# Curse of Darkness IV - When in Rome...



## Greenfield (May 14, 2012)

This next adventure was run by yet another DM.  The style may seem similar, but that's largely because the tale is being related by the same writer.

We are, however, back in time-synch, meaning about 500 a.d as opposed to the 1500 a.d. of the Florentine Affair story.
******* 
 There's an odd and empty smell to the pre-dawn hours. Somehow it carries the damp autumn chill within it, penetrating deeper than even a wintry blast. 

The Florentine commons were still littered with the remains of the  _Festivale de Luna_, including a few of the citizens who had simply found a place to curl up and sleep off the wine instead of going home. Tomorrow things would be cleaned up, the tents and pavilions struck and folded away until the next excuse for public excess.

The Gypsy camp was the exception, the quiet bustle as they packed the last few things. The animals had been fed and brushed down in preparation for the early departure, and their tents had been folded away within an hour of the festival's closing. They had an order to be gone before sunrise, and they'd had more than a little practice at departing by the dark of night. 

Across the quiet stillness of the city commons there came a man in a shimmering white cloak that seemed almost to glow. His hood was drawn against the night's chill, and his stride was smooth and unhurried. 

"I seek Comus Nedel and Marcus the Jovian.", he asked of the first person he encountered. The Gypsy grunted, gesturing towards the far side of the camp, then resumed his work. 

The companions, also under orders to vacate, were slower to rise than their Gypsy counterparts, but then they had less to ready for the road. They were just finishing the last of their cold porridge when the traveler approached. 

"Marcus the Jovian?", the man asked. "Comus Nedel?" 

"Here.", called Marcus, waving the man over. "We've little to offer, friend, but what we have is yours." 

The man neither bent nor sat in response to the invitation. Instead he drew out a sealed scroll. "Marcus, Priest of Jupiter, you are summoned to appear before the Senate in Rome. Nedel, Nic Comus of Transyl, your presence is also required. The summons is somewhat urgent, so please gather your company as quickly as possible. 

"We'll be ready within the hour.", Nedel assured the man. "We may need to track down our Bard, and I'm not sure where Euphemia went, but..." 

The man waved the Sorcerer to silence. "Your entourage is of course welcome, but you and the good Cleric are the only ones named. Still I am prepared. I'll have the horses here in an hour." 
***
"So who's bed did you find him in?", Seeburn asked, half in jest, as they half dragged Penn into the camp.

"My own.", replied the Bard, still tugging his tunic into place. "Though I wasn't alone. You folk decided to sleep here, but my room at the Inn was paid for, and so much more inviting." 

"And how much did that invitation cost you?", the Barbarian persisted in his joke. 

Penn managed to look insulted. "I have never had to pay someone to share my bed.", he said stiffly. Then he broke down and laughed. "The lass and I shared a bottle of good wine, a few songs, a few jests, and a few hours of company. And as long as her husband doesn't find out, we'll share some good memories as well. So, all costs included, my last few Dinar, but well worth it." 

Their guide appeared with a wagon for their gear and a string of horses. 

He was taken somewhat aback when Euphemia approached him. "How am I supposed to climb that thing, with a ladder?" 

"I'm sorry, young lady. I didn't know you were with them. You can ride in the wagon if you like. 

The Halfling was about to unleash her sharp tongue on him once more, but halted, peering up at the face his white hood concealed from the taller folk. 

"No problem, friend.", she said, displaying uncharacteristic good manners. "I'll toss my pack in back and ride with you. I'll drive the team, if you like." 

"Thank you, it would help.", the man replied. 

"Wha...?", came the half question from the others, but she waved them off. 

"He's blind.", she whispered. "His eyes are bandaged, the wrappings marked with the Imperial seal." 

The group pondered the significance of this as they packed and saddled up. 
***
The route they took was an obscure one, using neither the river nor the more direct south road, but instead winding into the mountains before turning south. And though this path took them a day or two longer than the straight road would, none questioned it.

"Think of it this way.", Penn joked. "It's not as if you're in any hurry to stand before Senator Denius again." 

