find help and save Llyr and all the rest of you. Besides, it would have been dreadful for my career if my wrists had been hurt. I'm a charioteer!" Kynton announces proudly.

        Silvanus is instantly rapt, much more excited than he was even about the battles. "Really? What color do you race for? I like the Blues. My dad used to own several Blue chariot teams, and once he took he to the stables when I was little."
        Silvanus and Kynton dive into an arcane conversation about the current  chariot teams of this season. 

      Meanwhile, Lupina Silvana skillfully directs the rest of the talk back to Britannia.
        "I had heard that you earlier went north in search of the Ninth Legion? Did you ever find any trace of their fate?"

        Metellus explains that they found the Eagle, and signs that the Ninth had been betrayed internally by Tribunes and Centurions in collusion with the Druids. Lupina pales and then flushes visibly with anger for a moment at this news, before controlling herself. "What a disgrace to Rome and her loyal officers!" she exclaims.

        Cornelia has a sudden flash of intuition, and decides to pursue a hunch. "Lupina, your grandchildren are very well brought up. Are their parents in the countryside?"

          "Their parents are dead," Lupina answers abruptly. "I have raised them for the past eight years. Thank you - I have tried to teach them to be good Romans, although Silvanus does not get as much fighting training as I would wish."

          "The Emperor showed me how to throw a javelin before he left last month," Silvanus interrupts briefly to say with pride.

           "Are you good with it?" Metellus asks.

           "I can hit the column at the end of the porch almost every time!" Silvanus tells him.

            Looking at the 3-foot wide column, Metellus smiles and says, "I hope you keep practicing!"

           Some conversation about military training ensues. Silvanilla seems highly intrigued by Kynton's descriptions of daring chariot races through deep forests, and Lupina Silvana is clearly a little less pleased about Silvanilla's fascination with the charioteer.


         Shortly afterwards, the children retire to bed, and Metellus and Cornelia make their excuses, anxious to get back to the prisoner interrogation. As they are walking away from the villa, Cornelia whispers, "Did you figure out why she summoned us?"

           "Um, no, although she seems very interested in the Ninth and Britannia."

            "I think those are the children of Gallus, the Emperor's dead brother who got damnatio memoriae-ed after committing suicide due to the shame of losing the Ninth! That's why she's so interested - she wants to redeem the memory of Gallus!" Cornelia explains.

            "Do you have any evidence for this theory at all?" Metellus asks skeptically.

            "Well, the two kids are named after her, Silvana, when they should be named after their father, which means that they're either illegitimate or something strange is going on. And she wanted them to hear the stories about Britannia. And their parents died 8 years ago, just when Gallus died. And Silvanus mentioned that his father really liked chariot racing, and remember, one of the slaves that Gallus freed at his death, the first one we found, was a charioteer!"

            "Well, when you put it that way, it's almost convincing. But we need to go back and talk to her. But for now, we need to avert the burning of Roma!"


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

*Hiatus*

You know, I'll wager that Cato the Owl has a lot of really interesting perspectives on our recent adventures.

I think I'll go have a word with Domina Cornelia and see if she wouldn't mind dictating her familiar's recollections, since my own familiar seems to be off in a month-long sulk somewhere...

And right before the burning of Roma, as well!  How cruel a cliff-hanger...


----------



## Ladybird

Meloch the Pygmy said:
			
		

> You know, I'll wager that Cato the Owl has a lot of really interesting perspectives on our recent adventures.




Cato's a sweet owl, but not very articulate - he tends to communicate mostly in pictures, not words. The way he recounted that last battle to me, for instance, was: "Flying...flying...OUCH! OUCH! OUCH! whimper whimper."

He _did_ manage to send me some images of what Shast tried to do, though. You really _must _have a talk with your familiar - we can't afford to have them squabbling like this. Not when we're about to face a challenge like saving the city...


----------



## Ladybird

Meloch the Pygmy said:
			
		

> You know, I'll wager that Cato the Owl has a lot of really interesting perspectives on our recent adventures.




Cato's a sweet owl, but not very articulate - he tends to communicate mostly in pictures, not words. The way he recounted that last battle to me, for instance, was: "Flying...flying...OUCH! OUCH! OUCH! whimper whimper."

He _did_ manage to send me some images of what Shast tried to do, though. You really _must _have a talk with your familiar - we can't afford to have them squabbling like this. Not when we're about to face a challenge like saving the city...


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Chp. 12: Oh, you mean _that_ scry sensor!*

Shast apologizes for the delay in publishing the serial of his pulp reminiscences, but Shast has been working on his great analysis of Roman social mores, based on his own recollections of the international brothel scene in the Empire, and feels that this is a much more important work for his career.
    ***
Brief GM Sidebar Explaining why Cato is less eloquent than Shast: 
         Each of the familiars  partners in Alea Iacta has his or her own special talent, above and beyond the normal D&D restrictions. Cato can maintain contact with Cornelia - and deliver touch spells - at indefinitely long range. Shast can read and write, neither of which are talents that Meloch possesses, and is also extraordinarily intelligent, and has a tail. Sapientia, Lucretius' elephant, who has so far only appeared in dreams, is, well, an elephant. This is balanced by my refusal to Poke-Paladin her and by my altering the Detect Evil power of Lucretius to Detect Pantheon (i.e. Celtic/Olympian/Hecate etc...). 
      Also, there were at that point 8 PCs in the game, and only one GM. Shast is much more eloquent in the SH than he usually was in game time, simply due to necessity.
    ***
Returning to the adventure....

  My disappointment at failing to eliminate my rival, the filthy owl, was not helped by the angry glares of my partner Meloch. Everyone except Metellus and Cornelia, who arrive dlater,  adjourned to a local _vigiles_ post to interrogate the Bull Chieftain. We had barely begun the interrogation, which was its usual mixture of Marcus and Meloch threatening torture at every opportunity and Metellus and Cornelia, once they came back from Lupina Silvana's, resolutely ignoring these suggestions. The Bull Chieftain kept looking anxiously around for some reason while refusing to talk, and finally, Wena followed the direction of his gaze, watching closely, and noticed a small floating shadowy eyeball, surrounded by a thin halo of black chains.

     "We're being watched," she whispered to the rest of us.
     "What?" said Metellus. "The Black Chain Philosopher can spy on us from a distance psionically? Why didn't you tell us before?"
      "I didn't notice it before!"
      "Well, were you looking?"
      "Um....no...." 

Silence falls as the humans all realize that they have been being watched for perhaps a very long time. Metellus blushes briefly, as does Cornelia. I decide not to mention that I've seen Cato happily munching on shadowy eyeballs once or twice, as I'm already currently in enough trouble.

       "Well, what can we do about this? This is totally unacceptable," Marcus proclaims.
        "Well, there are stories that lead can block psionic powers somehow," Wena offers, searching through her memories.
         "The sewers!" Llyr, who has been exploring Roma assiduously, suggests gleefully.
         "The sewers?" everyone else echoes with a mixture of horror and resignation.
          "They're entirely lined with lead. Quite a feat of engineering, actually."  Llyr points out.

So, together with our bound barbarian Bull Chieftain, we all troop down the nearest marble-covered manhole to the Cloaca Maxima, Roma's largest - and therefore smelliest - sewer.
           Once here, the sophisticated Romano-Britannian interrogation techniques quickly yield useful information.

          "What was all the Greek fire for?"
          "To set fire to things!"
          "What kinds of things?"
          "The big cylindrical buildings. Sycorax said they'd go boom, like the village back home, and we'd avenge all the Ouenikones."
          "When was this supposed to happen?"
          "Tomorrow night."

          "What were you supposed to do tomorrow?"
          "Go play in the theater."
          "What do you mean, go play in the theater?"
          "They're going to be having kids' play-fights in the theater, Sycorax said. But we won't be playing like kids," the Bull Chieftain smiles and guffaws, now thoroughly charmed by Cornelia.
           Marcus thinks for a second, then exclaims, "The Praetorians-Vigiles mock battle tomorrow!"
           "Oh no," Cornelia says, "the Celts are planning to infiltrate the battle and actually kill people!"
            "Well, to be fair," Llyr points out, "Some of us had been talking out sneaking into the mock battle to have fun beating up on Vigiles too."
            Metellus glares. Llyr and Marcus look a bit crestfallen. Lucretius, ever practical, says, "I'll tell my Centurion about this. We can at least try and search all the combatants to make sure the weapons are properly blunted."

            "Were you planning on doing anything else tomorrow," Cornelia asks.
             "Protect the little girls," the Bull Chieftain answers, surprisingly.
            "What? Why do you need to protect the little girls?"
            "They'll be running, and little girls aren't very good at protecting    themselves."
            "Where will they be running to?"
             "Inside, to put out the flame. I can't go inside, though. I have to protect them outside," he confesses.

            Our skilled minds quickly put this together with the prophecy and realize that the Temple of Vesta, with its ever-burning flame that protects the city of Roma and maintains the sacred barrier of the pomerium, is in grave danger.  
            Meloch puts this together with the reports he's been hearing of a lot of Celtic families of slaves disappearing, and soberly explains, 
             "Only female virgins can enter the Temple of Vesta, where the sacred flame is. They must have recruited a bunch of young Celtic girls to run in with water tomorrow night and put out the fire." He resolves to go against his principles and expose some of the known runaway slave safehouses he's discovered tomorrow to the vigiles, on the grounds that the girls will be safer as slaves anyway than as Celtic Liberation Front puppets. 

             "Well, we'll just have to stop them and kill them before they get there," Lucretius responds. "We cannot let the flame of Vesta die."

            "But," Heilyn remonstrates, "They're just innocent little girls, tricked into this. They don't know what they're doing."
            "They're a threat to Roma," Marcus says, and Metellus nods in agreement.

At this point, Wena remembers her young friend "Boadicea," the librarian's slave, and resolves to visit her tomorrow morning and get her out of this situation if necessary.

           The others decide to visit Cimbrus and the Vestals in the morning and inform them of the dire situation and in the meantime, begin making plans to defend the outside of the Temple of Vesta, which only one among them, Cornelia, can actually enter. Some of these plans, depending on who is designing them, are more lethal than others.

*Battle coming soon. Really! And if not, you can blame Meloch's player, because he's visiting us this weekend.*


----------



## Salthorae

*sweet*

Well, I just discovered this pearl yesterday...and now that I'm all caught up I have to post. This is an awesome SH. I love the authentic feel of the setting and the way they characters interact. 

The plot is juicy and the characters/players seem pretty quick witted. I'm excited to keep up with y'alls adventures!


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

Ladybird said:
			
		

> Cato's a sweet owl, but not very articulate - he tends to communicate mostly in pictures, not words. The way he recounted that last battle to me, for instance, was: "Flying...flying...OUCH! OUCH! OUCH! whimper whimper."




Exactly.  Much preferable to Shast's tiresome editorializing.



			
				Ladybird said:
			
		

> He _did_ manage to send me some images of what Shast tried to do, though. You really _must _have a talk with your familiar - we can't afford to have them squabbling like this.




A little friendly squabbling never hurt anyone.  Heilyn and I came out all right, after all, right?  I'll keep the two of them from getting carried away.

Meloch


----------



## Cerebral Paladin

Here's Marcus's character sheet.  It may contain some slight spoilers in the equipment list, and this is 3.5 even though I think the game was still 3.0 at this point.  And we might still be 7th level at this point.  But here it is.

Marcus Catellus Alexandros
Human male Psychic Warrior 8

Str	18	+4  
Dex 	10	0
Con	12	+1
Int	12	+1
Wis	15 (17)	+2 (+3)
Cha	12	+1

WP		20 
HP		47
AC		19	10	+6	+2	+1 (nat'l armor)

		Sum	Base	Stat	
Fort		+7	+6	+1
Ref		+2	+2	0
Will		+5	+2	+3
		+15			+10 against psionic mind control 

BAB		Melee		Ranged
+6/+1		+10/+5	+6/+1

Masterwork Bastard Sword	+12/+7	1d10+4	19-20 [x2]
					+17/+12	1d10+8
Javelin				+6/+1		1d6+4		x2

Feats
EWP (Bastard Sword)
WF (Bastard Sword)
Power Attack
Cleave
Endurance
Shield Wall
Psionic Weapon
Greater Psionic Weapon
Psionic Meditation

Skills:			Sum	Ranks	Stat	Other
Autohypnosis	    12	     7	       3	2
Concentration	    13	     11	       2
Knowledge (Philo)   9   	6	1	2
Profession		11	8	3
	(Centurion)
Spot			14	11	3
Languages (Latin, Greek, Celtic)

Power Points: 31 (8)
Powers Known:
1st
Biofeedback (A)
Metaphysical Weapon (A)
Precognition, Defensive (A)
Prescience, Offensive (A)
Vigor (A)

2nd
Animal Affinity (A)
Dissolving Weapon (A)

3rd
Empathic Transfer, Hostile (A)

Equipment:
Medal of Wisdom +2
Armband of Natural Armor +1
Armband/Headband of Charm
Glass Greaves (shadow)
Potion of Healing
Armband of Malachite Philosophy Resistance
Primus Pilus Brooch


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VII: Lux et Veritas Chp. 12: Don't Thank Heaven for Little Girls*

Cimbrus and the Chief Vestal are briefed on the dread fears of the party. Cimbrus notes that, with 2/3rds of the Vigiles and all but 100 of the Praetorians exhausted from the mock battle, and probably drunk, he will need to use most of the remaining forces trying to prevent the 25 remaining fire targets from going up. He puts Lucretius in command of a squad of 8 Praetorians and 10 Vigiles, to help defend the Temple. 

The Chief Vestal is happy for us to defend the Temple, although she warns that a dire fate will await any non-virgin female who steps into the Temple itself. Meloch provides the names of some of the escaped slaves he knows about, and the Vestals use their special power to divinely Hold any of them still within the pomerium, the sacred boundary, of Roma. 

Cornelia also goes to Nepa, her cousin, who is currently studying to be a priestess in the Temple of Diana, the Maiden Goddess, and with her help gets 8 trained archers and priestesses of the Maiden Goddess to guard the innermost areas of the Temple of Vesta itself.

     (My map of the Temple of Vesta is on my computer, which is currently very unhappy, so I'll rely on words for now on.)

      At the mock battle between the Vigiles and the Praetorians, Cornelia decides to sit with her ex-stepfather's family and her two half-brothers, despite her friendship with Lucretius. The fighters in the group sit right at the edge of their seats, ready to intervene. Lucretius discovers that, in fact, at least some fake Vigiles clearly did get in with sharpened weapons, but manages to defend himself and his teammates successfully, and, in fact, the Praetorians ultimately keep their 11-year winning record, despite being vastly outnumbered.

       Meanwhile, Llyr and Heilyn and Meloch build net traps and set up barricades around the 5 possible entrances to the outer Building of Vesta. There are two potentially dangerous targets inside the Building - the Temple of Vesta in the center of the courtyard, which contains the sacred ever-burning flame that gives holy protection to Roma, and the household gods of Troy, brought by the hero Aeneas to Italy and now housed in a small chamber accessibly only through the Chief Vestal's bedroom, which is itself accessible only through 2 other Vestal's bedrooms. 

There is a main large entrance at the northeastern corner, which, as night falls, Metellus, Heilyn, and Cornelia station themselves at, a southeastern door fairly close to the Vestals' bedrooms, where Lucretius, Marcus, and various Praetorians stand wait, a southwestern window and a western central door, guarded by Wena and the remaining Vigiles and Praetorians, and a small northwestern door, guarded by Meloch and Llyr.

You might ask, at this point, where I, Shast the monkey, had been stationed, and which net I was set to trigger. In fact, I had chosen a far safer and more important duty. Earlier that morning, Wena had gone to visit her young friend Boadicea, and had found out that Boadicea was in fact hoping to join all of her Celtic slave friends in storming the Temple of the Vestals that evening. Determined to prevent this, Wena spent all of her funds and the reward money from the pirates to buy Boadicea from her owner, the conservative librarian Fufidius Priscus. 

Sadly, Wena did not have enough money to also buy Boadicea's mother, Rhysenn, nor did she fully trust the woman. So she left Rhysenn out of the negotiations entirely, and hustled away a confused  and curious Boadicea to Cornelia's house, where she locked her in a room for the night and Meloch set me to watch her and make sure she came to no harm and didn't try to escape. Luckily, Boadicea is just learning how to write well, and so we have an enjoyable time writing to each other on good parchment. I tell her just where I like to be petted behind the ears - no one else knows that except for Meloch. Also, Boadicea is very excited to read all my stories and tells me which bits are her favorites. She really likes the pirate fight.

Night falls, the sounds of raucous parties and drunken revelry break out. The group waits. For a long time, the Forum itself is quiet. Then, off the distance,  the red glow of a fire can be seen, and then another, off to the south. There are the rapid footfalls of running Vigiles. The first glow goes out; two more, in different areas of the city, can be seen.

And then, out of the darkness, 6 young girls between the ages of 8 and 13, dressed in coarse white woolen tunics, their faces and arms and legs crudely daubed with blue wall paint, bare feet, each carrying a large leather sack bursting with water, come running towards the northeastern entrance. Each girl has an adult protector on each side of her, fully armed and carrying spears and bows. On the southeastern side, another 6 come running, and lightning bolts come crashing down from the sky and incinerate 2 of the Praetorians who are standing guard. The howling, wildly garbed Druids who follow the girls look slightly startled that their storm magic is less powerful here in the heart of Roma than back home in Britannia. (GM Note: 3-3.5 change in Call Lightning.) Barbarians start attacking Marcus and Lucretius, who slowly retreat towards the House of Vesta.

Meanwhile, on the southeastern side, a sudden thick fog springs up, and it becomes almost impossible to see. The Vigiles and Praetorians retreat towards the door and window and stand bravely in front of it as girls and warriors come screaming out of the dark mist. Wena tries to make her way out of the fog and push it out of the way through the power of philosophy. Meloch throws himself in front of his door. Llyr runs off to the northeastern side of the building, where the attack seems to be fiercest, and he can actually see his opponents.

The fight goes very differently on each corner of the House of the Vestals. On the northeastern side, the combination of Llyr's nets, Cornelia's Deep Slumber, and Heilyn's Rebukes take out all the little girls painlessly and quickly, leaving them slumbering on the marble cobblestones or squirming in nets. Metellus deals with the Celtic rangers, meanwhile, who are, in any case, less of a threat to Roma itself, and when things begin to get sticky for him as he is entirely flanked, Llyr comes to his rescue.

On the southeastern side, Marcus and Lucretius initially concentrate their attacks on the apparent Druids, and succeed in taking them out fairly quickly. However, by this point the girls have slipped past and are trying to shove themselves through the nearby window. Marcus looks at the situation, thinks of the good of Roma, and neatly stabs two children through the heart in a single round. Lucretius runs towards the window, and having little other choice, decapitates the girl who is most of the way through. He then tries to knock some of the remaining ones unconscious, but these are fragile slave children, and another one dies by his hand. The Praetorians follow their Decurion's example, and the other two girls are quickly eliminated while the Celtic barbarians flee to join their allies on the southwestern quarter.

On this corner, two older young Celtic women appear to be trying to break  
 in through a large window. The rangers with them, helped by the fog, are rapidly eliminating the brave Praetorians and Vigiles; Wena tries to help and immobilizes some of them, but cannot take them all. One brave Praetorian, Gaius Flavius, holds the door for several long rounds against ten combatants, refusing to yield ground, only sinking into grateful unconsciousness when Marcus and Lucretius arrive to relieve him. 

And on the northeastern corner, Meloch gazes into the dark fog, abandoned by his comrades, sending waves of determination and terror to me. Slowly, there materialize in the fog 7 more girls, and an equal number of fierce warriors. Meloch casts Sleep, and three of the girls go down. He takes a step back, and is brutally stabbed by a man he recognizes as Sycorax, the ranger leader of the Celtic Liberation Front, who is wielding two deadly scimitars. Meloch positions himself directly in front of the open doorway to the Building of the Vestals. Two of the girls are rendered helpless by Wena, who can barely see what is going on, but the other two charge Meloch, trying to squeeze past him or overrun him into the House itself. I scream to Meloch over our link, "What are you doing? If they push you even a foot into the House, Vesta's wrath will fall upon you! Upon us! Get out of the way! The Priestesses of Artemis can take care of them!"

But Meloch will not be moved. He plants his full three and a half feet in the doorway, and the girls barrel into him and are repulsed. He does, at this point, call forth his black onyx war goat statuette, and orders it to attack Sycorax. He also calls loudly for help. Cornelia begins dashing through the House, taking a short cut, to his side, and Llyr begins charging around the northern edge of the building, followed by Metellus. The girls, meanwhile, charge again, and Meloch is hit again with a spear, although the war goat is doing grievous damage to Sycorax. He tries his Sleep, but it fails. Meloch is on his knees now, knowing he can withstand neither another blow nor another attempt by the girls, but determined not to attack the children themselves, although he has a readily prepared Fireball, his new spell, which could take out all of his opponents at once.

Just then, Cornelia appears behind him, reinforcing the doorway and casts her far more powerful Deep Slumber, which immediately renders the two girls unconscious, as well as a few of the Celtic warriors. Llyr, followed by Metellus, and the war goat engage Sycorax in combat, but the ranger is fierce, and his blows are deadly.

Just then, Llyr hears a plaintive voice in his mind, that of the (annoying little wretch) foal Talat, daughter of the Celtic horse-god Epona, whom he had left in the stables back at Metellus Major's house. "Llyr-friend? Bad Men here. Bad  Men hurting me. Ow. Make the Bad Men Stop."

Llyr, worried about Talat, says, "Um, Tribune, could I leave now? My horse is in danger, I think. Heilyn! Talat's in trouble! She's being attacked!"

Metellus says, "What??? We're in the middle of a battle defending the House of the Vestals and the holy sanctity of all Roma and you want to go take care of your horse?"

Llyr responds defensively, arguing, "Look, this battle's almost over. And Talat's not just a horse, she's an avatar of Epona!"

"Fine! Fine!, just go, but we're going to have a long talk about this afterwards," Metellus answers with a high degree of irritation at Llyr's priorities. 

Heilyn, who is also deeply upset by the news of Talat's danger, transforms himself into a centaur, and gallops over. "Llyr, get on my back! We'll get there much faster this way!" The two depart quickly towards Metellus' house. 

For a few seconds, heavy battle continues, but the war-goat and Metellus have Sycorax flanked, and are rapidly wearing him down, although Metellus is taking a fair amount of blows. Seeing the girls down and his foes surrounding him, the badly wounded ranger closes his eyes and seems to concentrate for a moment. His dark grey finely crafted greaves glow in the darkness for a second, and then the color fades. Sycorax opens his eyes, and appears horrified to still be surrounded by his enemies. His terror is brief, however, as in the next few seconds Metellus cuts off his head.

Meloch, wounded but deeply curious as to where Heilyn and Llyr are going, jumps on the onyx war goat and trots off after them. As the streets are thick with revelers and drunken Praetorians, he catches up with them quickly. Some of the partygoers look and point, shouting, "Great costume idea, man! A centaur, and a pygmy, and a goat! Wow! That must be some party you guys are going to! Let's follow them!" A drunken parade starts following more or less in the wake of the charging centaur. The revelers follow the three into Metellus Major's lofty villa on the Aventine, where Heilyn and Llyr quickly take care of a group of thugs who are trying to steal Talat, interrogate them, and discover that they were apparently sent by Sycorax. Meanwhile, the villa is rapidly invaded and trashed by the revelers, and Metellus' parents stay upstairs.

Back at the House of the Vestals, the night is again quiet, and the red glows have faded from the horizon. Cornelia, Metellus, Marcus, and Lucretius assemble the captives and corpses: of the nineteen girls who attacked Vesta, eleven have survived the night, and seven Praetorians and 8 Vigiles have also died. But for now, Roma is safe.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Wow. Forcing the players to choose between killing innocent children or risking a city-wide catastrophe... what an excellent rat-bastardly thing to do! Nicely done.


----------



## Dæmon

An interesting fight, but I am supprised noone thought to pierce the water skins.


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

Dæmon said:
			
		

> An interesting fight, but I am supprised noone thought to pierce the water skins.




Well, the thought occurred.  But really, you can put out a Flame of Vesta by whacking it with a wet leather waterskin almost as effectively as you can by pouring water on it.  If the girls had got into the Temple, it wouldn't have much mattered if they had water or not.  So we had to stop them, quickly.  The only question was the means.


----------



## Dæmon

Meloch the Pygmy said:
			
		

> Well, the thought occurred.  But really, you can put out a Flame of Vesta by whacking it with a wet leather waterskin almost as effectively as you can by pouring water on it.  If the girls had got into the Temple, it wouldn't have much mattered if they had water or not.  So we had to stop them, quickly.  The only question was the means.



 I had assumed that the flame was substantial and not so easily extinguished, on account of the large amount of water being brought to douse it.


----------



## Orichalcum

Dæmon said:
			
		

> I had assumed that the flame was substantial and not so easily extinguished, on account of the large amount of water being brought to douse it.




No, that was just so that each girl had a substantial chance of doing it on her own. The Flame of Vesta is the equivalent of a sizable torch flame - it's holy and doesn't need oil or fuel, but can go out through normal means, which is why there's always a Vestal watching it. So yes, wet waterskins would have taken a little longer but probably been equally effective, as, for that matter, would a little girl throwing herself on the Flame.
      As Meloch said, the danger was very real for the Flame. The question was in how to deal with the opposition. There were about 3 successive rounds when I was one good die roll away from killing Meloch, and the player was well aware of that. (Vesta would have shown _no_ mercy to a non-Roman male non-virginal embodiment-of-fertility slave...)


----------



## Orichalcum

Dæmon said:
			
		

> I had assumed that the flame was substantial and not so easily extinguished, on account of the large amount of water being brought to douse it.




No, that was just so that each girl had a substantial chance of doing it on her own. The Flame of Vesta is the equivalent of a sizable torch flame - it's holy and doesn't need oil or fuel, but can go out through normal means, which is why there's always a Vestal watching it. So yes, wet waterskins would have taken a little longer but probably been equally effective, as, for that matter, would a little girl throwing herself on the Flame.
      As Meloch said, the danger was very real for the Flame. The question was in how to deal with the opposition. There were about 3 successive rounds when I was one good die roll away from killing Meloch, and the player was well aware of that. (Vesta would have shown _no_ mercy to a non-Roman male non-virginal embodiment-of-fertility slave...)


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> There were about 3 successive rounds when I was one good die roll away from killing Meloch, and the player was well aware of that. (Vesta would have shown _no_ mercy to a non-Roman male non-virginal embodiment-of-fertility slave...)




Meloch knew he was on the verge of being zorched by Vesta, but to his own considerable surprise found himself willing to risk death instead of killing the little Celtic girls.  Even though they were pretty sure to be killed by the Romans anyway, for their blasphemy against Vesta and Roma.

An irrational mess.  The idea of using innocent girls as the front line of an attack was repugnant to Meloch, which was why he was willing to turn in the escaped slaves who were involved.  Plus he doesn't think it would be a good thing for the Roman Empire to fall, all things considered.  But it still left a rotten taste in his mouth, to have betrayed escaped slaves to crucifixion or worse.  That guilt, and the guilt of the Celtic boy he killed by accident, were hanging on him.

A single Fireball would of course have killed all the little girls in his area, and crippled Sycorax.  It would also have destroyed his relationship with Cornelia, who couldn't countenance killing the girls, let alone torching them.  So there Meloch was, caught on his guilt and his loyalty, with a handful of possibilities for knocking out the girls if he could stay alive long enough.  And at the end of the day, they were innocent little girls.

So he stuck out his chest, trilled a pygmy war cry, set the uber-goat on Sycorax, and boldly moshed with the charging Celtic girls until Cornelia showed up with the knockout spell.  At which point he joined the charge to save Talat, and inadvertantly helped trigger an orgy in the Metellus family villa.

Curse the GM for putting the players in such rat-bastardly dilemmas...


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

*And then...*

...nothing happened.

For a very, very long time.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Meloch the Pygmy said:
			
		

> ...nothing happened.
> For a very, very long time.




Indeed. Tristes sumus.


----------



## Mortepierre

Call me curious but is the campaign dead? Or do you guys simply haven't had an occasion to meet for a long time due, possibly, to conflicting schedules?


----------



## Capellan

I met Orichalcum, Cerebral Paladin and Cornelia's player (whose screen name I don't know, but she runs a fine game of Call of Cthulhu) at a convention on the weekend.  Apparently there are still a few sessions to catch up for the SH, and it is ongoing (yay!)... but we may have to wait a little while for more updates (boo!)


----------



## Ladybird

Thank you!

I'm Cornelia's player, and it was great fun to meet you and GM for you, Capellan!


----------



## Mortepierre

Thanks for the update Capellan!


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Hidden Secrets*

My apologies for such a long absence; I've been hard at work on my dissertation and job applications, which are still ongoing, but this is, I've decided, a much healthier form of procrastination than many others, as at least it gets me writing.

Shast:
When last I wrote, the good news was that we had just saved Roma from sacrilege, fire, and Druids, and that we had all lived to tell the tale. The bad news was that Metellus' parents were   rather angry at him for throwing an unauthorized open orgy in their house (even though he didn't show up till it was half over), we still didn't know who the Black Chain Philosopher was, the 9th's Eagle was still corrupted and tainted by the BCP, and, oh, yes, some of us had killed 11 young Celtic girls.

The Caesar and Emperor's son Cimbrus, in his imperial mercy, sentenced the 8 girls whom Cornelia, Llyr, Heilyn, and Meloch had  rendered unconscious to be sent immediately to the salt mines in northern Italy, rather than executing them. Of course, the average lifespan in the salt mines is about two years. Meloch and Llyr glanced  at each other, and decided to put a possible rescue at the bottom of the Amphora of Bad Ideas for now. We'll see how long that lasts.

Meanwhile, Roma was hot and muggy, and those of the group living in Metellus' villa found it a rather uncomfortable atmosphere. A few days after the ludi Romanes had ended, the nobilissima Hadriana, wife of Cimbrus, summoned Cornelia, Wena, Meloch, and me to the imperial summer Villa Hadriana at Tivoli, which, as she reminded us, had belonged to her great-grandfather the Emperor. We were shown into her private study, which was a small house on a tiny artificial island, surrounded entirely by a moat, which in turn was surrounded by 15-foot walls; it was clear that this was to be a very private conversation.

After dismissing all but her most trusted guards, Hadriana, looking a little weary from the heat even up here in the Italian mountains, leaned forward. 
"My beloved, Cimbrus Caesar, has been very distressed of late. He has been communicating with the Emperor his father about the progress of the Parthian War, through a means reserved to the members of the imperial family, and the news he has received has disturbed him greatly. Legions lost, rebellions - the war seems to be going very badly. "

Wena thinks to herself, "Huh, I wonder if this means of communication has anything to do with that spherical dark crystal, full of philosophical power, that I saw in the Governor's palace back in Londinium. I wonder if they'll let me use one or two to speak to the Iceni if we make Hadriana happy, or maybe even give me one for myself! Still, doesn't seem like she wants to talk about it for now. Still, worth passing along on the mindlink to Cornelia."

Hadriana continues, "The odd aspect to this is that I have my own agents in the east, and the reports that they have been sending me suggest a much more positive story - no major victories as of yet, but some crucial positions fortified and allies gained, and no significant loss of troops. Of course, my reports are always several months out of date, but this has been true for some time now. I am not certain as to whether my network of agents has been hopelessly compromised, or whether, and this is in some ways an even worse possibility, the means of communication between the imperial family has become...faulty, in some way."

Meloch suggests, "Well, couldn't you send more agents?"

Hadriana responds, "It both takes more time, and I don't know who has been compromised and who hasn't been - the rot could be at the very top. This is why I have developed the following path of enquiry. Cornelia Crispa, I believe your mother is now at her coastal villa down at Misenum, near Cumae?"

"Indeed, nobilissima, she is. She's been asking me and my friends to visit for a few weeks now. But how does this help you find out information in the East?"

"Perhaps," Hadriana murmurs, "when you and your friends are visiting your mother, you could happen to drop by the cave of the Sibyl of Cumae, the most respected prophetess in Italia, enquiring about your futures. And if one of you were to ask about the question I've been pondering, rather than about your own destiny, and were to happen to report that answer to me, well...I remember my friends."

Cornelia reflects to Wena over the mindlink that this comes awfully close to asking for prophecy about the fate of the Imperial family or Empire, but also decides that, if they've got this powerful a patron, they should be all right.

Speaking slightly more loudly, Hadriana comments, "Besides, there is another matter in that region which might interest you and your friends. A report has recently come to my attention that there are signs of digging, and mysterious strangers, around the former site of the villa of L. Calpurnius Piso. Piso was an important senator from about 60 years ago, known for collecting obscure and strange philosophical manuscripts. His villa was buried in volcanic mud during the eruption of Vesuvius. It certainly seems...curious that someone should be investigating it right now, and I thought you might want to take a look at it."

She gestures to them to leave, and Meloch, who has been kneeling until now quietly to one side, looks up at her, and his eyes widen briefly for a second, although he tries to conceal it.

"What is it, good pygmy," Hadriana asks sharply.

"Mmmost beautiful nobilissima, it is...I believe that you will give birth to an Imperial heir in some seven months or so," Meloch stammers, having used his innate racial powers to detect her early pregnancy.

Hadriana smiles with joy, beginning to pluck a small emerald bracelet from her arm, then looks at him again. "There's something else, though, isn't there?"

Meloch tries to dodge, but she stares at him penetratingly. Finally, he whispers, "The baby...it is not in the best of health, nobilissima. You must be very careful."

Hadriana bites her lip and nods sharply, once again dismissing them. They cross the quickly lowered bridge across the moat and leave Tivoli quickly, soon rejoining their friends and announcing the Imperially mandated summer vacation.


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## Fimmtiu

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> My apologies for such a long absence...




Yay! This totally made my day. Welcome back!


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## Mortepierre

Wohooo!

Welcome back Orichalcum. Glad to see you home


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## Pyske

Good to have you back.


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 2: Family Reunion*

We journey to the harbor of Ostia and embark on Metellus' ship, the one we liberated from the pirates en route to Roma, and begin a speedy cruise down the western coast of Italia to the Bay of Naples. Along the way, Marcus and Wena inform us that the former owner of the buried villa, Lucius Calpurnius Piso,  was a patron of Epicurean and Neoplatonic philosophy who had a gigantic villa, perched on top of a cliff with terraces that stretched down to the seashore. He had both Greek and Latin libraries and a coterie of philosophers whom he paid to adorn his estate and enlighten him and his family. Also, very fond of word games and puzzles, and a collector of art. They all died in the eruption of Vesuvius when the wave of boiling mud swept over Herculanaeum, burying everything in its wake. 

      After 2 and a half days of travel, we arrive at the Villa Luculli, summer residence of Cornelia's maternal ancestors, also, like most of the elite villas in the area, perched high on top of a cliff overlooking the Bay of Naples, on one edge of Cape Misenum, where the Western Fleet is stationed. Thousands of handsome young sailors throng the street as we make our way by litter and horse up to the villa, where Licinia Luculla, Ogulnius the fat steward, and other slaves welcome us to a fine meal of freshly caught fish. Llyr and Meloch explore the villa and its elaborate garden after dinner, and are slightly puzzled by a crude, old-fashioned covered stone well in the middle of all the highly fashionable landscaped trees and plants, but decide that there are more important things to focus on, like getting a good night's sleep before going exploring in ruined villas the next morning.

      That night, Meloch, lying as usual on a cushion across the threshold of Cornelia's bedroom, is startled into wakefulness by the sound of someone quietly chanting a spell and sprinkling herbs on him. He is well versed enough in magic to realize that this is some powerful variant of his own Sleep spell, and, though he resists the spell's effects, he feigns sleep convincingly. The figure steps over him, quietly wakens Cornelia, and escorts her out of the room. As they leave, Meloch glances after them and realizes that Licinia Luculla is leading her daughter out into the garden somewhere. He quietly casts invisibility on himself and Shast and creeps after the pair, trying to avoid making any noise.

     The two women are remaining very quiet, and Licinia goes over to the covered well, waving her hand across it and murmuring some words which make it glow red briefly. She then lifts off the iron lid and begins climbing down into the well, with Cornelia, surprised but clearly intrigued and curious, following her. Meloch waits for about 30 seconds and then sneaks over to the well, discovering that, in fact, it appears to be a long vertical tunnel down into the rock, with iron bars hammered into the stone as a ladder. Although I tell him that this is clearly none of our business and we should just go back to sleep, Meloch insists on descending the shaft, and reluctantly, I scamper down after him.

      The shaft eventually opens out into an enormous cavern, partially full of water, which seems to have an underwater passage to the ocean outside; we have reached the bottom of the cliff. Meloch and I stay within the shaft itself, peering out at Licinia and Cornelia, who are standing on a rocky beach at the edge of the water, while Licinia calls out "Kalliston?" to the rocks and crevices which extend deep into the cliffside.

      After a few more seconds, three people come walking out of one of the deep, wide crevices in the rock; a middle-aged,  red-haired, olive-skinned woman, who seems, somehow, vaguely familiar, an extremely handsome Greek-looking young man, and a young girl with long blond tresses, and nothing else, who smiles as she runs past Cornelia to dive into the water, diving deeply before coming back up to bob in the small waves. Needless to say, Cornelia is highly disconcerted.

       Licinia Luculla lifts her mantle over her head, clasps her hands, and nods in deep respect, the most courtesy Cornelia has even seen her show to anyone. Cornelia, confused but courteous, quickly tries to imitate her. "Mother, why are we here? Who are these people?" she whispers, not adding the mental thought of "and why is she naked???" Meloch, meanwhile, quietly ogles the group. 

      "Greetings, honored ancestress Kalliston," Licinia says to the red-haired woman. "As is tradition, I have brought my heir to meet you, my eldest daughter and the only one of my children to show the signs of your gift."

      "Ancestress?" Cornelia queries. "But...I didn't think we had any..."

      "Dear, perhaps it would be easier if, before explaining fully, you allowed me to calm you down? Trust me, I think it will go much better that way," Licinia answers.

       Cornelia debates the wisdom of allowing her mother to do anything to her, but finally decides that, indeed, being calm can only help this situation. She sits down on a rock, and her mother chants the familiar spell of Calm Emotions, which she remembers vaguely being used frequently when she was a small child. Suddenly, she feels very, very mellow. The same cannot be said for Meloch, unfortunately.

       "Now we can continue," Licinia says briskly. "You see, Kalliston is your great-great-great-grandmother."

      "But," Cornelia says calmly, "you don't look very old...honored ancestress."

      "That's because this is not my true form," Kalliston smiles.

      "Oh. What is?" Cornelia inquires with vague, calm curiosity.

This! Suddenly, Kalliston takes a step back and begins shifting, larger and larger, as red scales grow on her skin. Within a few seconds, the middle-aged human woman has been replaced by an enormous flying serpent, with gleaming red scales, a golden underbelly, golden whiskers, and long, trailing red and orange wings. The other two people in the cavern, who have largely been ignoring Cornelia until now, glance up, and begin transforming themselves, with the nude blonde squealing "Time for fun?" as she? changes into a small white serpent, wings tucked under her as she glides through the water, and the handsome Greek man becomes a 30-foot long serpent with mottled blue and green scales and wings. 

Cornelia is amazingly grateful that she is so mellow, because otherwise, she knows she would be screaming in panic. "Mother...is this why the local servants were referring to this place as Draconara?"

"There are rumors, sadly. You should tell me whom - we can arrange for that to stop." Licinia answers.

"But, um...how exactly am I descended from you? And who are you???" Cornelia asks the red  one, Kalliston.

"Well, many of your years ago, I was experimenting with different forms, and met your great-great-great-grandfather, Licinius Lucullus. We began a relationship, and it seemed like an interesting experience to have a child of my own. To my surprise, she was born fully human, but with certain talents for manipulating the elements. That trait seems to have largely bred true in your female line, as it has with you. As for who I am...I am Kalliston. The blue is Thalasson, the white Hieron. We, well, we are. We are born at the birth of a volcano, one dragon for each mountain. I came from the first fires of the mountain you call Vesuvius, and had returned here with my young friends at the time of the most recent eruption. But the giants were wandering then, and your family offered us shelter here in the cavern, and it has not seemed safe to fly freely out since then. Besides, I needed a rest." 

"The giants? "

"The giants who wander the slopes of Vesuvius, causing earthquakes with their hammers. They are a dread enemy for us, and Hieron is still young and frail." 

Hieron speaks up indignantly. "I am not! And I know something you don't know!" 

 "What is that, young one?" Kalliston asks tolerantly.

"I smell two soft ones up there in the shaft! They smell of fear, but I can't see them. I've been trying to, though..."

It is perhaps unfortunate timing that it is just about at this point that Meloch's invisibility spell runs out. It is certainly true that we both smell of fear; Meloch nearly fell out of the shaft when the dragons appeared. And certainly, I will confess to nearly fainting when, about at this point, a white dragon's head sticks its way up into the shaft, nearly filling it, and squeals shrilly as it flies back toward the water, "I told you! They're in there! A little dark one and a tiny furry one." 

Cornelia quickly stands, a sense of urgency overriding her calm, and pleads, "Please don't kill them! It's my...servant."

Kalliston raises a whiskered eyebrow, scales flickering in the reflected glowing magelights of the cavern, and glances up towards the shaft, twitching a few claws. A few seconds later, a  large transparent bubble, containing Meloch and myself, floats down to the water's edge.

"You ordered your servant to spy on us?" she asks Cornelia with some anger.

"No, no, he must have done it all on his own," Cornelia tries to explain, unhelpfully.

"While you're working this out, can I play with them?" Hieron asks petulantly. Thalasson also lifts up its long head. 

"Certainly. Try to avoid permanent damage for now; they are family toys, after all."  Hieron bats our bubble into the water with a claw, and then splashes it with glee over to Thalasson. Thalasson whacks us into the air with its tail, sending the sphere spinning end over end but luckily not penetrating, and we float back over to Hieron, who tries juggling us with its nose. The next few minutes are extremely terrifying, especially while we try to pay attention to the conversation regarding our ultimate fate.

Cornelia vouches for our innate harmlessness and loyalty and devotion at fervent length. Kalliston is clearly highly concerned that the dragons' secret will be revealed to the authorities. "You know, dear Licinia, that we are not completely unvulnerable, and until Hieron is older, we must remain in safety and darkness." 

Licinia calmly offers, "While the pygmy is under the control of my daughter, I believe him to be safe and without risk, just as the slaves who occasionally prepare food for you are. We will simply ensure that he always remains under her or my control, or else unable to communicate your secret."

Kalliston nods, slowly.  "We have trusted the Licinii before and never been wrong. As long as your slave remains firmly under your control, Cornelia, we shall allow him to live. But there are more pleasant matters to speak of. Why are you visiting us now?" 

Cornelia, calm somewhat restored, decides that it really isn't worth pushing matters to try and get the other dragons to stop playing ball with Meloch, so she settles down for a nice chat and explains their visit to explore the Villa Calpurnii, deliberately not mentioning the Sibyl in front of her mother.

"Ah, yes, I know of that place. It is good that your companions choose you to lead this mission, for without you, they would surely fail." 

"Why? Is there some magical trap? I mean, Meloch also has talent there...I wonder if he has a dragon ancestor as well..." Cornelia is still free-associating a bit as a result of the spell on her.

Kalliston glances over at Meloch and shakes her head decisively.  "I think not. There are other ways for the gift to be passed on. In any case, this is not precisely due to your talents at manipulation. Rather, my blood will also have given you, I believe, a certain resistance to some kinds of volcanic ethers, those we were born in. Many of the buried villas still have some areas full of such air, which will kill all your friends quickly, but should not harm you. But, as extra protection...it appears that you have consumed some of the gifts of your family's necklace?"  The dragon glances at Cornelia's necklace of explosive golden baubles, given her by her mother as a coming-of-age present.

"Well, yes...we were fighting the Chief Druid of Britannia, and they were very useful! Thank you, great-great...ancestress, I did not know they came from you!" Cornelia stammers.

"They are distillations of our breath. We shall bestow another one from each of us upon you, but be careful with these; they are very difficult to make properly, young descendant. Still, your line must continue, so protect yourself, and may your blood bless you."  Kalliston reaches into a crevice in the rock and carefully plucks out three tiny golden baubles, which she places gently in Cornelia's hands. Cornelia quickly threads them onto her necklace, which has now four baubles. 

Licinia suggests that they leave before any more of Cornelia's friends think to investigate, and, with a nod from Kalliston, Hieron reluctantly punctures the transparent sphere with the tip of its claw and lets Meloch and I fall, trembling, into the waves at the edge of the shore. As we follow Cornelia and Licinia back up the shaft, Licinia mentions how much easier it would be to simply drown Meloch and me in the night, which would solve any lingering problem of secrecy. Cornelia politely refuses the offer, and then the second offer of mind control, and, as we finally make it back to Cornelia's bedroom, I can hear Meloch desperately thinking of ways to buy his freedom as soon as possible - and keep Cornelia alive in the meantime.  

'


----------



## ShawnLStroud

*Welcome Back!*



			
				Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Although I tell him that this is clearly none of our business and we should just go back to sleep, Meloch insists on descending the shaft, and reluctantly, I scamper down after him.




And this is why I *love* the monkey!  Again, kudos for creating the best sidekick on the story hours!


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## Fimmtiu

The use of the _Calm Emotions_ spell as a tranquilizer for household use is great. I'll have to find a way to nick that.


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 3: Perchance to Dream*

Thanks for all the kind comments. Shast thinks, in response to Shawn:
Oooh, I could totally take that servile Euro, or blocky Scree! Just let me at them; my creative talents far outshine their lowly fighting abilities!"

Orichalcum thinks: Shast-a-Chu! And yes, the ideas I came up with when thinking about how a powerful sorceress with very little ethics raises a child...well, you'll see some of them in future updates.

All is finally quiet in the Villa Luculli, and the residents settle down to dream:





Meloch: You fall sound asleep, and dream:
	You kneel before the entrance to a small stone building, one you have never seen before, and then slowly pace into the darkness inside, holding a torch. Inside, there are rows upon rows of stone and pottery urns, with painted scenes on them and inscriptions below them. You proceed to the left. Near the entrance you stop at one urn as the torchlight falls on the inscription: Cornelia Crispa, Devoted and Learned Daughter. She lived eighteen virtuous years. From the entrance of the tomb, you hear the voice of Cornelius Nepos, Cornelia’s Gaulish cousin, calling. “Come, slave. We have indulged you long enough.” You hurry outside, and Nepos is standing there with a black chain and thick iron slave collar. “Now that I am your master, pygmy, you’ll learn some discipline.” He moves forward with the collar as you wake up, shivering.


Wena: You fall sound asleep, and dream: You hear the sound of thundering hoofbeats, and see the Iceni war chariots whirling past you. A woman in one of the chariots reaches down and sweeps you into her chariot and arms without stopping; she is intricately tattooed, with long, braided red hair, and her eyes glow a rich brown. “Morwen, my child, I can give you only the protection that I am able. Remember that our enemy shares the same fears that you do. He wishes to bring those fears to all peoples everywhere, and take revenge for his own suffering on the entire world. Use your knowledge of our history and our ways against him. Do not fear to risk all, for this is the moment when truth must triumph.” You wake, feeling oddly calm and at peace with the world.

Marcus: You fall sound asleep, and dream: Your father is sitting in his small workroom in Alexandria. He looks tired, and much older than when you last saw him. Your sister, in torn and bloody robes, comes into the room.
	“I’m sorry, father. Mother’s gone. There was nothing I could do.” she says quietly, weeping and coughing.
	“I know. You worked yourself to the bone just trying to save your son Petros.” 
	“If only we had more help, and more money. If only my brother had stayed here rather than abandoning us...”
	“It’s best he’s not here, child. If he was, he’d just die of the plague along with the rest of us.” Your father coughs painfully, and your sister holds out a wooden cup to catch the blood that comes up. “But I wish he had used his mind to help us and others live rather than merely to kill the barbarians.” His tone is regretful, and despairing. You wake up, trying to persuade yourself the dream was just the product of too much wine at dinner.

Heilyn: You fall sound asleep, and dream: You are riding proudly into Eburacum, your horse and armor covered with gold and decorations from the hand of the Emperor and seven other foreign kings. Your armor and weapons glisten in the sunlight, and two mules follow you, laden with golden aurei and gems. Yet Eburacum is not what is was. There is much evidence of recent burning, and the walls are missing in several places. The few people you see are dressed in rags, and they run from you or huddle by small fires in the cold. You quicken your horse’s pace and come to your old forge, where your mother lives. It is burnt, and the anvil is missing. Searching through the wreckage, you find one crippled former apprentice. “What happened?” you ask desperately. “Where is my mother?”
	“The Ouenikones and the Picts swept south, intent on revenge, and the Romans were too few to stop them. The Druids came here first of all, saying that they would slay the smith who defied them and stole their eagle god. They bound your mother to a tree and cut her heart out of her body while she watched; she died cursing your name and that of the gods who were unable to protect us.” 
	You wake up, shivering, trying to persuade yourself the dream was just the product of too much wine at dinner.

Metellus:  You dream of a mountain meadow, scattered with sheep. Meloch appears before you, grinning, dressed in a white loincloth, with a golden bow and arrow. “Young master, it is time for you to choose.”
	“Choose what?” you ask in confusion.
	“Who is the most beautiful, of course!” Meloch hands you a brightly shining golden apple, and gestures to a grove of trees nearby. Cornelia, Nepa, and Lupina Silvanilla walk out from the grove, each dressed in diaphanous gowns and glittering jewelry.
	“Choose me,” the young Lupina Silvanilla speaks. “I am the niece of the Emperor, and I need someone to protect me.”
	“Choose me,” Nepa says. “I am quiet and pious, and I am well versed in all the proper feminine skills.”
	“Choose me, “ Cornelia says. “I will help you when you are afraid, and stand by your side bravely fighting and defending you.”
	“CHOOSE!” Meloch bellows.
	“Choose!” your father says, appearing suddenly.
	“Choose!” Llyr, Marcus, and Heilyn say, gathering around you and prodding you with their spears.
	The chorus grows deafening. “Choose, Metellus! Make a decision!”
		You take a deep breath, and before you can say a word, you wake up as the dawn light hits your pillow.

Cornelia: You fall asleep finally, after your exciting night, and dream: 
		You wake up, and Meloch looks strangely at you. “Domina Cornelia, are you feeling all right?” You furrow your brow in puzzlement, before looking down at your hands. They are faintly green, and you can see small scales beginning to grow on them. You run, terrified, to your mother.
	“Ah, yes,” she says in a dispassionate tone, “ this happened to my great-aunt Licinia. Well, with luck, you’ll eventually learn enough magic to be able to conceal it most of the time.”
	“What do you mean, most of the time? And how bad will it get?” 
	“Well, Licinia spent most of her days in the sun curled up trying to get warm, and she said the tail was a nuisance, but don’t worry, she still kept her mind till the end.”
	“What about the most of the time?”
	“Well, dear, no illusion magic works very well when you’re asleep, now does it?”
	You run, terrified, out into the courtyard, away from your apparently unmoved and uncomforting mother. In the atrium, Metellus sees you, swears by Hercules, and faints. Lucretius, running out to see the commotion, pulls his small silver owl out of his armor and gestures threateningly at you with it. “It’s a evil spirit!” he shouts, “We must drive it forth and kill it!” Marcus strolls out into the courtyard and looks directly at you. “I always told you all she was a witch and would come to a bad end. Now she’s an evil spirit, too.” He draws his sword, and your friends advance on you, determined looks on their faces. 
	You truly wake up, shivering, and stare frantically at your hands, desperately convincing yourself that there are no signs of scales on them.

Llyr:  You fall soundly asleep, and dream:

	You are in the midst of a raging battle, with strange creatures all about you. You spear a crocodile and then leap nimbly up to stab a Druid through the throat with your short sword. To your left, you see Heilyn, fighting a white-robed philosopher, and he shouts, “He has the Cap of Lugh, Llyr! Come around him from the back and we’ll surely get it! I need your help, now!” Ahead and to the right, you see Metellus, surrounded entirely by Druids and other warriors; he is fighting bravely, but is sorely wounded, and glances desperately towards you. You hear the voice of Talat in your head, whimpering, “Llyr, the bad men are here. They’re hurting me. Stop the bad men, Llyr.” You stop, frozen in your tracks, unsure which way to turn. As you stand there, uncertain for just a moment, you see Metellus fall, and the voice of Talat grows quiet in your head. You glance over to Heilyn, to see that the philosopher has vanished again. You wake up, sweating, glad that it is finally morning.

Lucretius: You fall soundly asleep, and dream:

	You are in the midst of an enormous battle, with strange creatures all about you – flying hags throwing spells down on you in the air, Druids fighting with enormous shadowy wolves, and even crocodiles, attacking from the right. To your left, you see Cimbrus, surrounded by enemies, with only two Praetorians left around him, and those badly wounded. You start to urge Sapientia forward to assist the Emperor’s son, when you see Cornelia to your right, about to be swallowed whole by a crocodile. Both call out to you for help, and as you panic momentarily, unsure where to turn, you watch both die before your eyes. As Cornelia dies, her body turns into that of the little girl you chopped in half outside the Temple of the Vestals, and her eyes stare accusingly at you.
	You wake up, shivering, trying to persuade yourself the dream was just the product of too much wine at dinner.


----------



## spyscribe

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Shast thinks, in response to Shawn:  Oooh, I could totally take that servile Euro, or blocky Scree! Just let me at them; my creative talents far outshine their lowly fighting abilities!"




Hey Orichalcum!  Love the story hour... um...  Euro has something that he wanted me to convey for him.

Oh... that monkey thinks he's so big with his "opposable thumbs" and his "literacy."  He ever comes around here, I'll servile him, you know?

Truth be told, I actually don't know.  But if any familiar can turn something into a transitive verb with a vengeance, it would be him.  Anyway... love the magical parenting skills, and looking forward to the next update.


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 3: Villa Crawl*

"He ever comes around here, I'll servile him, you know?"

A response to young Euro: It is clearly a mark of the dreadful educational system in your world that you have so little concept of basic grammar, let alone sophisticated concepts like the later conjugations or the subjunctive. This seems like an excellent goal for your Mages' Academy - I can't tell you how many spells I've heard Meloch fumble because of an improperly placed pronoun! It is certainly an important factor to consider when making your final selection of Archmage.

But let me continue on with _my_ story. I fear that my more action-oriented readers have found the last few chapters, full of subtle character development, somewhat dull. Well, fear not - matters grow exciting and even tense from here on out.

After much discussion, the group decided to investigate the Villa Calpurnii before going to the Sibyl at Cumae, on the grounds that information buried in the ruins might influence or change the questions we planned to ask the Sibyl. So we set off for the buried city of Herculaneum, following the vague directions of Licinia Luculla. We relatively easily located an area where there had been recent digging, which featured a long diagonal tunnel which had been dug down into the mud. Several pairs of footprints led towards the tunnel; we could not find any leading out. 

Llyr and Cornelia investigated the general area and found a small farm, about 200 feet away, with somewhat more horses than one would expect for a place of its size. Upon investigation and the judicious use of a Charm spell,  the farmer readily admitted that he had been asked to stable some horses for a research expedition being led by Fufidius Priscus, the chief librarian of the Library of Trajan back in Roma. Llyr stabled Talat and the other horses at the back of the same farm, carefully leaving Talat untethered so that she could escape if necessary. 

New conspiracy theories involving the stuffy, greedy librarian Fufidius were batted around as the group slowly crawled down the 3 feet wide steep diagonal mud tunnel. Wena's sentient crystal Samer (not the most exciting of companions, I've found, but at least I can rest assured that it doesn't want to eat me) led the way, with the rest of the group following in this order: Marcus, Metellus, Wena, Llyr, Cornelia, Meloch, me, Heilyn, Lucretius. Cato  was left on the surface to keep watch, good riddance. Heilyn suggests transforming himself and forming a new tunnel, to escape detection, with the immortal line: "We'll be giant burrowing man-badgers!" This plan, however, is rejected.

After an unpleasant, filthy descent which left me longing for a bath for my golden fur, we finally emerged into the remnants of the actual building, where the roof, at least in most places, prevented the mud from raining down on us. We found ourselves in a long roofed courtyard, with the remains of what must have been a lovely marble swimming pool in the center, and statues of the Emperors down through Trajan lining the side. Proceeding onto the ground floor of the main building, we found ourselves in a large atrium with doorways to the left and right. Two large iron chests, whose locks had clearly been roughly broken, were placed on either side of the atrium. Upon opening them, we discovered the preserved huddled corpses of two people, probably slaves given their lack of jewelry or weapons and rough clothes. Wena was highly unnerved by the general psychic echoes of death and fear here. 

Investigations through the left doorway proved to lead to a kitchen and servants' quarters, including a hearth and small figurines of the household gods, as well as a larger painted fresco of the god Vesuvius, at the bottom of which we found another corpse, arms reaching out to the gods. Heilyn became deeply disturbed here when he realized that these figurines had no spirits: even the gods were dead in this villa. He began muttering prayers under his breath. 

We noticed footprints in the ash and mud, leading back and forth from each of the doorways, and then also down the flight of stairs on the left, but none returning from those stairs. Still, it was decided to check out the doorway on the right first, where Metellus and Marcus found the remains of a small Greek Library, almost entirely carbonized or destroyed in ash, and fairly obviously recently disturbed, with carbonized scrolls thrown to either side. Reluctantly, Metellus commands all those who are literate in Greek to spend some time searching here, and Lucretius manages to find a small scrap of possibly relevant papyrus, which reads: "“In the Shadow of the Shadow, Narcissus and his love are united at last.”  No-one is quite sure what to make of this at this point, except that it has something to do with reflections.

Continuing down the staircase, the villa remains eerily quiet with the exception of a regular sound of dripping water and, somewhere below them, a strange squeaking noise. On the second cliffside terrace. the mud is knee-high on most of the group, waist-high on Meloch (I move to the top of his head, anxiously trying to keep myself clean), and still soft and fairly liquid.  

Small worms and grubs flee from the torchlight as the party squelches through. We find ourselves in a main hallway, leading out to another courtyard, which has a tunnel in it. The tunnel is roughly hacked through the soft mud, and Marcus and Metellus decide to investigate first, before the rest of us follow. The first tunnel leads out about forty feet, and then angles diagonally left and right for another twenty feet. Marcus crawls ahead first, following a set of hand-and-footprints in front of him, which excite him because there are no foot prints coming back. Fortunately, however, he chooses to go slowly, and is thus able to stop himself right before reaching the end of the tunnel - at the cliffside itself, where he can see a long drop hundreds of feet down to the water, and what must once have been a spectacular view across the Bay of Naples. Marcus suddenly realizes why there are no prints coming back, and warns Metellus, before carefully retracing his steps and returning to the safety of the roofed hallway. 

The party can hear the sound of squeaking more to the left, and the sound of dripping water to the right. After discussion, we proceed down the hallway to the end, where there are large marble doors, elegantly decorated, and fully closed. Llyr listens carefully and hears the noises of something large moving through water on the other side. We prepare for battle, the fighters drawing their weapons, Heilyn casting protective magics, and Meloch and Cornelia readying spells. Marcus is first by the door, and, sword in hand, quickly pulls it open. Beyond, those closest to the door can see the muddy remains of a once lovely marble-tiled private bath, now largely occupied by an enormous water snake, easily Marcus' chest in diameter.

Marcus: "Do we want to fight that?"

Metellus: "No."

Marcus: [slams door on snake] "OK. Let's go."

Sometimes, I think Meloch's companions might be picking up a little bit of common sense from me. Even if it did mean that we couldn't take a bath.


----------



## ShawnLStroud

Excellent update!  

Having actually been to Herculaneum (and Ercolano, the city directly on top of Herculaneum), I welcomed your descriptions.  I can't really tell you how creepy it is to walk down those streets, imagining everybody fleeing the pyroclastic flow as they ran for the sea shore.

The parts of the city you can get to are in this 100' deep pit.   You walk down a huge ramp that circles the edge of the pit, and you can see where the old sea shore was--at one point, you're looking into the windows of the spa, which overlooked the sea, at a point that would have been about 50' in the air over the ocean.  

And.... really loving the PCs when they do what we would -- "OK. Let's go." 

Keep up the great work!


----------



## Orichalcum

*Thanks...*

People who have been to the site may recognize that the PCs are actually exploring the Villa dei Papyri, near Herculaneum, now open with prior reservations. All details for the first two terraces are architecturally correct; archaeologists haven't excavated below that, so who knows?

<grin> Actual history makes my life so much easier...


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 5: My So-Called Philosopher*

Going back down the hallway, away from the gigantic snake, we stop to investigate a number of small side rooms along the back wall, which mostly seem to be bedrooms. They appear to have been quickly searched, but Llyr and Wena are certain they can do a better job. After Samur burrows into the mud, seeking anything interesting, the strange crystalline creature eventually locates a leather scroll case which had been carefully tied underneath the bottom cushions of  one of the bedroom couches. After Wena clears the mud off of the case, she carefully opens it, pulling out a long scroll of parchment, and begins to read:

 
Annales of Calpurnia Pisa, 817 A.U.C.
PRIVATE & PERSONAL:
I will flog any slaves who dare to read this!

*Nones of Quinctilis: * 
 Pater says I should stop my lessons with Epicharmus. First, he said it wasn’t proper for a young woman to know so much philosophy. Then, he said Epicharmus was corrupting me, which he certainly isn’t; I don’t think Epicharmus even sleeps with slaves anymore – he’s too dedicated to living purely and in harmony with nature. But Pater says now that he was wrong to hire so many philosophers, that they aren’t to be trusted, that they make you think differently. He gave Mater and me these amber bracelets to wear, at the Floralia. He says that they’ll stop Epicharmus from influencing me, but I don’t see how, when he still lives here and talks to us at dinner and afterwards....

*Kalends of July: *
Pater has sent Epicharmus away, as well as all the other philosophers, turning them out of the house without even a guest-gift. He’s even threatening to start destroying the scrolls, but I think he’ll probably just sell some of them.

*Kalends of August: *Pater says I am not to go into the lower library anymore without telling him. He fears that the philosophers will bribe the slaves to sneak into the house and steal the valuable scrolls, so he has moved all the rarest ones to the Cave, and set up some sort of guards against the philosophers there, probably one of his favorite word or number games. He has started wearing his new amber necklace even to go to sleep, Mater says.
	It is Mater’s birthday in a few days; I need to decide on a present for her. She says that she will ask her genius for another child. It would be nice to have a brother – less pressure to marry soon. I will turn fourteen in September, and Pater says that he should arrange my betrothal on my birthday. As long as it isn’t to one of the Vettii brothers, I think I can bear it; I know that they are ridiculously wealthy, but they are crude, and their father was a slave. I wish I could marry Epicharmus.

* Ides of August: * Epicharmus came by the house and tried to tell Mater and me that we should leave the house and go back to Roma, that there are dangerous portents in the sky and earth. Epicharmus knows much natural science, and I was worried, but Mater scorned the thought of returning to Roma in this heat. Then Pater arrived, and threw Epicharmus out of the house, warning him never to set foot here again.

* Day After the Ides of Augustus: *There is a strange smell of sulphur in the air, and there was a small earthquake today. The aqueduct is running low.

*Two days after the Ides: *The sky is dark, and there are fires coming from the mountain. Pater has summoned his yacht from Misenum, and we are to go down to the 4th terrace, by the beach, to wait for it.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 6: Riddles in the Dark*

We follow the footprints back to the left side of the courtyard, where they lead  a painted wall, with 9 doors, each of which, although muddy and a bit faded, appears to be real. Written in Greek on the wall, in an elaborate script, is the following statemtn:

"To come to dinner, gentle guest, beginning from honesty count back from the number of Hercules’ labors the number of the kings of Rome and then honor the gods of feasting by adding them to your total. The feast awaits you."

"What kind of maniac makes someone answer a riddle to get to dinner?" Llyr asks.

"This one, apparently. These Romans are crazy..." Heilyn answers, sighing.

Cornelia and Marcus, however, bend their minds immediately towards the riddle; Cornelia enjoyed playing these kinds of games with her father as a child, and for Marcus they were a part of his early philosophical training. They both know from their love of literature that Hercules had 13 labors, there were 7 gods of Roma, and 2 gods of feasting, Ceres and Bacchus.  After some further consideration, they decide that "from honesty" means that they should count from the morally correct right side rather than the sinister left, and, with trepidation, send Llyr forward to press the seventh door from the right. The panel swings open, revealing a small passageway downstairs behind it, and we continue cautiously down, hearing the sounds of squeaking growing ever louder. 

Along the staircase, Llyr and Wena detect tracks going down, about 5 people, with the one man wearing fine handmade sandals still present. An elaborate dining room with 3 couches and a large fresco of Hercules’ labors lies in the center below; the terrace is oddly deserted of mud, and fairly empty. A rock/mudslide at the edge shows what everything must have been oriented towards – the view over the sea, including the 3 outdoor couches.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 6: Rats. I hate Rats.*

We cross the abandoned, eerily empty courtyard after Llyr checks to make sure that the rockslide is reasonably sturdy, and reach a large room at the other end of the courtyard, where  the squeaking noise has been coming from. Opening the door, those of us, at least, who aren't soldiers are horrified to see hundreds of rats swarming across a number of large grain and wine amphorae. Thin, half-rotted wooden planks form bridges above the amphorae, presumably once used for easy storage, and there is another closed door at the end of the passageway. One set of muddy footprints in rough sandals leads up to that door and then disappears, the other footprints appear to lead back towards the left side. 

Llyr, who has good balance, volunteers to try and make it across the planks without falling into the rats, and everyone else is very willing to let him try. He narrowly avoids disaster and makes it to the other room, pulling open the door very slightly. He immediately begins choking and coughing, and Cornelia remembers her ancestor's warning. She tries to suggest that it might be volcanic gas, and that she has a "spell" which will help her avoid it (Meloch looks at her quizzically) but Llyr declares that it won't be necessary, as he had inherited (stolen off the body of) Verix's pearl protecting him from poison. He takes a deep breath and  runs inside the door. 

Inside, he sees multiple chests, some rotted open from water leakage, full of golden _aurei_ and gems. Among the more interesting items, he finds (later identified):

Ruby necklace
Garnet earrings
Lapis lazuli matching set, big collar.
Silver bracelets.
A sword particularly useful against shapechangers
A sharp, Druidic magical scimitar.
Ring of Counterspells
Amulet of Health +2
Boots of the Winterlands
Chime of Opening – 4 charges.
Cloak of Arachnida
Pipes of Pain
Gloves of Swimming and Climbing
Stone of Alarm
Unguent of Timelessness used for preserving scrolls.

He comes back out to consult with the rest of the group after pocketing a couple of the necklaces for himself. After quick discussion, it is agreed that they have no time to get any of the items now, and hopefully they'll be able to return later.

On the left side of the courtyard, there is a large fresco of Orpheus descending to the underworld, which Llyr and Wena believe probably has a secret door located somewhere behind it. This makes some of us nervous.

Heilyn comments, "What's the worst that a picture of a passage to the underworld could represent?"
Marcus retorts, "It could actually be a passage to the underworld!"

Cornelia, meanwhile, is actually trying to figure out how to open the door, and relatively quickly comes upon the idea of asking Meloch to play his panpipes. When he does so, the side wall swings open, revealing a long, arched tunneled staircase leading down. It is ornamented with scenes of Hades - Tartarus, Minos the Judge, the Elysian Fields, and the more perceptive members of the group can see several pairs of footsteps proceeding downwards.

As they reach the bottom, they find themselves on a spiral staircase curving down to  a large natural cavern open to the sea, with a small beach and a dock jutting out into the ocean. The cavern is almost dark, lit only by faint rays coming in from the outside and some phosphorescent fungus. They can dimly see a number of armed figures on the dock, and then, dimly, they hear the sound of oars in the water, and a sardonic, mocking voice that before has only appeared in their minds:

"I'm afraid you're a little late, my dear meddling friends. I've taken everything of true value in this place...and, for that matter, back in Roma. I _do_ hope you made your farewells properly to the Imperial family..."


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Over Sea, Under Mud Chp. 9: The PCs flex their muscles*

Sorry for the delay - we played last week, and so my time was taken up with preparing for an actual game. Exciting relationship developments, the departure of a PC, and career advancement! I may even let them level...

But back to our current adventures:

Combat, unsurprisingly, ensues. Marcus, Metellus, and Lucretius rush down the spiral stone staircase to charge the thugs on the dock, who are advancing towards them. A fierce fight breaks out, with Marcus concentrating hard on the lessons learned from studying in the Library of Trajan and killing at least one opponent with a single blow. Lucretius, to his disappointment, discovers that at least one of them is not actually a worshiper of the gods of the underworld, and only does moderate damage. 

Meanwhile, Llyr loads one of his special, Heilyn-cursed bolts with the Black Chain Philosopher's name on it, and shoots into the darkness towards the sound of the voice and the swiftly lapping oars. He hits and damages the rowboat, by the sound, but no screams come from out in the bay. Cornelia does her part by Deep Slumbering two of the thugs and scrambling off the staircase, leaving a clear path for Meloch. Wena considers engaging in direct psychic combat with the Black Chain Philosophers, but decides to stun the mind of one of the thugs instead, and realizes, in doing so, that the man is being controlled by another mind.  

And my partner - well, he concentrates, pulls out the desert dust and special powders he found in Roma, chants a few words of Numidian, and, to everyone's amazement, a gigantic fiery explosion rocks the center of the cavern. In the brief seconds of light afforded by its flare, we can see that one of the two boats out in the harbor is burning wildly, and its passengers are diving into the water, screaming. But the other boat appears largely unscathed, and it is loaded down with scrolls and papers. More importantly, one of its passengers is quite familiar, at least to those members of the group who have kept their eyes open around Roma. "Cornelia, Llyr," Wena whispers, "that's Quintus Mucius Scaevola, the philosophical tutor to the Emperor's nephew Rufus. He's the Black Chain Philosopher, not Fufidius Priscus!"

Cornelia's mind starts spinning in wheels as to the impact of this statement, but Llyr just reaches into his quiver. "Right, I'll try that bolt next time."

Meanwhile, Heilyn gets down on the stairs and begins concentrating, trying to remember stories of large flying creatures he has heard of. Feathers sprout from his body, his nose elongates into a wicked beak, and sharp claws extend from his fingers, until he has turned into a large hippogriff. With his beak he gestures towards Metellus, indicating his long hose-like back. Metellus leaps  on, gingerly, and the pair soar off into the pitch-black darkness of the cavern together.  

In the next several seconds, Marcus and Lucretius, with Wena and Cornelia's help, make quick work of the remaining thugs; Wena manages briefly to break the BCP's control on one of the thugs, who promptly surrenders in some confusion. Meanwhile, Metellus and Heilyn dodge narrowly around giant stone stalactites dangling down from the ceiling in the darkness, attempting to swoop down on Scaevola's boat.  Llyr reloads his ballista with a Scaevola bolt.  Meloch lights up the cavern again with another fireball, nearly hitting Heilyn, but missing the boat.

As the others gather at the edge of the dock, ready to assist if necessary, Metellus and Heilyn finally find the boat by aid of the last fireball and dive down upon it, preparing to attack with sword and claw alike. Just as they do, Llyr launches his bolt, aiming straight for the heart of Quintus Mucius Scaevola. And just before it reaches him, the philosophers, his hands each gripping a handful of scrolls, smiles smugly, concentrates, and disappears. As the hippogriff descends on the boat, raking about with claws to check, without success, for an invisible foe, the confused men inside promptly surrender, and the boat is dragged back to the dock. Wena, looking at the philosophical forces, confirms that Scaevola has disappeared not just from sight but from the cavern itself.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 9: O Muse, inspire me...*

The thugs are quickly subdued and bound; a brief interrogation reveals that they believed themselves to be working for Fufidius Priscus and had been "convinced" to fight to the death until his disappearance. The scrolls remaining in the boat prove largely uninteresting. However, a search of the larger cavern reveals two smaller caves. 

 To the left they find another sealed cavern, with a small rockslide blocking the main entrance. Marcus, still pumped up from the battle, throws the rocks aside with the careful advice of Llyr ("No, not that one, Centurion!") in about 15 minutes.  Behind the rocks we find a small chamber with a floor mosaic decorated with the signs of the Zodiac. Having learned of M. Calpurnius Piso's fondness for puzzles and secret entrances from the floors above, we contemplate this picture for a while, attempting to deduce which of the twelve signs will aid us and which, possibly, kill us in our tracks. 

After a few minutes, Llyr begins rereading Calpurnia's diary and realizes that her mother was born under the sign of Leo. He asks Metellus and Cornelia to leave the room and then, holding his breath, pushes the medallion of the elegant lioness on the floor hard with the edge of a javelin. The lioness swings smoothly open, revealing a small, single-person tunnel that leads down and then further back into another small chamber. Meloch sends me forward into it, somewhat to my reluctance. I report back that the room contains three dessicated, elegantly dressed corpses, an old fat man, a woman, and a young girl, 

"Awwww..." everyone murmurs sadly, imagining the tragic fate of the trapped Calpurnii family.
"Yes, that's very sad. Now loot them," Heilyn snaps.

Upon thorough looting of the bodies, Llyr, protected from the volcanic gases in the chamber which began choking me, discovers two malachite bracelets and one malachite necklace. Upon investigation, these appear to block Wena's attempts to establish mindlinks or Suggestions with us. This seems extremely valuable, and arguments quickly break out as to their best allocation.

Meanwhile, various of us have been investigating the other chamber on the far side of the cavern. Oddly, when Marcus and Wena come near it, they both exclaim in disgust that this is  a waste of time and go back to experimenting with the jewelry and interrogating the rest of the prisoners. The rest of us, who can see that this is clearly another elaborately decorated room, shrug and continue exploring.

This room features a large wall with an elaborate mosaic featuring 9 portrait medallions of the Muses: Calliope, muse of Epic Poetry, Clio, muse of history, Erato - Love Poetry, Euterpe - Music,  Melpomene - Tragedy, Polyhymnia - Sacred Poetry,  Terpsichore - Dancing,       Thalia - Comedy, and Urania - Astronomy.
 (See attachment)

After searching the area thoroughly and clearing mud off the bottom of the mosaic, we also discover three inscribed riddles, the first two in Latin, the third in Greek:

I come once every minute,
twice every moment,
Reflect all mountains,
I am a cohort unto myself. 

A hundred and one
by fifty divide,
And if a circle
is rightly applied,
The answer is one from nine.

Sir, I bear a rhyme excelling
In mystic force and magic spelling
Celestial sprites elucidate
All my own counting can't relate.

The six of us who find this room at all interesting sit and ponder the riddles for a long time, afraid to touch anything until we're certain of the answer. Meanwhile, Llyr, Marcus, and Wena go upstairs to get the rest of the treasure.

Guesses are welcome as to the riddles - encouraged, even.


----------



## orsal

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> I come once every minute,
> twice every moment,
> Reflect all mountains,
> I am a cohort unto myself.




Answer to this one:


Spoiler



That's the letter "M": the first two lines are a familiar riddle (which works in Latin as well as English!), the third refers to the shape of the letter, and the last to its use as the numeral for 1000.



I'm still working on the other two, although I have some ideas about the second...


----------



## orsal

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> A hundred and one
> by fifty divide,
> And if a circle
> is rightly applied,
> The answer is one from nine.




I got it!


Spoiler



The number 101 (CI) divided (split in two) by fifty (L), with a circle (O) appended, spells Clio, the name of one of the nine muses.



Now I'll have to puzzle out the hardest of these...


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 10: Prophecy and Philosophy*

After puzzling over the riddles for some time, the cleverer members of the party realize that the answer to the first is the Latin letter M, while the answer to the second is Clio. While the third riddle continues to confound them, Cornelia and Llyr put their heads together and think about the fairly obvious strategy of the villa's owner in his previous riddles. As Llyr says, "Comrades, this is a man who made the password to his top-secret hideout his wife's birthday!" Considering the options of the nine Muses, and the existing answers of M and Clio, they realize that it is just barely possible that the man was arrogant enough to use the names of the nine holy inspirers of song and story to spell out his own initials, M-arcus C-alpurnius P-iso. Since there are two muses with C names, Clio and Calliope. that riddle needed to spell out the full name. 

[OOG Note: The third riddle could be answered by the Greek letter pi.)

Carefully ushering everyone out of the room again, Llyr quickly taps in sequence the medallions of Melpomene, Clio, and Polyhymnia.  As he finishes, the entire wall swings open, revealing a large, well-stocked library full of Latin philosophical scrolls behind it. While Marcus and Wena are still strangely uninterested in the library itself, Metellus brings them out a stack of scrolls and the group spends some time sorting through the most interesting ones. After extensive searching, the one most relevant to their current quest appears to read as follows:

_ 
*
Being a Record of Karmouthis of Memphis
Priest of Thoth, grandson of Pharaoh Ramses XVII,
And His Journey Through the Gate of Thoth
*



	Karmouthis the Wise was the first in a hundred years who dared venture through the Gate of Thoth, for few returned, and those who did spoke little of what they had seen. And Karmouthis, when he came back, some weeks after he had gone through the gate, said naught ever again until his deathbed, when he told his grandson these stories, as they have been passed down in our family ever since:

	“I had thought that I was wise, oh son of my son, but when I stepped through the Gate I knew that I was not wise, for there is no deception in the Kingdom of Thoth, and I stood revealed to all and to myself as what I was. I saw Egypt before me there, but not the crumbling and corrupt Egypt that is now, or even the mythical Egypt of the great Pharaohs of old, but the Egypt when Osiris was King of the Two Lands, where crops grew in abundance from the gift of the Nile, and and all that could be seen was peaceful and plentiful. A jackal-headed spirit appeared before me, and warned me not to speak idly, for he said that in the Kingdom of Thoth, true words could change not only the Kingdom but its pale reflection back through the Gate. And I realized then that our own land was but a shadow on the wall of the Kingdom of Thoth, twisted from what it should be by the evil wishes of men. 

	I wandered through the Kingdom and took delight and joy in what I found. For all was fertile, and all women bore children at their breasts, and the men were young and strong. The pyramids shone brightly, still encased in electrum, and served as houses for the great and wise who lived therein. The crocodiles swam through the papyrus plants, and the children danced on the backs of the hippopotomai. 

	Finally, I came to the Thebes of the Kingdom, to the center of it all, and found a great Temple, like ours, but far more beautiful, with gold and silver obelisks stretching high into the sky. And here, finally, I found another jackal spirit, and I asked him what I had long been contemplating as I walked through the glory of the garden valley of the Nile, “What word, then, defined this beauty and perfection, and who was it who spoke it?” The jackal spirit spoke directly into my mind, saying that he did so so as not to change the world. “Before Osiris was a God, he came here, with his consort Isis, and they spoke the word of Life, thinking of the fertility of the land and of its people. And he sacrificed himself for that Word, and went to rule over the Dead. And thus all here is growing and blooming, and even in your shadow of it, Egypt is the most prosperous and fertile land in the entire world. But it never changes, for it is always Life here, and never Death, and thus both the true Egypt and your shadow will never become anything new. But there is much joy in the growing nonetheless.”

	I shook in fear at the idea of the power of such words, even though I knew that I did not have the power to enforce my will by speaking such a word, for I am not a God, but only a lowly priest of Thoth. But nonetheless I fell silent and left the Gate quickly, lest I should learn how to speak such a Word and change the beauty and glory of Egypt in so doing. And even now, I have kept my peace all these years in the shadow world, for words are still powerful here, and I did not wish to lead others to temptation. But I tell the story to you, son of my son, that it may not be lost forever, for it too is truth, and truth, like Egypt, should never die.”