Marcus agreed. He'd been avoiding his home city since Athens, knowing that he had made a powerful enemy in the Senator. None of their company would be safe from his wrath.  
 ***
The city of Rome had seen better days. Repairs on the city walls were evident, and many of the building still showed scorch marks, reminders of the Vandal siege of the previous year.

Smoke stains were evident, and some of the homes were still in ruins. A different sort of pall seemed to lay over the people, as they eyed the strangers, and even each other, with a tinge of fear and suspicion.

Their guide escorted them to an inn in a poorer section of the city, far from the white marble avenues of the Senate, or the grand promenade to the Colluseum.

The inn was somewhat run down, and the furniture in the common room showed signs of frequent breakage and less frequent repair.

"Reminds me of home.", Cassius said, brushing a few rat droppings from the corner before taking a seat.

"You left home, didn't you?", asked Sylus.

"Exactly!", the dark warrior responded, happy someone got his point. Still, it warmed his heart to see the city of his ancient enemies laid so low. His only regret was that some of it was still standing.

The Innkeeper stayed behind his counter, fear of the armed companions evident on his face.

"Friend, a pitcher of your finest for my friends and I.", Penn called. "Or a bowl of good punch if it suits you."

"I thought you were broke.", Euphemia whispered quietly.

"My purse is a bit light.", the Half Satyr admitted. "But the Senate is paying for our stay, and I wouldn't insult them by allowing them to be poor hosts."

The Innkeeper brought a pitcher and some cups, but then retreated once more to the relative safety of his counter.

Penn tasted the wine and made a face. "I wouldn't inflict this on a scrawny roast.", he said. "Sour and thin, _Vin Ordinair _."              at best. Good host, wine is supposed to have a bouquet, not  an odor. It's supposed to caress the pallet, not clutch at the throat."       

"I'm sorry, traveler.", the man replied. "It's all I have right now. We haven't had a good pressing since the Vandals, and..."

"Say no more, friend, I understand. We'll make do until we can do better."

A few words sung in praise to the lord of the Vines, and the problem was corrected, at least for the pitcher’s worth at hand.
***
"Set watches? In town?", came the question.

"Everyone in this city is afraid of something.", Sylus observed. "They weren't just afraid of us, they were afraid of everything. I figure they know something we don't."

"Good point.", agreed Marcus. "And if Denius knows how to find us, then so does trouble."

So it was agreed: "When in Rome, do as the Romans do


----------



## Greenfield (May 14, 2012)

***
Seeburn had moved a chair to the common hallway, and leaned back against the wall. He would have leaned against the door, but he wasn't sure the simple wooden latch would hold. Half the night had passed quietly, and he was missing his bed after days on the road. Not that these beds were all that much to miss, but still...

His reverie was disturbed by a loud clatter from his own room. He straightened quickly and entered to see what was wrong. 

The shutters of the window stood open to the night air, but the room was empty. He quickly checked behind the door and under the bed, but no one was there. Examining the window he found what had made the noise. He had closed and barred the shutters as any sane man would, but had laid his short crowbar in as well, for security. A knife mark in the wood showed where the intruder had slipped a thin blade between the shutters and driven it into the wooden bar so he could lift it quietly. He hadn't known about the iron bar, and it had fallen to the floor when the wood one was removed. 

The noise had scared whoever it was away. 
***
Something was wrong. Penn's eyes opened a slit in the darkness. Whether it was a heavy footfall or the chill of the night air, something had awakened the Fey, and he saw a man in black moving stealthily across the room towards his bed.

He had no dagger hidden under his pillow, and none of his magic was of the hurtful type, so he decided to try and shock the intruder. 

"Advice, from one professional to another?", he said to the shadowed figure. "Wooden hinges need a different sort of grease than metal ones. Use the wrong one and they groan a bit when you move them." 

The intruder, shocked by such calm advice, lunged forward, hoping to silence the figure in the bed before he could raise an alarm. His blade plunged down, burying itself deeply in... a pillow, as the Bard dodged aside. 

Penn, seeing the would-be assassin directly over his bed, did what came naturally. He snapped his head forward, delivering a vicious head-butt to the man, then rolled off the bed, calling for help as he did. 