_ 

Heilyn and Wena immediately begin to ponder what sort of Words could be used to protect 
Britannia, while Cornelia and Metellus wonder what Word, if any, defines Roma. I, personally, am certain that the word for the Ideal Form of Monkey is most certainly "Shast."

We returned safely to Cornelia's mother's house for the night with all of our treasure and rested peacefully, giving her one of the necklaces as a generous guest gift, which she highly appreciated. Then we sat and discussed till the next day what sort of questions we would ask the Sibyl at Cumae, and who was willing to give up their once-in-a-lifetime chance to ask a question about their own personal fate in favor of seeking answers that might benefit us all or even save Roma itself.


----------



## Fimmtiu

"Thanks for all your help, Domina! Here's a lovely necklace we looted from a desiccated corpse!"

More, please! Things should get awfully interesting in a hurry now that they know who the Philosopher is...


----------



## Pyske

Applause to orsal for solving those.  Very clever riddles, Orichalcum.  Were they original, or did you borrow them from somewhere?


----------



## Orichalcum

*Re:Riddles*



			
				Pyske said:
			
		

> Applause to orsal for solving those.  Very clever riddles, Orichalcum.  Were they original, or did you borrow them from somewhere?




Yes, major kudoes, orsal, I'm glad you enjoyed these. So, I created the Muse puzzle myself, and then went searching on the Net for riddles which ended in M, Cl or Clio, and P and adapted them for Roman circumstances. Upon reflection, I think that the reason the third riddle failed in practice (I was very glad there was a backup method of solving the problem!) was that it drew on knowledge that the characters couldn't have had: the trick to that riddle is that each word has the appropriate number of letters for that digit of pi: 3.14159...and the players, more power to them, were thinking like Romans and barbarians, not people with fairly decent grasps on basic math. Still, it worked out in the end.

I enjoyed doing the riddles; this was much closer to a traditional dungeon crawl than most of Alea is and it made for an interesting change. Plus, I liked the idea that everything made sense once you understood the personality of Piso - big on flair and style, but uninclined to use anything he himself would have trouble remembering.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 11: More Prophecy and Philosophy*

Early the next morning, we mount horses and litters and shoulders and goat and set off for the mountain retreat of the Sibyl of Cumae. We wind our way up a long twisting cliffside trail, adorned with marble temples to various deities, before finally coming to a dark trapezoidal entrance in the rock. We leave the mounts, buy torches from the guardians at the entrance, and proceed down the long rock passageway for what might have been miles or a few hundred feet. Finally, by the light of a dim sweet-smoking brazier we can see the end of the cavern and the vague shape of a wizened old woman, dressed in dark robes, sitting behind it.

"The blessings of the gods be upon you, travelers. What questions burden your souls? Speak, and I will answer as the god bids me. But listen closely, for I shall tell the truth but once for each of you."

As agreed, Wena steps forward first, in the hearing of all the others, who will try to remember along with her as best they may.

"How can we stop the Black Chain Philosopher?"

The Sibyl looks into the flame for a long moment, cupping her hands. She raises her head, finally, bright grey eyes gleaming directly into Wena's own face, and intones:

_  

        Only through his truth may you have power over
	the Binder of Shadows, and only through
	denying him the source of his power 
	may you triumph. But the source is lost
	in the tangled web of fear and despair,
	and the Binder goes to the
	Place Between Places, that cannot be found
	by those who do not know
	 that which has been lost.
	For there he seeks to make the twin the
	truth, and the reflection the reality.

_ 

Cornelia, also forgoing her right to an individual question, steps forward next, nervously greeting the Sibyl. "How can we find the true name of Quintus Mucius Scaevola, the Black Chain Philosopher?

The Sibyl slowly answers, with a sense of finality:
_  

I know it not.
Twain only are they who heard the name of the child,
and twain are the paths that lead to your guide.
I myself may lead you to one as I led your forefather,
The sisters whom you saved may show you the other way.
Yet beware, for easy is the descent for both
but harder is it to return in time.

_ 

Meloch, assigned to ask Hadriana's question, the initial reason for their visit, inches his way forward; I stay on his shoulder, ready to take detailed notes. "Domina...Priestess...Sibyl, I bring you a question from the nobilissima Hadriana. How is the war in Parthia going from the perspective of Caesar?"

_  

        Caesar sees shadows and believes truth.
	The Binder of Light and Dark
	Has wrapped his chains around the 
	eyes of the divine son. 

	The war waxes and wanes
	Armies like tides advance and retreat
	And the faith of the Legions struggles
	against the power of the Magi.
	Both Empires see victory,
	and the tapestry of fate remains...unwoven.

_ 

And finally, the last person who has reluctantly volunteered to sacrifice their personal question, the loyal Romanist Llyr, steps forward, and politely asks, "Thank you and begging your pardon, ma'am, but what did the first and the eighth decree?"


_  
The founder decreed the name of the city,
the victor of the brothers,
to honor his foremother and his dream.
He spoke as a brother, grieved
though he was by betrayal.
The city was named again by he
who brought the Gates,
who spoke the same Word
as a father, and brought 
peace to the world.
But the truth is wavering and
the founder’s reflection may be soon the founder.
if you do not hold fast to the truth,
and all will shift like an image in a pool. 

_


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 12: Ne'er Shall Be Slaves*

Although Marcus's question relates closely to his own quest, he has no objection to anyone else hearing the answer, and, indeed, welcomes their presence. So the gruff Centurion, helmet carefully cradled in one arm, clutching the primus pilus brooch against his chest in the traditional posture of respect in the other, steps forward briskly and asks, "How can the Eagle of the Ninth Legion be freed?"

_

        The Binder of Light and Dark holds the leash
	of the Ninth Eagle, but the bond that ties
	those devoted to the Eagle is stronger. 
	In the Shadow of the Shadow, the Binder
	slowly strangles the life and loyalty from your liege.
	But in the Place of Forms, true faith can break the chain.

_ 

Marcus nods, tempted to use his greaves to try and immediately wish himself into the Place of Forms and save the Eagle, but determined to obey orders and stay with the Tribune for now. Metellus and Cornelia, meanwhile, note the possible double meaning of "liege" to each other, but decide to save this point for later discussion.

The remaining three all wish to ask their questions in private consultation with the Sibyl, so we retreat down the long stone corridor some distance while Metellus remains with the Sibyl.  A pained expression crosses the young nobleman's face, as he almost shamefacedly whispers his question into the Sibyl's ear, careful lest its sound drift back to our group: Who should I marry to ensure the honesty and future happiness of my family?

The wrinkled cheeks of the Sibyl crack in a gentle, if awe-inspiring smile, as she answers thoughtfully:
_

        If you destroy the shadow on her heritage,
	The hidden nobilissima will give your family 
	great joy and much honor
	although you much fear and worry.

_ 

While Metellus walks back to the group, pondering his answer and what it means for his future plans of courtship, Cornelia glances eagerly at him. He misses the look entirely, absorbed in his thoughts, and gestures to Lucretius to enter the Sibyl's niche.

The good-looking young Praetorian mutters a quick prayer to Minerva, carefully not looking ay anyone else in the group, and walks down the corridor. Lucretius also kneels before the Sibyl and, cheeks coloring, quietly begs her for an answer: How can I save Cornelia, perform my duty as a Praetorian, and perform my duty to Minerva?

The Sibyl intones her answer but Lucretius, overcome with tension and embarrassment, is confused by the answer. It is either:

_ 

        If the truth of Roma wavers,
	The truth of Cornelia will die,
	Save her and show her your own truth,
	and she will recognize the beauty of your soul.  

_ 
 or:

_ 

        If the truth of Roma wavers,
	The truth of Cornelia will not die,
	Save her and show her your own truth,
	and she will recognize the beauty of your soul.  

_  Lucretius desperately asks for clarification, but the Sibyl continues to stare silently into the fire. Depressed and dejected, the Praetorian treads back down to the group, gesturing Heilyn forward.

Heilyn the Smith, while he certainly cares about the welfare of his friends, is after all not here to worry about the health of Cimbrus Caesar. He has joined with our group in search of the Cap of Lugh and, now, out of a desire for vengeance against the Black Chain Philosopher, who manipulated him into handing over the Cap and, of course, also perpetrated a variety of other evil Druidic-related acts. But at this crucial moment for a question to a great seer, Heilyn finds it almost meaningless to ask where the Cap is, or how he can get it back. That answer is simple - find Scaevola and beat his chest in with a Big Hammer and snatch the cap from his crushed corpse. Heilyn the Spirit-Talker, who has been studying the various philosophical scrolls about  the Place of Forms intently, has a more important question to ask.

He steps into the Sibyl's cavern, awed by the swirling, powerful spirits of the fire and the energy he can sense radiating out from the immensely old, wise spirit of the Sibyl herself, and kneels in reverence. "Honored elder, great Sibyl - what Word should I speak in the Place of Forms to protect and strengthen Britannia?"

The Sibyl smiles widely, as if, somehow, she had been expecting this particular question. She  gazes into the flame and it shoots up between her and Heilyn, glowing almost blue for a second. Through the flames, the Sibyl's voice, chanting, almost singing, echoes throughout the cavern and into Heilyn's very soul.

_ 

When Britannia first, at the gods' command,
Arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian spirits sang this refrain:
Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves
Britons never shall be slaves.

The nations, not so blessed as thee
Must, in their turns to tyrants fall
While thou shalt flourish great and free
The dread and envy of them all.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise
More dreadful from each foreign stroke
As the loud blast that tears the skies
Serves but to root thy native oak.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame
All their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy generous flame
But work their woe, and thy renown.

To thee belongs the rural reign
Thy cities shall with commerce shine
All thine shall be the subject main
And every shore it circles thine.

The Muses, still with freedom found
Shall to thy happy coast repair
Blessed isle with matchless beauty crowned
And manly hearts to guard the fair.

Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves!
And Britons never shall be slaves.

_ 

As always, speculations and wild interpretations are welcome.


----------



## Arkhandus

> _The Muses, still with freedom found
> Shall to thy happy coast repair
> Blessed isle with matchless beauty crowned
> And manly hearts to guard the fair._




The Word...  Elizabeth?  As in Queen Elizabeth?  My guess from the phrases to do with ruling, beauty crowned and guarded by manly hearts.....hrm.  IIRC, if my history isn't too rusty (it is), Queen Elizabeth was a powerful queen and Britain ruled the seas in her time.... *shrug*


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 13: Exegesis and Excitement*

On the litter ride back from the Sibyl, Cornelia makes notes on the various prophecies and texts that she's heard and shares her analysis with Meloch and I:

On "What is the true name of the BCP?"

I think we have a very good idea of what this one means. The only people
who know BCP's true name are his parents, and the only one besides them
who knows is Lugh. (Side note: does 'twain' mean only one parent and Lugh,
and the other parent died before BCP could be named? Or that one parent
came up with it, and so the only two who _heard_ the name were Lugh and
the other parent? Or does Lugh not count for these purposes?)

Therefore, there are two ways for us to find the name: to go into the
Underworld to ask BCP's parent(s), or to get the Vestals (the sisters whom
we saved) to ask Lugh, because the Vestals can talk to the gods in times
of crisis. I think we're all in agreement that we'd rather go talk to the
Vestals than go into the Underworld. Much more fun 

There's still the issue of how we identify BCP so that Lugh will know who
we're talking about, because the only name we know is his Roman one. On
the other hand, BCP is the one who currently holds the Cap of Lugh, so
maybe Lugh can sense him through the Cap, and thereby identify him.

On the question about Cimbrus:
This gives us the answer that we wanted: Hadriana's couriers are right,
and BCP is somehow deceiving Cimbrus into thinking that the war is going
badly.

However, it also raises a few more questions. How is BCP doing it?  Is he
also deceiving the Emperor? (I'm inclined to think no, because the Sibyl
says that BCP's chains are wrapped around the eyes of the _son_, not the
father and son.)

On "What did the first and eighth decree?":

Cornelia digs far back into her childhood lessons and remembers an ancient story about Roma's true name, the name that, if ever spoken aloud by an official in the Forum, might cause the very city to fall. Looking at the prophecy, she realizes what that name must be: AMOR, or Love, for the mother of Roma's founder, Venus, goddess of love and beauty, and also Roma spelled backwards.

"The name of the city is Roma - to honor Romulus' ancestor Venus (ie the
goddess of love, Amor). What was his dream?

He who brought the gates=Augustus. By speaking the word, he established
the Pax Romana.

All will shift, like an image in a pool <-->in the shadow of the shadow,
Narcissus and his love are reunited. By messing around in the Shadow
Realm, BCP is trying to affect reality.

Romulus spoke as a brother; Augustus spoke as a father. How should we
speak? As children, maybe, to preserve the vision that Augustus as father
built?"

The founder's reflection=Remus. Rome is in danger of becoming Rema. At first, this name seems meaningless to Cornelia or Metellus. But then she ponders it a little more, remembering some studies of ancient Latin and Etruscan she pursued in her attempt to learn more about her heritage. 

"Rema...Rema doesn't mean anything. But Amer...amer means," Cornelia gasps out loud with the realization, "Amer means Bitterness. Metellus! Everyone! This is very, very bad. I think that Scaevola wants to change the True Name of Roma from Love to Bitterness."

Everyone agrees that this is most definitely not a good thing. Further analysis and earlier knowledge suggests that the BCP is also somehow manipulating the Place of Shadows as well as being interested in the Place of Forms.

We return to Licinia's villa, fend off inquisitive glances from her, and collapse after a long, intense day. The next morning, a few hours after dawn, a rider comes galloping up the narrow cliffside trail, his horse's flanks sweating and he himself, a Praetorian by dress, clearly on the last edges of exhaustion. "I bear a sealed message for the lady Cornelia Crispa!" he announces. Licinia attempts to intercept the message but Metellus bypasses her and gives it to Cornelia. She reads it, pales, and draws the rest of us, notably excluding her mother and the steward Ogulnius, out to the edge of the cliff.

"It's from Hadriana. At least, I presume - it's unsigned except with an H. She says - 'My husband disappeared within our very home, two nights ago. I have announced that he is sick and at our country place. Return to the city immediately.'"

We all consider what this means - that the Caesar, the Emperor's regent and the most legitimate ruler of the Empire within several thousand miles, has apparently gone missing, on the very night we saw and identified Scaevola as the Black Chain Philosopher. Metellus straightens himself, clenches his jaw, and snaps, "Llyr! Get the ship ready. Now."

While we quickly gather our goods, and our new treasure, which Licinia identified for us while we were at the Sibyl's in return for the lapis jewelry, Cornelia goes to quickly apologize to her mother for the abrupt departure.

"What's going on, dear? Who was the messenger from?" Licinia asks, fairly reasonably.

"I can't really talk about it, Mother. But you should be fine if you stay here," Cornelia answers nervously.

"Oh, darling, I'm your mother. " Licinia delicately  casts Suggestion. "You can tell _me._. Trust me."

"Well, " Cornelia answers, a little surprised at her sudden faith in her mom, "Cimbrus Caesar has disappeared from the Imperial Palace itself! For the last two days! And we've been summoned by Hadriana to try and figure out what's going on and rescue him." 

"Right," Licinia answers matter-of-factly, apparently unfazed. "Protect yourself. Or at least get yourself knocked up, so we have a next generation in our family. Go get yourself ready...I have to summon my banker to handle my investments in the currency market."

[OOG: Ladybird asks: "Was getting knocked up in the Suggestion?" No, in fact.]


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 14: A Three-Day Tour...*

As they get on the ship, Marcus, Cornelia, Heilyn, and Meloch briefly discuss the Thoth text and its relationship to Cimbrus' disappearance and the prophecies.

On the Place of Forms, looking mostly at the Thoth text, Cornelia muses:
"We will see the absolute truth of ourselves, and the absolute truth of each other - the best and worst qualities in each of us. This is probably going to be very very scary, and cause big crises of confidence. Poor Metellus...

  We will see the beginning of Rome. Which beginning, though? When Romulus ruled, or when Augustus did? Either way, I think we should head for the Hut of Romulus once we get there. Although it's not clear from the account whether space works the same way inside the
 Gates - we might be right near the Hut of Romulus once we get inside, if we're entering the Gates from near the Imperial Palace...

   And we should be warned not to speak idly either. Be careful of true names, be careful what you wish, etc. The appearance of the jackal-headed spirit might also mean that we'll get a divine guide once we're inside, which would be cool.

 "The jackal spirit spoke directly into my mind, saying that he did so so as not to change the world. "Before Osiris was a God, he came here, with his consort Isis, and they spoke the word of Life, thinking of the fertility of the land and of its people. And he sacrificed himself for that Word, and went to rule over the Dead. 

        OK. This is how the Word-speaking works. It might mean that once you speak a Word, you die. Or, it could mean that once you speak a Word, you take that word's essence out of yourself - for Osiris it was Life; for us it will be Love (or, technically, Amor). But then
what about Romulus and Augustus? They didn't die, and they didn't lose all love (Or did they? Ooo. Augustus spoke the word as a father, and he didn't have any surviving children. Hmmm.) They did, however, become divine...so maybe dying means that you become
 divine, because Osiris also became divine after speaking his Word?

        Also, telepathy is safe. Wena, please stock up on Mindlinks? 

  You need to be a god to know how to speak a True Word. If you have divine ancestry, though, you can learn - Karmouthis was descended from Pharaohs, and was therefore of divine ancestry. We have people (well, beings) with us who are descended from gods: we'll find Cimbrus when we go through the Gates, and we have Talat, who admittedly can't talk very well. (A tangent follows about the horrors of having the world redefined as "Apple.")
        Rufus might be in there too, if our theory is right that he's the 'one sprung from the divine who is the source of power' from the Prophecy.

Marcus notes, after considering her theories, that:

"I think it's worth noting that it is phrased as "they spoke the word of Life."  It's not just that Osiris speaks it and dies:  Isis appears to speak it and live.  Also, Osiris is described as "sacrificing himself for that word"- it's not clear that that's the same action.  It may be: Step 1:  Osiris and Isis speak word, causing powerful effects.  Step 2:  Osiris
sacrifices himself for the word, making it stronger and going to rule over the dead.

Are any of us possibly descended from gods?  Metellus, Cornelia, and Llyr leap to mind as possibilities.  We should check whether Metellus or Cornelia are descended from any of the apotheosized emperors. (Marcus takes apotheosized emperors completely seriously as Gods.)  Also, if either of them are descended from the ancient royal family of Rome, that
would get them Venus and Mars.  Any other major divine bloodlines in Roman families?

Is the royal family of the Brigantes descended from a god?  If so, Llyr would be of divine blood.

I don't think there's any reason to believe I have any divine ancestry; middle-class Greek ancestry isn't likely to lead back to any of the old semi-divine heroes, and while it's vaguely possible that there's some minor Egyptian ancestry, no reason to expect Pharaonic descent."​
Meanwhile, Llyr and Heilyn and Lucretius discuss Licinia Luculla's comments about the Pisan treasure hoard and attempt to divide it up:

 Two-bladed silver-engraved +1/+1 Spanish sword - Heilyn, on careful study,  thinks that it is enchanted as well against some specific foe...

Licinia Luculla looks at this and concentrates, burning some
sweet-smelling herbs around it and waving her fingers in precise patterns.
"Ah, she says finally, "This is very old, probably an ancestral trophy
from Caesar's wars in Gaul. It's a sword made to kill Druids, especially
when they have changed into their accursed animal forms. It will do extra
damage (2d6) to any person or creature who shapechanges, and if you strike
such a one with this weapon when they are in an animal form, they must
focus or return to their true form (DC 15 Will Save.)"
Heilyn now realizes the source of his vague uneasiness about this weapon -
he's fairly sure it would do quite nasty things to him personally, if
wielded against him.

+3 steel German scimitar, with an oak handle - between all of you, you think that the magics on it are somehow associated with forests.

"Another relic of the wars, this time from Germany. This scimitar draws on the powers of the spirits of the northern woods when it is in a forest of oaks or spruce - in such a case, it allows the wielder to cut through one enemy to the next with a deadly stroke. (Cleave +1d6 extra damage). It is consecrated to Dagda.

 Orichalcum ring:
"Ah...I have one of these myself. You, my child, can cast a spell into this
ring, and if anyone then casts that same spell on you, it will be
countered. I believe that it might also work for mental powers, although I
know little about philosophy.

Golden elephant disk on a chain - +2 Con bonus

Big wolf fur boots - faint abjuration and transformation magic.
"I suspect these may have been taken as spoils from the same German
chieftain who owned the scimitar. They allow you to travel quickly across
that unpleasant northern snow or ice, and keep your feet warm in winter.

Hollow silver tube and stick - seems to be a musical instrument - has 4
indentations on the side, and marks of what look like several faded ones. Moderate transmutation.
"The indentations indicate the number of uses remaining, 4 in this case.
While I am no musician, I believe this instrument can be used to open
closed places, even magically locked doors. I will be aware, of course, if
you use it in my house while I am gone, daughter."

Dark grey Egyptian cotton cloak, embroidered with black silk in a complex
Egyptian pattern, faint conjuration and transmutation. 
"Ah, a Cloak of Arachne - I wonder what Greek witch he bought this from,
or whom he killed. It lets one climb like a giant spider and renders one
somewhat immune to a spider's tricks and venom."

Greek reed pipes, faint enchantment and evocation.

"Well, these would certainly be one way to end some of the endless
poetry recitations back in Roma. If you are skilled at playing these, they
have a chance to fascinate the listeners, but they also render the ears of
listeners temporarily acutely sensitive to all noise, causing damage for
quite some time. I wouldn't play it unless you've rendered yourselve deaf
first..."

Thick leather gloves, faint transmutation
"These gloves grip onto surfaces, giving you a +5 bonus when swimming or
climbing walls. "

Tiny marble pyramid, faintly sticky on one side, faint abjuration
"Ah, I have several of these. You can attach them to, say, a chest with a
command word - this one's command word is "Imhotep" and it will make a
prolonged, loud noise if the object is touched thereafter without uttering
the command word. Be careful - the slaves have had many nights' sleep
disrupted by these."

 A small pot of ointment that seems to be largely wax, faint transmutation.
You found traces of the ointment on some of the books downstairs.
"This is used to preserve scrolls and other documents."

Meanwhile, as the two and a half-day ship journey progresses, several of the passengers begin to notice some slightly odd behaviors in their comrades and themselves.

Cornelia and Meloch are standing at the prow of Metellus's ship as it sails at
full speed up the Italian coast back to Roma, thinking about all their adventures and worrying about what will come next. They suddenly realize that they can't remember at all what the name was of that deserter they met north of the Wall. The train of thought leads Cornelia to thinking about her family's tradition of loyal military service. Oddly, she knows that
your cousin in Massilia had some  sort of military service, but you realize that you have no idea what it was.

Metellus, doing military exercises on the deck, realizes that he's forgotten some of the details of the trial he helped oversee, in particular, the name of that annoying female neighbor of Salonianus the wine merchant. Probably unimportant, though, he decides.

Wena, meanwhile, spends her time doing Object Reading of the various scrolls, and does discover the interesting detail that on one of the scrolls from the boat, the owner before Heilyn and Metellus was a Chaotic Evil middle-aged Brigantian man, a description that is precisely similar to that of one of the owners of Hadriana's anti-conception ruby.

Cornelia, meanwhile, upset by her lack of memory, has been trying to focus on the name of the deserter and remember it. Sadly, thinking about it seems to make concentrating even harder. She decides to go and ask the Centurion, who she knows has a very good memory, about it...but embarassingly realizes that she can't remember his name either, even though she's pretty sure they've been traveling together for months. Maybe it's sunstroke. She asks Meloch, who's having similar trouble, and stares at the armored Centurion, hoping something will jog her memory or someone else will call out his name.

Marcus, a fairly perceptive man, notices fairly quickly that Cornelia is staring at him really, really intently, and then blushing embarassedly and looking away when he looks back at her. She has a slightly confused look on her face. He draws his own conclusions and goes grimly to speak quietly to Metellus.

 "May I have a word with you, Tribune?  It would be best if this conversation were private."

After they move away from the crew and their companions, Marcus proceeds.
"There are two matters that I feel I need to bring to your attention.  The
first suggests that our enemy has taken another offensive through his
perversions of philosophy.  I appear to have lost some of my memories
connected to the Ninth.  In particular, I cannot recall the name of the
deserter we met north of the Wall when we retrieved the Eagle.  I can
still picture his face, but I cannot recall his name, nor his exact rank
or cohort.  I have thought more carefully about the rest of my legion, and
I can remember most of the centurions, but not the primus pillus's name,
nor that of the chief legate.  I also cannot remember our commander's
name, but that is explained by damnatio memoriae.  It took some effort,
but I was able to remember that the traitor's name was Titus Minucius.

"This could be explained by the fading memory of age, but I do not think
so, Tribune.  I still remember almost all of the men of the Sixth,
although a few legates are hard to remember.  I can also remember all of
my classmates from when I was a boy studying philosophy back in
Alexandria.  I think it most likely that Scaevola has tampered with my
memories.  I have taken the precaution of beginning to record on tablets
and shards as much about the conspiracy against the Ninth as I can
remember."

Marcus pauses after finishing that speech.

"The second matter is more awkward, Tribune.  I hope you will pardon my
temerity.  The matter concerns Domina Cornelia.  As you well know, young
women have difficulty controlling themselves.  By Domina Cornelia's age, a
woman needs a husband to guide her and to prevent her ... drives ... from
leading her into scandalous behavior.  It is only to be expected that,
even with such an honorable father as the Legate, these drives would be
particularly severe with a mother who practices witchcraft and is known
for her own uncontrollable desires.

"It has been too long since Domina Cornelia was outside of her father's
supervision, and she is showing the signs of her desires.  I am confident
that your own presence held her interest for quite some time, sir, but in
the face of your continued honorable conduct towards her, she has begun to
seek out others who might not behave as honorably.

"Tribune, Domina Cornelia has begun to look at me in an unmistakable way.
While I have too much respect for her late father the Legate to allow even
the appearance of impropriety, I worry that her desires will lead her to
seek out someone less restrained.  It is not my place, of course, to make
suggestions as to what should be done.  But I thought that you would want
to know, because her father's spirit should be spared the pain of having
his only child bring scandal on her family.  And scandal can only be
avoided by her marrying promptly.  Without wishing to presume, Tribune, I
hope that you might assist her in finding an honorable match."

After his speech, Marcus's expression shows that he feels even more
awkward than before he began speaking.  He stands rigidly at attention,
waiting to hear if Metellus has any response other than to dismiss him.

Metellus blushes, fiercely, and then says, "Well, the memory issues do seem quite alarming. It's probably related to the Ninth and somehow to Scaevola's foul plans, although I'm not quite sure in what way. As for Domina Cornelia, rest assured, I have every intention of protecting her and making sure she finds a good and suitable match, although I'd be a little surprised if she had serious intentions towards you, Centurion."

He nods in abrupt, embarassed dismissal to Marcus, who strides away. Some hours later, Wena beckons the Centurion and Cornelia over to one side of the ship to discuss the results of her Object Reading. Initially nervous, but reassured by the chaperone-presence of Wena, Marcus joins the two women, carefully and nervously positioning Wena in between himself and Cornelia. 

It becomes clear that only half of Cornelia's mind is on what Wena is saying. She keeps darting confused, curious glances over at Marcus, brow furrowing as if she is trying to remember something.

Her expression grows more and more worried as the moments pass, until finally, she sighs, shakes her head, and says to the centurion, "I'm sorry...what's your name again? I'm sorry - I know I should know....but I don't. I just can't remember _anything_ today..."

When Cornelia asks Marcus's name, the centurion, already fairly close to attention, stiffens up even further.  "Domina Cornelia... I am Marcus Catellus Alexandros, centurion of the Ninth Legion, retired from the Sixth.  But, Domina, you know that..."  Marcus looks at her confusedly. After a few seconds, he laughs, cutting the laugh off as quickly as he
can.  He forces his face back into a more neutral attitude.  "Domina, I fear that our adversary has tampered with your memory.  I have lost my memories of some of my comrades in the Ninth."  He pauses. "I sincerely apologize for laughing, Domina.  I had misinterpreted some things." Marcus does not clarify further.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Yay! Two updates at once! The campaign-specific flavour to the magical items is a lovely touch, although it's kind of frightening to imagine what they'll do with those pipes once back in Rome...


----------



## GreenArmadillo

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> OOG: Ladybird asks: "Was getting knocked up in the Suggestion?" No, in fact.




That would have made for an interesting [number=Licinia's caster level] hours until the spell wore off....


----------



## Cerebral Paladin

It's worth noting that most of the previous two updates are verbatim from the e-mails that we exchanged between sessions, which explains the differences in tone and diction, especially in the analysis of how word-speaking works.

I had tremendous fun with Marcus's misunderstanding of what was going on with Cornelia.  One of the things I enjoy about Marcus is his alien mindset-- he thinks like a Roman, which is very different from how either I or most of my other characters think.  So whenever his thoughts on a subject aren't well-defined by his particular character traits, I try to get as close as possible to Roman conventional wisdom (which I consult with Orichalcum, mostly outside games, to get-- 95% of what I know about Rome I learned from Orichalcum.)  Because Roman texts on gender relations and physiology assume that young women are uncontrollably (and dangerously) sexual, Marcus assumes the same.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 1*

Lucretius, while on the ship, decides to make a sacrifice to Minerva to try and gain more understanding into his future path. The Tribune buys Kaspar the XI, Meloch's war goat, and slaughters him right there in front of us all. I think it's absolutely shameful how greedily hungry Cato the owl looks. Kaspar was our traveling companion for months! Not the brightest of goats, or even of the Kaspars, true, but still - these Romans and their gods. I resolve not to do anything to anger Lucretius. Still, the Tribune seems comforted after the sacrifice, having achieved some peace of mind and the resolution that it may be possible to both save Roma and Cornelia.

     As we journey back to Roma, all of us have occasional trouble remembering Marcus' name and deeds, although it is worst for Cornelia. I and the other writers spend much of the voyage making frantic copies of materials. Soon, we arrive back at the port of Ostia and travel directly by fast chariot to the Imperial Palace. We are let in through a back door and brought to a carefully secured inner room in the Empress Hadriana's private quarters - clearly, she is ignoring  the rumors of a relationship between her and Metellus at this point due to the need to deal with the immediate crisis.

      Face pale, looking all of her twenty-eight years for the first time, Hadriana speaks quickly and softly, but commandingly. "It was five days ago now. Cimbrus had been acting increasingly distressed and moody, spending long hours communing with...communicating with his father through means reserved to the Imperial family."

      Wena interrupts here, "Through the philosophical crystal orbs?"

       Hadriana looks startled for a moment. "Yes - how did you know? In any case, I was deeply worried about him, and he was starting to pace up and down throughout the palace and mutter to himself. Late that night, he came out of the room where the crystal orb is kept - the guards on duty said there were marks of tears on his face. He didn't look at them or talk to them, but hurried quickly down to the lower levels of the Palace, an intent look on his face. Within the Palace itself, the Caesar and his family are not constantly escorted, for privacy reasons; rather, we have pairs of guards stationed every hundred feet and at every intersection. Cimbrus passed a pair of guards at the beginning of one corridor, ignoring them, and then...never appeared at the end of the hallway, where the next guards were stationed. The Praetorians whom I trust most have examined every inch of the corridor, but there appear to be no secret doors or other exits from the passage. 

        Only the Chamberlain, the Praetorian Prefect, and my personal chief maid have been informed; the Senate and the rest of the populace believes that Cimbrus has fallen ill and returned to Tivoli. But there is a limit to how long I can persist in this deception. You must find him - alive - as soon as possible."

       Metellus asks sharply, "Do you know where the Emperor's sister, Mamerca, and her son Rufus are?"

        Hadriana answers calmly, as if she had thought of this as a possibility already. "According to my agents, they are still in their villa on the Bay of Neapolis, at least as of a few days ago. I would have known if they had traveled back to Roma."

         Heilyn speaks up, "Would it be possible for us to examine this passageway? The spirits may tell us of something that the Praetorians were unable ta find, no offense ta them bein' intended."

         "Certainly - Lucretius, I suggest you lead them down there by the back route, to avoid suspicion. It is in the old central wing of the palace, on the top of the Palatine Hill. Go now -time may be of the essence - but report to me before you do anything drastic," Hadriana instructs them.

We travel down to the beginning of the corridor described by Hadriana, and Lucretius nods to the pair of guards and instructs them to remain there. As we walk past them, Meloch is suddenly stopped in his tracks, yelping in sharp pain and pressing across some sort of invisible barrier. Everyone draws their weapons and spins, searching for an invisible enemy. One of the guards, however, calls out, "I'm terribly sorry, Decurion. Is that pygmy a slave?"

Lucretius, remembering his early training about guard duty, exclaims in realization. "Yes, he is! I'm so sorry, Meloch! This must be one of the areas of the Palace with divine wards against slaves passing through, for fear of theft or revolt."

I, never having been a formal slave, gleefully prance through the corridor, while Meloch glares at me. In my head, he admonishes me, "I'll stay here for now, and watch over Hadriana and baby Cimbra. But let me know if any danger comes to Cornelia - maybe I can cast a spell through you. And be careful!" Meloch embraces Cornelia's legs, nods to the rest of us, and trods back up the stairs to the Imperial Nursery.

We continue on down, until Heilyn draws in a deep breath of shock, followed shortly by Llyr and Wena. 

Llyr whispers, "Through my Lugh-blessed eye, I can see that part of the wall glowing faintly, but it's too bright to focus on."

Wena agrees, "I can see the same."

Heilyn turns to them quizzically. "You don't see the doors?"

"What doors?" the rest of us all chorus, a bit confused as to why such a fuss is being made over a perfectly ordinary grey stone wall, exactly like the rest of the corridor.

"The two enormous ornamental doors in the wall over there! The one on the left is outlined in curved rhinoceros tusks and antelope horns, I think, based on Meloch's description of those animals, and it's glowing with complex runes. The one on the right is made out of elephant tusks, outlined in silver and gems - it's beautiful - and also covered with spirit symbols I've never heard of or seen!" Heilyn describes.

"Ah, the Gates of Horn and Ivory!" Marcus announces, as we all realize the truth. 

"But which of them did Cimbrus go through? And which one is Scaevola hiding in?" Cornelia asks.

"And why can Heilyn see them?" points out Metellus, a little aggravated.

Heilyn quickly, stumbling a little, responds, "It must be all my training of working with the spirits! Or seeing Lugh so clearly! Or being a craftsman..."

"Well," Metellus finally answers practically, "We can't just leap through one. We need to prepare. And before that, we need to go and talk to the Vestals and try and find out Scaevola's true name."


----------



## Arkhandus

Hurrah!  More updates! {:^D


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 2: Bargaining with a God*

Hey folks, sorry about the recent hiatus, but I've been flying around the country interviewing for a real job in the last few weeks. The good news is that it looks like Cerebral Paladin and I will be winding up in the Chicago area come August or so! But meanwhile, life is getting close to normal again here in NYC.

***
Back to Shast's tale:

After briefing Hadriana and Meloch, we go down to the Forum and the Temple of the Vestals, and Cornelia goes in to the Temple to request aid of the Chief Vestal. The Vestal is highly grateful to all of us, as well as worried about the fate and safety of the Empire, which, after all, she is sworn to protect. She tells Cornelia, however, that she cannot herself speak to any gods besides Vesta, who is unlikely to be helpful in this case, and certainly not to the Celtic Lugh. However, she can arrange for all of us to spend the night in the house of the Rex Sacrorum, dedicated to Mars, and the Vestals will entreat the gods to give us a true vision of them to aid us in our quest. 

Cornelia agrees on our behalf, and, come nightfall, we are all arranged on rough mats in the ancient temple of Mars, former home of the Kings of Rome, surrounded by the 12 sacred shields, one of which is actually Mars's, while the others are merely decoys. Heilyn and Llyr spend a few curious moments trying to determine the authentic shield, but realize quickly that the deception is far beyond their powers of magical or natural investigation.

We fall asleep to the sounds of the chanting and light drumming of five Vestals, and awake, or so it seems, to find us all standing together at the bottom of a long, marble staircase. Uncertain what else to do, we begin climbing; there seems somehow little reason for talk.
After a long time, the staircase emerges into a cave mouth by a grassy meadow, full of flowers and trickling springs and a small, burning fire. Standing by the fire is a breathtakingly handsome young man in a short white tunic, carrying a snake-entwined staff, a small red leather cap, and sandals with small golden wings attached. 

He glances at us in mild puzzlement.  "You are most definitely not Vestal Virgins - at least not most of you - and I don't think you really want to stay a Virgin, do you, lovely lady?"  he smiles enticingly at Cornelia, who blushes brightly.

Metellus, concentrating strongly on his responsibilities and the innappropriateness of any attraction to a male god, speaks, "Hail, Mercury, God of Trade. Ah...we weren't expecting you here - we presumed it would be Vesta, or Lugh."

Mercury, eyes still largely on Cornelia, raises an eyebrow.   "I am also the God of Travelers, and thus I meet all who are sent to the divine realm by unorthodox ways, and guide them to their appropriate destination. Why do you wish to see Lugh? I can perform - given sufficient incentive - any miracles that he can, after all." 

The Celts bristle at this, but Cornelia says placatingly, "Lugh, we think, is the only one who knows the true name of a Brigantian man, born several decades ago, who now is plotting to overthrow the entire Empire and cause great devastation -which, after all, would be very bad for trade, and travellling, and, um, magic, and money, and..."

Mercury ponders her answer for a moment, and responds,  "Well, it certainly sounds like a generally worthwhile cause, although I don't see what's in it for me. Hmm...wait..." he examines each of us, especially Lucretius and Marcus, very carefully. "I have a thought. I will give you guides who may take you to Lugh's part of the divine realm, where you can speak with him directly. But you must swear to protect them until they reach their destination there, for they are weak, and helpless. " 

Marcus speaks up, "Ah, what sort of guides are these, exactly?"

Mercury answers, with mild annoyance.  "Some lost souls, who died here and came into my part of the realm, but who don't belong here, but over in the Celtic underworld. I have not had the time to spare to escort them safely, and they are too confused to travel safely on their own. They know where to go; you must merely follow them until they reach their destination. Will you swear?"  


With some little trepidation, we all swear, aware that making an oath to a god is not to be taken lightly. As we finish, Mercury fixes his piercing blue eyes on Heilyn, and speaks again.  "There is, of course, another matter to be dealt with. You, young spirit-speaker, stole something from me. I don't take well to people stealing from the God of Thieves."  


Heilyn, who has been half expecting this, uses all his native gift o' the gab in a desperate attempt to stay alive. "If it please you, divine lord, Mercury, I didna think of it as stealing, but rather as returning to the rightful owner, that is to say Lugh. After all, you are so great and powerful that you do not really need such an item, whereas the lack of it is keeping Lugh imprisoned and powerless in the mortal world, a fate I'm sure you would not wish on Him."

 "Nonetheless, you took property that had been acquired by my agents and given to Me. Why, precisely, should I not steal your very soul here while we speak?"   Mercury casually inquires. 

"Perhaps," Heilyn improvises, "I could give you something of equal value in return for the cap."

"What do you have that would be of equal value to a divine artifact?"  
Mercury asks, contemptuous but a bit intrigued.

"How about a lightning bolt?" Heilyn prooffers.

 "Hmm...that would certainly annoy my father - and that proud Minerva, for that matter. And just think of the havoc I could wreak by using it appropriately... Do you have one now?"  

"No, but if you give me enough time, I'll make one for you. But I have to stay alive. I'm working with a smith who's developing one, and I promise I'll give you the first one I make."

 "Very well. Swear on your soul...and on the spirits of your ancestors, and by  the light of Lugh." 

Heilyn solemnly swears, desperately hoping that the Master of Naxos' crazy theories will indeed enable him to actually make a lightning bolt someday.  Mercury, meanwhile, raises a set of panpipes to his lips and blows softly. In a few minutes, as far we can measure time in this strange realm, a number of shadowy figures come floating towards us. As they reach us, we can see that they are nine small children, all girls, covered with hideous sword wounds. Some of them turn and shy away from us, especially from Lucretius and Marcus. Looking at them more closely, the faces seem familiar, and the  blue Iceni-esque tattoos shine on their translucent faces and arms.

Mercury fades from sight, laughing mockingly at us.  "It seemed only right that you should guard and return these children to the proper realm of the dead. After all, you did kill them."


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: A Comic Interlude - Quotes*

Ladybird and Cerebral Paladin have reminded me that there are some absolutely wonderful OOG quotes from this part of the session, that I should really share with all of you. So here they are - again, these are very much not in character:

Llyr: Aren't curse tablets illegal?
Heilyn: Yes, that's why I thought Cornelia would have the materials to make them.

Mercury: What are you going to give me in exchange for my wisdom?
Llyr (pointing to Cornelia): Her!

Cornelia (commenting on the music from P.o.t.Caribbean): And now the pirates show up!
Wena: They're going to be Platonic pirates.
Marcus: What - they show up pre-hanged?
Metellus: No, they all look like Johnny Depp.
Cornelia: Awwwww yeah.
Metellus: No, that wouldn't be very platonic after all.

Hadriana: I would remind you of the old Spartan words.
Llyr: Come back with your emperor, or on him!

Orichalcum: You were traveling through the woods when you were in the bathroom.


----------



## Fimmtiu

A new update... excellent! The day after I finished my last Classical Studies exam for the term, too. How fortuitous. Good luck with the job hunting, Orichalcum!


----------



## Mortepierre

Poetic justice.. got to love it.

Well done Orichalcum!


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 3: Annuin*

Cornelia tries to smile in a friendly fashion to the child-spirits, while glaring out of the corner of her eye at Lucretius and...that other guy. "Lucretius, you never told me that you killed any of the girls! You were supposed to just knock them unconscious!"

Lucretius looks shamefaced and upset, but still resolute. "Look, can we not talk about this right now? We've got the Empire to save."

Cornelia sniffs loudly and begins to follow the child-spirits, who are drifting onwards through the grassy meadows of this part of the divine realm. She pointedly ignores Lucretius. The fighters draw their weapons, or at least, in this vision or dream, what they perceive to be their weapons, and we march on for some uncountable measure of time. Periodically, other spirits or demigods appear out of the air and gaze at us; the satyrs leer and make obscene gestures at Cornelia and Wena, as well as the little girls, and Metellus carefully restrains Llyr and Marcus from responding with force. We also see more bizarre animal-headed spirits who look hungrily at the girls but then shy away from our quite impressive escort force.

After some time, we find ourselves in a dark, leafy wood, and the gentle sunlit haze of our earlier trail has faded into a sharp, crisp moonlight, casting long shadows behind the oaks, rowans, and firs. The child-spirits seem to be hurrying us along faster. Llyr speaks up quietly, almost reverently for him, "This looks like a forest back at home. I think we must be getting close."

Just then, we hear a chorus of sharp, piercing yelps, sounding like a flock of wild geese. The noise is far off at first, but is clearly getting closer.

Metellus, trying to keep calm, asks those knowledgable in Celtic lore what the sound might be. Wena draws on our learning as a Vates and says, "I'm not sure, but it might be the Cwn Annwn, the ghost hounds of Arawn, lord of the underworld, well, our underworld at least. They hunt through the sky at night."

And indeed, the most far-sighted members of our group can begin to see faint, translucent dog shapes hurtling through the woods towards us; the only color in their bodies are their gleaming red ears and their shining silver eyes. The yelps are coming from all around us; they almost certainly have us surrounded.

Metellus, realizing that they will reach us in seconds, demands advice. "Do we fight or flee? What do they want from us?"

Heilyn, who has been racking his brain to remember his mother's stories and the tales of the spirits, gasps suddenly and shouts back, "No! They're here for the children, not for us. They want to take them away to the underworld, where they belong,"

Hoping desperately that Heilyn is right, everyone except Lucretius lowers their weapon, and the hounds descend upon us. Each beast, ignoring the living members of our group, grabs the nape of a child's neck between her teeth, like a disobedient puppy, and runs off into the woods carrying the spirit. A deep sigh of relief is breathed by all as the Hunt passes us by overhead. Within a few seconds, the woods are deserted and silent again, and the children have vanished forever. 

"I never got the chance to try and apologize," Lucretius murmurs.

"Well, too late now," snaps Cornelia. "How do we find Lugh from here?"

"Well," Heilyn muses, "if this is the Celtic section of the divine realm, he should be fairly nearby. Concentrate on him, and let us all look for signs of light, and hope for the best."

After some time of meditation and prayer, Heilyn, Llyr, and Wena believe they see a glimmer of Lugh's holy light in a nearby grove, and we follow them. Sure enough, we soon hear a familiarly mellifluous tenor voice.  "Good mortals, avert your eyes - even here you are in danger from my radiance."

Eyes mostly closed, we grope our way forward into the grove, holding each other's hands.
 "Greetings. I know you, my faithful servants, and am honored that you have reached me here as well as on Mona, yet you have not the Cap of Twilight. I am still chained, and cannot aid you directly." 

The bold Cornelia speaks for us all. "Divine Lord of Light, we have come to you because of our search for the Cap, well, and because of other, even greater dangers. The Sibyl of Cumae told us that we could not defeat the one who now holds the Cap of Twilight without knowing his true name. We have learned that he is a Brigantian, born perhaps some 35-50 years ago among your favored people, and thus we believe that you are one of the only beings who knows his Name."

  "Roman child, I do know the Names of all the Brigantes, but there are many of them, and time passes differently for us. How might I identify this foul thief?"


Llyr offers a suggestion, "Well, my Lord, we were thinking that perhaps you might be able to trace him through your Cap. Also, he's touched all of our minds, so perhaps you could tell that way."

There is a moment of silence, before the divine voice speaks again, and the Celts all feel a wave of bright light pass under their eyelids, illuminating even the darkest corners of their souls for a fraction of a second.   "He has gone beyond my reach, to a place not of the gods' creation, but I recognize his soul from its mark on yours. His mother Maura, granddaughter of a Princess of the Brigantes, gave him the name Calgacus Phelan at his birth - Calgacus for the famous chieftain of the Caledonii, and Phelan, or "little wolf," as his use-name." 

"Thank you," we all pray, and Metellus adds, "This will let us both, with the will of the gods, save the Roman Empire and return to you your Cap."

As the bright light begins to fade, we hear Lugh's voice one last time.  "Heilyn, son's son of my son, you alone will have the power through your blood to open the Gate to where this traitor now dwells. But beware, lest your light be lost forever in shadows, and stay true to yourselves." 

We wake up to the faint dawn light creeping through the window slits and doorways of the Temple of Mars.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 5: Into the Gates*

This chapter is for Mortepierre - thanks! And also as a get-well card for WisdomLikeSilence. Sorry for the delay, but I've been grading and reviewing papers for my Roman History class - and they actually pay me. Cool historical factoid of the day: when the Emperor Julian (the Apostate, as he was later known) tried to rebuild the Jewish Temple in 363 CE, construction was halted by the appearance of numerous, repeated fireballs from underneath the foundation of the building, as reported by a variety of reliable witnesses, including the historian and general Ammianus Marcellinus. The fireballs prevented building work until the death of Julian, when the project was abandoned and the Empire returned to Christianity.

Alea - cuz who needs to make this stuff up?

 ***
The Vestals bless us, we gather every conceivably useful bit of equipment except the goat and Talat (who won't really fit), and go off to inform the nobilissima Hadriana of our plans. She listens gravely to our story, and nods, finally saying, "Fare well, with the blessings of the gods. And remember the old Spartan words, good citizens."

Metellus gulps at the thought that this is so clearly an all-or-nothing mission, but reflects that, if the Empire is destroyed, he won't have much of a home to come back to anyway. We go down into the deserted hallway, deep in the palace, where only Heilyn can clearly see the two shining Gates. After much discussion, we have decided to go to the Gate of Truth first, both because the Gate of False Visions seems far more dangerous and because we hope to deal with at least some of the threats there.

Heilyn reaches for a doorhandle no one else can see, which to him is a shining brown antelope horn, and pulls it open. He proceeds to step through a blaze of shining light,and the rest of us quickly follow.

We find ourselves on the top of a grassy, green hill, easily recognizable as the Palatine. While the similar region in the divine realm had been bewilderingly crowded with a dozen imperial palaces, each the home of the emperor-god who constructed it, we can see only two buildings on this hill: a simple, perfectly round hut covered in gleaming golden straw and sturdy red bricks, presumably the Hut of Romulus, and a small but perfectly elegant marble columned house on the summit, which Metellus and Cornelia recognize from their lessons as the House of Augustus. A gentle light, from no visible source, shines down, and there is a sense of joy and contentment in a perfectly quiet, empty world.

We do not spend much time studying the architecture, however, before we notice the changes in each other. Metellus stands taller and prouder, his shoulders wider, and his characteristic furrowed brows and vague look of anxiety seem gone. Marcus' scars are gone from his muscled shoulders and legs, and he wears the long beard of a philosopher. Wena's tattoos seem to glow, and the wisdom is more visible in her eyes; her dress is utterly Iceni. Llyr, in contrast, remains dressed in legionary armor, but a golden torque has appeared around his neck, and he, too, looks fit and strong. Both his and Wena's left eyes glow slightly. My fur is thick and free, for once, of lice, and my tail seems remarkably long and agile. And Heilyn - well, for some reason Heilyn himself is glowing from the tips of his sandals to the handle of his giant hammer, and his hair has gone from red to a shining blond. His moustache is positively luxuriant.

But these are not the most surprising changes - indeed, they are what we might have expected. But when we turn to gaze at young Cornelia, we notice that, while still a lovely Roman woman, her skin has taken on a faintly blue tinge, and...there appear to be small, bat-like blue wings stretching out of her back. Also, her fingernails have grown into deadly claws.

And then, lastly, my gaze turns towards the stalwart Praetorian Decurion who has bravely chosen to accompany us, Lucretius. Lucretius is still dressed as a Praetorian, eyes glowing slightly grey and looking fit and deadly. The Praetorian also, however, now has quite visible breasts, and a figure that fills out the Praetorian leather skirt rather...differently. 

As we are all staring, a silvery female wolf trots up the hill towards us. Though she does not speak, a growling voice echoes in all our minds.  "Hail and well met, visitors. I see you have already learned that there are no secrets in the Place of Truth. Speak not, lest you change the truths in the world from which you came."


----------



## Mortepierre

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> This chapter is for Mortepierre - thanks!




Uh? Oh, _that_. Don't mention it, it was well-deserved  



			
				Orichalcum said:
			
		

> And then, lastly, my gaze turns towards the stalwart Praetorian Decurion who has bravely chosen to accompany us, Lucretius. Lucretius is still dressed as a Praetorian, eyes glowing slightly grey and looking fit and deadly. The Praetorian also, however, now has quite visible breasts, and a figure that fills out the Praetorian leather skirt rather...differently.




DOH! I hadn't suspected a thing. Now, I need to reread the whole SH with this in mind  

One question, if I may? The 'Gates of Horn & Ivory'.. these are drawn from Virgil's work, aren't they? They ring a bell but I can't recall precisely which of his tales depicts them


----------



## MTR

I just wanted to let you know you've hooked another reader.  I'm something of a snob when it comes to Story Hours but this one is fully up to my standards.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 6: The Eagle Comes Home*

Thanks for all the kind words! I should have more time for regular updates now that the semester's over and my only project  is polishing up my dissertation and preparing classes  before we move to Chicago in September. 

***
We all turn and stare at Lucretius, Cornelia's scales going unremarked upon in the greater shock. Before entering, we prepared ourselves for the likelihood of difficult communication by Wena establishing mindlinks between herself and Cornelia, Heilyn, Llyr, and Lucretius, while the rest of us had wax tablets and styluses.  

Cornelia immediately asked Wena to ask Lucretius to explain what had happened. Lucretius told Wena to tell Cornelia that the Praetorian would explain later, and surely there were more urgent matters currently. Cornelia demanded an answer back through Wena, and this went back and forth for a few more iterations before the frustrated and irritated Wena pointed out that, after all, her Mindlinks had limited duration, and didn't they have an Empire to save and a Cap to rescue?

The Wolf, meanwhile, continued to gaze at us calmly, and mindspoke us all again after a few seconds. "What do you seek, children?"

There was a pause, as we considered what to answer, but Marcus was the first to write out on his tablet his most urgent desire. "Mother of the Romans, I seek the Eagle of the Ninth, that I may free it from its bondage."

The Wolf lowered her head. "It is quite near here, as we measure such things. We will go there, while your companions ponder what else they may seek."

We followed the Wolf as she padded further up the Palatine Hill and down the other side, into the area which in our shadow world contained the hundred rooms of the Imperial Palaces but here mostly grassy meadows and the gleaming Tiber River below us. Here and there, we could make out objects floating in the air or small buildings on the ground - the Temple of Vesta in the valley below; a single shield resting on the ground next to it, a golden laurel wreath on a pillar, but it seemed hard to focus on anything much in the distance, and the Wolf moved quickly.

Soon we came to a small, purple marble platform dominated by a bronze pole at the center, on which perched a small, shivering golden-feathered eaglet. Smoky black chains, whose mere shadows Heilyn and Wena had caught glimpses of in our world, wrapped the eaglet tightly around and bound it to its pole, leaving only its beak and eyes barely exposed to us. The chain ran off the edge of the platform and stretched out into the hazy distance of the meadows. 

"This is my task," Marcus intoned solemnly. "Leave me to it." We all stood back several paces. I personally didn't see why I should help get another rival into our group, particularly another useless bird who would probably league with Cato against me and convince Meloch to try monkey for lunch. 

Marcus lifted his sword high above his head, focusing intently by virtue of his philosophical training, and brought the weapon down on the chain at the point where it crossed the marble platform. There was no sound, and the legionary weapon bounced off the solid metal of the chain. He tried again, to no effect, and then borrowed Heilyn's hammer, but all failed to make even the slightest dent in the foul bonds.

The Wolf's tongue lolled out, as she seemed to grin at him. "It is not by metal that you will break this metal, Centurion," she mindspoke.

Cornelia grabbed a wax slate and wrote, "Remember what the prophecy said, um...whoever you are."

Marcus handed the hammer back to Heilyn, and gave his sword to Metellus to hold, and concentrated on his faith and devotion to the Ninth Legion, his eighteen years of service with her, through war and peace, blood and triumph. He strode up to the bronze pole, and grabbed the black chain, trying carefully not to further hurt the eaglet, and began trying to unwind its bonds with his hands. The cold, sharp metal ate away at his fingers, and his palms began bleeding profusely, staining the eaglet's feathers and the marble below. But he unraveled the chain, link by link, loop by loop, until at last, when the Centurion was barely able to stand, the last link around the eaglet's claws was undone, and the chain fell to the marble below. 

The eaglet first cautiously and then triumphantly spread its wings, which seemed to grow as the blood of the Centurion touched them. Balancing on the top of the bronze standard pole, it leaned forward towards Marcus, briefly, and touched with its beak his primuspilus brooch, which glowed momentarily and turned from bronze into a bright gold. Then the bird launched itself off the pole and flew high into the heavens, circling upwards amidst the clouds until finally it disappeared from our sight.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Thanks for all the kind words! I should have more time for regular updates now that the semester's over and my only project  is polishing up my dissertation and preparing classes  before we move to Chicago in September.




Yay! A fresh supply of my drug of choice.    How did you handle the mechanics of this ideal world? Did everyone get to choose their own ideal forms, or did you assign some of them?

And damn, Lucretius... what a lousy way to be outed!


----------



## Orichalcum

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> Yay! A fresh supply of my drug of choice.    How did you handle the mechanics of this ideal world? Did everyone get to choose their own ideal forms, or did you assign some of them?




I had everyone in turn describe their version of their ideal self, and then in a few cases I added  some details that they hadn't mentioned - scales, glowing, etc...

The world mechanics were mostly just playing-by-ear; Marcus had to make several rolls to see how many loops of chain he could untie in a round, and for each round he was in contact with the chain, he lost 12-18 hit points. You'll see the other mechanics more later.



> And damn, Lucretius... what a lousy way to be outed!




She knew it was a risk. There were several earlier ways that her secret could have been discovered, actually. It was a very distinct possibility, for instance, in the fight around the Temple of the Vestals, which only virginal women could enter. Had any of the little girls actually made it inside the Temple and threatened the holy flame directly, I suspect Lucretius would have charged in after them. 

This was always intended as the session when a variety of long-held character secrets would finally come to light, as it was the climax of the first major arc - Heilyn and Cornelia's ancestry, Lucretius' sex, etc...Look out for more exciting revelations in chapters to come, which feature horror, romance, sightseeing, mass combat, elephants, and an old nemesis!


----------



## Pyske

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> This was always intended as the session when a variety of long-held character secrets would finally come to light, as it was the climax of the first major arc - Heilyn and Cornelia's ancestry, Lucretius' sex, etc...Look out for more exciting revelations in chapters to come, which feature horror, romance, sightseeing, mass combat, elephants, and an old nemesis!




So what exactly _is_ Heilyn's ancestry?  Nordic?


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

Heilyn's ancestry?  He's descended from a long line of thick-skulled, stiffnecked, sneaky Celtic ironmongers.  And some divinity somewhere in there.

Delighted to finally get the details on this game (which I missed due to being in Afghanistan -- where I currently am again, and much enjoying catching up on the Alea StoryHour for a little escapism amongst the bombs and riots).  Interesting to hear about the fireballs in the Temple basement.  What on earth was Meloch doing in Judaea?...


----------



## Orichalcum

Pyske said:
			
		

> So what exactly _is_ Heilyn's ancestry?  Nordic?




This has all now been more or less revealed in game, so I'll give the fuller story.
Heilyn's grandfather was a powerful nature spirit known as the Walker or Wanderer of the North, the child of the god Lugh and an unknown (but probably very attractive) human woman. The Wanderer at some point encountered a Brigantian maiden in the forest, near the time of Beltane, and produced Heilyn's father. Heilyn's father, on the othe hand, was very unnerved by this whole spiritual heritage, particularly coming at a time when the Druids were being stamped out of Britannia by the Romans, and decided to protect himself as much as possible by becoming a blacksmith and surrounding himself with cold iron and marrying a nice normal Brigantian weaver-woman.  That marriage produced Heilyn, who followed his father's trade, but has stayed more attuned to the spirits and uses the sight that is, he thought, the one remaining legacy from his grandfather. Heilyn knew about the Wanderer, but not about Lugh until shortly before the Isle of Mona.

So no, he doesn't have any divine ranks or anything, just a talent with spirits.


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 7: There's a Hole in the Forms, dear Marcus*

With the Eagle of the Ninth freed, we turn back to our main mission. Llyr suggests following the black chain back to its point of origin, since, unlike in the normal world, it does not fade out after a few dozen feet here.  With the Wolf padding along by our side, we follow the black chain down the Palpatine and across the Hills of Rome, although distance seems somewhat meaningless in this place and we seem to travel very quickly.

After some time, we finally come to a place where the chain does not so much end as go into the side of the Capitoline Hill. Around its edges we can see a small, ragged-edged grey hole, which is pulsing slightly, and seems to Heilyn and Wena, the most keen-eyed of our group, to grow infiniteismally larger as we stare at it.

"Where does that hole lead, Mother Wolf?" Metellus asks.

The Wolf, for the first time, looks less than serene - perhaps even a bit frightened. "It is not part of the Place of Forms."

Cornelia has a sudden insight, and pulls out her wax tablet. "It's a tunnel! Between the Place of Forms and the Place of False Visions!"

Marcus agrees with her, recalling the prophecy. "That must mean what the prophecy meant..."

Heilyn chimes in, "when it talked of the Place Between Places, and this bit:

and the Binder of Light and Dark
seeks to tear apart by chaining together,
and that which the first and the eighth decreed he will destroy."

And Cornelia interrupts to finish his thought, scribbling over her tablet and pulling out her copy of the soothsayer's prophecy, "and 'the dark tunnel
opened by obliteration.' Except I don't know what the obliteration means. But it seems like Scaevola is trying to get from the Place of False Visions to here, and sort of already has, and is trying to connect them somehow. "

"What would happen if this hole got much larger?" Metellus asks the Wolf.

"I do not know for certain," she mindspeaks. "But it could meld the Places."

Heilyn writes, "Maybe that's how he's going to make, you know, the City, into the Other City."

Marcus ponders and asks the Wolf, "Are there any other holes like this around here?"

"A few," she answers. "Much smaller, mere pinpricks. They have existed for many years."

"Do you know when this one was made?"

"It first appeared seven, nearly eight years ago now. But it was very small until recently, when it began to grow, as you can see."

While some of the group are unable to remember anything significant that happened about seven years ago, enough of us, by dint of hard concentration and the consulting of notes, realize that the date coincides with the destruction of the Ninth and the suicide of Gallus, the Emperor's brother.

"Loss of Eagles?" Marcus hazards a guess. "But we've gotten them all back, and then it should have closed when we returned the Eagle."

"Unnatural death in the Imperial family?" Metellus suggests. "But then there would be dozens of them."

Cornelia, meanwhile, has been consulting the prophecies, and looks up finally, her face pale.  "'That which has been lost,' it says, and 'obliteration,' as the keys to the Place Between Places. It's damnatio memoriae. Damnatio memoriae must take someone's Form and, well, somehow send it to the Place of False Visions, creating a small tunnel between them."

We all draw a long, deep breath, as we realize the truth of her statement. And then Marcus, losing control for perhaps the first time since we have known him, scrawls out angrily, "Do you mean to tell me that that Celtic barbarian b-d sacrificed my entire Legion, 6000 good, brave men, and my Eagle, and the honor of Roma, all so that he could indirectly dig a tiny hole in reality?"


----------



## Arkhandus

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> We all draw a long, deep breath, as we realize the truth of her statement. And then Marcus, losing control for perhaps the first time since we have known him, scrawls out angrily, "Do you mean to tell me that that Celtic barbarian b-d sacrificed my entire Legion, 6000 good, brave men, and my Eagle, and the honor of Roma, all so that he could indirectly dig a tiny hole in reality?"




There's a slap in the face.

*eagerly awaits more updates*


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 8: Falls the Shadow*

This post is especially for Meloch's player who, as he mentioned, is currently in Afghanistan, in a fairly tricky situation. I'm going to try and post at least once a day until he's evacuated (within the week); as I missed yesterday, I'll do a double-length post today. 

I'll also throw in a bonus post for the first person (who isn't a PC) who knows the origin of this post's chapter title. 

*******

Having realized at least what the Black Chain Philosopher was doing, if not precisely how, we wasted little time in preparing to enter the Gate of False Visions and confront him within his domain before he could break open the tunnel to the Place of Forms and turn nightmare into reality and love into bitterness.  Furthermore, it is becoming increasingly difficult for anyone to remember anything about the Emperor's brother, or the Ninth Legion, or even their friend and companion the Centurion, so haste is clearly merited. Before leaving the Place of Forms, Marcus briefly meditates and concentrates on his wounds from the chains closing and healing. To others' surprise, although not Wena's, he finds that he needs to exert only the minimum of mental concentration to achieve full healing, and indeed, it seems almost impossible for him to lose his focus. Still, now is not the time for experimentation.

After she has led us back to the Gate, we salute the Wolf in respect. "We will meet again, one way or the other," she says, as we exit into the dark stone hallway of the Imperial Palace, slightly to the surprise of the Praetorian Guards carefully watching either end of the hallway. Llyr calls out "Tell Hadriana we're still working on it," while Cornelia glares at him for his casual tone. Meanwhile, Heilyn, with some trepidation, pulls open the bar on the tusk-decorated Gate of Ivory, gleaming to his eyes with strands of strange, flowing color amidst the shining white ivory panels. Beyond, all is a shadowy greyness. Holding hands in a line, we step through, drawing a long breath, and feel the thick fog on the other side surround us and pour into our very minds and souls for a brief second, as we desperately try to push it out by sheer mental force.

***
We find ourselves on the crowded, sunlit, Via Sacra of Roma, on a hot and fragrant day. We are all gazing up, of course, at Metellus, who stands proudly in his gleaming armor and scarlet cloak upon the triumphal chariot as it processes along the parade route. Behind him, trying to look unobtrusive, stands Llyr, holding the triumphal laurel wreath, while Metellus focuses on driving the perfectly matched Celtic mares down the street, and the rest of us crowd around him. Lucretius rides his elephant, Sapientia, a few paces behind the chariot, dressed in full Praetorian regalia. A look of joy and pride is on Metellus' face, especially as we pass the balcony of his parents' house, who wave to him with admiration in their eyes, and pretty girls throw flowers from the crowd.

While Metellus enjoys his moment of glory, the rest of us are, well, slightly bemused. This is not where we expected to be upon stepping through the Gate, certainly, and it's not clear exactly how this will help, either. Heilyn pokes a nearby paradegoer in the arm to confirm that, yes, the man is solid - and quite irritated at the shove. Cornelia and Wena turn to each other and confirm that, yes, this seems a little strange. Llyr, up on the chariot, ventures a word to Metellus, "Ah Tribune, sir, this is all very nice, but don't we have something else we should be doing?"

Metellus is confused, and a little hurt by Llyr's lack of appreciation for his achievements. "This is the most important day of my life,  Llyr! What do you mean?"

Llyr, who finds himself still mindlinked, if weakly, to Wena and Cornelia, communicates silently to them, "Ladies, we have a problem," and gestures up at the oblivious, grinning Triumphator.

Marcus, meanwhile, starts looking out for something or someone to kill, convinced that a threat awaits, and warns Lucretius to do the same. For another minute or two, their paranoia seems particularly irrational, as the only danger appears to be death by flower projectiles.  

Suddenly, an elderly woman, her face hidden by a cloak hood, steps out of the crowd, directly in front of Metellus's chariot, which he wheels to a halt, pulling sharply on the horses' reins. "Who are you," she shrieks, "Quintus Caecilius Metellus Minor, to dare to triumph in the streets of Roma? You're a coward, that's what you are! You ran from a filthy dog in the wilds of Britannia! You let your lackeys do all the killing for you! You fled in terror from the ghosts on the Isle of Mona! You aren't worthy of being a real Roman, let alone triumphing!"

Metellus shakes in shock and horror at her accusations. Marcus, meanwhile, pulls his sword, asking us generally, "So, can I kill her now?"  Llyr nods enthusiastically and jumps off the chariot, loading his ballista, and Lucretius and Sapientia begin to move forward, but Cornelia shouts, "Wait! She's just an old woman! We don't know what's going on here!"

As the old woman continues to spew invective, the formerly cheering crowd begins booing and hissing Metellus, the Coward, and instead of flowers, rotten fish and vegetables begin to be thrown at our party. (It's at this point that I hide under the chariot and hang on tight - one of those turnips could kill me!)

Metellus tries to stammer out a defense of his actions, as the woman walks closer to him, screaming "Coward" and "Bully." Just as Llyr leaps off the chariot, in front of Metellus, she pulls back her hood, revealing first, momentarily, the face of Hadriana, then that of Cornelia, before shifting finally to a long-forgotten but much-hated visage - the cruel, harsh features of Aeduana, Chief Druid of all Britannia. And a few seconds later, the woman turns into an equally familiar enormous mountain cat, many feet long, and the crowd scatters in terror.

"Now," Lucretius shouts, "Now you can kill her. If I don't get there first."  While Metellus cowers in fear, Marcus, Llyr, Lucretius, and Heilyn advance upon the tiger. Llyr pauses to reload his ballista for a second, murmuring, "I knew it was a good idea to save a couple of the special Aeduana-target bolts, just in case," before launching a devastating attack upon the tiger's head with the ballista. Lucretius and Sapientia trample over the Aeduana-tiger's tail and rear legs, while Marcus and Heilyn deal massive damage to her front half. Marcus, in fact, is the only one of this group who has fought Aeduana before, and he notices with some slight surprise that it seems much easier to hit her this time. "My skills in fighting have truly grown," he thinks briefly to himself, before taking out some of his recent anger on the giant feline, with extreme prejudice. 

In a remarkably short amount of time, the remaining crowds in the streets are taking home wildcat steaks to feed their families, and we return to the confused but calmer Metellus. 
"Metellus," Cornelia says gently, "This isn't real. We need to go fight the Black Chain Philosopher now."

"But....Aeduana....and my triumph!" Metellus stammers.

"We've killed Aeduana. She's dead. She won't trouble you again, sir, and you're not a coward," Marcus asserts.

"And you'll have a triumph someday - but for now, we have more trials to face ahead. Concentrate on our quest, and rescuing Cimbrus, please," Cornelia tries to reassure the Tribune. Some combination of their words and the very dead Aeduana seems finally to strike home, and Metellus nods. "You're right. It's time to go on."

The fog creeps up the Roman street, blotting out the sky, and surrounds us all again, choking us as it slips into our lungs and eyes and ears.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> I'll also throw in a bonus post for the first person (who isn't a PC) who knows the origin of this post's chapter title.




Well, the first thing that springs to mind is Eliot:

_Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
  (For thine is the Kingdom)

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
  (Life is very long)

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow_


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 8: Valley of Dying Stars*

Yep, Fimmtiu, it's from T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men," as will be subsequent chapters in this sequence. I should also mention that I originally borrowed the name from a LARP run by Llyr's player in an overall plot designed by Fajitas, Blackjack, and Heilyn's player. 

***

As the fog settles around us, we find ourselves hip-deep in a murky, chilly swamp. Pallid grey-green trees, mostly willows and large ferns, arc over us, and we can see perch and salmon swimming through the muddy water around us. Somewhat surprisingly, we are all dressed in green and blue hides and fur, although we carry our own weapons and are clearly recognizable to each other. There are also about two dozen people standing around us - mostly elderly or nursing women and children, and a few old men, wearing similar clothing to ours and elaborately decorated with woad tattoos. 

     Looking around, most of us seem similarly confused by our surroundings, but Wena has sunk  into the mud, hiding herself behind a clump of reeds while clutching her knees and whimpering softly. Cornelia bends down beside her.

      "What's wrong, Wena?" she asks.

       "Ssshhhh! Mama said to be quiet. We have to be quiet, or they'll find us!" Wena responds, terror evident in her voice.

        Marcus notices that the other adults are all beginning to push the children behind trees or into bushes, and calmly suggests to Metellus that, at least until they find out what's  going on, they set up a defensive perimeter. Metellus agrees and the rest of our party, besides Cornelia, Wena, and me, takes up position around the group, weapons drawn.

       Cornelia meanwhile, continues to try and coax information out of Wena. Whispering gently to her, she inquires, "Who are 'they?' Who's looking for us? And where's your Mama?"

       "The Romans! The Romans are coming! Mama went away to stop them, and now I don't know where she is. Where is she?" Wena is clearly on the edge of tears.

       Just about at this point, Marcus hears the very familiar sound of legionaries tromping across swampland, a task he himself had to do all to often. From quick consultation with the rest of the watchers, they realize that the troops number nearly a century, if not more, and that they are coming towards them from three sides.  He turns to the Tribune, "Sir, we have to leave, now. I don't know what exactly this is or what Wena's remembering or imagining,  but we can't face 100 trained legionaries, not, at least, when the real battle still lies ahead."

The word is passed, and Cornelia reaches down and pulls Wena up, away from her hiding place. "Wena, we have to run now, we have to escape the Romans. You need to come with us. "

     "But we have to hide! And this is where Mama's going to find me!" Wena pleads.

      Cornelia, biting her lip and thanking her mother mentally for certain skills, decides the time for gentle, truthful persuasion is past. "We'll find your Mama where we're going, dear. You need to come with us to be safe and get to her."

       As we all turn to run, or at least slosh, through the swamp, we can see the spectres of  large numbers of Roman legionaries (bearing, Marcus notes with interest, the insignia of the VIth) crashing through the trees towards us. They all carry large nets, woven with black chains, which they begin to throw onto the helpless Iceni refugees and drag them away. 

      "Right," Metellus yells. "Run! We definitely don't want to get trapped by those!" A chase through the swamp ensues, with legionaries appearing from all sides. But Llyr is skilled at finding the best path, and Heilyn quickly talks with the local water and tree spirits and persuades them to place obstacles in the Legionaries' way, and eventually, dirty, spattered, and tired, we reach the end of the swamp and can no longer hear the yells and trumpets of the Roman troops.

      "You're safe, Wena," Heilyn gruffly tells her. "The Romans aren't going to get you. Now it's time to wake up, and fight the real enemy, the Black Chain Philosopher."

     This statement and other reassurances from the rest of our group finally calm Wena down, and as she begins to meditate, trying to push her emotions and fear out of the way, we see the fog roll up around us again. 

     "Concentrate on Cimbrus and the Black Chain Philosopher," Metellus yells, just a few seconds too late.


----------



## Fajitas

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> I should also mention that I originally borrowed the name from a LARP run by Llyr's player in an overall plot designed by Fajitas, Blackjack, and Heilyn's player.




See, that's what I was gonna say, but I figured I'd just be being obnoxious.

This game is awesome, by the way, he said, lauding your genius, 'cause, well, I owe you.


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> This post is especially for Meloch's player who, as he mentioned, is currently in Afghanistan, in a fairly tricky situation. I'm going to try and post at least once a day until he's evacuated (within the week); as I missed yesterday, I'll do a double-length post today.




Thanks, Chalks.  Very much appreciated.  By tomorrow, I should be "safe" back in Kabul, incidentally.  And hopefully leaving for London by Thursday.  But feel free to keep up the daily updates for as long as you like -- they're delightful.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 9: Paralyzed Force*

As the fog clears again, we find ourselves back in the familiar streets of Roma, dressed again in our normal gear - or lack of it, in my case. (I keep asking for a toga, but no, apparently those are reserved for _citizens._ ) We appear to be near the Forum Romanum, and the streets are crowded with jostling passersby, many of them, from a quick sniff, drunk. It appears to be some sort of festival day, as many of the passersby are holding half-empty drinking vessels and adorned with flowers and tawdry brass jewelry. We are shoved together at one side of the street, on a corner, gazing around us. 

At least, that's true for all of us except Lucretius, who looms above us on her Praetorian, goddess-given elephant, Sapientia. Lucretius smiles vaguely down in our direction, before turning and wheeling Sapientia neatly across the main path. "Please move slowly and carefully, good citizens! Watch your families, and be wary of pickpockets!" the young decurion shouts piercingly.

Marcus, determined to focus on our larger mission, calls up, "Lucretius, we're not really here! We need to go kill the Black Chain Philosopher. Now!" 

In the tumult of the crowd, however, Lucretius doesn't seem to hear Marcus' words, and continues scanning the mob for potential troublemakers. The rest of us turn towards each other. 

"We have to find some way to get closer to him or up on the elephant," Llyr comments.

"Preferably before things turn nasty again, " Heilyn adds.

Just at that moment, a cry goes up from somewhere back in the crowd. "There's free food and wine in the Forum! They've got stuffed sows' udders!"

The mob of people roars in delight as everyone starts pressing forward, as urgent as possible, towards the Forum.

 "Sows' udders!"
"Falernian wine!"
"I hear they've got poached peahen eggs!"

The people in the crowd show little care or respect for each other, and the movement forward is getting increasingly violent. Marcus and Heilyn, our largest fighters, step protectively in front of Wena and Cornelia, shielding them with their bodies. Lucretius, meanwhile, is desperately trying to wheel Sapientia to maintain an orderly line and press the people in the street back.

The mob begins to get nasty, accusing Lucretius of wanting to keep all the roasted finches for the Praetorians, and they start throwing stones  and empty amphorae at Sapientia, who seems nervous but unhurt. We go into action at this point and begin focusing on deflecting missiles from Lucretius and clearing a path. 

A little boy, however, darts under the legs of the elephant, trying to find a way through, at the same time that some old grocer-woman drives her walking stick into Sapientia's rear right leg. Sapientia stumbles for a second, and Cornelia and Wena can see the look of panic on Lucretius' face as the Praetorian realizes that the boy is about to be crushed under the elephant's weight, and there is nothing at all she can do about it. 

But just at that moment, Llyr dives between Sapientia's legs, grabs the child, and rolls out the other side, both parties remaining unharmed. And with all of our help, and a few well-placed mental suggestions and Charms by Wena, Cornelia, and Heilyn, the crowd reluctantly shuffles into a line of sorts. Llyr, meanwhile, having returned the boy to a semi-grateful father, swarms up Sapientia's back, bare-handed, and grabs Lucretius gently by the shoulder. "You're a good Praetorian, Lucretius, whatever else you are. And now we need to go defend the Empire and rescue Caesar."

Lucretius blinks twice, and nods, and the fog rolls in around us.


----------



## Mortepierre

Orichalcum, were you aware of this? 

Seems someone over there read your SH and decided to make a profit..


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 10: We Grope Together and Avoid Speech*

Thanks, Mortepierre! I'll have to check that out when it gets published.
***

This time, we find ourselves standing in a grassy, sunny mountain meadow, birds chirping all around us and the sweet perfume of flowers wafting in the breeze.

Out of a grove of trees, to our astonishment, comes Meloch, wearing only a small golden loincloth (Cornelia blushes and looks away; the male members of the party try not to develop inferiority complexes); he is also carrying a small gold-inlaid bow and a quiver full of arrows. I, of course, can immediately tell that something odd is up, as I have no mental connection whatsoever to this Meloch.

"The time has come, " the loincloth-clad Meloch intones in a sweet countertenor, "for you to choose, young master. Who is the most beautiful?" He holds out  a brightly shining golden apple to Metellus, and gestures to a another grove of rowan trees nearby. Nepa and Lupina Silvanilla walk out from the grove and stand by Cornelia, each dressed in diaphanous gowns and glittering jewelry. Meloch waves his hand and with another gesture Cornelia is suddenly similarly dressed in a scanty, translucent tunic which shows off her long legs and trim figure rather well, if indecorously.

	All of us except for Metellus look around at each other, extremely confused, and Cornelia tries desperately to hide her legs, all the while gazing anxiously at Metellus.

     Metellus, however, looks oddly relieved, and stops Meloch before he can speak again. "I choose Lupina Silvanilla. Done!" he says quickly, and hands her the apple. 

     As the fog curls up around us again, Cornelia glares, anguished, at the young Tribune.


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> the male members of the party try not to develop inferiority complexes




If this was a deliberate pun, Chalky, you deserve to be strung up.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 11: Eyes I dare not meet in dreams*

By now, we have all more or less realized that we are being thrown into each other's worst nightmares, and we all tense as the fog seeps away under our feet, ready for the next horror. But at first, all seems calm. We are standing in the tablinum, or study, of Cornelia's mother's house in Roma, and all seems peaceful. We look around at each other, and everyone seems fairly normal, until our gazes alight upon Cornelia herself. She is dressed in layers upon layers of the finest white muslin tunics, stretching in gradations from the floor up to her waist, with a golden and copper girdle encircling her hips. Her hair is piled elaborately in six symmetrical rolls on top of her head, forming a cone-like headdress, from which was draped a translucent flame-colored veil that stretched down her back to her ankles and matched the color of her new red leather sandals. Her eyes are gently rimmed with kohl and malachite. 

"Cornelia," Lucretius murmured, "You look stunning."

"She looks," Metellus announced in startlement, "like a bride." The non-Romans turned to stare at him in surprise, while Cornelia glared again, and Lucretius, realizing, nodded in agreement.

At that moment, we heard the voice of Licinia Luculla, calling from outside the front door,in the street. "Cornelia, darling, come and meet your groom! He is waiting for you, and all is ready."

Cornelia smiled at all of us, wistfully, and, carefully picking up the edge of her veil in one hand, started for the door. At this point, we all panicked.

"Cornelia, I really think you shouldn't go outside," Metellus blurted.

"Why not?" she snapped. "My groom, you know, the one who loves me, is out there."

Wena tried to intervene. "Don't you think we should, ah, pray to the Celtic deities first? For good fortune?"

"That's right!" Heilyn added. "Lugh tells me this won't be a good idea. Not unless we, ah, pray, and some of us go out there first just to check."

Lucretius, also worried, agrees. "And to Minerva! We can also pray to Minerva! I mean, how much do you know about this groom? And besides, we have a quest, remember, to stop the Black Chain Philosopher!"