The man staggered back in shock, then heard the thunder of running feet in the hall, and dove for the window. 

The door crashed inward as Seeburn's shoulder hit it. "What's happening?", he demanded. 

Penn grabbed his own blade as he rushed in pursuit. Peering out the window he called, "Hey, you forgot your knife!", hoping to make the man pause and look up so he could at least get a look at his face. 

To his surprise he saw that Sylus was out in the same alley, having apparently exited his own room next door in order to cut off the assassin's escape.  

The man didn't look up at Penn, but did stop for a moment in consternation and check his own hand for the blade he still held. 

Sylus tried to take advantage of that moment of indecision and dove for the man, but his grasping hands grabbed only shadows in that dark place. 

Seeburn took the more direct approach. He shoved the Bard aside and dove out the window, blade in hand. 

Now the man wished that he had looked up, for the Barbarian caught him by surprise and drove his sword nearly through him. 

Both fell to the ground with the impact, but with the speed of long practice the assassin continued the motion to roll to his feet and began to run, with Sylus and Seeburn fast on his heels. 

"Never the Night Watch when you need them.", Penn sang from his window vantage point, and a moment later there was a figure blocking the entrance to the alley. 

The wounded man, desperate, drew a second blade, a longer one, from a hidden place and charged the Watchman. And a moment later he was on the ground, three arrows protruding from his chest. 

"Who sent you!", Sylus demanded, seizing the fallen man by his bloody tunic. 

"He said he was sss...", the man managed to say before the words were drowned in blood. 

 *** 
Sylus sharp eyes scanned the night, searching for the men who fired the fatal arrows. All he saw was stillness and shadows, black on black.  Even the illusory Night Watch had faded from sight.

Seeburn walked across the plaza, leaving the relative cover of the alley. It was a risky move, but then the hidden snipers had managed three clean shots into that alley so it didn't seem to be all that much more of a risk. 

Penn came dashing down the way, Sylus' weapons in hand. "I thought you might need these.", he called as he joined the pair. 

But the Ranger's attention was elsewhere. "Hmm. Unusual.", he murmured as he examined the arrows. Each dead black shaft bore red fletchings and an arrowhead that looked almost like silver. He tested the tips, noting the razor edges on those odd heads, even after piercing armor, flesh and bone, 

"Careful, those might be poisoned.", Seeburn warned as he returned from his brief scouting expedition. 

"Nah. No grooves or hollows to hold it." the Ranger replied, arrows being his area of expertise. "I'm just not sure what the heads are made of. Which means they're unusual, probably custom work." 

The real Night Watch arrived moments later, drawn by the shouts and sounds of battle. 

Once explanations were made, they examined the body and prepared to haul it away. 

All the windows of the inn were alight, and the innkeeper stood in the rear door, anger clouding his normally fearful expression. 

"What's all this? None of the other guests can sleep with you folk yelling and pounding.", he said, red faced. 

"Oh, it's nothing.", Seeburn answered, taking a moment to wipe the assassin's blood from his sword. "Just a couple of people trying to kill us. I'm sure it will all be sorted out in the morning." 

The man paled and quickly retreated. The others returned to their chambers, and slowly the neighborhood grew quiet once more. 
*** 
"I'm adding that door to your bill!", insisted the innkeeper. "The intruders came in through the window. You broke that door yourself."

"Fine, fine. What are the damages?", asked Penn, annoyed to be bothered by such a detail. 

"15 gold.", the man said firmly. 

"You'll be paid.", Penn assured the man, though he had no idea where he'd come up with the money. Then an idea came to him. 

"Seeburn, may I borrow that little flask of yours? I promise I'll return it, full." 

The barbarian looked surprised, but handed over the last of his highland brew. 

Many a chair had given its all in various bar fights here. Some had been repaired, some replaced, and some had small casks filling in for them. Penn collected several of these and filled them from the fountain in the plaza. Taking a slight sip from the highlander's flask, he sang a song in praise of Dionysius, and then nearly fell over as the vapors of the brew swept over him. 

He handed over fully half of the yield to Seeburn. "I promised I'd refill it, and this should do that more than once.", he laughed. Then, taking one of the remaining containers, he went to the innkeeper. 