Cornelia stands proud, and a little hurt at her friends' reluctance on this joyous occasion. "We can do that afterwards. And I know that he loves me, and I love him. Can you give me any good reason why I shouldn't step out there right now and live happily ever after with him?" She starts firmly for the door, determined and highly irritated.

At this point, desperate, Llyr leaps in front of her, blocking her path. "Yes! Because I love you!"

Dead silence falls. We all turn to stare at Llyr and the suddenly pale Cornelia. I make careful notes for Meloch, who had suspected this a little.

"You...what?" she says finally, very quietly.

"I love you! I have, ever since I saw your courage and daring in Britannia! I know I'm not good enough for you - I'm only an auxiliary - but don't go out there and marry this stranger!" Llyr confesses, passion for once evident in his eyes. No one else is sure whether he's just telling a convenient lie or honestly baring his heart.

"Llyr..." Cornelia reaches out a hand gently, then drops it to her side. "Llyr, I...I have to go meet my groom now. Then, um, we'll see." And she steps out the front door.


----------



## Dæmon

Cursed clifhangers!

Thank you for sharing this engrosing tale with us Orichalcum.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 12: The Stuffed Men*

Outside, in the street, Cornelia finds a gathering of her family, neighbors, and household slaves, who part to reveal a toga-clad figure with one end of the toga draped over  his face in religiously appropriate fashion. She is followed quickly by all the rest of us, pushing our way out of the door in combined fear and curiosity. As we pass, the slaves throw candied almonds in Cornelia's path and the crowd marvels at her beauty.

Cornelia shyly walks forward to her groom and takes his hand, while Llyr bites back a cry.  Marcus turns to Metellus and mutters, "Can we kill it yet?" 
Metellus ponders this for a second, then whispers back, "Not yet! We don't know who he is. But, um, draw your sword and ready an attack."

Oblivious to all this, Cornelia is focused on her future husband. As she looks up at him, he raises his other hand to draw back the hood of his toga. She gasps in horror as her groom's face is revealed to be that of a shiny, grinning skull, which then slowly twists and reshapes itself to form the countenance of Aeduana, horribly scarred by acid burns.

“Did you ever really think you would be free of me, Cornelia?” the figure hisses at her, reaching a long, clawed hand up to her face. "You shall pay for what your foul magics did to me!"

Cornelia, for once in her life, screams. All the rest of us, who had been expecting, if not this, something else fairly horrible, run forward to attack. Llyr pulls Cornelia out of danger, passing her to Wena, who tries to calm her down. A flurry of swords, hammers, javelins, Druidic sickle, and a lightning bolt follow. At the end of it, Aeduana is once more indubitably, sincerely, dead. 

"I could get used to this," Marcus comments. "It gets easier every time."

Wena speaks quietly to Cornelia, gesturing the others to gather around. "Aeduana's dead, dear, and you were right to kill her. You'll meet your groom someday - just not today. Now please, let us all focus on the real reason we're here - to save Roma and Cimbrus, and find the Cap of Twilight, and kill that manipulative lying despicable Black Chain Philosopher, Quintus Mucius Scaevola Phelan!"

Cornelia calms down, her tears drying, and she looks around at us, as the fog rolls down the street again, enveloping us all, and then, slowly, stops moving at all. Visions appear in the mist - an image of Marcus' family crying, and of Heilyn's dead mother, but they quickly fade, and at last the fog itself becomes thinner and thinner, until before us we can see stretched out a grim and dark city.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> A flurry of swords, hammers, javelins, Druidic sickle, and a lightning bolt follow. At the end of it, Aeduana is once more indubitably, sincerely, dead.
> 
> "I could get used to this," Marcus comments. "It gets easier every time."




Bad _ass_.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 13eath's dream kingdom*

First of all, a brief note to say that, as you may have guessed, Meloch's player is back safe from Afghanistan and relaxing in London with his fiancee. Yay! Hence the lack of daily posts - plus, I was visiting Llyr's player and other friends over the weekend, and then have been prepping for some gaming this weekend.

In a game design note, the whole preceding sequence of scenes was, as alert readers will have noticed, based on the dreams that the PCs had been getting for the previous several sessions, about 2 years of real time, which is when I had come up with this idea. By the time of this session, I had 3 dreams for each PC, mostly false visions. To run this sequence, I had the PCs make Will Saves and then rolled on a chart for the person who failed by the most. People who had experienced their dreams previously got bonuses to their Saves. The sequence ended more or less arbitrarily at the point when, well, it stopped being interesting.

The following chapter owes much to the 2nd century CE Greek writer Lucian of Samosata. Thankfully, his copyright expired quite some time ago.

***
As the fog finally disperses, we immediately realize that we are not in any of our own dreams. We stand in the main square of a large city, just outside the other side of the Gate of Ivory. Three other gates ring the plaza, a barred and closed one of horn and two other open gates, made out of iron and out of ceramic. Each appears to open onto an endless, featureless plain, and we decide that, interesting as they are, they are not our immediate concern. Two springs bubble up into elaborate marble fountains; a thick, black liquid the consistency of oil flows out from one and into a pool at the middle of the courtyard, where it meets the smooth white liquid, which resembles milk, coming from the other spring, and then both separately run out through channels into the city.

 A low wall, broken in sections, surrounds the plaza; it is garishly painted in blues and yellows and greens. Beyond we can see a variety of exotic dwellings - the knowledgable Cornelia points out what she thinks is the onyx-walled temple of Night, on one side, and the grey-columned palace of Morpheus, god of sleep and dreams, on the other. Various figures, some more insubstantial than others, hurry through the square or flicker in and out; some seem highly familiar, but none seem aware of us.

   After some brief discussion, we decide that in a place like this, intent is crucial, and so we all focus our minds on finding Cimbrus, trying to ignore the sights around us. (It seems like a better idea to try and find Cimbrus before dealing directly with the BCP.) A road leading through the painted wall appears before us, and we walk down it, alert and weapons ready. 

   We soon find ourselves in a thick wood, full of oaks and willow trees; the ground is covered with dark poppies and mandragora trees also dominate the landscape. Periodically, we startle a tree full of bats, which swoop down at us, but we manage to largely prevent injury.

   After some time of concentrating on Cimbrus, the wood finally becomes thinner, and we hear noises up ahead, sounds of combat. We rush forward, past the edge of the trees, and find ourselves on the outskirts of an enormous battle. Giant trees are striding forward, lashing the enemy with their branches; enormous wolf packs to the left and right of us are charging forward, and above us, a stormy sky boils and bolts of lightning come hurtling down from the clouds. 

   Far ahead of us, through all of the chaos, we can see what look like several assembled Roman legions, largely maintaining their positions, and beyond them, in the distance, a tall, well-fortified stone wall.

   Cornelia, alone among us, gasps in recognition. "This must be a dream of mine - this is the battle at Hadrian's Wall, where my father died! But I never saw it like this...wait. This isn't my nightmare. It's Cimbrus's!"

The Druids and Caledonii charge forward, and the Legions respond with a thousand hurled javelins - directly towards us.


----------



## MTR

Now I'm curious.  What did Lucian of Samosata write?


----------



## Mortepierre

MTR said:
			
		

> Now I'm curious.  What did Lucian of Samosata write?




This should tell you more about him...


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> First of all, a brief note to say that, as you may have guessed, Meloch's player is back safe from Afghanistan and relaxing in London with his fiancee. Yay! Hence the lack of daily posts...




Dude, just 'cause I'm no longer dodging Taliban doesn't mean I don't want regular Alea updates!


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 14: Lost Violent Souls*

Yes, well, Meloch, I have this dissertation due in six weeks, see?
***

    After Cornelia realizes where we all are, it becomes clear that the only way to end this spectacular nightmare is to get to Cimbrus himself and take away his fears. Unfortunately, there are two armies in between all of us and Cimbrus, and they're fighting pretty furiously.

    So, in various directions and through our different means, we begin plowing through the battlefield in the general direction of the Praetorian Guard. Before we go, Marcus remembers that, long ago back in Britannia, he had been worried that Cimbrus' Praetorians were not up to the normal caliber of expert front-line troops, and he asks Lucretius to confirm this as they get closer and act accordingly to protect the Caesar. For, as Marcus well knows, it is said that if someone dies in their dream, they never wake up.

   Heilyn transforms into a pegasus, and Cornelia and Wena, the most vulnerable members of our group, jump onto his back as he takes off for the 6th Legion and the cluster of legionaries around Cimbrus and Cornelia's father Crispus. Of course, he has not quite anticipated just how many lightning bolts are being called down by the Druids from the sky, and suddenly, several of them seem aimed at him. Heilyn, still not a very good flier, weaves through the storm clouds wildly while Cornelia and Wena try to dispel the bolts whenever possible. As they reach the Roman battle lines, the Romans, well conditioned by this point to associate strange monsters with foul Druidic magic, begin firing arrows and even ballista bolts at them.

   Meanwhile, Lucretius has concentrated long and hard on the idea of Sapientia, his beloved elephant, and she appears in front of him - possibly a mere figment of his imagination, but seemingly at least as real as the other threats they face. She kneels so that he and Metellus can mount her, and they charge forward through the Celtic lines. Marcus and Llyr, our brave infantry, go by foot, carving small paths of brutal destruction in their wake as they concentrate not on effective military tactics but on getting to Cimbrus as quickly as possible. Llyr glories in his death-dealing efficiency and momentarily loses track of the mission, before continuing to pursue the elephant.

  The pegasus finally reaches the general knot of Praetorians and the 1st century of the 6th, and Cornelia sees her father whispering quietly to his primuspilus centurion.  Through the mental link, she reminds us of all she knows about what actually happened on this day - how Cimbrus initially rallied the men by leading a charge, but, as he is now, was in danger of being cut off from the rest of the Legionaries. He faced death until Cornelia's father, the Legate Crispus, had him knocked unconscious and carried back to the safety of Hadrian's Wall, while Crispus took the Caesar's helmet and charged forward into glory, victory, and certain death. Cornelia murmurs, "We have to stop him from going unconscious quite yet - we need to deal with his fear first." The Heilyn-pegasus lands, and Cornelia squeezes through the guards to her father.

"Pater! Don't do it yet!" she whispers in his ear.

The Legate turns around, highly startled. "Cornelia, dear, what are you doing here? This is the middle of a battle! And I sent you away to safety in the south."

"Um...it's hard to explain. Think of me as a vision. But trust me - I know what you're planning to do to Cimbrus, and," she chokes back a brief sob, "it's the right thing to do. But hold off for just a few more minutes - it's important."

Her father is confused, but looks intently at her and nods, kissing her forehead briefly before turning back to defending Caesar. Cornelia slips back to the relative safety of Heilyn's back.

   The three spellcasters, each using their different style of magic, block several fatal spells from Cimbrus, carefully husbanding their resources, however, for the darker fight they know lies ahead. Meanwhile, Lucretius and the other fighters, a bit later, reach the Praetorians. Lucretius shouts to Marcus, "Definitely not regular Praetorians - they don't even know the right set of defensive maneuvers! We need to form up around Caesar while we persuade him."

   When they reach Cimbrus, they find him arguing fervently with the Legate Crispus - he is determined to be brave and honor his forefathers and stay in the battle. "I can serve best by dying," he whispers sadly. "It will be better for everyone."  Momentarily, we find ourselves at a loss - is Cimbrus here facing his fear of death, or of cowardice? 

Metellus finally comes up with the right words, "Sir, Caesar, this battle is not about your personal honor - which is great. It is about protecting the Roman Empire. If you fall today, the hordes of barbarians will sweep down over the Wall, and thousands of innocent Roman citizens and loyal tribesmen will perish in their pillaging. Even if we lose today, which I am certain we won't, we will be better off with you leading and conducting our defense from the Wall or from Eburacum. Your people need you as a symbol of all that is good about Roma, which goes beyond your personal bravery."

Cimbrus, for a moment, seems to understand, and resolve lights up his eyes...a few seconds before Marcus slams him on the back of the head with the back of his gladius, and Heilyn descends and picks up Caesar's body, carrying it safely back to the Wall. As the  fog rises and the battle fades, Cornelia can see, from a distance, her father resolutely placing the purple-plumed, golden helmet on his aging brow and mounting up for a charge into the Druidic lines.

And then the battle is gone, and we find ourselves all standing before the perfectly dark mouth of an enormous cavern.


----------



## MTR

Mortepierre said:
			
		

> This should tell you more about him...




Ah, a stand up philosopher   

It's hard to judge play time from a story hour, but it appears there must have been a number of session where the party was at least somewhat confused and disoriented by the strange and otherworldly enviroment.  Did they take that ok?


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## Orichalcum

MTR said:
			
		

> Ah, a stand up philosopher
> 
> 
> It's hard to judge play time from a story hour, but it appears there must have been a number of session where the party was at least somewhat confused and disoriented by the strange and otherworldly enviroment.  Did they take that ok?




Yeah...Lucian was a fairly minor philosopher/author, but known for his wacky tales about journeys to the moon and the dream world. Some people call him the inventor of science fiction.

All of Alea Iacta IX was actually one session - we're episodic, so we only play about 3 times a year, for a whole weekend. So this was late Saturday night, around 1 AM, and I think the players had just sort of relaxed into the weird craziness of it all. Also, I'm lucky to have very good, sophisticated PCs, so after the first one or two, they just went with the flow. Except Marcus, who of course just wanted to kill everything they found. (Not that Marcus' player is a bad roleplayer - I'd be in real trouble if I started claiming that.  Rather, it was perfectly in character for Marcus to approach a strange otherworldly environment by trying to kill it. These Romans are all crazy, as Heilyn might say.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 15: That Final Meeting In the Twilight Kingdom*

As we step inside the cavern, a faint golden light glowing from Cornelia and Heilyn's hands, we all feel a sudden wave of confusion sweep over us. This goes beyond the troubles we have previously had, although, indeed, nobody would particularly like to vouch for Marcus' name and rank at the moment, except himself. Llyr, however, has worse problems - he realizes that he can remember almost none of his years of auxiliary training - how to climb a rope or a wall, how to hide in shadows, which might be quite useful here,  or any of the Brigantes' traditional prayers or chants. Cornelia and Metellus, meanwhile, are unsure as to how they arrived in the cavern; the last thing they remember is fighting the Druids' in Cimbrus' nightmare. All of the confusion makes our careful battle order and strategy momentarily fall apart.

The creatures whose red eyes gleam at us out of the darkness ahead do not seem to have this problem, as they charge towards us screaming and growling. As they approach, they reveal themselves, at least some of them, to be foul, almost translucent hags mounted on the gleaming black horses of this realm, whose ivory fangs are ready to tear us to pieces. Our light briefly illuminates what seems to be a long tunnel, wide and lofty here at the entrance and gradually sloping down to a narrower passageway leading into the darkness beyond, with a faint pinprick of white light at the end of it. Ahead, we can hear screams of pain coming from the walls, although we cannot see them.

Regaining some of our earlier coordination, Lucretius, Heilyn, Marcus, Metellus, and Llyr move forward to engage the hags and their mounts. They are resolved to put an end to this once and for all, and they wield their swords and hammers with mighty force. Marcus kills a mount with a single blow, and Llyr manages to leap up, despite his lack of training, and decapitate three hags in a flurry of blows.

Meanwhile, the rest of us are dealing with swarms of creatures detaching themselves from the stalactites of this cavern and swooping down on us. As they get closer, we can see that they are deformed, stretched grey human heads, with long tentacles drooping down from their necks and bat-like wings stretching out from their ears. As they fly towards us, they screech in harmony, and Cornelia is paralyzed by fear. One bites her and another Lucretius, although the others are repelled by our armor.

And in her mind, Wena hears a familar, if more bitter and maddened voice, whisper briefly, "Ah, so good of you to join us for the celebration of my final revenge against the Roman murderers. Don't bother looking for me, though - after all, I have the protection of a true god." A vivid, brutal image of the slaughter of her mother appears in Wena's thoughts, and she screams in sudden pain, managing after a few seconds to shout, "Scaevola's here! Somewhere."

And it is only at that point that we all remember that we are fighting an enemy who wears the Cap of Twilight, an artifact, that, as Heilyn discovered, renders the wearer completely invisible and able to fly at high speeds.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Bump! Too good for page 3. Any hope of a conclusion, or even just a continuation, of the present cliffhanger?


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 16: Sightless, unless the eyes reappear*

Sorry for the delay - I've been at a conference learning how to use roleplaying games in university classrooms, actually.
***

In the next flurry of blows, the front-line fighters take care of the nightmares and hags, and Heilyn manages to free Cornelia from her terror. In the meantime, however, a noxious grey and green fog, obscuring our vision, has begun to flow out of the deeper recesses of the cavern and is extending long tendrils towards us. Lucretius tries to charge into the fog and finds his skin being eaten away and his breathing near impossible. He retreats, near collapse. 

The rest of us have been trying to fight the flying, gnawing skulls, who continue to swoop down on us, particularly targeting the spellcasters, as far as we can tell. Llyr is methodically chopping them to bits when he feels his own skull suddenly...contract, and his brain squeezed into pulp between his ears. As the last rational thought in his brain seems about to vanish, he catches a glimpse of Cornelia, bravely moving forward farther into the cavern, and holds onto his love for her as the last tie to his sanity. He stumbles, and draws his sword again.

Metellus looks over, concerned for his subordinate and friend, even amidst the chaos, particularly as blood is streaming out of Llyr's nostrils and ears. "You all right, then?"

Llyr gasps, "I will be, Tribune. But we need to find Scaevola. Soon."

Wena whispers quietly to them, "I think, maybe I have a way. For just a second there, when Llyr was attacked, I thought I saw a gleam of Lugh's light. But then it vanished."

Metellus uses his command training, for once. "Right. Llyr, get out the ballista. Wait till Wena tells you where, and then shoot. I don't care if it takes a while - it's our best chance. You have several bolts with the right name on them, right?"

"Yes, sir! 3 with his true name, and another 2 with his Roman name and his title." Llyr salutes, and loads the ballista.

The other fighters return to killing the flying skulls - an easy task in and of itself, but hampered by their deadly, fright-inducing bites.

Meanwhile, Cornelia has decided that they need to do something about the ever-growing deadly fog. She pulls the central golden bauble from her necklace, whispers a brief thanks to her ancestors, and throws it as hard and as far as she can into the center of the fog, hoping, with luck, to hit Scaevola as well. 

Much of the fog boils up and disappears, but the most piercing sound to come from the fog is a tormented, anguished scream. For a second, we all cheer, thinking that Cornelia has struck at our enemy...until the fog clears enough for us to see who lies beyond.

Deeper in the cavern, we can see the nearly unconscious, heavily charred body of Cimbrus Caesar, heir to the throne of Rome, whose glazed, unseeing eyes stare blankly out at us.

Chained to either wall, with ropes that even from here seem to be made from the skin of their own arms, are two half-flayed figures, moaning in pain.

Cornelia goes pale.


----------



## MaxKaladin

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Much of the fog boils up and disappears, but the most piercing sound to come from the fog is a tormented, anguished scream. For a second, we all cheer, thinking that Cornelia has struck at our enemy...until the fog clears enough for us to see who lies beyond.
> 
> Deeper in the cavern, we can see the nearly unconscious, heavily charred body of Cimbrus Caesar, heir to the throne of Rome, whose glazed, unseeing eyes stare blankly out at us.
> 
> Chained to either wall, with ropes that even from here seem to be made from the skin of their own arms, are two half-flayed figures, moaning in pain.
> 
> Cornelia goes pale.



D'oh!    

Great story.  I can't wait for more.


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## Arkhandus

Gah!

Yep, waiting in anxious anticipation of the next update. {:^D


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 17: Paralyzed Force*

After the initial flash of the Fireball, the cavern ahead grows dark again, and it is nearly impossible to tell whether or not Cimbrus is still alive after Cornelia's impulsive move. Still, the blast does appear to have cleared away much of the deadly, acidically slimy fog, and a narrow, thinned path seems possible both through the main part of the cavern and along the sides.

Metellus, determined to do something brave in a combat where thus far he has largely assisted Llyr and Marcus, charges forward, holding his breath as best possible. He is followed by Llyr, whose magic pearl protects him from the worst effects of the fog. Cornelia, as well, finds that she is able to withstand much of its corrosive power without harm, perhaps, she thinks quietly to herself, because of her volcanic dragon heritage. She heads along the sides towards the other two captives.

Meanwhile, the others continue to hold their weapons ready, waiting for a potential shot at Scaevola, while intermittently slaughtering more swooping skeletal heads. Heilyn notices, with some anxiety, that the pinpoint of light at the far end of the tunnel is growing slowly larger.  

Scaevola tries to seize control of Llyr's mind, but barely fails, due to the power of the glowing malachite bracelet from Herculaneum. Meanwhile, Marcus begins choking without even going near the fog, and Wena is barely able to use her own power to stop him from suffocating to death. On this second attack, however, Wena again sees a momentary flash of white light and a momentary mental image of a black linked chain, and with her direction Llyr is able to lob a shot off of the ballista. There is a brief grunt of pain, somewhere up in the air, and the other members of the group follow quickly, aiming at the same spot, but to no apparent effect.

Metellus lets out his breath quickly, gasping as he inhales corrosive acid, and shouts, "Get farther into the cavern! If he can't fly high above us, he'll be easier to hit!" Marcus and Llyr nod, recognizing the benefit of Metellus' officerial training. As the cavern is wide and high at its opening, and gradually slants and narrows downward to the pinprick of light at the end, Scaevola will indeed be hampered if he is unable to easily dodge them. Of course, on the other hand, it makes them all the more vulnerable to area attack spells.

Cornelia, meanwhile, has reached the first captive, a middle-aged Roman woman, gibbering in insane terror. Her skin has been systematically flayed in what Cornelia, to her horror, recognizes as ritual Brigantian woad tattoo patterns, as well as other symbols that she does not know. At first, the woman seems completely unfamiliar, but after staring at her for a few seconds Cornelia suddenly realizes that she bears a marked familiarity to Titus Minucius, Scaevola's chief henchman in Britannia who they captured so many months ago. Perhaps, she thinks, this is Minucius' mother, who they had planned to interrogate when they got to Roma, but somehow forgot about. 

As her friends suddenly scream out in pain behind her, Cornelia sees a thin black chain flash outward from the woman's head, upwards and outwards. Spinning, she discovers that everyone else is now bleeding profusely from a sudden wound in their right shoulders, the size and shape of one of Llyr's ballista bolts, though no weapon is visible. Always impulsive, she leaps to a conclusion and shouts to Metellus, without thinking of any potential consequences, "Metellus! Scaevola's using these captives as energy sources somehow! He's draining them and using it to hurt us!"

Metellus pauses for a minute in his path forward, gnawing his lip, and then glances at Marcus. Marcus understands the unspoken command, and begins moving towards the captive on the right, until he is beset by four flying skulls. Cornelia, meanwhile, begins moving towards the unconscious Cimbrus. Behind her, Heilyn quietly approaches the screaming woman, examines her for a moment, and then uses his smallest hammer to precisely bash her head in and kill her quickly.

Metellus is the first of the party to reach the horribly burned Cimbrus. The Tribune is relieved to hear his faint mumbling and moaning, as it means he is still alive, and reaches down to place a hand on the Caesar's shoulder, trying to reassure him that help is here. As Metellus touches Cimbrus, however, those nearby see Metellus suddenly stiffen, and his eyes roll back up into his head. Cornelia and Llyr cry out, but there is no sign of any response from the young Tribune.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 18: Thine is the Kingdom*

My dissertation is turned in, which means you can expect a lot of updates in quick succession over the next month. This extra-long one will at the least bring the battle to an end.
***

Quintus Caecilius Metellus finds himself in a marble-inlaid, lavishly furnished bedroom, decorated with small painted panels that are clearly the original work of the great Greek masters. As he blinks for a second, confused at the sudden change from the chaos of the battle in the cave, Hadriana, wife of Cimbrus Caesar, strides into the room. Upon seeing him, her face lights up with joy, and she runs to embrace him. It is at this point, right before she kisses him, that Metellus recognizes that Hadriana is wearing the most translucent of rose-colored Coan silk tunics, and that her garment barely stretches to mid-thigh.

For a moment, shocked, he kisses her back, but then recovers and stumbles backwards into the elegant couch.

"Nobilissima!" Metellus sputters. "What..."

"What's wrong, darling?" Hadriana cooes, trying again to embrace him. "Let's make ourselves another baby..."

"Another?" Metellus gasps.

"Of course, as beautiful as our Cimbra. She looks so much like you, Metellus. And soon we won't need to worry about my idiot of a husband. He'll be dead, and then we can resume our nights of passion!" Hadriana smiles enthusiastically, and leans in for another kiss.

 Metellus evades her and makes a run for the open doorway, determined to get away. Hadriana grabs his ankle as he flees, and Metellus drags her along as he enters into the next room, the Imperial audience hall. In there, he sees Cimbrus Caesar, dressed in purple and gold and wearing the laurel wreath of a reigning Emperor. Tears are streaming down his face as he stares at a crystal that holds the faint image of a dead body within, and an onyx urn, brimming with some sort of grey liquid, sits on a pillar to his right. 
But these are on the vague periphery of Metellus' vision, as he focuses in on the gladius that Cimbrus is pointing suicidally at his own heart.

***

Meanwhile, back in the dark cavern, the only foe remaining for our heroes is Scaevola himself. However, the philosopher, particularly aided by the Cap of Twilight, is himself still quite formidable. At least half of the time that Scaevola strikes the minds of the fighters, Wena or Heilyn is able to catch a momentary glimpse of light reflecting off a black chain, and direct the others where to hit. But with each blow, the Black Chain Philosopher pulls life from those around him to sustain himself, and gaping wounds have appeared on all of us. 

In the most recent flurry of blows, Scaevola seems to have switched tactics to concentrate on the helpless Cimbrus and Metellus. Cornelia, who is standing next to the pair, can hear them both muttering, in pain and despair. Cimbrus whispers, "Better off dead. Better off with my shame and dishonor forgotten to the world." Metellus is similarly oblivious to her but murmurs more clearly, "Look, this isn't my fault. Or your fault. Just wake up!" 

As a gaping wound opens in Cimbrus' chest, Cornelia can see the light at the end of the cavern begin to expand and grow, almost wide enough now to crawl through, and the cavern begins shaking. While no healer, Cornelia knows Cimbrus will die in a matter of moments. She flings her necklace to Lucretius, telling him to throw the baubles as needed, and desperately commands her psionic snake tattoo of healing, a long-ago present from Wena, to slither out the tips of her fingers and onto Cimbrus and heal him. As she presses her hand to Cimbrus' wound, Cornelia feels the world going dim around her.

Wena, a few seconds later, reaches the side of the three unconscious Romans, and applies the healing necessary to bring Metellus back from the brink of death. "Keep them from dying, and strike fast and hard!" she shouts. "Scaevola only gains strength the longer he survives. And he's....THERE, on the ground beside Cimbrus!" she points.  At the same moment, Wena screams from the agony of her skin erupting with acidic burns and her mind recalling the most horrible memories of her childhood. Wena falls to the ground, slowly bleeding to death.

But Llyr, Marcus, Heilyn, and Lucretius each have one good chance at a shot.

***
Cornelia finds herself in the Imperial throne room, where Cimbrus is busily attempting to commit suicide, while Metellus tries to convince him otherwise. Somewhat to her surprise, Hadriana is wrapped around Metellus' legs lovingly, but Cornelia decides that this is just a distraction.

"I'll never be the Emperor my father was," Cimbrus tells Metellus. "I've achieved nothing honorable. I was carried away like luggage from my only battle, and another man took my place. My wife has abandoned me for you and borne a child who is not mine. Now Parthia is invading, and the Empire will fall. Better I die now and the world forget me forever than that I endure even more disgrace."

Metellus tries to remonstrate with him. "Your wife didn't abandon you." Hadriana appears about to protest this statement, but Cornelia slaps her, briefly quieting the woman. "Cimbra is your child, and Hadriana even now bears a son who will be your heir," Metellus continues. "This is all an evil nightmare into which you have been thrust by the Black Chain Philosopher. You must wake up and save yourself."

"Why wake to more shame? And if this is just a dream, then this will not hurt," Cimbrus responds, beginning to drive the swordpoint deeper into his abdomen.

"Wait!" Cornelia shouts, and the two men turn to stare at her. "Metellus, he can't recognize that this is a dream. But Scaevola is trying to make him self-damnatio memoriae, and that will destroy all of Roma as we know it. I think. "

She turns to Caesar, and speaks clearly and firmly to him. "Cimbrus, I swear to you, on my honor, that Metellus never slept with your wife. I know Cimbra, and she is your daughter. And your father lives even now and wins great victories for Roma."

"How do I know what is the truth and what is the lie?" Cimbrus answers her, a little more hope, perhaps, in his bleak expression.

And at this point, desperate but determined, Metellus gives the best speech of his entire life.

"Cimbrus Caesar, I understand why you have so many doubts and fears about your honor. I have had my own doubts, and it is hard not to question one's own worth when we are blessed with such great and heroic fathers.

But you are a good and brave man, and you have it in you to be a great Emperor. You do not have the decades of wisdom and experience that your father has, but they will come with time. You had the bravery to face the Druidic armies at Hadrian's Wall, and I never saw you flinch when assassins attacked you during your Triumph here in Roma. 

Roma needs you now, more than ever. A fearful enemy, one who seeks to destroy all that has made our city and our civilization great, is trying to destroy Roma through killing you. You must not let that happen. You must assume your duty and your responsibility, and save us all." Metellus kneels, offering his sword to Cimbrus, who has been intent on his every word.

"Do not kill yourself, my Caesar. If you feel the need to avenge your honor, then slay me here as I kneel before you. But you must live for Roma."

Cimbrus blinks, a few times and seems lost in his thoughts. But after a few moments, he nods, and sheathes his sword safely, gesturing with his other hand for Metellus to rise.

"Thank you, Tribune, for reminding me that my duty to Roma outweighs my own sense of shame. I believe it is time for us to leave this nightmare, and return to our responsibilities." Cimbrus stands, and the world fades around the three of them, as Cornelia and Metellus, panicked, quickly grab hands with Caesar.

***
Back in the cavern, a deadly battle rages, and only I, Shast the monkey, notice when the three Romans' eyes weakly blink open and the hole of light begins to contract. Lucretius has thrown one of Cornelia's baubles, a deadly ball of ice shards. Although, moments later, Llyr sank to his knees gasping from the new wounds, mirrors of Scaevola's own, which had erupted all over his body, we can see blood dripping from the shadowy air. Marcus swings a mighty blow, and two screams of pain, coming from the shadows and Lucretius, ring out through the air. And finally, Llyr pulls out a last, special iron and silver ballista bolt, and Heilyn chants some last-minute spells over it. 

"In the name of Lugh, let this bolt strike you down, Quintus Mucius Scaevola Calgacus Phelan, son of Maura of the Brigantes, traitor to your God and to all that is holy!" Heilyn and Llyr shout together, and release the trigger on the ballista.

It flies true, and embeds itself in...something, and a crash is heard as an invisible body tumbles finally to the ground. Heilyn is first to reach the area, and yanks the Cap of Twilight off the head of what is revealed to be a very, very dead philosopher. The walls of the dark tunnel begin to tremble and constrict around us. Gathering the bodies of our friends and Scaevola's victims, we stumble out of the dark cavern just as it collapses and fades into a tiny point of light. We find that the Black Chain Philosopher is no more than a distant memory.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> My dissertation is turned in, which means you can expect a lot of updates in quick succession over the next month.




Twice-welcome news! Good luck with the dissertation, and thanks for the update! And Iwas just about to bump, too...


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 18: Not with a bang*

As we gasp for breath outside the collapsed cavern, Heilyn and Wena administer the minimum of healing needed to get nearly everyone back to consciousness. Upon examination, the other half-flayed captive turns out to be Rufus, Cimbrus' cousin and Scaevola's pupil, who is gibbering fairly insanely. Under the circumstances, it seems easier to knock him unconscious and leave the manacles on while Heilyn carries him. 

Cimbrus Caesar, looking tired but resolute, lifts his weary head and speaks commandingly. "We must pass out of the Place of False Visions quickly, and return to the Place of Forms. This threat to Roma must be ended, and I think now I may know how to do so. In any case, we will rest better and more safely there."

Much as we long to return to the normal world of the city (and Meloch, in my case, who must be deeply panicked by all the hints of terror and pain coming over our link), it does not seem like the right moment to disobey Caesar. And now that we have faced the Black Chain Philosopher and our own worst fears, the journey back through the Place of False Visions holds little terror for us. Indeed, we reach the great shadowy plaza quite quickly, and while Wena glances with curiosity at the two other doors, we all proceed with relief out the Gate of Ivory and back through the Gate of Horn.

In the Land of Forms, Heilyn and Wena try their last few, paltry curative magics and discover that they work to the greatest possible effect. Marcus is able to concentrate and restore himself to nearly full health within a matter of moments. Our guide the wolf appears, and nods with respect towards Cimbrus. They may have a brief mental conversation, but if so, none of us hears it. 

At this point, Cimbrus falters briefly, clearly wanting to speak but reluctant to. Cornelia, realizing the problem, fishes out the tattered, smoky remains of her wax slate and stylus and hands it to the Caesar.

"First Orichalcum Sphere - remove taint." Cimbrus writes in elegant capitals.

While none of us are sure what he's talking about, we nod, and Metellus writes, "We follow, Caesar."

The wolf leads us back up the Palatine in the glorious, perfect city of Roma. In a small grove of trees stands a white marble pillar, similar to the one which bore the Eagle of the Ninth, and indeed, Marcus, looking up, sees the Eagle swooping and diving in the sky above him. This pillar bears a translucent golden sphere, about the size of a large man's head, with shifting metallic patterns and colors curving around it. Wena, Heilyn, and Llyr can see dim shapes moving and shifting on the surface of the sphere, but they are mostly hidden by the numerous thin black chains which envelop the ball. While the chains seem to be fading and growing thinner, they are nevertheless still present. 

Cimbrus looks around, and hesitantly writes on the slate, "Any suggestions? Waiting risky - time different here."

Marcus borrows a slate and writes, "For the Eagle, it needed my hands and pain. They are at your service..."

Cimbrus shakes his head, clearly considering this his duty. He moves to the sphere, and begins unraveling the chains, which fall off the ball much more easily than the other ones did the Eagle. After some time, with Cimbrus' hands bleeding freely until Wena bandages them, the sphere is again free of Scaevola's malign influence, and various figures can be seen on its surface. Cimbrus grasps it again in both hands and looks deeply for some time, and the images swirl rapidly around. Heilyn and Wena both take careful notice, anxious to figure out if they can someday duplicate this Orichalcum Sphere.

Finally, Caesar looks up, and writes quickly on his slate, smiling with relief, "My father is safe. The Magi are strong, but the Legions stronger."

He stands up, and leads us down the hill again, following the thin remnants of the black chain. As we might expect, we come finally to the small black hole marking Scaevola's attempt to break the barrier between the Places. It is tiny now, but still present.

Cimbrus looks at Metellus' face for a second, and seems to gain strength. He goes to stand directly in front of the hole, and draws a deep breath, before proclaiming out loud, with all of his might, a name: "Lucius Mamercus Aemilianus Gallus!"

The hole shrinks and vanishes into nothingness, and we all remember now, Romans and Britons alike, the stories in our youth of the great general, the Emperor's younger brother, who routed the Gallic revolts and the barbarian invasions, and gave many freedoms to the people of Britannia before tragically committing suicide when he learned the fate of his Ninth Legion.

Clearly suddenly exhausted, Cimbrus takes the slate again, and writes, "Let us rest here for now," before collapsing in a near-faint.

As the Romans gather around him, ensuring the welfare of the great Caesar, the three Britannians, Heilyn, Llyr, and Wena, glance at each other, and slip off into the distant meadows of the Place of Forms.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 20: Between the conception and the creation*

While the Romans have gathered together, the three Celts have wandered off, and Wena quietly establishes a mindlink between herself, Heilyn, and Llyr.


        "I think I might be able to get us to the True Britannia," Heilyn thinks through
Wena's mindlink, "if we can concentrate hard enough."

        "What can we do there?" Llyr asks.

        "Well, I might be able to say a word," he suggests.

        "Do we have a Word?"

        "Well, I've been doing a bit of thinking about one, aye."

        "Then let's go," Wena thinks back. "We've helped saved Roma, now it's time for
Britannia. And this is our only chance."

        The three of them set off across the perfect landscape of the Ideal City,
concentrating on their own homeland. There is only  a small stream, one easily crossable on foot, separating their vision of the mainland continent from Britannia, and they step across it easily, uncertain whether this is through the power of your own will or a more physical task.

The Celts find themselves in a Britannia without people or visible animals,  where the
rolling green hills, covered with thick forests at their tops, stretch on for endless
miles, and they can hear the constant roaring of the sea, the only sound in this place. Roads and field markers cover the land, and the crops grow tall and strong. There is no sign of the bloodshed that has marked Britannia's land over the past few generations.

    A wolf, akin but different to the wolf of Roma, her fur shining silver in the light of the setting sun, pads up to them. Her glowing amber eyes regard each of the Celtic men intently.
        "You are the Three, as required by tradition and contract," she states calmly into your minds.
        "The Seer and Lorekeeper, Preserver of the Traditions of the People," she inclines her snout to Wena.
        "The Spirit-Speaker and Craftsman, Preserver of the Bonds Between Nature and the People," she inclines her snout to Heilyn.
        "The Protector and Warrior, who Rules the People and Keeps Them Safe," and she inclines her snout finally towards Llyr.

        "If you Three are agreed on the Good of the People, he who has the Blood may speak a Word of Binding and of Change here. But be aware, that there is a sacrifice to be asked for any Word, and no Change is without a Price."

        "What is the price we must pay?" Heilyn asks. "You can see we have all already
given some of the sight of one eye that we might serve Lugh better."

        "The price never changes, descendant of Lugh. It is always what you most value.
For you...you must sacrifice for yourself that which you most long to protect. If you wish
to speak a word of change for this island, you must give up your own hope of ever
returning here to your home. The Protector and the Lorekeeper may return to guide their
homeland, but you will remain in exile as long as the gods see fit, perhaps even beyond
the death of your body, barred from the forest of Annuin itself."

        "You know now the Price. Will you speak a Word? And what do you advise him,
Protector and Lorekeeper?"


----------



## Shieldhaven

So... awesome...


Duuuuude.

Haven
Normally more loquacious than this


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 21: But a Whimper*

Thanks, Shieldhaven! You clearly appreciate this much more than Heilyn did.... 

***
There is a long moment of awed silence from all three Celts, before Heilyn bursts out mentally with his anguished, infuriated retort:

"Ohhhh - Eez that all?  Whut Ie valew moest?  Ie tell yew whut - Ie'm sterting to valew thiez ackursed adventurs with thayer ackursed deels ind ackursed deevine beeings priety highlee.  Perhaps yew mieght wunt to taek them insted?                                                                    

Auchk!  $$@# this!  @$@# thiez spearits! Ind @$$% Rome!  If thay gut thayer @$@*ing shiening citi on a $*&%ing shiening heel, than wee gut ouer chince at impyre too!  Weell seee hooz pisses the tist of tyme!  Iee'lll sae ta ^*#ing wurd!  Eef it ##$*s me tan &^*# tat!  Wee seee hooz a shiening liet to &*#$ing hoo!"

[GM Note: This is a literal transcription, edited for the likes of Eric's grandma. If you wish to fill in the blanks, please mentally remember to use an "oo" sound rather than an "uh" sound to preserve the sense of the accent.]

A stunned, if slightly impressed silence falls again. Wena says, finally, "Well, it's your choice, Heilyn. But we have seen that Britannia needs protection."

Llyr adds, "Make sure when you're thinking about the protection to protect us from those Druids and spirits up north, though. We're just worried about Britannia - not Caledonia."