"You say you don't have anything better than that sour spittle to serve your guests?", he began with a smile. 

While Penn and the innkeeper were dickering, a herald arrived to escort Marcus and Nedel to their audience before the Senate. 

As they walked, they kept their eyes open, fearing that more of Senator Denius' minions would attack them. 

"Do you think he'll try again?", Nedel asked quietly.  

"Not sure.", answered Marcus. "I'm actually surprised that they failed last night. I expected better from him." 

"Not that I'm complaining", joked Nedel, "but I think we've been insulted. He obviously didn't care enough to send the very best." 

"I'm almost looking forward to the look on his face when we actually show up.", Marcus said in agreement. "But we know this isn't over." 
*** 
"Thank the gods you're safe.", said Denius effusively. "I heard about the attack." The two others in the room nodded their agreement.

"We were all worried.", Calvinus added. "There have been attempts on all of our lives, and any travelers who enter the city seem marked for death." 

"Plots are part of life for some of us.", Markus Caesar expanded, "but these are something else. Everyone seems to be a target. We called you here because, frankly, you're the only people we can trust." 

 That confused the companions, but the explanation followed quickly. Denius had issued the summons, to disguise the fact that the pair of companions were to meet with Caesar himself. The Senate knew nothing of the meeting, and that was how everyone wanted it.  The companions were strangers to the halls of power, and were thus to be trusted as they had no connections to any who normally prowled those halls.

While technically the Senate was all but powerless, in reality they were the most powerful 100 men in the world. Their advice guided the empire, and their wealth and influence extended their reach far beyond the city walls. If they should learn of secret meetings, the shockwaves could upset the very delicate balance that kept the Empire functioning. 

And, of course, if someone wanted to upset that balance, terrorizing the Senators was one way to do it. Someone was doing just that. 

It wasn't just that people were being killed. Rome was a large city, and someplace in it there was always a crime of some kind happening. But this was different. Everyone in the city was afraid. And everyone was a suspect. Rumors and suspicion were turning neighbor against neighbor, friend against friend. 

The companions had distinguished themselves in Athens, and more to the point, they weren't from Rome. They had earned the trust and respect of the Emperor himself, the General of all the armies and the head of the Senate as well, though this last one was loathe to admit it. 

Now these men needed them to find and root out the conspirators, and as quickly as possible. 
*** 
"I don't believe that Denius just asked for our help.", Nedel laughed as they headed back to the inn.

"Well, politics is the art of expediency.", Marcus mused. "What we did  _to_ him in the past isn't nearly as important as what we can do  _for_ him right now. He'll probably go back to hating us once this is over."
 
The pair were all but laughing when they walked into the common room of the inn.

"Marcus Gaius Domenicus?", asked a man who wore the brassard of the City Watch. 

"Yes, that's me.", the Cleric answered openly. "How can I help you?" 

"You're under arrest, by order of the Magistrate Senorum, for conspiracy against the Emperor's right hand, General Calvinus." 

And as quickly as that, Marcus was marched away under guard. 

"Does anyone know what that was all about?", Apellenea asked in shock. "I thought he cleared that all up in Florence." 

"Well, the mails might not have reached Rome yet.  And if the guard heard he was in town…", Seeburn answered, carefully studying the rafters of the room, the hint of a smile dancing at the edges of his lips.
*** 
The companions fanned out across the city, each to their own quarter, seeking answers.

Penn and Nedel paired up, visiting inns and public houses, offering samples of this "new" brew, asking questions and listening to tales. The curiously strong drink, which Penn had nicknamed "Essence of porcupine" for its harsh draw, loosened more than a few tongues. 

Fletchers took one look at the arrows Sylus offered for examination and turned him away, faces pale and hands shaking. But the direction they turned him towards was useful. 

Euphemia took a sharply different approach. The assassin's purse had been empty, but a small signet ring was found in the folds of his sash. The emblem depicted was Egyptian, a pyramid with the apex stone suspended above, a single eye engraved on that stone. She took that ring to all the wrong places, and asked all the wrong people about it, hoping to find the right answers. 

She was directed to a shop, a jeweler who specialized in signet rings. But the directions lead to an empty alley, and once she ventured into its confines the entrance was blocked by half a dozen men. 

"You sent a boy to do a man's work.", she said softly as she tossed the ring to the leader. "He failed. Have you considered giving the job to a woman?" 
 *** 
"Marcus, good to see you,", called Seeburn, as the Cleric entered the inn. "You worked things out?"

"The Imperial Warrant helped.", Marcus said sternly. He hadn't wanted to show the order, signed by Caesar, to the guard, but it was better than showing it to the Magistrate. Like the one Nedel carried, it authorized him as an agent of the Empire, but like Nedel's order, it was given during the secret meeting. The guards might gossip, but the Magistrate was high enough up the food chain that the word would definitely spread in all the wrong places.

He could have waited until the Finding from Florence arrived, clearing him, but that could take days. The mails weren't exactly reliable these days.

"So what do we know?", he asked, changing the subject. His friends gathered around to share what they had learned.

"The trouble makers seem to have a foothold in the south quarter.", Penn began. "It was the most heavily damaged by the Vandals, and being relatively poor it's been the slowest to be repaired."

"Our assassin wasn't local.", Nedel added. "He hailed from the north east, perhaps a Hun or a Czech. An out of town assassin, but not a very good one."

"The arrows that killed him were made at a shop on Canal street.", Sylus informed them. "It was the arrowheads that placed them. They're distinctive. An iron alloy, but bright instead of black. They hold an edge better than straight iron, and are pricey. "

"The targets were Marcus and Nedel.", Euphemia informed the group. "The man didn't know what rooms they were in, which is why he kept trying."

"Wait a minute.", said Nedel. "The assassins have been targeting travelers from other cities. Marcus is a Roman. Why would they want him?"

"I don't know.", the Halfling answered. "All I know is that the price was set on the 'heads of the Romans', and for some reason they included you in that set."

Nedel raised his hand, revealing a black iron ring, the sign of a Citizen of Rome. "My father's title, Comus, means 'Companion of Emperors'. It makes us Citizens of Rome." Then he added hastily, "And then there's my commission."

"What commission?", came the common question.

"After the business in Athens, I was given a commission as a Centurion. A reward for volunteering to take Calvinus' place, and make myself a target. I've been doing some negotiating on Rome's behalf, mostly down south."

"The Egyptian grain exchange?", Apellenea asked in wonder. "Did you have a hand in that?"

"Yeah. My father knew some people who knew some people. I helped negotiate it while we were in Florence. There were a lot of influential people there, you know. It's probably one of the reasons we got called to 'appear before the Senate'."

There was much concern among the group. They weren't supposed to draw attention to themselves, but were quickly being drawn in far over their heads. The meeting began to break up, without resolution.


----------



## Greenfield (May 14, 2012)

*** 
"Penn?", asked Euphemia quietly, once the others were out of earshot. "I need to do something, and I think I need your help."

She quickly explained what she needed, and the Half Satyr nodded his head. Then his face broke into a smile that his friends had learned to dread. 

"All right, you need to get a few things. Go to the market square and get some peaches and almonds, then to an apothecary. Tell him you need Wormwood, Nightshade, and Morpheus Leaf." 

"Are you sure?", she asked, reviewing the list. "Won't someone notice?" 

"I'm counting on it.", the Bard laughed. "I'll make the other arrangements." 
***
"What is that, Seeburn?", asked Penn, noting the heavy round sack the Barbarian was toting.

"Oh, just something I dug up.", the Highland warrior replied, stifling a smile. 

The Half-Satyr raised a single eyebrow. "Do tell." 

"Well, that Assassin we killed the other day.", he began, in a roundabout way. "He was buried there in a common grave. They'd left part of it open, so they could add more bodies, and there he was." 

"So you decided to commit a little grave robbery?", Penn asked, unhappy with where this was going. 

"Not really. It's not like he had anything to steal. But my people have a tradition. When we kill an enemy, we take their head and display it. And it's not like he needs it any more." 