Heilyn simply glares at them and the wolf, and takes a deep breath, drawing in all of his innate power and his connections to the spirit and natural world. He lifts his enormous hammer high above his head with both hands and swings it up and down a few times. Finally, at the arc of the swing, he shouts "WAVES" out loud and brings the hammer pummeling down into the surface of the land beneath him, which trembles beneath his blow. The Celts can hear the noise of rushing water all around them, echoing in the distance, but see no visible effect initially.

Heilyn looks as if he has run many miles, and his face has gone bright red from exertion. The wolf speaks gently into their minds. "It is done. You should return to your companions."

When the trio walks back to the small stream which had formerly divided Britannia from the mainland, they discover that it has transformed into a deep, gaping chasm, with roiling waves and jagged rocks far below. The stark white cliffs on each side add a note of forbidding beauty to the scene, and Wena thinks that perhaps she saw, for a moment, their acquaintance the sea serpent gliding northwards through the chasm. 

There is also no obvious way to cross. Llyr proposes an elaborate thrown rope bridge involving a complicated pulley-and-weight system. Heilyn, however, looking weary and frustrated, simply transforms himself into a giant hippogriff, and Wena and Llyr climb on his back and fly over. As they land, Heilyn the hippogriff takes one long look back at the idyllic rolling green meadows of his homeland, before resolutely turning his gaze back towards Roma.

_ Here ends "Shast the Monkey and the Black Chain Philosopher," the first scroll of the Adventures of Shast (and his intrepid companions). Look out soon for the forthcoming scroll, "A Civil Campaign: Shast the Monkey's Inside Report on the Seamy World of Roman Politics." _


----------



## Fimmtiu

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Auchk!  $$@# this!




Somehow, your players' problem-solving strategies seem very familiar...   

Congratulations on completing the first part of your tale! Here's to many more good sessions to come.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta X: A Civil Campaign Chp. 1: Irregulares*

The Celts return to find that their absence has gone relatively unnoticed, although Cornelia and Lucretius appear to have had somewhat of an argument in their absence. Cornelia is upset that Lucretius won't explain why "he" appears to be a woman in the Place of Forms. On the other hand, she is similarly unwilling to explain her scales and vestigial wings, so really, they're at somewhat of an impasse.

Rested and mostly healed in bodies if not minds, we depart the Place of Forms finally, and reunite with families and friends in Roma. Meloch is overjoyed to see me, naturally, and quietly informs me that he stopped two separate suspicious assassination attempts upon Hadriana. Somewhat to our startlement, although this had been partially expected, over six weeks have passed during our journey into the other realms, and it is now early August. While rumors and uneasy murmurs had begun to sweep the city about Cimbrus' mysterious "illness," his public appearance in good health and spirits to confidently announce Hadriana's pregnancy reassures most of the doubtful. Neither Metellus' parents nor Cornelia's mother have returned from their summer homes, although Cornelia hears from her mother's factor that she has made a great deal of money speculating in military equipment purchases in the last  month.

After a day or two of quiet recovery at home, filled in my case with many long baths and nightmare-free naps, we are summoned by Cimbrus and Hadriana to their private receiving room. It is made clear that this is not an official audience, although we all still put on our best clothes.

Cimbrus, who continues to look more serious and resolute, stands as we all file into the room. "Greetings, worthy citizens. There are several matters which my wife and I wish to discuss with you. First of all,you have of course our thanks and gratitude for directly saving both of our lives, and indirectly Roma herself. If we can be of assistance to you in your future endeavors, know that you have the imperial favor.

However, we cannot reward or honor you directly. I have spoken with my father, and we have agreed that it is far too dangerous to let the ordinary citizens, or even the Senate, know how great a danger Roma faced, or how high such an evil traitor was able to infiltrate into the Imperial family. Therefore, you will receive no official recognition, and I can not directly reward you with offices or monetary rewards, lest suspicion be raised.

As a part of this, we shall require you all to swear, by gods you hold dear, to keep your recent deeds absolutely secret and between yourselves. We are not asking you to erase your memory of them - we have learned our lesson there. Indeed, the Imperial Archivist will at some point wish to speak with you and chronicle your recollections, that future Emperors may learn from your experiences. But you must not speak of this matter in general.

My cousin, Rufus, has been declared hopelessly insane, which is perhaps all for the best. We are exiling him to a remote island off the coast of Corsica. His mother, Mamerca, awoke in shock after we returned and came to Hadriana in tears, claiming to have been under the mental control of Scaevola for some time, but now to have been freed from his influence."

Hadriana interrupts here, "At least, that's what she says. I don't trust her at all though - she's always wanted the throne for her branch of the family."

Cimbrus remonstrates, "Hadriana, she's my aunt. We have no evidence against her, and we certainly know that Scaevola was capable of mentally influencing people to do things against their wishes - like me, for instance."

Cimbus turns back to us. "In any case, Mamerca remains part of the Imperial household. Scaevola's library has been searched and its contents turned over for further investigation to the Library of Trajan.

As to the last reason for which I called you here - it is not a reward, I am afraid, but rather offer of more work. The recent events, as well as others, have suggested to my father and I that perhaps the normal talents of the Praetorian Guard and the Imperial Secretaries, wide-ranging though they are, are not well-equipped to deal with more...unusual threats to the safety of Roma and the imperial family.

As a group, many of you have unorthodox talents which have been of demonstrable service to the Empire in the last year. Meanwhile, Tribune Metellus and Decurion Lucretius have official roles which make them useful liasions and leaders."

Hadriana takes over seamlessly from Cimbrus; clearly, she has had significant input into this plan. "We would like you to continue to serve the Empire as a group, in an unofficial but nevertheless distinct fashion, as Irregulares, a special team who will report directly to Cimbrus and me. From time to time, we may have specific projects we wish you to investigate. For instance, I would like you to keep an eye on Mamerca, although Cimbrus thinks this is less necessary. In general, though, you will be free to go about your own lives and careers, and we will help you where we can without being too obvious. If in the course of your days you find something which may be a threat to the Empire, we naturally expect you to report it as well as investigate it. However, this is not an Imperial edict - we cannot force any of you to join, although the rewards may be high if you do. For instance, Metellus, I believe you're planning on running for electoral office this year. While we can't guarantee a victory, we can certainly help your chances through a quiet word here and there. So, what do you each think of our little proposal?"

Metellus, Lucretius, Cornelia, and Marcus enthusiastically agree to be a part of this team. Meloch explains loquaciously that as Cornelia's slave, he of course will assist her when asked, failing to mention what he would do if ever freed. "Fast talking, my friend - you think like a monkey!" I praise over our mental link. 

Wena, however, offers her regrets, "Thank you for the honor, noble Caesar and nobilissima Hadriana. However, I am needed by my people, the Iceni. It is time for me to take up my role as their vates and bring the knowledge and wisdom I have learned here in Roma back to Britannia. I will of course be happy to continue to protect people and stop more foul magics from Britannia, but I must soon journey home."

"Indeed," Cimbrus responds, "It is good for all of us to fulfill our duties and responsibilities. Go safely, good Vates, and please use my name to travel with the  Imperial posting houses, that you may reach the Iceni all the sooner."

Llyr speaks up, "Begging your pardon, great Caesar, nobilissima, I am very much at your service, of course. But I also think I should go home to my people, the Brigantes, for a bit. Matters are a bit unsettled there, with my cousin the heir dying and all, and I also need to fulfill my duties there. But I'll be back in a few months, I hope." He glances briefly at Cornelia.

"And you, mighty smith?" Hadriana asks Heilyn.

Heilyn looks extremely sulky and irritated as he gives his answer, although he does so politely. "Mistress Hadriana, Master Cimbrus, there is still much for me to learn about smithing, and I might as well do it in Roma. I am working with a great master smith here, the Master of Naxos, and I'll be doing that for quite a while, so I'm sure I can help out with anything that needs doing in the meantime, as long as the rewards are more than the wounds."

Both Cimbrus and Hadriana's eyes widen during Heilyn's speech, and they murmur briefly to each other, before Cimbrus says, "Ah...good Heilyn. You said the Master of Naxos?"

"Aye, do ye know him?" Heilyn asks, puzzled.

"Well, ah...you might want to pay him a visit. Apparently, there was a bit of an accident of some sort in his forge recently, Hadriana tells me."

Heilyn looks unnerved, but decides that Caesar is clearly not the right person to ask for more details.

The audience soon ends, and Lucretius and Metellus are given secret passwords to use to ensure immediate audiences with Cimbrus or Hadriana. Wena and Llyr make their preparations to leave, amid tearful farewells from Cornelia and Meloch.

Heilyn, however, heads straight for the Via Ferra, where many of Roma's best smithies are located.

Even from a block away, it is easy for him to identify the forge of the Master of Naxos, in which he had bought a journeyman's share by investing nearly all of his own money and a substantial loan from Metellus.

It's the smithy which doesn't have a roof anymore.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta X: A Civil Campaign Chp. 2: A Mad Smith*

Heilyn hurries into the wrecked, roofless remains of the smithy, which is covered with strange-smelling ash and soot, and finds the grizzled, wide-shouldered Master of Naxos sitting on a stone ebcnh, head buried in his hands, a cheap wine amphora next to him. 

"Master, what happened?"

"Heilyn? Is that you?" the Master slurs, a bit drunken, but mostly just lost in his own woes. "I thought you left with all the other apprentices."

"No, I've just had some business of my own. All the other workers here are gone? Where did they go? What caused this?"

"I was so sure, so sure I had it right this time," the Naxian mumbles.

"An experiment? Were ye trying to make the lightning bolt, like we had talked about before?"

"I was trying for the first step," the Naxian says, and a gleam briefly returns to his eyes. "I thought it was a time to be going back to the beginning, to when I apprenticed to the Cyclopes under Mount Etna. I thought, what is the difference between this smithy - and a volcano?"

Heilyn, a little afraid of this line of reasoning, looks up at the clear blue sky and ventures, "A roof?"

"No no...well, that's true. That's something to consider. Perhaps next time an open chimney...but there will be no next time," the Naxian briefly dissolves into sobs again, before Heilyn surreptitiously uses magic to soothe him.

"But no," the Master finally continues, "the important difference between my smithy and a volcano is the heat. In a volcano, they have liquid metal and rock, which heats up to fabulous temperatures, and I am thinking perhaps that this heat is needed to make a lightning bolt."

"So...you tried to heat up the forge really hot?"

"No no, silly British barbarian, you cannot heat a forge that hot with charcoal, and there are rules about how large a fire you can make within the city. I realized that what I needed was to get some liquid metal, and heat that, and use that to heat the material for the lightning bolt."

"But...you can't keep metal liquid for very long, Master."

"No, and I worried about this. But then I met this friendly merchant in a tavern, and we got to talking about my problem, and he suggested that I use quicksilver, because it is a metal that stays liquid all the time."

"But, where would you get that much quicksilver? Isn't it very rare?" Heilyn asks, even more worried about this answer.

"Oh, that was no problem. The nice merchant said he could find me four grain-sized large amphorae, for 300 sestertii each. That is only about two swords for me, so it was easy. He delivered the barrels the next day, and I arranged them around the forge, and opened their lids, and then carefully lit them. But then...there was a great noise and burst of flame, and then I woke up, here in my forge, without a roof, and with my anvil cracked clean in half," he starts crying again.

"And your apprentices deserted you while you were unconscious and injured? How cruel these Romans are!"

"Oh no," the Master of Naxos reassures Heilyn, "My apprentices had bandaged my wounds and taken good care of me. But the next day, a young advocate came and served me with a summons to court. He said that the blast from the quicksilver had destroyed half of four other smithies, the ones next door and on the next street, and that I had to pay damages. I tried to explain to the court that it had just been an experiment gone wrong, and that the fire should not have spread, but they ruled against me. The other smithies took all my slave apprentices, and the contracts of the journeymen, as collateral, along with all of my ready-made weapons and armor, and my sestertii in the bank. But do not worry - since you were my partner, not under contract, they cannot seize you."

Heilyn is aghast. He needs this smithy - not just because he has invested most of his own and much of Metellus' money in it, but because he promised the god Mercury a lightning bolt as atonement for breaking out of his Temple, and who knows how patient a god is. At the same time, a few things seem odd about this whole story. Heilyn doesn't know much about quicksilver, but he thinks it's fairly expensive, more so than 300 sestertii for a large amphora. And if there was so much damage, how come there were still intact weapons and armor left within the forge itself? And he hadn't noticed all that much damage to surrounding smithies on his walk down the Via Ferra.

For now, though, he comforts the Master of Naxos, and promises to see what he can do about getting new funds, and a new anvil. He finds out the names of the smiths who sued, as well as the name of their advocate, the familiar sounding Gnaeus Tertius Publicola. The "friendly merchant," unfortunately, identified himself only as Lucius from Neapolis, which doesn't narrow it down terribly much. The Master of Naxos, while brilliant, is perhaps a little naive and trusting.

 Yet at least for now, Heilyn has found a more urgent problem to distract him from his despairing homesickness. And he knows just the people to help him discover the truth behind this mysterious explosion.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta X: A Civil Campaign Chp. 3: I like Thrax!*

Just to make things clear, I'm posting rapidly at the moment, because we're about to go on vacation for ten days or so, so there'll be a corresponding drop in storyhour. And then after that I need to plan for the next actual session.

Also, as an advance warning, it's going to be a long long time before you see any significant combat. We're into a much more intriguey and roleplaying-heavy section of the game, so don't expect a lot of power attacks.

In game logistical notes, however, CerebralPaladin suggests I mention that, when Metellus gave "the speech of his life," that was a Diplomacy Check of 37, which was, in fact, as well as he could possibly do.
***

Heilyn hurries back to Metellus' parents' house, and tells him the grim news.

     "You have to understand," Heilyn says, "he isn't dumb or a bad smith. He just wanted a hot, hot, hot forge."
      "What's wrong with a normal, normal, normal forge? Like the one I invested in?" Metellus whimpers.
         "Well, a normal forge can't produce lightning bolts. But in any case, I need your help finding out more about this lawsuit and getting it overturned."
         "I'm sorry, Heilyn. Maybe in a few weeks I can help. But it turns out that, with the time having passed like it did, the official election campaign season starts tomorrow. I've decided to run for Judge, and I need to write a speech. Go talk to Marcus or something..."
Metellus answers unhelpfully, perhaps a little irritated at the loss of what Heilyn promised was a "sure profit."
         Heilyn, unwilling to confide his problems to the gruff Centurion, goes and practices speaking to spirits in his room, trying to think of ways to navigate the complex world of Roman law.
***

The next morning, we all get up early to go to the Forum and hear Marcus' speech, as well as those of the other candidates. It seems to be a popular year - four other candidates are running for the three annual judge slots. The Roman citizens will vote in their tribes in early December, and in each round of balloting the majority of tribes will elect one judge. While Metellus therefore only needs to be within the top three candidates, he will of course accrue more honor and political clout if he is the first candidates returned by the voters.

The five candidates draw lots randomly from an urn to determine the order of their announcement speeches, and Metellus, looking quite nervous, is fourth.

The first speaker steps up to the rostra, a tall podium formed out of the dozens of ships' beaks captured by the Roman fleets. He is a quite young man, a few years younger even than Metellus, but broad-shouldered and fair of face. He is quite properly wearing a toga, but he also has bronze greaves strapped to his calves, and a thick pair of military boots, despite the hot weather. 

     Marcus represses a gasp as he notices the most unusual aspect of this man's costume - the dried, almost colorless wreath of woven grass blades which adorns his brow. He leans forward and murmurs quietly in Metellus' ear, "He's wearing the Grass Crown, sir. You only receive that honor for being personally responsible for saving a Legion from destruction on the battlefield."

"I know what the Grass Crown is, Centurion!" Metellus hisses back, even more nervous than he was before.

     Meanwhile, the specially talented members of our group have quietly activated a barrage of detection spells, determined to gain as much information early on as possible about the opposition. Cornelia and Meloch confirm that he has no magic on him apart from the Grass Crown itself, which seems to radiate some sort of transmutation effect, much like Marcus' golden phalerae for heroism. Heilyn sees no particular spirits around him. And Lucretius uses his paladin abilities to Detect Pantheon, and finds that the man, whoever he is, has a perfectly orthodox devotion to the Olympian pantheon, especially Mars, and the divine Emperors, particularly the great general Trajan and Mamercus Aemilianus, the previous Emperor. Marcus, meanwhile, also notes that there are a fair number of people standing near the man who bear obvious signs of military training, especially one older man decked out in the full armor and honors of a primuspilus centurion, who is missing an arm.

      The young man clears his throat and begins to speak in a light, resonant tenor, "My name is Aulus Gellius Thrax, and I come before you today to ask for your support in my campaign for the honorable position of judge of Roma. Some of you may have heard my name before, but for those of you more focused on the internal affairs of our great city, let me tell you my story.

      Four months ago, I served Roma as a military tribune of the 17th Legion. Our great Emperor had commanded us to join him in the war against the foul, fire-throwing Parthian Magi, and we were marching across the Thracian steppes towards Parthia. My legate, Quintus Vitellius, had commanded the cohorts to separate into three groups in order to make better use of the scant resources of food and water available.

 Out of nowhere, as we were beginning to make camp one evening, hordes of Thracian barbarians attacked our army. In the first volley, Vitellius was killed by an arrow through his throat. The men began to panic and flee, but I took up our Eagle, and rallied them into tortoise position. Shield to shield, arm to arm, we stood by each other and fought until the last light of sun began to fall below the horizon. In desperation, I threw my last javelins at their bloody, bearded chieftain and lured him into single combat. I managed to kill him, but not before his axe sliced open my leg, the reason for the clumsy boot I now must wear. With the loss of their leader, the Thracians fled into the shadows. 

My men cheered me on the field and bestowed this Grass Crown upon me, led by their brave and loyal primuspilus centurion, Regulus, who had lost his own arm defending me. We rejoined the other cohorts and protected them from the Thracians, and together we brought the 17th safely to the Parthian front. With my wounded leg, however, I could no longer remain on the battle lines, and thus I have come home, to serve Roma in a different way, as best as I can."

Wild cheering breaks out throughout the crowd, carefully led by the various soldiers that Marcus noted earlier.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta X: A Civil Campaign Chp. 4: The Lawyer*

As Thrax leaves the rostra, the second candidate steps up. Metellus and Marcus recognize him, to their startlement, as Gnaeus Tertius Publicola, the young prosecutor in the soothsaying case. He is a handsome if slight young man, wearing an immaculate, blindingly white toga. The other members of our group, scattered throughout the crowd, focus on their barrage of detection spells. Lucretius can tell that Publicola is not particularly devout, but is a follower of the Olympians, especially Jupiter, the imperial cult, especially Augustus, and his own household gods. Cornelia and Meloch, meanwhile, are immediately struck by the high level of enchantment magic on Publicola's toga.

Publicola strikes a dramatic pose and begins a gripping, eloquent oration, causing even casual passersby to stop in their stroll and turn to focus all their attention on him. 

"Citizens of Roma, the most important qualification to be a good and wise judge is not military glory, but knowledge of the law. As an advocate for the past two years, I have defended your interests at every turn, seeking to uphold the rights of every Roman citizen, not just those with a lofty name or large amounts of wealth. Let me tell you about my hard work on your behalf in just the last few months.

  Some brave Roman soldiers of the Third Legion came to me a little while ago, having just returned from Caesar's glorious campaign in Britannia, and told me a shameful story. Though they had fought bravely, many of their companions had died due to the poor quality and sometimes complete lack of their armor and weapons. Tears in their eyes, these noble veterans spoke of leather straps breaking in the midst of battle, of being forced to fight with only one greave, even of decurions giving up their sandals so that the front line would not go barefoot into the swamps of Britannia. As one voice, they begged me to seek justice for them and their lost comrades, against Quartermaster Lucius Praecus, the foul embezzler who in his own selfish greed had doomed so many of the Third Legion. Seeking only the best for Roma, I took up this case and brought the evil quartermaster to court and won. I could not bring back those lost lives and limbs to our soldiers, but at least their wives and children may have some recompense, and I have made an example to warn other Quartermasters against valuing the weight of their own moneybags above the safety of the Legions."

Much cheering breaks out at this point, even among Thrax's soldier crowd.
 Marcus mutters to Llyr, "Well, it can't have been that difficult. I mean, all Quartermasters are corrupt." Cornelia, meanwhile, resolves to ask her Uncle Drusus, the head Quartermaster of all of Britannia, about this Praecus.

Once the applause has died down, Publicola begins his oration again. "More recently, I dealt with a danger to us all right here in the center of our glorious city of Roma. A madman, a crazed, heretical Sicilian man, probably a foul sorcerer, set off a catastrophic explosion on the Via Ferra. Many of you may remember the enormous ring of thunder and the sudden flash of fire there a few days ago. Not content with destroying the contents of his own putrid lair, this madman in his explosion badly damaged several other neighboring smithies, owned by respectable, upright Roman citizens. On behalf of these good craftsmen, I took the insane experimenter to trial and forced him to recompense them for their damages and suffering. Perhaps in the future we can enforce a more orderly, lawful society, where such ruffians cannot wantonly destroy the property of honest working craftsmen like many of you."

There is less applause here, but the working men do seem quite impressed, and Heilyn, of course, begins glaring at the young advocate. Publicola finishes up with a few rhetorical flourishes. "Do not vote for me, good citizens of Roma, out of desire to line your own pockets, or because of a handsome face. A vote for Gnaeus Tertius Publicola is a vote for Justice, for Order, and for all that makes Roma the greatest city in the history of the world!"

Several women swoon as Publicola extends his arms to the crowd, and even our group finds his words eloquent and persuasive. "This is clearly not going to be an easy field to win," Metellus thinks glumly.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta X: A Civil Campaign Chp. 5: The Noble*

A handsome but pale young man, not particularly well-muscled, dressed in an old-fashioned white toga, next takes the rostra. Cornelia and Meloch determine that he has no magic on him, while Heilyn senses something a little odd, but can't figure out what. Lucretius, meanwhile, is somewhat confused. This speaker is extremely devout, particularly with regard to the household gods and the traditional three greatest gods of Roma - Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva. However, he bears absolutely no trace of devotion to the Imperial cult - not even the traces present on Heilyn from his attendance at the household rites of Metellus' family. This is a bit unorthodox, to say the least, for an elite Roman man.

    "My name," the young man begins, "is Lucius Fabius Maximus. My ancestors helped found Roma - they sat in the first Senate. My ancestor Fabius Maximus the Delayer held off Hannibal's Carthaginian hordes for more than a decade. The Fabii Maximii have always served Roma, and today I come before you to ask for the chance to serve her again."

"Is that true?" Llyr whispers to Metellus.

"Yes," Metellus murmurs back. "He comes from one of the only families more distinguished than mine."

      "Some of you may think that my heretofore undistinguished career hurts my ability to serve as a judge. And I admit, good people of Roma, that in the past I have not devoted as much time as I ought to public affairs."

     "Just private ones!" a heckler shouts. Cornelia resolves to find out all she can about Maximus' apparently sordid past.

      Maximus resolutely ignores him. "But the time has come for me to acknowledge my responsibilities and duties, according to my family tradition, and to give this great city all that I can. I shall continue in the great line of the Fabii Maximii, protecting, upholding, and strengthening the greatest city of the world! Thank you, good citizens, for your vote."

The applause is much less enthusiastic, but Metellus and Cornelia note some of the older Senators in the crowd nodding thoughtfully and clapping politely. One of them says to another, "Well, he is a Fabius Maximus, after all."

Metellus takes a deep breath, and crosses to the rostra for his first public speech.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Ahh, politics. How did you adjudicate Metellus' speech, as a DM? Any skills or checks involved, or did you just make the player orate and grade how he did?


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## GreenArmadillo

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> Ahh, politics. How did you adjudicate Metellus' speech, as a DM? Any skills or checks involved, or did you just make the player orate and grade how he did?




I couldn't find the post in question on a quick skim this thread but I seem to recall that Orichalcum, unbeknownst to Metellus' player, actually had the other players take on roles of lawyers, witnesses, etc and act out the trial sequence that he judged a few pages back.  The fact that one of the characters from that incident has reappeared makes me wonder if the players didn't have an outright speaking competition....


----------



## gerg_861

*Great story hour*

I have just finished reading through this story hour and I really enjoyed it!  I've always been a Roman history buff and it has been a delight not to run up against any jarring inaccuracies.  Now what I'm really curious about is:  Why does Lucretius seem to actually be a Lucretia?


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

*So?  Metellus' speech?*

Fine, Chalky, I know you've got a new house, new job, new dog.  Doubtless taking up much of your time.  But I want to hear the Tale of Toga-gate!

A petulant and demanding pygmy


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## Fimmtiu

Meloch the Pygmy said:
			
		

> Fine, Chalky, I know you've got a new house, new job, new dog.  Doubtless taking up much of your time.  But I want to hear the Tale of Toga-gate!




Hear, hear! (Please?)


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta X: A Civil Campaign Chp. 6: Metellus and the Rich Man*

Sorry for the long hiatus - as Meloch mentioned, I've been moving to Chicago, starting work as an Asst. Professor, and getting an adorable golden retriever puppy named Eowyn. Also, I  successfully defended my dissertation on Roman prostitutes. 

For Metellus's speech, I carried out my general practice of having Metellus make an appropriate skill check, in this case Perform: Oratory, and then modifying it based on the player's actual speech. I had a detailed chart measuring the number of votes and popularity of each candidate, modified by events, as you'll begin to see. I played the other candidates, though, not the PCs, due to firewalling issues.
***

Metellus takes a deep breath and looks out at the vaguely curious faces of the crowd, as well as the supportive glances of his friends and clients.

    "My name is Quintus Caecilius Metellus, son of Quintus Caecilius Metellus the Senator and commander. My family has also served Roma for many generations. But I stand here before you as a man who has served Roma in my own right. Two years ago, I went to Britannia to serve in the 6th Legion as a Tribune. While there, I led a mission into deepest barbarian Caledonia to rescue the lost Eagle of the Ninth Legion and return her to Roma's hands. When war broke out with Caledonia, my companions and I  negotiated a truce with the tribe of the Iceni and defeated the Chief Druid of all Britannia in single combat. Since returning to Roma, I have organized Cimbrus Caesar's triumph, risking my life in the process to directly defend him from attack by foul witches, as many of you may remember. I have also averted numerous other dire threats to the imperial family."

Meloch hears a whisper in the crowd at this point, "Is that what they call it these days? Isn't he the fellow who was screwing Caesar's wife back in Britannia?"

Metellus continues, "My entire life has been dedicated to the service of Roma. I ask now for the chance to aid her not only in war but in justice, to bring order and law to the chaotic streets of Roma and protect all of you from criminals who would threaten the welfare of our city. Please choose me as a Judge of the City for the next year, and I swear that I will uphold the rights of Roman citizens and keep you all safe in times to come."

Metellus is met with mixed but relatively enthusiastic applause - more than Fabius Maximus, less than the stunningly eloquent Publicola or the military hero Thrax. Marcus and Heilyn notice a few of the older Senators and knights commenting quietly to each other, "Well, his father's a good man, and he's from good stock. Young, but definitely promising."

The last candidate, a quite plump, richly dressed man in a gleaming white toga ornamented by a golden necklace and bright red leather boots, climbs up to the rostra. The last round of detection spells go off, revealing a man without any magic on him, particularly devoted to Mercury, Venus, and Hercules, as well as the usual signs of worship for the Imperial family, the other Olympians, and his household gods.

    "My fellow Roman countrymen," he booms, "You've all heard enough long winding speeches by now about past deeds. You all know me - I'm Gaius Livurnius Otho. I've been a commissioner of the mint and a commissioner of buildings for you; I've helped organize the festivals - I have years of experience helping to govern this great city of ours, and now I want to be your judge. But let's not talk about the past anymore; let's focus on the present. And in the present is an enormous feast at my house, awaiting all of you good citizens. Mussels, oysters, fresh suckling pig, even stuffed peacock, and good Chian wine. So why waste time with words when we can all more profitably be enjoying ourselves? Follow me, my good fellows!"

Otho leaps off the rostra, scattering a few small coins with his hand as he does so, and strides off towards the Esquiline hill, tossing coins behind him as he does so. Almost the entire crowd, except for a few of the older, wealthier men, streams behind him gleefully. "Free food!" one man shouts. "Now that's the sort of talk I like to hear!" I briefly consider chasing after him as well, but Meloch grabs my tail and instructs me to stay put.

Metellus and his companions are left with the other three candidates, in a suddenly empty and silent Forum, looking sheepishly at each other.


----------



## Orichalcum

gerg_861 said:
			
		

> I have just finished reading through this story hour and I really enjoyed it!  I've always been a Roman history buff and it has been a delight not to run up against any jarring inaccuracies.  Now what I'm really curious about is:  Why does Lucretius seem to actually be a Lucretia?




Yes, well, the PCs are still rather wondering about that question themselves... As a professional Roman historian, it's a great deal of fun to play with an alternate version of history - true in the general lifestyle details, although taking a sharp turn from actual historical events around 60 CE or so. 

I'm hoping to start up a spinoff campaign soon in the Chicago area based in the Eastern Mediterranean - Alea Parthia, where the timeline changes will have somewhat more dramatic effect. For instance, the Second Temple in Jerusalem was never destroyed in Alea's timeline, which had a variety of interesting ramifications.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Sorry for the long hiatus - as Meloch mentioned, I've been moving to Chicago, starting work as an Asst. Professor, and getting an adorable golden retriever puppy named Eowyn. Also, I  successfully defended my dissertation on Roman prostitutes.




Thanks for the update! It'll be fun to see where they go from here -- I'm guessing it's not to Otho's feast. And... congratulations, Doctor.


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

Nice writing, Shast.   You made Metellus sound quite creditable.

You know, we really should have one-upped Otho.  "Orgy at Metellus' place!  Pygmies and centaurs and Emperors' wives!  Come one, come all!"  Now that would have been a vote-winner.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta X: A Civil Campaign Chp. 7: Busts, only one sestertius!*

With the crowd dispersed, we convene briefly back at Metellus' house to divide up responsibilities. It's decided that our primary targets are Publicola, particularly since Heilyn thinks that he's somehow involved in the whole smithy-explosion business, and Otho, the wealthy fat man, since both Thrax and Fabius Maximus seem on first impression to be good types. Still, it clearly makes sense to investigate all of their backgrounds.

Metellus and Cornelia decide to go to some aristocratic dinner parties and get a sense of who the Senators are leaning towards. Lucretius plans to look into the official records, although the Praetorian also been asked to spend some time beefing up security around baby Cimbra's nursery, and to bring Meloch along to play. Lucretius is still avoiding any private time with Cornelia, determined to evade her interrogation about minor issues of gender.

Meanwhile,  Marcus and Meloch when available plan to deal with the seamier side of the Roman public. Marcus plan to hit the taverns where other soldiers hang out, while Meloch will talk to the slaves. Llyr's investigative skills and ability to create fun fur-grooming tools are sorely missed, but he's still back in Britannia, dealing with family business.

Heilyn, whose skills are less in communication, offers to assist by making some molds for crude plaster busts of each of the candidates to generate publicity and propaganda. Everyone thinks this is a wonderful idea, and much time is spent trying to think of appropriate themes. Eventually, it's decided to make a fairly straightforward but noble looking bust of Metellus, with his few asymmetrical features smoothed out; sadly, this is not one of Heilyn's more successful artistic efforts. However, Heilyn succeeds massively in creating a small statue of Fabius Maximus leaning on a column, managing to make him look somewhat debauched and with more than a suggestion of drooping, flaccid genitals. Publicola is depicted as a fop in his overly elegant toga, up to his neck in scrolls; Thrax as a good Roman legionary, but less attractive than Metellus, and Otho as a Silenus-type - decked out in grapes and carrying wine flagons in either hand. The molds quickly start producing cheap plaster busts in Metellus' stables, and they sell quite well, given the relative novelty.

Marcus goes to the tavern near Thrax's apartment and, after waiting a while, finally spots the grizzled primuspilus centurion who had been applauding firmly at the declaration of candidacy that morning. He adjusts his own primuspilus pin (of the Ninth) to be prominently visible and  brings over a large amphora of decent but not too expensive wine.

"To the Eagles! Fellow Centurion!"

"To the Eagles!" the man responds. "The Ninth? I hadn't realized she'd been resurrected."

"She lives again," Marcus answers, "but the Emperor does not wish to expand beyond twenty-four legions at this time. I'm Marcus Alexandros, by the way."

"Ah, makes sense. Gaius Regulus, at your service. Well, matters are hot enough in Parthia we may need her sooner or later."

"Indeed. The Seventeenth was on the way to Parthia, wasn't it?"

"Yes, till the blasted Thracians ambushed us. Now it's only half a legion and needs to recruit again. And the arrow wound in my leg will keep me out of fighting for at least a season; the doctor says maybe forever."

"That's a shame. So how'd the Seventeenth get trapped into an ambush? Didn't you have scouts?"

"The Legate," Regulus almost spits the title, "said we didn't need any. Said this was a peaceful march through Roman territory and it would only tire out the horses and men."

"Officers. They think with their feet," Marcus responds wryly.

"Not all of them, mind you. I work now for a Tribune, Aulus Gellius Thrax, now he's a soldier's soldier."

"Oh? What did he do to impress you so much?"

"Well first of all he tried to persuade the Legate to send out scouts or at least build a proper defensive fortification when we camped that night. And when that failed, and then when the Legate went down, and the men started to drop their weapons and run, he rallied them all, got us all into a proper tortoise formation, and then sent the cavalry around the back to pincer the Thracians. We killed maybe 12,000 of them in the end."

"Good for him, and good for the Seventeenth. Sounds like a tough situation. What happened to the Legate?"

"Arrow in the throat. Lucky shot - unlucky, rather - just one of those things that happen." Regulus seems a little uneasy to Marcus' trained eye, and he quickly changes the subject. "What do you think of the Blues' chances this season?"

"Well, I don't follow racing that much, but a friend of mine has a cousin racing for the Whites, who's a very good charioteer, if not the brightest of fellows," Marcus answers.

"Anyway, I should be heading back to see how Thrax is. Good day to you, Centurion, and my best wishes as well to your master Metellus," Regulus winks, and strides out of the tavern. Marcus looks a little disgruntled, and then thoughtful.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta X: Chp. 10: A Little Investigation...*

Sorry for the long delay in posting, folks, but the combination of a new job and the extra fatigue relating to an expected cohort for Cerebral Paladin and I in August -   - caused a temporary shutdown. Now that it's summer and I have some free time, I hope to catch up the SH to real time, at least for now, as that's only about 2.5 sessions.

***
Just as a summary review:
Metellus is running for election as a judge in Rome, against 4 other candidates. 3 candidates this year will become judge, although you gain the most prestige by coming in first in the number of ballots. All of our group have split up to investigate the other four candidates:

Thrax: The military hero who Marcus suspects might have been involved in the death of an incompetent superior officer;
Publicola: The young lawyer, incredibly eloquent despite having been fairly tongue-tied the last time we encountered him at the soothsayer's trial;
Fabius Maximus: The formerly dissolute extremely elite nobleman.
Otho: The thrice-defeated candidate who is throwing around money, food, and wine to buy voters' support. 

Current PC status:
Cornelia: Young Roman noblewoman sorcerer, dealing with the discovery of her descent from volcanic dragons, her confused romantic feelings towards Metellus and Llyr, her disobedient slave, and her deeply frightening mother.
Heilyn: Brigantian smith-spirittalker, now exiled by geas from Britannia, client of Metellus. His current personal quest is to create a lightning bolt to pay off a debt to the god Mercury.
Llyr: Brigantian prince/Roman auxiliary engineer (ranger/rogue), currently back in Britannia sorting out family matters. Also, in love with Cornelia.
Lucretius: Praetorian guard decurion (paladin), charged with the safety of the royal family - apparently of somewhat confusing gender.
Marcus: Loyal client of Metellus (psionic warrior), primuspilus centurion and only current soldier of the revived 9th Legion.
Meloch: A pygmy slave sorcerer of Cornelia's, as well as a fertility enabler for the Caesars and the companion to our hero and narrator, Shast the Monkey.
Metellus: Young noble tribune running for office as a judge and trying to figure out who to marry.
All PCs are currently 8th level.

***

While Marcus was pursuing fairly orthodox information gathering tactics in the taverns and Cornelia and Metellus were gossiping with Roman nobles, Meloch and Heilyn decided to take a more direct approach. Both were very curious about Publicola's highly magical toga, and, as the acknowledged magic-workers of the group, they decided to investigate more directly. 

Unfortunately, neither was particularly inconspicuous under normal circumstances, nor well-versed in the arts of hiding and sneaking. So they began their evening's reconnoitering by Heilyn turning himself into a monkey. I found this flattering, at first, although, of course, he wasn't nearly as golden-furred or well-groomed as i am. When Meloch suggested i stay behind so that there wouldn't be the confusion of two monkeys, I agreed - after all, it was time for another bath, and this plan sounded foolhardy at best. Still, I kept in touch through our link.

Meloch and Heilyn-the-monkey paid a slave to find the location of Publicola's small apartment in a less-than-fashionable section of Roma. As soon as it was dark, Meloch cast invisibility on himself and climbed up the wall to the small open window, trusting Heilyn to be inconspicuous on the grounds of size alone. They both peered through the tattered oilskin curtain.

On the couch beyond, they could see Publicola, toga somewhat askew, sipping wine with an extremely attractive if scantily dressed young woman. Meloch, well-versed in such matters from his years in a brothel slave, whispered quietly, "Courtesan. Expensive one, by the jewelry and looks." The woman was fawning attention on Publicola, and soon after they began watching, she dashed the cups to the floor and began an enthusiastic seduction of the young advocate. Meloch took advantage of the couple's distraction to renew his Invisibility. 

Heilyn, meanwhile, whispered to Meloch, "I've done some more divination magic. That toga has some very powerful enchantment magic on it. I'm pretty sure it's the cause of his sudden popularity - on all fronts. We can't let him keep it."

"All right, then, " Meloch said, "We'll try and steal it."

Unfortunately, while the toga had been partially removed in the course of dalliance, the watchers saw Publicola carefully hold onto it and then place it beneath his head, as a pillow, before falling asleep with the courtesan on the couch. Still, they seemed to have gone undetected. 

Meloch, very quietly, shot both the girl and Publicola with two of his blowgun sleeping darts, obtained long ago in Britannia. He then cast Invisiblity one last time and crept over the windowsill. There was no stirring in the room.

While Heilyn watched on the sill, ready to cast if necessary, the pygmy crept over to the couch and began trying to ease the toga out from underneath Publicola's head. The courtesan turned and rolled in slumber, startling him, and Meloch pulled a little harder than necessary. And at this moment, Publicola's eyes flew open in confusion and Meloch tried to sleep-dart him again - and missed, at the range of a foot. The young advocate awoke in shock to the sight of a suddenly materializing pygmy, dragging a brilliant white toga over  to the windowsill. 

"Help! Vigiles! Thieves! Pygmy Witch Thieves!" he shouted, and the courtesan woke up and added her screams to the fray. Meloch dashed to the window, grabbing the toga, and jumped from the second floor, using a combination of magic and the buoyant draperies of the toga itself to  lessen his fall. Heilyn, caught by surprise, began climbing down the wall after him, but not before the nude Publicola, carrying an oil lamp, had run to the window and seen him.

"Help! Pygmy and monkey thieves! They've stolen my toga!"

Heilyn jumped onto Meloch's shoulder and they ran for their lives as the tramping of the Vigiles, the City Watchmen, began to enter the street outside the apartment.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta X: Chp. 9: A Little Gossip*

Meanwhile, a conservatively but finely dressed Fabius Maximus had come to call upon Metellus Major, Metellus' father, and not incidentally Metellus himself. Metellus Major invited him in for some late afternoon wine and pastries, thanking the gods that his somewhat flighty Isis-worshiping wife, Valeria Maxima, was away at the temple.


     "Most noble Caecilii Metelli," Fabius Maximus began earnestly. "I asked for this visit because I wanted to assure you that I have no intention of competing directly with you or besmirching your reputation in the forthcoming election. We patricians must join together, after all, to keep out the upstart riff-raff that seem to be joining the Senate these days."