Penn turned away. His people, the Greeks, had coined the term "Barbarian" to mean uncivilized people, outlanders. Seeburn was certainly living up to the name.  But still…

 “If you’re in a digging mood, I could use your help.”, he began.
*** 
Euphemia found one of the taller cask/chairs in the common room and wheeled it over to the table near the fire. The Bard was sitting nearby, holding off a chill that had nothing to do with the autumn weather. The tune that floated from his instrument wasn't the happy sort that attracted silver, but his hat was out anyway. 

The Halfling listened for a while, then tossed in a handful of coin before heading up to her room. 

Penn emptied the hat into his palm, to reveal five bright Platinum coins. He dropped them in his pouch without a word, and resumed his sad song. They would cover the costs of what he needed to do.

 *** 
Penn spent the next morning making arrangements of his own, and the rest of the day working in his room.

The common room of the inn was crowded that night, word having spread about the exceptional brew the innkeeper had acquired. Among the companions, dinner conversation turned once again to the problem at hand. 

"The assassin's group we're dealing with is infamous. They’re called the Red Masque, and they allow no failure. To fail a commission is death.", Marcus informed the group. "That's why they killed their own man. It wasn't to keep him silent, it was because he failed." 

"That would explain why he kept trying after setting off the alarm.", Seeburn said in wonder. "I thought he was just stupid. He was desperate." 

"No, 'stupid' was sending one man to kill eight people in a single night.", Euphemia declared as she reached for some warm bread. "Stupid was him not bothering to find out which rooms we were in." 

Marcus suddenly looked down at his hand in shock. His finger was missing, severed, leaving a nearly bloodless wound. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed out of his chair. 

"Oh crap!", exclaimed Euphemia. "I'll go get the guard. You guys look for whoever did this." 

"I want to know  _how_ they did it.", exclaimed Sylus.

The guard appeared within minutes, followed quickly by a Cleric. 

The priest sniffed at Marcus half-empty cup and wrinkled his nose. "Bitter almonds.  This man has been poisoned.", he announced.

"Who could have done such a thing?", the guard demanded. And all eyes turned to the crowded, bustling room. It could have been anyone. 
***
Euphemia took another unnecessary turn, part of her meandering route to a dead end. She just hoped it wasn't her end as well. Several times she thought she heard footsteps behind her, but when she turned to look, no one was there.

The alley was empty, as expected, but she entered anyway. She tossed a severed finger down, the iron ring on it clicking loudly against the cobbles. 

"It's done, and here's the proof.", she called to the darkness.  

A sack of coin landed behind her, its source unseen and unknown. 

"The money and the ring are yours.", came a voice. "You've earned them. We'll contact you when we're ready." 
*** 
There's an odd and empty smell to the pre-dawn hours. Somehow it carries the damp autumn chill within it, penetrating deeper than any wintry blast. It was fitting, though, for it made the slow march to the graveyard even more lonely. The few who were up and about averted their eyes from the procession, and fewer still were the mourners for the fallen Cleric.

Only his companions accompanied the burial cart, though there were three gray cloaked men who followed in their wake. Though they followed at a distance, they made no real attempt to hide their presence. 

The grave was a poor one, though the fallen fared better than a pauper's grave. He would share his final rest with no other. Seeburn had prepared the hole, and he and Cassius carefully lowered the shrouded body into the waiting arms of the earth.

 ***
"Aiiieeeee!!!", came the scream as the innkeeper's daughter all but flew down the stairs and fled to the back rooms.

Penn immediately rose to his feet and began to follow. 

"Have you no shame?", Apellenea asked, frowning. "She's 13." 

The Half-Satyr looked torn. "I wasn't going to do anything like that.", he explained in exasperation. "I just wanted to make sure she wasn't hurt or something. Besides, she has an older sister. If I wanted some company..." 

Seeburn was laughing to himself in the corner, both at the exchange and at the child's reaction. 

"Seeburn, what did you do?", the Druidess asked sternly. 

"Nothing really.", he chuckled. "Just hung the Assassin's head inside my room, facing the door. I'd wager that she'll pay attention to a "keep out" sign from now on." 

"Why would you do such a thing?", Apellenea demanded. 