     "Thank you," Metellus [Minor, our boy] responded politely, a bit startled. "Certainly I welcome your offer."

      Metellus' father joined in, a bit more cautiously. "We were very glad to see that you had turned over a new leaf, young Fabius, and began to pursue the career your lineage has prepared you for. I must admit to having heard some distressing rumors about your...lifestyle in the last few years."

       "I must confess," Fabius answered, seeming sorrowfully earnest. "In my callow youth I was indeed a most shameful reprobate."

       "Reprobate?" Metellus thinks. "Where did this man get his vocabulary from? The speeches of Cato the Censor?"

       "But recently," Fabius continues, "I woke up one morning after a dreadful night of indignities and suddenly realized the dangers of my path and the great disgrace I was bringing upon my illustrious family name. I am determined to redeem the honor of the Fabii Maximi, and the best way of accomplishing that is through a distinguished Senatorial and political career serving Roma. I would be honored by a formal political alliance between our noble houses."

        Metellus blinks, and hedges. "Well, the campaign season has only just begun. I fear that I cannot yet commit to any formal alliances until I have had the opportunity to more firmly establish my own reputation in the eyes of the voters. But I thank you for the great honor you offer, and certainly wish you well in the upcoming weeks." He catches a tiny, approving nod from his father, and sighs in relief.

        "Of course, I understand," Fabius says, a little disappointedly. "One other minor matter. As part of my new direction in life, I wish to begin a proper Roman family as soon as possible and perpetuate the lineage of the Fabii Maximi. I believe that you are not blessed with any sisters, Metellus Minor, but I understand that you have taken under your protection a young noblewoman of distinguished military and knightly heritage on her father's side, the Cornelii Crispi, and the ancient line of the Licinii Luculli on her mother's. It was uncertain to me whether you stood more as her patron and foster-brother or as her suitor, and I did not wish, of course, to interfere in matters beyond my concern, but if she is indeed eligible, I would be grateful for your consent in any courtship."

         Metellus blinks, several times, and blushes, and then grows pale, and blushes again. "Um...Cornelia Crispa is indeed a most noble young lady, and I am not courting her at present. Beyond that you should, um, speak to her family and the lady herself?"

         "Of course. Thank you for clarifying the situation." Fabius Maximus stands, bows elegantly to father and son, and departs through the atrium. 

          "Well," Metellus Major says approvingly but a bit skeptically, "That's certainly a nice change from the man rumored to have debauched several goats on the steps of the Imperial palace..."


----------



## Cerebral Paladin

I'm not sure "flighty" is how I would describe Valeria Maxima from her later appearance in-game.    (Valeria Maxima is a PC in a spin-off game that Orichalcum has started running with a different mix of players.  But I'll refrain from mentioning any details about that game for now to avoid spoilers.  )

Yay for the return of the Storyhour, though.  I play in the game, and it's still nice to be able to read the adventures.


----------



## Piratecat

Yay, welcome back!


----------



## Fimmtiu

Woohoo! Cause for much celebration. And congratulations on the new, uh, "cohort"...


----------



## orsal

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> Woohoo! Cause for much celebration. And congratulations on the new, uh, "cohort"...




Seconded. At what age will the newest chalky-paladin roll up his or her first character?


----------



## Orichalcum

orsal said:
			
		

> Seconded. At what age will the newest chalky-paladin roll up his or her first character?




Well, Ladybird already got it this:  http://www.jinx.com/scripts/details.asp?affid=-1&productID=461 - so I'm expecting it will be very precocious in that regard.   And thanks for the good wishes and the welcome back!


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta X: Chp. 11: The Temptations of Flogging*

Meloch and Heilyn-the-monkey , aided by an emergency use of Meloch's next-to-last dose of invisibility dust, finally managed to escape the confused vigiles in the dark alleys of the Roman Subura. After some wandering around, they determined to hide the toga, as it was clearly unsafe to simply give it to Metellus for now. Meloch traced his path back to the small alley, where, a few months ago, he and Llyr had been ambushed and nearly killed - an unremarkable place to the average onlooker. Here Heilyn transformed himself back and then called upon the powerful earth spirit who had aided him before, taking the magical toga and sinking it deep into the ground, below the garbage-covered mud of the alley, below the smooth trodden cobblestones of the road below, deep into the stone of Roma herself.

 It might have been their imagination, but as they crept out  to the larger street, the alley seemed more inviting and agreeable than it had a few minutes before. Still, it would be almost impossible for anyone but Heilyn to retrieve the toga now. The two conspirators, who for the first time in their lives felt almost like friendly comrades, parted ways, Heilyn to return to Metellus Major's house and Meloch to sneak in through the back servants' door at the villa of Licinia Luculla. Unfortunately, Licinia's fat steward Ogulnius was waiting up for him. [This is a paraphrase, but I think very much in the spirit of Meloch - he can disagree.]

      "Do you know that your monkey used up three bales of firewood heating a bath for itself, pygmy?" Ogulnius roared.

      "Don't be silly," Meloch replied cheekily. "Everyone knows monkeys can't run baths. Are you expecting me to believe it understands a hypocaust system and how to build the fire underneath the tub correctly?"

      Ogulnius pauses, defeated by logic momentarily. "Then you must have done it!"

      "I've been gone on errands for my mistress for the past several hours, honorable steward. Do you think I floated the firewood to the bath by magic?" Meloch makes random but ominous hand gestures.

       "You and your monkey..." Ogulnius spluttered. "Get yourself cleaned up. With cold water! And don't disgrace this household by consorting with street scum, as it smells like you've been doing! Or I'll tell Licinia Luculla!"

        "Of course, honorable steward. I'm so sorry my smell offends you. It's just so hard to keep the ladies of the Subura away from me, you know..." Meloch answered leeringly, before scampering through the kitchen door and off to Cornelia's quarters, and a cold bucket or two of water.

       "Shast," he asked me, shivering in the night air of the atrium a little later, "how exactly _did_ you carry three bales of firewood?"

        "Meloch, my friend," I replied sagely, "I don't ask about your business; don't worry about mine..."

           I thought it was probably wise not to mention that I had also raided the cosmetic oils and herb stores of Licinia Luculla in order to have a properly fragrant bath and the new toughness to my fur that seemed to have resulted - after all, it wasn't Meloch's concern. He's a good friend, but not nearly concerned enough about personal comfort.

          Shortly after dawn, Ogulnius came personally to the threshold of Cornelia's suite, kicking Meloch and I awake as we slept across the entrance to her room. "Domina Cornelia, there is an official messenger at the door for you."

         Cornelia, a little bemused, wrapped a heavy mantle around herself and covered her hair before going to the front door, while Meloch and I followed, peeking through the entrance to the servants' quarters.

         An officious slave, wearing insignia indicating that he belonged to the judges of Roma in their official capacity, looked her up and down. "Are you Cornelia Crispa, daughter of Cornelius Crispus the Legate?"

        "He was Acting Prefect, but yes," Cornelia responded coolly.

         "I have the duty to serve you with this announcement of a forthcoming suit against you. You are requested and required to present yourself before the tribunal of the judge G. Rutilius Creticus, on charges of theft, assault, witchcraft, cursing a Roman citizen, and, ah, attempting to influence a political campaign through foul means."

         "What? Who is alleging such things? I have been here in my mother's villa resting quietly for the past few days, except for a few visits to the houses of prominent Roaman nobles!" Cornelia gasped, already inwardly thinking of all the different crimes that the messenger might possibly be referring to.

         "The plaintiff is one Gnaeus Tertius Publicola. He attests...let me see...he claims that you set your pygmy witch slave and your foul demonic spirit monkey to attack him in his home last night and steal a valuable object from him. And of course, domina, you are legally responsible for all the actions of your slaves."

          "Of course," Cornelia repeats, growing pale, and then gradually more angry, before she recovers the dignified demeanor of a Roman lady. "Well, you may tell the judge that I will certainly be there in three days to answer such ridiculous, baseless charges, and thank you for delivering the summons, messenger." She takes the scroll, and closes the door in the messenger's face. Then Cornelia counts to five, in Greek, quietly, before turning around and shouting into the servants' quarters, "Meloch!!!"


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Then Cornelia counts to five, in Greek, quietly, before turning around and shouting into the servants' quarters, "Meloch!!!"




Oh dear.  That whole Togagate business...  *face in hands*  Not my finest hour.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta XI: Romantic Comedy Chp. I: The War Council*

"Meloch," Cornelia sputters, trying hard to keep a note of deadly force in her voice, "did you...actually, wait a second. I am not going to ask you whether or not you attacked Gnaeus Tertius Publicola and stole from him. I am not going to ask you, because I will have to testify, at trial, about this. But rest assured, after we have won this trial, and made Publicola look a fool, you and I are having a very long talk."

"But Domina," Meloch says, adopting an aura of cherubic innocence, "of course I would never assault Publicola."

I scribble on my wax tablet with my stylus and hold up my own defense, "He was crazy to claim that I cast a curse on him. I don't know how. If you want to know what sort of person would cast curses, maybe you should talk to your friend the curse tablet specialist..."

Cornelia seems mildly startled by the wit and wisdom of my argument, but finally blinks, "I just don't want to know. But I do need help. Meloch, go to the Domus Metelli and to the Praetorian Fortress and summon everybody. We need a war council, or, at least, a strategy session."

As Meloch scampers out the front door and Cornelia goes to cry on Nanna Alma's shoulder briefly, neither of them notice Ogulnius the steward, who has been lurking behind the kitchen door, skulking into the quarters of Cornelia's mother, undoubtedly to tell her all.

A few hours later, we are all gathered around the lovely but noisy fountain in Licinia Luculla's courtyard. (I, of course, take the opportunity to frolic in the fountain itself.)
"Why did you summon us, Cornelia?" Metellus asks.

"I'm being sued. By Publicola. On charges of assault, witchcraft, theft, cursing...I think those were the main ones."

"What?" Marcus gasps, a bit surprised at the woman whom he thought had matured into a proper Roman lady. "Why did you assault one of Metellus' fellow candidates?"

"I didn't," Cornelia mutters, teeth clenched. "But he claims to have seen a pygmy and a monkey climbing out of his window, with his toga, and that then, according to the written charge,  the monkey used some sort of magical curse on him. And, well, there aren't many pygmy-and-monkey combos running around Roma, particularly not belonging to someone associated with a rival candidate and..."

"And you're legally responsible for the actions of your slaves and non-citizen clients," Metellus finishes, ruefully. There was a brief pause. 

"I could simply kill the pygmy for you now and solve the problem that way," Marcus offers.

"No," Cornelia says forcefully, glancing at Meloch and I, who are hovering in the background.

"Besides," Metellus points out, "that would be a tacit admission of guilt, which would be horrible for my campaign. In fact...I don't want to know if Meloch did this - if any of you did this [looking at Heilyn meaningfully].  Although if the toga is as magical as we thought, it's probably a good thing for us."

"Presuming we can clear Domina Cornelia's good name, you mean, " Lucretius interrupts.

"Well, yes, of course," Metellus answers.

"That does explain the note I got from my contact in the vigiles," Lucretius muses. "He said he had recently received a torture requisition order...for all the slaves in the house of Licinia Luculla. Since, of course, slaves can't testify under trial unless they've been tortured first. He thought I'd like to know, since he knows of my friendship with your family, Cornelia."

Cornelia shudders. "They can do that? Just take away all our slaves for torture?"

"Well, normally either the opposition would hire professionals to do it, or leave it up to the vigiles. If you want, I can pull rank...and torture the slaves myself. But I'd have to really do it," Lucretius warns.

"Still, it's better than having Publicola's hired thugs torture Meloch," Metellus offers helpfully, feeling a little guilty.

"I think you're all going about this in the wrong way," Heilyn bursts in. "You're thinking about this like Romans, all about the trial and the torture and the watchmen..."

"We are Romans," Metellus responds, a bit icily. "What would you have us do?"

"Well, what we really want is to get Publicola to drop the charges somehow, nae?" Heilyn asks.

"Well, yes, that would be ideal," Cornelia says, "but he seems to have a fair amount of evidence against us."

"So what we have to do is investigate him first, and find out all his guilty secrets, which moost be worse than awrs, and then tell him we'll tell all of Roma if he dinna withdraw his suit," Heilyn proposes.

"Certainly, it's a good start. Any idea of where to begin?" Marcus asks.

"Well, there's the whole matter of his lawsuit about my partner's smithy  - it seemed verra suspicious to me."

"All right, we'll check into that, and his other cases," Metellus declares.

"Also, joost in case it does go to cuirt, ye should know that he won't be quite the bonny speaker he was afore. No toga, and besides, I think he might have a touch of the Evil Eye..." Heilyn offers.

"We don't want to know!" Metellus and Cornelia chorus, in unison for once in their lives.

"And in the meanwhile, we want to keep Meloch out of sight, and out of trouble, " Lucretius comments. "I'll bring him to the palace. Hadriana's been wanting to consult with him about whether her pregnancy's going well, and baby Cimbra always likes seeing her pygmy juggling companion."

"Thank you, Lucretius," Cornelia breathes a sigh of relief.
***

In the doorway of the servants' quarters, where a number of slaves have been listening avidly to as much of the war council as they could overhear over the fountain, an enraged Ogulnius turns to Meloch, his face glowing bright red. "Pygmy! If I get tortured because of you, rest assured that you and your mistress will be publicly flayed alive..."


----------



## Fajitas

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Since, of course, slaves can't testify under trial unless they've been tortured first.




I'm certain, really quite positively certain, that there is a perfectly good reason why the Romans thought mandatory torture prior to testifying was a good idea.  I'm curious if you'd like to share it with the class?


----------



## Orichalcum

Fajitas said:
			
		

> I'm certain, really quite positively certain, that there is a perfectly good reason why the Romans thought mandatory torture prior to testifying was a good idea.  I'm curious if you'd like to share it with the class?




Sure. Basically, the assumption was that slaves would naturally lie to protect their masters (or because they were being threatened by their masters with retaliation). Thus, the only way to ensure that they spoke the truth was to torture it out of them. This presumes, of course, the effectiveness of torture. One of the great legal advantages of being a Roman citizen was total immunity to torture (See Paul in the New Testament of the Christian Bible), it being assumed that the civic respectability denoted by citizenship would also lead to reliable testimony under oath. 

So basically, Meloch has to be tortured on the request of the opposition; Heilyn, otoh, got his citizenship through the Eagle escapade and as the freeborn client of a Roman patrician senatorial family he has a fair amount of protection anyways; Marcus and Cornelia and Metellus can never be tortured. 

It's these fun wacky bits of ancient color that I feel really drive Alea. Meloch, of course, had different opinions, as you'll see.


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## Cerebral Paladin

<hat=lawyer>
Anglo-American legal practice actually followed a similar, although different, principle for many years.  As late as the mid-19th century, atheists and others who did not believe in Hell could not testify in court in many states.  The theory was that the principal truth enforcing effect of oaths was the fear that God would punish those who took His name in vain by breaking their oaths.  The existence of groups such as the Friends/Quakers who believed in God and were major, well-established parts of American society but refused to swear oaths helped to undermine this, leading to the modern practice of testifying under oath or affirmation, with the main threat to compel honesty being the mostly fictitious possibility of perjury charges, as opposed to fears of divine retribution.
</hat>


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta XI: Romantic Comedy Chp. II: At the Palace*

A visit of numerous gaming friends, like Wena's player, delayed this post unavoidably...See many of you this weekend!
    Lucretius approaches Meloch, ignoring the scowling Ogulnius in the background. "Are you free to come to the palace, Meloch? The nobilissima Hadriana has requested your services."
   Meloch and I, knowing an escape route when we see one, eagerly assent, and are escorted off to the east wing of the Imperial palace, home of Cimbrus Caesar and his family. After some hours of patient waiting, we are ushered by snobbish, prim slaves into the private family quarters of Cimbrus and Hadriana, where Hadriana, now visibly pregnant, is lying on a couch.

  "Nobilissima," Meloch bows extravagantly, "how may we serve you?"
  "You were able before to use your pygmy senses to check on the child I'm expecting, and its health. In this summer heat, and with all the political crises during Cimbrus'...illness, I'm a little worried, since it hasn't been kicking much. Could you use your magic again?" Hadriana requests, not really allowing room for a negative answer.
   "Of course," Meloch bows and intones the chant for "Detect Pregnancy," carefully sprinkling Hadriana with some dried sage and raspberry leaves. He concentrates carefully, and looks at her, remembering that the last time, he was unable to conceal the truth from her that the child was quite small and weak.
     "Nobilissima, your son is alive and well. Some babies are quieter than others, but he certainly seems to have all the right numbers of limbs and so forth."
      "Thank you. Lucretius, if you, Cornelia, and Meloch could also look in on Cimbra - she's been a bit sickly of late, and I'm concerned for her health."

Duly dismissed, we collect Cornelia and some magical tests for poison and go to the nursery of the toddler and Imperial heiress Cimbra. While at first the baby seems quite cheerful and happy to see us all - although she expresses her happiness by yanking my tail repeatedly - she is indeed pale, although with a fine head of thick, full hair, and her eyes seem a little dull. Lucretius summons the slaves and wetnurses, while Cornelia and Meloch investigate magically and determine that there is indeed some trace of non-magical poison. 

However, all investigations of the kitchens and questioning of the wetnurses themselves turn up empty-handed; they are two good, well-meaning women, devoted to the child and to Hadriana. They eat the same food and drink the same wine as the other slaves, and are careful about their diet.

Finally, Lucretius looks at them, and notices that they are also quite pale, but unnaturally so. "Good wetnurses," the guard asks, "have you been using cosmetics at all?"

"Oh yes," they both respond. It's the latest fashion. Face, arms, and chest."

"Can we see your cosmetic boxes?" Lucretius demands.

They return in a few minutes with a small box of white powder, which Meloch uses his herbalism knowledge to identify as arsenic, which he knows can be absorbed into the blood through the skin.

"Who introduced this new fashion?" Cornelia asks, curious.

"Oh, the Emperor's sister, Mamerca. She is always a leader of new fashions and styles in the palace."


----------



## pogre

Well, I'm caught up again and very much appreciate you cranking up this story hour again!


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta XI: Romantic Comedy Chp. III: Sneaking into the Imperial Palace*

Cornelia immediately confiscates the poisonous cosmetics from all of the wet-nurses, and goes to inform Hadriana and Cimbrus that she thinks that the immediate threat, at least, is solved.

"Thank you. So, you think Mamerca is behind this?" Hadriana asks shrewdly.

"Well, at the least, she's been encouraging your slaves to use poisonous cosmetics on their breasts. But she may not have known they were harmful." Cornelia responds, diplomatically.

"Ah, yes, Mamerca, the perpetual deceived innocent victim," Hadriana comments sarcastically.

"Now, dear, she's my aunt! And she was under mind control by Scaevola - it wasn't her fault that her son went evil and insane! She's in mourning now, and we should all be sympathetic," Cimbrus remonstrates.

"Of course. Highly sympathetic. Nevertheless, Cornelia, I would like you and your allies to...keep an eye out for the activities of the nobilissima Mamerca, discreetly and untraceably if possible. She may indeed simply be a grieving mother...or not." Hadriana orders.

"Certainly, nobilissima Hadriana, we'll do what we can. Though i may be a bit busy the next few days, as i'm being sued."

"Ah, yes, we heard about that," Cimbrus comments. "You understand of course that we cannot interfere directly - it would taint the faith that Romans have in the system of law. Still, we may be helpful in other ways, as you shall see."

"Thank you very much, and of course I would never want you to distort justice on my behalf." Cornelia genuflects and leaves.

***
Meanwhile, Meloch, as usual, isn't waiting for any official orders to investigate Mamerca. "Can you get me into her quarters?" he asks Lucretius.

"Um...I doubt her personal quarters, not without arresting her, but I might be able to get you into that wing of the palace. But why would I be traveling with a pygmy slave?" Lucretius answers, puzzled.

"You won't be," Meloch answers, and winks out of sight, along with me. I hope, desperately, that this stealth mission goes better than the last one - at least the real monkey is along this time. Why Meloch thinks that sneaking around the Imperial Palace will be easier than breaking into a young lawyer's apartment, I don't know.

Lucretius approaches the well-guarded entrance of the south wing of the palace, where Mamerca keeps her apartments. The door is guarded by two enormous German slaves with long red moustaches drooping down to their shoulders, both standing rigidly silent at attention. "Ah, I'm Decurion Lucretius, of the Praetorian Guard. There's been a report of some dangerous cosmetics - poisoned, in fact - and we're checking the supplies of all the noblewomen and their favored slaves to make sure that they're safe."

One of the Germans turns and opens the door a crack, and mutters to a small, Egyptian male slave in the room beyond. The door opens, and the Egyptian comes out. "I'm sure all of the nobilissima Mamerca's cosmetics are of the highest quality," he says rudely.

"I'm sure they are, but you know how much of a system we have here - I'm afraid I need to check them, " Lucretius bluffs.

The Egyptian ushers him into a small atrium where an onyx ibis statue shoots water into an elegant red marble fountain. Meloch creeps behind, trying to move as silently as possible, although the Egyptian looks around, a bit confused by some small noise. "Wait here," the slave says abruptly. "We'll have the cosmetics brought out to you." He turns and disappears through a door lined with a beaded curtain at the end of the atrium; Meloch and I barely manage to slip through behind him without the beads being too obviously disrupted, although the Egyptian turns again, looking for the sudden gust of wind. Lucretius coughs loudly, and sits down on the edge  of the fountain to wait.

The Egyptian passes through several more chambers, each adorned with extremely expensive and elegant art, mostly from the Eastern half of the Empire. Meloch and I follow, and Meloch, who took the opportunity before entering the wing to cast Detect Magic and Detect Poison, notes a variety of highly magical objects that he lacks the time to study in detail. Eventually, the Egyptian, after giving an order to a young woman to have all the slave's cosmetics brought out to the Praetorian, passes through a final doorway curtained with dark blue silk from the East embroidered with stars in golden thread, a fantastically expensive material. He genuflects to the floor before a middle-aged, thin woman with her grey-brown hair pulled tightly back in a bun in the 150-year-old traditional style of the Empress Livia. 

"Nobilissima, there is a Praetorian Guard in the atrium with an unusual request. He claims to be investigating poisoned cosmetics and asks to investigate your and your slaves' supply, to make sure they have not been contaminated."

Mamerca's face reveals neither surprise nor any other emotion. "Poisoned cosmetics? I see. Well, i shall go and assure him that we have no such thing in this wing of the palace. Iris? Charmion? Gather up all the cosmetics on the table." Two maids begin collecting a truly extensive collection of small pots and jars on a marble side table into a basket; Meloch sidles over and determines that, while several radiate minor enchantment magic, none are poisonous or necromantic in nature. Mamerca herself, meanwhile, is wearing a powerful serpent amulet radiating conjuration magic and a night-blue cloak with stars, radiating strong abjuration magic, as well as a more conventional Roman dress and stola. She hands the cloak off to a slave before proceeding out of the room, momentarily leaving Meloch and I alone in her private quarters - but with the invisibility about to run out.

Meloch makes a quick search of the room, noting two large heavy chests and one small, locked chest, which nearly blinds his inner eye with the amount of abjuration and evocation runes carved subtly into its cedar-wood surface. He looks longingly at the cloak, tempted to try to steal clothing for the second time in two days, but eventually leaves it behind and slips back out into the atrium, notably disturbing the beaded curtain as he does so.

Mamerca, meanwhile, has been having a polite conversation with Lucretius, who looks over the makeup jars and then apologizes for wasting her time. The Guard's discreet Detect Pantheon concentration reveals that she is a devout worshiper of Isis, the Egyptian goddess of magic, wisdom, and darkness, as well as of the Emperor cult.  Soon, Mamerca turns to exit. " Come, Iris, Charmion, we must be back to our studies. Thank you for ensuring our safety, loyal Lucretius," she murmurs gracefully.

Lucretius pauses a moment, struck by names that seem oddly familiar. "Iris and Charmion, nobilissima? Were those not the names of the last Cleopatra's personal maids?"

"You're very well read, Decurion," Mamerca smiles back, a bit coldly, perhaps. "Yes, indeed. Loyal unto death, they were. A good trait in slaves, I have always thought." She glides out of the courtyard, leaving only the murmur of the fountain in her wake.


----------



## Piratecat

Now _that's_ style.


----------



## Tony Vargas

Good help is so hard to find that it's worth having it Raised from the Dead?


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta XI: Romantic Comedy Chp. 4: The Price of Quicksilver*



			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> Now _that's_ style.




Thanks. Sadly, that's the last appearance of Mamerca to date, I should warn readers - the PCs just weren't interested in her! And after I had spent hours generating stats for all of her magic items, too...In case of future sessions, however, I will not reveal any details of what she might or might not be up to...

***
Meanwhile, Marcus and Heilyn decided to form a rare alliance and go investigate the mysterious explosion of the Master of Naxos' smithy, and whether Publicola was at all involved. Logically, their investigation began with the Master of Naxos himself.

"So, where exactly did you get this quicksilver from?" Heilyn asked.

"Oh, it was delivered. From my friend in the tavern," the smith helpfully answered.

"What's your friend's name?" Marcus  questioned.

"Oh...um...we never really exchanged names. But he was so friendly and helpful - many people are surprisingly uninterested in hearing me talk about the difficulties of arcane smithing of lightning bolts, but he sat and chatted with me for hours, and even bought me wine from back home in Sicily."

"Did he now?"  Marcus makes a small gesture to Heilyn, who discreetly casts Detect Magic. There is indeed the slightest of traces of enchantment magic on the Master of Naxos, although it is impossible to tell any more. 

"And then he suggested that if I was trying to keep metal at liquid temperatures, maybe I should mix the iron with a liquid metal - quicksilver. And then I spent some time working out the proper divine ratios - because naturally the elements must still remain in balance with each other, and quicksilver adds an aspect of water which would need to be countered by an equal addition of a fiery substance..." the Master of Naxos begins to wax eloquently here on issues of alchemical and magical metallurgy. On the one hand, both Heilyn and Marcus, the amateur eclectic philosopher are fascinated: the smith is clearly a genius at designing new properties for metals. However, they have three days to gain evidence against Publicola - and less if they wish to stop Meloch from being tortured, which Heilyn at least would feel vaguely guilty about. 

"So, ah, where did the quicksilver actually come from?" Heilyn interrupts at a convenient moment.

"Oh, well, my friend said he happened to know of a merchant who had an excess supply, and could get me two large amphorae' worth for 600 sestertii. I wasn't sure I'd need that much, but he pointed out that it would be useful for subsequent experiments, if necessary. So we met at the same tavern two nights later, and I paid him the coins I offered to just give him a gladius I had made instead, which would be worth a little more and easier for me, but he said the merchant preferred hard currency. And then the next morning a wagon delivered the amphorae, and I set to work. And later that afternoon...the explosion."

"Can you describe your 'friend'?" Marcus asks.

"Medium height, olive skin, brown eyes...he didn't have the hands of an artisan or a warrior. Some slightly odd stains and burn marks on his fingers, I remember, though."

"Well, thank you,  Master. if it's all right, we'd like the name of the tavern, and to have a look around, well, what's left of the smithy." Heilyn says.  The Master goes back to polishing an intricate pewter water-bowl, and soon is lost in concentration.

After extensive searching and use of spells, Marcus and Heilyn determine a couple of different things from their search of the smithy. First of all, it appears to have been an extremely sudden and abrupt explosion, rather than a slow-moving fire. Indeed, it appears to have extinguished itself almost immediately. Nevertheless, it was hot enough to melt or scorch most of the weapons and tools within a 10-foot radius. There is no trace remaining in the smithy of quicksilver. Eyewitnesses on the street remember a pillar of flame reaching almost thirty feet into the sky, then ceasing utterly in less than a minute. While it seems clear that the fire did not spread within the smithy itself, they do not have the chance to investigate the purported damage to the four nearby smithies, as they see several journeymen and even a master or two hostilely watching them. From a distance, however, it appears more like black scorch marks than any serious structural damage. The Master of Naxos says that he and two of his slave journeymen were the only ones in his smithy to suffer significant burns, both of which were healed relatively quickly by a priest of Vulcan. 

Upon a visit to the tavern, they find that while everyone remembers the Master of Naxos being unusually loquacious and jovial that night, no one has a strong memory of his companion, who they assumed to be an old friend based on the length and conviviality of the conversation. The "friend" paid in small, ordinary silver sestertii for both the smith's and his own wine, which was the second-best vintage from behind the counter.


----------



## Cerebral Paladin

Some of us would have been interested if we had even been vaguely aware of this plot.  I've been reading the last several posts with a sense of wonderment... "when did *that* happen?"  I think Marcus was too busy talking with other PCs about other plots to notice this...  And then the PCs who were in on it didn't mention it to the rest of us.  (I can't imagine why Meloch wouldn't want to share all the details of his shenanigans with the rest of the PCs...  )


----------



## Meloch the Pygmy

Cerebral Paladin said:
			
		

> I can't imagine why Meloch wouldn't want to share all the details of his shenanigans with the rest of the PCs...




Particularly the one who almost _cut him in half_.  Mmm hmmm.  ; )


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta XI: Romantic Comedy Chp. IV: An Alchemy Experiment*

Metellus  is hosting a discreet campaign fundraising gathering from among his father's friends and clients when there is a familiar whinny from the stables. He excuses himself and hurries to the back of the villa, where he sees Llyr dismounting from Talat, who is enthusiatically munching on an Italian orange.

"Llyr! I didn't expect to see you back for some months!" Metellus exclaims, embracing his friend.

"Yes, well, I wasn't expecting to be either, Tribune. But I left a bit early -wanted to get away from family stuff - and then, crossing Gaul...it just went by very quickly. I think we crossed all of Gaul in about three days. I suspect Talat is picking up some new talents as she grows older."

Talat takes this opportunity to mentally project into Llyr's mind, "More bright fruit? Lots of bright fruit here. No fruit yet back in cold land."

Llyr tosses another orange to the daughter of Epona and smiles ruefully at Metellus. 

"Family problems, you say?" Metellus asks. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing much. But since my cousin died - you remember, Aeduana sacrificed him? - there's been lots of arguing back and forth among my aunts and uncles about the succession. The King of the Brigantes' remaining son, my cousin Brendan, is very religious and quiet, and not really suited to lead the tribe well. But that leaves, well, Kynton and me."

"Kynton would be a horrible leader," Metellus blurts. 

"Oh, everyone pretty much agrees on that except his mother - and the lovestruck girls, I guess. But that meant there were lots of arguments going back and forth. And i didn't want to get any more involved - my uncle's healthy and strong, after all - so I fled back here," Llyr explains.

"Well, we're certainly glad to have you back. The campaign's in a bit of trouble, and Heilyn's gone bankrupt with all the money I invested in his master's smithy - though that seems a bit fishy - and Cornelia's being sued and Meloch may get tortured because of it!" Metellus answers.

"Cornelia's in trouble? And Meloch's getting tortured? You do need me!" Llyr exclaims. After Metellus has explained the situation more in detail to him, Marcus and Heilyn return back to the Metellus family villa.

"Ah, good, Auxiliary, you'll be perfect for this," Marcus says by way of greeting. "We need you to go to all the alchemists' shops in Roma and try to buy quicksilver."

"Pleasant day to you too, sir,"  Llyr says back, deferentially and just a bit ironically. "How much quicksilver am I looking for, and at what price?"

"Llyr! How is Britannia?" Heilyn booms. 

"Safe," Llyr responds elliptically, and Heilyn nods in understanding. 

Marcus continues, "Well,  what supposedly happened is that someone sold two large grain amphorae full of quicksilver to Heilyn's master for 600 sestertii. This seems improbable - so we need you to find out more about the supply in general, how expensive it usually is, and then procure some so you and Heilyn can run experiments on it."

"Consider it done," Llyr salutes, finishes grooming Talat, and then leaves to wander the streets of Roma, looking for alchemists.

Some hours later, he has discovered that quicksilver is extremely expensive - about 10-25 sestertii for a small clay vial, perhaps 1/500th of what would fill a grain amphora. It's generally made and used either by alchemists, particularly those experimenting with the transmutation of metals, or priests and witches, for whom it seems to feature as a ritual component in some spells. It requires a good deal of care and delicacy to work with, apparently, due to its instability. He returns with two small vials from different shops to Metellus' villa and reports to the group assembled there.

"I have the vials, and we can start experimenting with them to see how flammable they are, Tribune."

"Umm...could you maybe do the experiments at Cornelia's mother's house?" Metellus asks plaintively. "My parents are still a little upset about the impromptu parade and orgy that nearly destroyed the villa last month, and I'd rather not burn down the place with dangerous alchemical inventions."

"Oh, sure," Heilyn says, "Cornelia's mother has that nice scrying-proof ritual room set up. I'm certain that will be an ideal place to conduct our work..."

So the two Celts, together with the help of Meloch and the curious Cornelia, who stays at a safe distance so as not to get burned, retreat to Licinia Luculla's workshop, which conveniently has an open hearth underneath a skylight. Licinia herself, luckily, has departed Roma again due to the heat.  They begin by setting a small amount of quicksilver on fire, which produces a nasty and poisonous gas, nearly causing me to keel over, but little actual flame. They then experiment with mixing it with water and dirt and various other substances, to little actual effect. Finally, having eliminated many other possibilities, Llyr opens up a small secret compartment in his pack and takes out a carefully wrapped small oilskin bag.

"What's that?" Cornelia asks.

"Greek fire," Llyr responds. "I thought I'd try mixing it with the quicksilver."

"Isn't Greek fire incredibly illegal within city boundaries?" she questions.

"Well, yes...but sometimes it's very useful!" Llyr defends himself.  He sets about mixing a   bowlful of the liquid fire with a small amount of the remaining quicksilver, which floats on the surface of the oil, covering it completely, and then places it on the hearth, and steps back, extending a lit torch somewhat gingerly.

The bowl goes up in a sudden explosion, sending a thin jet of flame high up through the skylight in a sudden bright light, which dies down after a minute, leaving no trace of the quicksilver, the Greek fire, or indeed the bowl itself. It roughly matches the description that the Master of Naxos gave of the smithy fire.

Ogulnius the steward pokes his head nervously but hopefully through the doorway. "Did you kill the pygmy?"


----------



## Fimmtiu

Amphorae of quicksilver: the abandoned rental trucks of the 2nd century A.D. Do they have VIN numbers, I wonder?


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta XI: Romantic Comedy Chp. VI: Gathering Info*

Marcus, who had joined the group in the midst of their experiments and nearly gotten choked by the toxic gas for his troubles, took a deep breath as everyone tried to calm down from the sudden explosion. "So, we know that the smithy was blown up by a combination of quicksilver and Greek fire, and that quicksilver is incredibly expensive, and Greek fire is banned within the city, and the only known source is, well, Llyr. Who wasn't in town at the relevant time, so he's not a suspect."

Llyr mutters with barely concealed irritation, "Thank you for eliminating me from the list of people who'd like to randomly blow up Heilyn's forge."

"So we need to track down where the quicksilver came from, where the Greek fire came from, and then try and figure out exactly how much damage was done to the neighboring smithies, and we have to do it quickly," the oblivious Marcus continues. "I think quicksilver is used by doctors as a medicine for certain diseases; I remember my parents always had a small supply on hand for adjusting the humours, especially of mentally disturbed patients. I'll check around there; my parents' names are well enough known that I have some contacts in the medical community here in Roma."

"Your parents heal through...drugs?" Heilyn asks, not really having bothered in the past two years to enquire into the Centurion's family history.

"Well, of course. Through drugs and a detailed knowledge of the body and its humours. My father even had the honor to participate in a human dissection at the Academy in Alexandria," Marcus replies.

Heilyn looks shocked, and Cornelia seems a bit ill. "Why not just talk to their guardian spirit and give it energy?"

"Well," Marcus replies thoughtfully, "you can of course go to the priests of Asclepius and pray for a dream, which I imagine is somewhat like what you describe. But really, it's very irrational and unphilosophical, and it doesn't let you predict problems. Like the dangerous health issues of young women, for instance. Everyone knows that if women don't get married and pregnant by a certain age, their humours get dangerously overheated and they start acting very irrationally and strangely. Some even die from it."

There is a sudden, dead silence in the room, as everyone notably doesn't look at Cornelia. Cornelia herself, after a moment, says in a clipped, no-nonsense tone, "Right. So, Marcus is going to go ask the doctors about quicksilver. I'll check with Lucretius about other sources of Greek fire, and then see what I can find out about Publicola's sources of money. Why don't the rest of you go and talk to the apprentices at the other smithies and try to find out what they know about the explosion? Meloch, you stay here - I really don't want you to do something else which I should really flog you for, except I can't, because then it will look like I'm actually guilty in the trial."

Everyone, hurriedly, leaves the villa of Licinia Luculla, except for Meloch and I. I take a long bath while Meloch sits there pensively, trying to figure out how to escape his upcoming dire fate of torture.  Humans - always so worried about the long-term problems. 

Cornelia visits Lucretius at the barracks of the Praetorian Guard and explains the situation.  The young Decurion ponders for a moment. "Well, Greek fire is kept very tightly regulated because, if it got loose, it could burn down half the city. The only source I can think of is actually right here in the Praetorian barracks; the Praetorian Engineering Corps keeps 40 amphorae on hand in case of emergency attack, as well as for certain spectacular effects at the Imperial Games."

"Can we go check it and its security?" Cornelia asks.

"Of course," Lucretius answers, and they wander deep into the inner courtyards of the barracks, where Cornelia gets more than a few admiring glances. They have to pass by four sets of guards, where Lucretius shows credentials and gives the password of the day, before eventually they find themselves in a a doubly-insulated, windowless room with thick stone doors which let in a minimum of light, when open. The guards at the door warn, "Don't light a lantern; you'll have to use the light from the door." Lucretius and Cornelia wait until their eyes adjust, and Cornelia quietly casts a light spell and cups it in the curve of her hand, as they look around the room. Within a few minutes, they come to the same conclusion.

"Lucretius, there are only 38 amphorae here. There's an empty space halfway at the back here. And by the dust, they were taken fairly recently."

They go out and inform the guards of the disappearance, who seem extremely puzzled. "There's been no disturbance of any kind, Decurion. I swear by Jupiter that no one who isn't a Praetorian Engineer has been in that room, except for the two of you, in years. We haven't even used any in the Games for the past few seasons."

"Can we have a list of the Praetorian Engineers who have been in that room, or guarding it, within the past month?" Lucretius asks.

"Certainly; go over to Accounts."

There are about 16 possible candidates, Cornelia and Lucretius discover; they determine to spend the rest of the day determining if any of them have connections to Publicola, the smithies, or the local alchemists, and come back to the villa to enlist Meloch's help enquiring among the lesser citizens of Roma. "You can at least be useful here - just don't steal anything, or annoy anyone powerful!" Cornelia warns the pygmy.

After many hours of idle conversations and frequent bribes, they discover that one of the veteran Praetorian Engineers, Sulpicius Sertorius, has a cousin named Sulpicius Galba who's an alchemist and merchant. It's not much of a lead, but they decide to go and confront the Praetorian anyway.

Lucretius puts on an intimidating glare and calls Sulpicius Sertorius into a small cubicle back at the barracks. "I've been charged with investigating a grave theft, Sulpicius, and I have reason to believe you may have information about the crime. If you speak honestly, I may be able to spare you from harsher penalty or dismissal from the Praetorians."

The engineer seems honestly terrified. "A theft? I don't know what you mean, sir...I didn't have anything to do with that shield-stealing prank, really I didn't, and anyways, the Centurion got it back after the parade..."

"What?" Lucretius is startled momentarily - apparently there have been all sorts of hijinks in the barracks lately. "No, I'm talking about the disappearance of two large amphorae of Greek fire from the locked room in the barracks."

"Oh," he responds.

Cornelia can instantly tell that Sulpicius looks shamefaced. She hesitates a moment, than quietly casts Suggestion. "Look, we just want to know what happened to it. Tell us what you know, and we'll try to be lenient."

"I didn't think it would do any harm - I mean, we have plenty, and it never gets used, and my cousin's very responsible! He just needed some for his experiments." Sulpicius Sertorius blurts out.
, 
"This would be your cousin Sulpicius Galba, the alchemist?" Lucretius asks officiously.

"Yes. I mean, of course, I couldn't give it to him officially, but he just came along one night when I was guarding the room, and I gave it to him. I'm very sorry - I'll reimburse the cost or make new supplies; I just didn't think it would do any harm." the engineer confesses.

"You do realize there's a good reason why Greek fire is banned within city limits?" Lucretius snaps, before intercepting a glance from Cornelia and remembering that Llyr has already broken that particular law.

"Yes, sir, very sorry sir, won't ever do it again sir."

"What can you tell us about your cousin?" Cornelia asks.

"He's a good man - mostly a merchant, but he dabbles in alchemy. Hasn't been the same since he got so badly burned in that terrible disaster last year, though - I think these experiments might have been designed to try and heal him?"

"Terrible disaster?" Lucretius asks?

"You know, the attack on the Temple of Mercury? My cousin was just there to pray and pay his monthly dues, and he got caught in an enormous ball of fire as the thief was escaping. He's lucky to be alive - and he had to pay a lot to the Temple for keeping him alive, let me tell you. Very religious man, though."

"Right. Well, we'll let you know if I need to discuss this with your superior. Meanwhile, keep your mind on your duty - an extra night watch for the next two weeks should help with that," Lucretius tells him and dismisses him, before looking thoughtfully at Cornelia.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta XI: Romantic Comedy Chp. VII: The Outraged Alchemist*

GM Note: As you might guess, this was a sort of chaotic session, with everyone splitting up to go investigate their own particular things. I'm trying to keep the story straight as much as I can, but there are some time jumps involved.

***
Cornelia and Lucretius returned with their news to the villa. Armed with a name, Marcus began making discreet inquiries among his physician contacts. He regretted again that he had no chance, as of yet, to try and introduce himself to the Imperial Doctor, the famous Galinus, but in any case this seemed more like a matter for the ordinary Greek, Jewish, and Egyptian medical practitioners and midwives who lived along the lower Esquiline Hill. After a few inquiries, he was able to find the shop of a doctor who admitted that Sulpicius Galba the alchemist-merchant was one of his patients.

"What was the nature of his problem?" Marcus asked.
"Well, a few things. I mean, originally, of course, he was massively burned over about two-thirds of his body. The priests at the Temple of Mercury took care of the permanent damage - apparently he's a regular donor, and the burns had somehow occurred while he was an innocent bystander at the temple - but there was still considerable loss of sensation, which is dreadful for someone who uses their hands - and his humors needed to be readjusted. I prescribed a strict regimen of cold herbal baths and purges."

"Did you prescribe anything else?"

"Well, Galba kept complaining of nightmares and flashbacks to the incident. He couldn't sleep, and that night a few months ago when there were all the fires all around Roma - he nearly killed himself from terror. So I consulted my texts, and gave him a small amount of quicksilver, to take diluted in wine with his evening meal. The variable nature of quicksilver seems to calm restless minds; he said he had very vivid dreams, but no more nightmares."

"Where did you get the quicksilver?"

"From the Temple of Mercury, naturally - they make it for their rituals and so on, I understand. Besides, under the circumstances they gave me a discount. Galba may have gone directly there if he wanted any more - he certainly complained about my prices enough."

"Thank you; it's very much appreciated," Marcus takes the hint and pays the doctor a hefty "consulting fee," before returning back to us. We decide to pay Galba himself a visit directly that evening at his shop, once Heilyn and Llyr have returned.

***
Meanwhile, Heilyn, polymorphed into the shape of a nondescript Roman craftsman and Llyr, dressed as his usual insouciant self, hang out quietly on the Via Ferra until they can spot one of the neighboring smith's senior apprentices heading to a local taverna for the noon meal. They sit down near him, order some fried fish, and engage him in some casual conversation before coming to the point.

"So, was your smithy involved in that big explosion I heard about a few weeks ago?" Llyr asks casually.

"Oh yeah, we got three days off! With pay!" the apprentice responds, fairly enthusiastically.

"Because your injuries were so bad?" Heilyn asks sympathetically.

"No...the master had already given us that morning off, and then after the explosion, he sent messages saying not to worry about coming back to work until after market day."

"He had already given you that morning off? How lucky!"

"Yes; normally even in this heat it's hard enough to get the major festivals off, but he just told us, "off to the baths with you!" and when your master gives you extra time..."

"You don't say no," Heilyn and Llyr chorused.

"So how bad did the damage look when you came back?" Heilyn inquires.

"Oh, by then it had all been cleared up. We got straight back to work...and I think the master's been working us doubly hard ever since, to make up for the vacation days."

"Isn't that always the way?" Heilyn shrugs. They find out the name of the man's master - Arpinos - and decide to ambush him directly on his way to the baths that evening.

"Master Arpinos?" Llyr calls out.

"Yes?" a burly, Northern Italian or Gallic man answers, stopping in his tracks.

"Could we talk with you a minute? It's about a legal matter."

"I don't know...I need to get to the baths..." Arpinos hesitates.

"Look," Heilyn says, intimidatingly. "We have no desire to prosecute you, but we have evidence that you had prior knowledge of the Via Ferra explosion, and we are trying to track down the real culprits."

Arpinos blanches and then draws them quickly into a small side alley. "What do you mean?"

"You dismissed all your workers for the day, several hours before the explosion, unexpectedly. Clearly you knew it was going to happen. How?" Llyr demands.

Under the stern glares of Llyr and Heilyn, the smith wilts. "Look, I didn't do anybody any harm. The night before, I got a note from a priest at the Temple of Vulcan. It advised me to avoid my smithy the next day, for fear of danger and evil spirits. Well, I'm a gods-fearing man. And indeed, the priests must have foreseen the future, for that very day there was the explosion!"

"Do you know if anybody else received messages?" Llyr asks.

"Yes, I talked to a few of my fellow smiths, and they too had been contacted by Ragnar - that's the priest, he's a Gaul. Former smith himself."

"Do you know if the Master of Naxos was given a message?" Heilyn queries.

"That lunatic? I doubt it - the temple of Vulcan considers him a heretic, I think! I mean, have you heard he's trying to make a lightning bolt? It's like claiming to be Vulcan himself!"

"So no one was actually injured in your smithy from the explosion, and you had time to prepare and store materials safely?" Heilyn says.

"Well, yes...but still! Unsafe practices - no reason why I shouldn't profit from an example being set against reckless carelessness like that."

"Did you think of filing the lawsuit, then?"

"No, this nice young lawyer Gnaeus Tertius Publicola came around that evening, when we returned to the shop after the explosion, and pointed out how dangerous the whole incident had been, and how much of a profit I could make and teach that Naxian a lesson at the same time."

"That's an awfully quick response," Llyr comments.

"It's one of the reasons I was impressed with him. I think he arrived faster than the vigiles!" Arpinos says. 

Ruminating on all this news, Heilyn and Llyr return to compare notes with the rest of us, and prepare to confront Galba directly.


----------



## spyscribe

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> "No, this nice young lawyer Gnaeus Tertius Publicola came around that evening..."



  Now there's a man just waiting for the invention of the ambulance!


----------



## Orichalcum

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Now there's a man just waiting for the invention of the ambulance!




Hey, it's hard to be a young lawyer in a city where lawyers aren't actually allowed to charge fees, but rely on "gifts" in kind from their clients. Although it does mean you can wind up with a lot of minor magic items if you're successful...


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta XI: Romantic Comedy Chp. VIII: Matters Heat Up*

After information has been shared, we decide to confront Sulpicius Galba that evening and make an appointment to see Publicola the next morning, in hopes that we'll have enough information to leverage against him. It seems best to leave Heilyn, Meloch, and Llyr behind on the first trip, as there's no need to provoke further confrontation.

After some enquiries, we find the middle-aged, badly scarred merchant in his shop, which seems to sell an assortment of unusual herbs, crystals, and minor amulets from the Eastern provinces. Marcus thinks he recognizes some of them as luck charms and some as healing herbs, but it isn't really his area of expertise. Cornelia notices only a few minor enchantment and illusion magics up around the shop, and Lucretius confirms that Galba is a devout follower of Mercury.

Metellus begins the conversation. "Good merchant, could we speak privately?"

Galba looks a little nervous. "If you're planning to rob my shop, you should know there's a vigiles station right down the block. I could scream and they'd come running."

Lucretius is appalled. "Sulpicius Galba, I am a Decurion of the Praetorian Guard! And this man is a patrician military tribune! We do not rob petty merchants' shops!" Everyone tries not to think about what the non-Roman members of our party do in their spare time. 

"Well, what do you want to talk about?" he asks gruffly, and a bit suspiciously. 

Lucretius speaks in the most official of tones. "We have substantial evidence that you were responsible for the illegal smuggling of two amphorae of Greek fire from the Praetorian barracks, and that you subsequently used those amphorae in a fraud against an honorable smith of this city, designed to cause him and his property deadly harm. Other charges may be brought as warranted, but currently, we are more interested in information than retribution."

Galba blanches, and sits down heavily on his shop counter. Cornelia takes the opportunity to discreetly cast Charm, although she is uncertain of its success. Galba looks around, seeing only the cold, sharp faces of elite Romans and, presumably, their bully-boy clients (Marcus, looking highly intimidating). 

"It was only justice - doing to him what he did to me."

"The Master of Naxos had attempted to explode you?" Metellus asks, ironically.

"Not him! His evil apprentice, or journeyman. The big redhead. The Naxian was just the best route of getting to the redhead. He's the one responsible for all my burns and my debts to the Temple  and doctors for months of healing. And he's a sacriliegous desecrator! The priests said he stole one of Mercury's three holy artifacts! So I figured, why not hurt him physically and financially? But Decurion, I made sure no one else would get hurt. It was very localized, I experimented beforehand - and I asked a friend at the Temple of Vulcan to anonymously warn all the nearby smithies, so no innocents would be hurt."

"What about the other workers in the Naxian's forge?" Cornelia asks in outrage.

"Well, they were all slaves or under contract - I mean, that's part of the financial damage I wanted to inflict anyway."

"Did you inform a lawyer named Gnaeus Tertius Publicola about your planned crime?" Metellus asks, urgently.

"No - haven't heard of him. Why?"

We're all a bit confused and puzzled at this point, wondering how Publicola found out so quickly. Finally, Lucretius says, "Did you tell anyone else besides the priest of Vulcan about your planned revenge?"

"Well, the priests of Mercury, to ask for their blessing, of course. They gladly gave it - though they said that Mercury would avenge himself in due time as well, and I shouldn't worry too much. Oh, and a fellow merchant who I saw at evening services the day before; he's also very devout, and we went out drinking afterwards and commiserated with each other. He was very impressed with how carefully I had worked out all the details."

"What's his name?" Lucretius asks.

"Otho. He used to be one of the richest merchants in the city, but lately he's been spending a lot of his funds trying to get into electoral office. Politics - I just don't understand the appeal."

"Oh. Well...um, don't leave Roma - the vigiles will be watching you. We'll tell you if anyone plans to file charges against you." Lucretius and the others, now thoroughly confused, leave the shop.


***
That's all for now, though I may try to post as much as possible in the next week - trying to finish Alea up to date before I give birth! I'd say there's about 4 posts left, so I'll see what I can do.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta XI: Romantic Comedy Chp. IX: A new Tangle*

"Otho?"  Cornelia says, as we gather again. "What does Otho have to do with this? I thought he was just a spendthrift merchant!"

"Well," Marcus reflects, "We have been wondering where he got all his money from. Maybe it's time to investigate that."

"First, we talk to Publicola," Lucretius interrupts. "We have enough evidence now of the false nature of his earlier lawsuit that we ought to be able to get him to drop charges against Cornelia. And that will prevent Meloch from being tortured tomorrow night."

Everyone agrees, and retires to bed. The next morning, we set out in force for the Forum to find Publicola - Meloch having turned himself and me invisible, as a precaution. He's easy to find - he's standing between the statues of Castor and Pollux, wearing not a toga but a gleaming, intricately wrought breastplate and shining silver greaves.  A red-feathered gold-inlaid helmet covers most of Publicola's features, but a number of boils and unsightly freckles are still visible on his nose and cheekbones. Heilyn grimaces, "That's the Master of Naxos' work! I'd recognize it anywhere! That's a part of his ill-gotten gains!"

"Nice breastplate," Marcus, no smith, but well used to evaluating armor, comments. "Although it's rather offensive to be strutting around in armor when you've never done military service." 

Meloch casts Detect Magic and whispers to Cornelia that it has some sort of protective magic on it, although not enchantment. 

They wait for Publicola to finish his speech, which draws much less of a crowd than previous ones - he seems somehow to have lost his flair. Then, as a group, they approach him.

"Gnaeus Tertius Publicola," Metellus intones, "I'd like to speak to you privately for a few minutes. Why don't we step inside the temple of Castor and Pollux?"

"All right, but you can't bring all your bully boys," Publicola says nervously. Metellus nods curtly and gestures for Heilyn, Llyr, and Marcus to wait outside, ushering Cornelia, Lucretius, and the invisible Meloch inside.

"What's this about? You know you have to turn over your thieving pygmy by this evening, and the slaves of your sluttish mother," Publicola sneers to Cornelia.

"Actually, that's not exactly what we're here to talk about," Metellus interrupts, before Lucretius can lose his temper defending the dubious honor of Cornelia's mother. "We have evidence that you knowingly perpetrated a fraudulent lawsuit, and, indeed,  failed to prevent a crime that you knew was going to happen. I don't think the voters would like to hear that, do you?"

Publicola blanches and stutters. "What do you mean?"

Lucretius pulls out several scrolls and proceeds to bluff rather heavily, using the most official and intimidating voice of the Praetorian Guard. "We have affidavits that, in the case of the lawsuit against the Master of Naxos for a dangerous explosion, little damage and no injury was in fact caused to the smiths whom you so profitably represented. Furthermore, as this was not in fact an accident caused by the reckless negligence of the Naxian, but rather a deliberate assault, the Naxian was not to blame for damages, and we have evidence that you knew this from the beginning. Nevertheless, you chose to profit by sueing an innocent victim and depriving him of his livelihood, thereby obtaining a handsome profit, including, I  suspect, that breastplate and helmet."

Publicola begins sweating like mad, and panics. [GM's note: Heilyn's curse had reduced him to a Cha of 8 and a Wis of 6, and then he got a 4 on Sense Motive.] For a moment, he looks like he's about to run, and Meloch and I get ready to trip him in the doorway, but then he sees Heilyn and Marcus and Llyr, prominently lurking just outside the only entrance, and his shoulders sag. 

"Surely we can work out some sort of deal here?" he offers feebly.

Metellus smiles grimly. "Begin by dropping the charges against the Domina Cornelia. Give back your profits from the case to the Master of Naxos. Then tell us exactly how you found out about the planned explosion. If you do that, I won't force you to drop out of the race."

"All right, of course," Publicola says quickly. "I'll tell the judge that I just misplaced the toga - it was all a misunderstanding. As for the other...well, my friend Otho knew I was looking for high-profit cases to raise money for campaigning; we've agreed to support each other in the election, you see. And he mentioned he had heard about this one, and how good it would be to get in promptly immediately after the incident. He said the smith was an enemy of the gods, anyway, and I'd just be doing Roma a favor by bankrupting him."

"What else can you tell us about Otho? How is he getting his money?" Cornelia asked, still angry.

"Oh, he's got a great scheme set up. He's laundering real estate for a group of Celts," Publicola blurts out.

"Celts???" everyone says, in shock and horror, loudly enough that the real Celts outside hear them.

"Yes...some widows and orphans who had a lot of villas and apartment buildings they couldn't legally sell, for some reason. He's been helping them out through his contacts with the building inspectors and managers, since that was his job last year- he takes part of the profits, and the families get the rest of the cash."

We take a minute and remember the old Celtic Liberation Organization plot, which involved setting fires to a large number of private buldings arranged in a ritual spiral all around Roma, centered on the Temple of the Vestals. Admittedly, none of us had ever thought to investigate what happened to those buildings.

"Do you know where the Celts are now?" Lucretius asks.

"Well..." Publicola hesitates.

Cornelia doesn't, and casts Suggestion. "Tell us, now, or we'll ruin your reputation forever."

"Otho goes to meet them at night in the Coliseum. I think they might be hiding out in the tunnels underneath it. Now that it's chariot racing season, there aren't any wild beast or gladiatoral games at the moment."

"Don't speak of this to anyone," Lucretius warns, and turns to leave.

"Don't worry!" Publicola says. "Can we just forget any of this ever happened?"

"For now," Metellus threatens, and strides out, the rest following.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> "Don't worry!" Publicola says. "Can we just forget any of this ever happened?"
> "For now," Metellus threatens, and strides out, the rest following.




Ahh, sweet justice. Well, maybe not "justice" in the strictest sense, but good tidings for the PCs in any event. One question, though: when did Heilyn curse Publicola? I've paged back a bit, but can't seem to find it.

Thanks for the update!


----------



## Orichalcum

*Alea iacta XI: Romantic Comedy Chp. X: Storming the Coliseum*

Curses, Fimmtiu, you caught me! I've been planning on going back and editing that back in. Heilyn-as-monkey took the opportunity during the end of the Great Toga Robbery to curse Publicola, causing boils to erupt all over his face and damaging his sense of perspective. Apparently, Heilyn is a good enough curser that Publicola hasn't been able to find someone to reverse it yet.
***

From the moment we learn the news that the Celtic Liberation Front is not as defunct and dead as we had thought, matters begin moving very quickly. Lucretius returns to the barracks to recruit several squads of Praetorians for a night mission. Heilyn and Llyr go scouting, carefully disguised and polymorphed, and confirm that there seems to be a large amount of activity in and around the sewer tunnels which connect to the catacombs underneath the Coliseum. Metellus and Marcus gird for battle. 

Meloch briefly draws Cornelia aside. "These Celts...they're just widows and orphans. They're probably terrified for their lives; that's why they're hiding. Do we really have to attack them?"

Cornelia looks a little uncertain and guilt-stricken, but then a look of firm, Roman noble resolve crosses her face. "We can't trust that. Many of them are probably Druids, like we've fought before. And who knows what they could be plotting to do in the Coliseum? We'll try and arrest them rather than killing them, of course, but we need to defend Roma. These are her enemies, and we can't put her in danger again from a bunch of known criminals and escaped slaves. We can't just leave them on the loose. And I don't trust Otho."

Meloch sighs and leaves her, and, after some thought, goes and asks Llyr and Heilyn the same question. "They're Celts - don't you feel any allegiance to them?"

"They're Druids," Heilyn responds sternly, "or the allies of Druids, and they've set themselves up in an arena full of blood sacrifices. That dinna bode well  for the true innocents."

Llyr pipes up, "Besides, it'll give me a good chance to try out all the new traps I've been working on. We've come up with a plan to drive them into the sewers and into nets and dead ends, where they can be safely arrested."

Meloch wonders sourly to me what the punishment the Roman authorities will hand out to those Celts whom they "arrest," and whether it will really be any better than a quick death in battle. Still, the Druids were a nasty bunch. We go and make some quiet preparations for the evening, and the others work out an elaborate strategy for the nighttime raid on the Coliseum.
***

At the beginning, everything seems to go precisely as planned. Meloch and Llyr stealthily follow Otho as he leaves his gaudy, expensive villa on the Aventine and heads towards a back entrance to the Coliseum, mantle drawn over his head. We all watch from cover as he flashes a lantern three times and then a number of exotically (and inappropriately, from Heilyn and Llyr's perspective) tattooed women step forth, and begin exchanging some scrolls for bags of silver. At thet point, the Praetorians surround all the exits, even the sewer tunnels, and loudly demand the surrender of everyone inside. Otho immediately drops his silver and scrolls and tries to run, not very fast; Metellus personally catches him and easily knocks him unconscious. 

It is, however, at that moment that one of the Celtic women turns and pulls an iron lever on the wall, and the Celts then begin to flee back _into_ the Coliseum tunnels, down one of the side passageways. Several iron gratings begin to open in the floor, and we hear the padding of large feet coming up slanted tunnels, and, increasingly loudly, roars and snarls.

Metellus, the only one of us who's actually attended regular shows in the Coliseum, blanches. "Oh no. They've released the wild beasts. I think maybe all the wild beasts."

"I thought you said there weren't any shows going on at the moment," Cornelia hisses in shock.

"They aren't. Which means that the animals probably haven't been fed in a while - they like to keep them near-starvation; it's cheaper and it makes them more aggressive."

"How many animals are we talking here?" Heilyn asks.

"I don't know! Maybe forty lions, some giant boars and aurochs, probably a bunch of bears and wolves..." Metellus blurts.

And at that point, the animals begin to reach us, and matters turn quickly into a protracted, messy, bloody battle. Each individual animal is fairly easy for any of us to kill at this point, but there are dozens of them, and many seem to be controlled or directed by the Celts standing behind them, firing crude slingshots and arrows and the occasional minor spell. We attempt to flank them by going around in the tunnels, only to find that many of the tunnels are trapped and begin collapsing  on us and the Praetorians. Cornelia rapidly uses up all of her Sleep spells. Llyr turns from setting traps to diagnosing them, carefully pointing out where not to step in each corridor as the fight rages on, slowly pressing the Celts back further into the Coliseum complex. Heilyn attempts to control as many of the animals as possible, and shapes the stone to be more stable. Marcus, Metellus, and Lucretius are soon drenched in blood, both bestial and human, some of it their own.

At some point in the chaos, Meloch gets separated from the rest of the group by about twenty feet, and cornered by a pack of slavering, starving wolves. He's been careful not to use any offensive magic against humans in this fight, even darting in here and there to pull a Celtic child out of harm's way of one of Marcus' swings. Against beasts, though, he has little compunction. He aims carefully, away from his companions, and casts Fireball, incinerating all the wolves. However, it also takes out the last fragile wooden support holding this part of the tunnel up. The ceiling collapses, appearing to bury him completely. Cornelia looks over, seeing the tons of earth and stone covering the hallway where Meloch was, and gasps in horror.

"Watch over her, my partner, and enjoy all the warm baths," a weak voice whispers in my head.

"Fare well, partner. I will, I promise."  I think back.


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## Simon Jester

Just finished the thread, to date. Excellent!


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta XI: Romantic Comedy Chp. XI: True Love???*

The battle raged on for several hours, but by dawn, the tunnels of the Coliseum were littered with the corpses of wild beasts and Celts. Lucretius rounded up the few survivors - about twenty children, mostly - and took them off to the prison near the Praetorian Barracks, along with Otho, who was formally charged with aiding and conspiring with enemies of the Roman people. 

Meanwhile, I perched on top of the massive heap of stone and dirt where Meloch had fallen, beating my breast with my paws and whimpering piteously. 

Cornelia, still in shock, turned to Heilyn. "Can you use your stone shaping ability to at least get the body out? I'd like to give him a proper funeral..."

Heilyn sighed. "The spirits aren't responding to me anymore...and besides, there's no spirit under there. Meloch is...gone, my lady."

Cornelia turned, shoulders slumping. Llyr offered her an arm to lean on, which she gratefully took as she walked slowly out of the tunnel.

Heilyn paused a moment, and then chanted briefly in Celtic and turned to me, before saying in quite fluent monkey, "Hey, monkey..."

"Yes?" I said, very startled.

"Give my best wishes to your companion."

"I will!," I said in shock. "Um, wait. I mean, he's dead. Oh, woe is me! I have lost my best friend!"

"Yes, of course he is," Heilyn slowly winked, carefully not looking around the tunnel. "Do you need a ride back to Cornelia's mother's?"

"Thank you. I could use a bath after all this dirt and blood," I answered. Well, it didn't seem like the smith would be a problem, at least.

***
The next few days were fairly quiet. Cornelia conducted a private ceremony in her mother's garden on behalf of Meloch, and laid an urn with some dirt from the rubble in the Cornelius Crispus mausoleum's section for honored slaves who had died in the family's service. With the race down to four candidates, and Publicola still suffering from boils and a lack of either magical toga or shiny armor, it seemed increasingly likely that Metellus would win a judgeship, although still coming in second to the military hero Thrax.

Marcus decided to take the matter of Thrax into his own hands, with some help from Llyr and Lucretius. The key, he thought, was to lightly humiliate the man without actually ruining him - after all, he seemed like a decent soldier and officer, and Metellus needed some competent colleagues.

After some further quiet investigation and stalking by Llyr, we learned that Thrax regularly exercised and drilled on the Campus Martius for several hours after dawn, engaging in practice duels with other combatants. Officially, Thrax was trying to get back into military condition and rehabilitate his wounded leg. After watching him for a morning, however, it was Heilyn's opinion that the leg was completely healed, and perhaps had never been that injured to begin with.

Crowds of admiring young men and women had begun to gather each morning to watch Thrax's exertions, particularly as, for the last week, he had apparently gone undefeated. This was generating yet more favorable publicity for the young officer, which could not be good for Metellus, whose strengths generally lay more in clever tactics and diplomacy than brute force.

So, two mornings after the Coliseum raid, Marcus gathered up a bunch of the young men recommended by Metellus Senior whom he had been training with an eye to making them the new officerial core of the Ninth Legion, and marched down to the Campus Martius. Many of these youths, though noble in birth, had been refused or denied positions in the regular legions for various reasons - some had a tendency towards drunkenness, a few were overweight, and one or two had the breathing sickness. However, Marcus was certain that he could whip them all into proper shape given a few months. In the meanwhile, they served as a ready-made crowd for a demonstration of his own.

While they ran, panting, around the field, Marcus strolled over to Thrax's drilling session.

"Doesn't look like you've found much of a challenge here, Tribune," he commented.

"Well, of course, all of the real soldiers are off in Parthia," Thrax answered.

"Still, I'd like to give my men a chance to see some real fighting prowess," Marcus mused thoughtfully. "Would you care to engage me in a brief little match?"

"Certainly," Thrax said, smiling broadly. A space was cleared, with Marcus' young trainees on one side, and a large crowd of onlookers standing around. Some casual bets were exchanged back and forth, nearly everyone betting heavily on the tall, handsome, well-muscled officer in his prime over the grizzled retired centurion. Lucretius, Heilyn, and Llyr, however, bet on their companion.

Marcus took a moment, standing in the ring, to compose himself and meditate upon the philosophical writings he had studied which taught of the control of the mind over the body. He drew a deep breath and took a careful, practiced stance, sizing up Thrax's longer reach and probably greater speed. Thrax swung first, and hit Marcus lightly in the shoulder, but the Centurion did not even blink. Raising his own wooden gladius, Marcus swung it overhand with enormous force, catching Thrax precisely in the crevice of his leather armor between shoulder and neck.

Without even a groan, Thrax dropped like a stone, completely unconscious. Marcus bent down, to check that he would recover perfectly in a few hours, and then turned to his trainees. "And that, men, is how you take out a skilled opponent. As quickly as possible. Now, another four laps!" He smiled grimly, and marched back to the side of the field. The rest of us went to work, spreading the story and encouraging the gossip about how the great military hero had been defeated in a few seconds by a man twice his age. It no longer seemed like Thrax would be as much of a problem in the race.


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## Orichalcum

*Alea Iacta XI: Romantic Comedy Chp. XII: The End, For Now.*

Well, apparently the little one is waiting for me to finish this Story Hour before appearing, so, here goes. This post catches the SH up to date, and i don't know when the next regular session will be, as the PCs and I now live in Chicago, San Francisco, Boston, New Haven, New York, Durham, and London. I may post a one-shot in the same world I ran a few months ago, but not for a bit.

***

On the evening of Marcus' triumphant duel, Cornelia was traveling in her litter back from the baths, tired after a long, hot summer's day. Suddenly, she felt the litter being jostled, and groans and cries of pain from the slave litterbearers. She reached to draw open the curtain and discover what was going on, only to discover that some sort of magical force was barring both sides of the litter, and she could not get out. In desperation, she aimed a magic missile up at the wooden and cloth roof of the litter, blowing a small hole through the top.

"Cato! Go find Metellus! Tell him I'm in danger, bring him to me!" The little owl, still flying a bit precariously after his encounter some months earlier with the axe-wielding Celtic barbarian, shot bravely up through the hole, and frantically beat its wings towards the Metellus villa. Conveniently, I was at the villa as well - Llyr had thought to cheer me up by fashioning a little rope harness for me, to carry my scrolls, and really, the less time I spent around Licinia Luculla without Cornelia's protection, the better. Who knew when the witch might try to use me for spell components? Metellus had certainly been panicked about her.

Cato flapped through the window, landing exhaustedly on Metellus' shoulder and starting to peck at his ear agitatedly.

"Cato?" Metellus asked, surprised. "What's wrong?"

The owl, not having my skill with writing, kept pecking, and then flying to the door and back.

'Is something wrong with Cornelia? Is she sick?" Llyr asked, confused and worried.

"Just a second," Heilyn muttered. He chanted again, and then spoke to the owl in chirps and hoots. "Cato says that Cornelia has been stolen, in her litter. They're taking her far away...to the edges of the city on the Via Appia."

Almost before he had finished speaking, Llyr was darting to the stables, where he leapt onto Talat's back. "Come on, Talat! We have to save Cornelia! You know her; she gives you apples all the time."

"Apple-lady hurt? We ride fast?" Talat assented, and leapt over the wooden door of the paddock, before beginning to gallop at extreme speed through the streets of Roma. The rest of us, at a slightly slower pace, gathered horses from Metellus' stables and began to follow Cato's flight overhead. Lucretius concentrated and whistled, and within a minute, the Praetorian's elephant, tusks sharpened for war, pounded up to the door for the villa. All of a sudden, clearing a path was no longer an issue. I grabbed onto the elephant's tail and pulled myself up for the ride. In my head, I projected very quietly. "Meloch, partner...I don't know if you're still close enough to hear me. But Cornelia seems to be in danger, somewhere on the Via Appia. You might want to come help."

Meanwhile, Cornelia found that the litter had stopped, only to find herself paralyzed by a pointing finger stuck through the curtain when she tried to escape. A burly slave, no one she recognized, carried her temporarily helpless body into what she recognized as a tomb, one of the great ancient mausoleums of the Famous Families of Roma. Following behind the slave, to her shock, was the elegant patrician figure of Fabius Maximus, one of the other political candidates. He directed the slaves to lay her down on top of one of the marble biers, and then to guard the door, after tying her carefully hand and foot to the bier itself.  Then Fabius began to draw an elaborate set of symbols and runes, some of which Cornelia could recognize as necromantic, others as healing, around her on the marble floor, using fresh chicken blood and blackened grain as his medium.

The paralysis wore off after a minute or two and Cornelia, outraged, and still trying hard to project her situation to Cato, burst out with questions. Besides, conversation would distract him, and that had to be a good idea.

"What are you doing, Fabius Maximus? I thought you were a respectable Roman!"

"I am," he responded calmly. "And a respectable Roman patrician needs a respectable and virtuous wife."

"You can't marry me by tying me to a tomb and surrounding me with chicken blood!"

"I don't want to marry you. Well, not your spirit. I've done some investigating. You are clearly of questionable virtue. Even if you haven't been debauched by young Metellus, or that pygmy slave of yours, your mother has doubtless taught you her scandalous ways. Your bloodlines are excellent, but your behavior is hardly suitable for a Fabius Maximus."

Cornelia did not know whether to be more outraged or frightened. "I am perfectly virtuous, thank you. Just ask the Vestal Virgins! But if you don't want to marry me, what are you doing?"

"You are a useful vessel, for my wife, the noblest and most virtuous of all Roman women. Your soul would only disgrace your descendants; hers will redeem them."

"Your...wife?"

"Yes. Cornelia Scipionis." He gestures at the bier underneath her.

"Who...are you?" Cornelia whispers, increasingly sure she knows the answer, and then venturing a hypothesis herself. "You're not really Lucius Fabius Maximus at all, are you?"

"Well, yes, this is the body of my disgraceful, disreputable great-great-grandson. He was trying to summon spirits to find the location of our family's treasures, I am Quintus Fabius Maximus, and I will redeem my family's honor," he says, with a steely glint in his eyes. 

"And so you want my body...for your wife?" Cornelia demands.

"And for our family honor. Rest assured, your family's name will be preserved, and your own name will go into the records as a paragon of virtue who repented her callow youth once she had returned to true Roman civilization."

And it is at that moment that Llyr charges down the stairs, still on Talat, into the tomb. Cato flies in behind him a few seconds later, and Cornelia smiles triumphantly. She might be still tied to the bier, but there were all sorts of spells she could cast through her familiar. 

A nasty and brutish battle breaks out, spells flying everywhere. Llyr finds himself drained and weakened by the touch of Fabius Maximus, but also discovers that Maximus is actually quite easy to hit and wound. The others of our group gradually pour into the tomb, attacking the slaves and Maximus directly, as well as disrupting the ritual. Meloch, who has crept in invisibly, aims a few subtle effects, like Dispel Magic, at the general area, without letting his presence be known directly. Still, Llyr stops once or twice and glances around, confused by effects he associates with the pygmy whose current presence he cannot explain.

Eventually, all the slaves having long since died, but Llyr near to pale unconsciousness from the possessed Maximus' icy touch, Metellus steps forward with his gladius and deals a precise, deadly blow. As so often before in our adventures, it is the crucial strike, and Maximus falls to the ground, quite dead. Heilyn chants rapidly and we see the slowly coalescing spirit forced back into one of the neighboring biers, and then bound with green-glowing wards.

Metellus, only a half step ahead of Llyr and Lucretius, rushes over to the prone Cornelia and begins untying her bonds. At this moment, Meloch, having carefully swallowed the last of his Improved Invisibility potion, takes out his trusty blowpipe, and shoots a dart of love into Metellus' ankle. Unlike the last few attempts, this one hits perfectly, and Metellus blinks, stunned, as Cornelia carefully sits up.

"Cornelia! Thank Jupiter you're safe!"

"Thank you Metellus...thank all of you, for rescuing me," she says, smiling, if still a little in shock from her experience.

"I was so worried...I realize now, I don't know what I'd do without you," Metellus says fervently. "I need you, Cornelia. I love you. Will you marry me?" 

A sudden, shocked silence falls in the cold tomb. Both Llyr and Lucretius look stricken. Marcus has a smug, pleased expression on his face - a perfect and satisfactory ending, from his perspective. Heilyn looks around for Meloch, cynically, but sees no trace of the pygmy.

Cornelia draws a deep breath, blushing prettily, barely able to believe his words. "I...ah...yes, I think so Metellus, if you wish, and it is the will of the gods. But...it's been a very long day. Can we speak of this again tomorrow?"
***

And there, dear reader, is the end of the scroll. Does a happy marriage and family await them? Will Llyr and Lucretius try to disrupt the wedding? Will Meloch ever return, now that he has staged his death and gained his freedom? What evil plots does Mamerca plan for the Empire? Well...maybe one day, we'll find out.


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## Fimmtiu

Another beautiful asskicking! But... umm... how are they going to explain a prominent and noble patrician, a political candidate no less, cut to bits in his family's tombs? I mean, you drive an elephant into the place, someone's going to notice...

Happy spawning! Hope all goes well.


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## Pyske

Please pass along our thanks to the little one for being so patient, and encouraging you to finish up the story hour. It's been a pleasure to read.


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## Cerebral Paladin

I've had a great time reading the storyhour and remembering parts of the session I forgot.

But I have a question about Otho.  I thought that candidates for political offices in Rome were privileged against arrest or trial.  Doesn't that mean that Otho would just have been disgraced (and essentially out of the race), with his arrest and trial waiting for after the election?


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## Simon Jester

Cerebral Paladin said:
			
		

> I've had a great time reading the storyhour and remembering parts of the session I forgot.
> 
> But I have a question about Otho.  I thought that candidates for political offices in Rome were privileged against arrest or trial.  Doesn't that mean that Otho would just have been disgraced (and essentially out of the race), with his arrest and trial waiting for after the election?



I'm reasonably certain that the privilege doesn't extend toward traitors which, given the charge of aiding and conspiring with enemies of the Empire, Otho would be considered to be. Given his social status and candidacy, I'd bet he was given a pugio and allowed to salvage his family's honor.


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## Orichalcum

Simon Jester said:
			
		

> I'm reasonably certain that the privilege doesn't extend toward traitors which, given the charge of aiding and conspiring with enemies of the Empire, Otho would be considered to be. Given his social status and candidacy, I'd bet he was given a pugio and allowed to salvage his family's honor.





Cerebral Paladin was correct to remind me that Otho wasn't actually formally arrested, as he is under the protection of the law until the election season is over. Simon Jester is quite correct, though, that he's essentially under house arrest with heavy encouragement towards honorable suicide.


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## Meloch the Pygmy

It wasn't easy, deciding to die.  At first it seemed the only way out of getting tortured and shaming Domina Cornelia -- and after so completely botching the theft of Publicola's toga, it seemed the least I could do.  I had been looking for the opportunity for days.  Ideally an opportunity that wouldn't actually _kill_ me, but you know, I would have considered the other sort, too.

I managed to hide my intentions from Shast.  He's better suited to life in a villa than on the road -- and I wanted him to make sure Cornelia was all right.  Then, just before the fight at the Coliseum, Publicola agreed to drop the suit.  That was a bit of a shock.  It looked like I wouldn't be tortured after all.

But I realized I was still a liability to Cornelia.  She had learned all she needed to know from me; in fact, she was picking things up faster than I could teach them.  Now she needed respectability -- to settle down, whether as a Roman matron or a Brigante queen.  I would only get in the way.  Besides, it was only a matter of time before her mother had me murdered for stumbling onto the family secret.

And the real clincher: I was getting tired of killing frightened slaves and little girls.  We'd removed the real threat to Roma with Scaevola.  Did that leave some Celts who feared and hated the Empire still wandering around?  Of course... and frankly it's hard to blame them.  I didn't relish becoming Caesar's special squad for Celt removal.  That sort of dirty little war can go on forever.

So I took the opportunity to make my escape.  A touchy business -- if that roof had come down a second sooner, Heilyn would have had one very embarrassed spirit to talk to after all.  But it worked, I got out invisibly, and I thought I'd never see Cornelia and the rest of the group again.  

Shast's message reached me when I was about to take ship at Ostia.  Say what you will about my loyalty, I would never leave Domina Cornelia in danger.  I flew to the tomb of that ghastly old Roman and invisibly backed up Llyr and Metellus while they dispatched him again.  And then... it's hard to say what possessed me.  It had always been a bit of a sore point with me that Metellus didn't give Domina Cornelia the attention she deserved.  And that he resisted my love charm on the previous occasions I'd shot him -- the only spell effects he _ever_ managed to resist, I might add.

So I thought I'd put the decision in Cornelia's hands.  Metellus is awfully... well, Roman, and I wouldn't want him as _my _husband.  Especially not with Llyr as the other choice.  But Cornelia's always been a bit taken with Metellus, I think, and it was my last chance to sway the situation.  Oh, gods, the sight of Metellus down on one knee was worth it all.  I do hope Shast finds a way to send me word on what happens next.

For now, fair readers, I bid you a hasty adieu.  I imagine the old witch will be taking measures to confirm my death, and I want to be leagues from here when she realizes I'm still hale and hearty.

***

PS: thank you, Ori, for once again brightening my Afghanistan (and now London) days with Alea updates!  It was a pleasure to play, and it's been a pleasure to read.


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## Orichalcum

*Baby!*

I just wanted to let all our readers know that CerebralPaladin and I welcomed our new cohort into the world on August 17th. He is healthy and well, and probably leaning towards a rogue class, given his apparently unusually high dexterity (he can roll over onto his  side  already!)  Mage is not out of the question,  but will need to wait until his ability to perform verbal components is a little more refined.

Thank you all for reading this Story Hour. Until new material is generated, I suggest you check out Aphonion Tales, Welcome to the Halmae, Cheyenne Mountain Irregulars, or the more famous SHes of Piratecat and Sagiro.


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