"I didn't want her finding Marcus sleeping under my bed.", he explained. "Having him maimed and murdered here last night was bad enough, but to find him whole, alive and well would blow the whole thing." 
*** 
A slender girl looked furtively left and right, then approached the shopkeeper. She began to point at things she wanted, holding up fingers to indicate how many. Sausages, cheese, bread, her list was short and direct.

"What's the matter, girlie.", the shopkeeper snarled. "Cat got your tongue?" 

She gave the man a look, both hurt and angry, and opened her mouth. Her tongue had been cut out. He looked taken aback, and began to fill her order. 

She paid for her goods and left, still upset. She took a shortcut through a narrow alley, but a sharp observer might have noticed that while a slight girl with brown hair entered the alley, it was a Nubian slave, bare chested with oiled muscles who emerged from the far end. He went to another shop where he ordered a few more things. 
*** 
"I seek Vicomus Nedel, of Transyl.", announced the man in the white robe, the Imperial seal across his bandaged eyes quite prominent.

"I'm sorry, but he isn't here.", Sylus replied, not bothering to rise. "If you have a message for him I'll see that he gets it." 

"I have a summons for him, and I may deliver it to no other.", the blind messenger said. "Where can I find him." 

"I honestly don't know. His companion was murdered last evening, and there was an attempt on his life the night before. He may be in hiding. Where can he find you, in case we see him?" 

"People don't find me, I find them.", the man said testily. "But finding this man is going to be work." 

"Well, if you happen to look back here, say tomorrow evening around sunset, you just might find him", Penn suggested. "If I can find him I'll tell him to be here to meet you." 

The man gave the Half Satyr an impatient look, then swept from the inn and into the night. 
*** 
The door rattled with the impact of a mailed fist. "Wake up!', came the call.

Penn pried an eye open and dragged himself to the door. He opened it a crack to see who was there, taking care to wedge a hoof behind it so it couldn't be forced open any farther. 

"Yes, how can I help you?", he asked the man in the corridor. Or should it be "men"? There were half a dozen men, all dressed in the armor of a Roman soldier. 

"We need you to come with us, now.", the man said impatiently. 

"Right.", said the Bard. Turning to the bed he commented, "Get some clothes on, we have company." Then further wakefulness settled in and he added, "Sorry, force of habit", speaking to the empty room. 

He opened the door and began to dress. Seeing the men's martial bearing he held up his dagger before hooking it on his belt. "Is this coming with me?", he asked carefully. 

"No, it isn't.", the guard snarled. 
*** 
"You know, this bed is actually better than the one in my room.", Cassius commented, testing the pad on the jail cell bunk. 

"And the acoustics are excellent.", Penn said, listening to the resonance off the stone walls. 

"Why do you care?', Seeburn asked unhappily. 

"If someone was being tortured here, we'd be able to hear the screams.", the Bard pointed out. "So it's not that serious." 

"They said it's because someone disappeared from the inn last night.", grumbled one of the men in the next cell.  

"Do tell.", Penn said in a friendly manner. "So this is about the murder? 

"Na. It's about the other guy, Nevel of Needel or something like that. Visiting nobleman." 

"Ah, thank you my friend. I'm Penn, by the way.", the Bard said, offering the man his hand. 

"Gravius", the man responded. "I hope they finish up soon. I have a business to tend." 

Penn and the man spent a while talking about the man's business, trading in Papyrus from Egypt, and the Bard actually managed to look interested until the time the guards came for him. 

They'd been taking people one at a time for questioning, but since they'd rounded up everyone at the inn, as well as a list of "the usual suspects", it was taking time. 
*** 
"What do you know about Vicomus Needle?", asked the first guard sharply.

"It's pronounced Nedel", Penn corrected the man, placing the hard emphasis on the second syllable. "He's my friend and companion. We've traveled together ever since he helped free me from slavery of the Vandal. I owe him my life. He was summoned here by Senatorial order, though I don't know who exactly sent the order. You may have heard that another of our companions, Marcus of the Jovian temple, was murdered the other evening right in front of us, and there was an attempt on Vicomus Nedel just the previous evening. I haven't seen him since yesterday morning, and I wouldn't be surprised if he was in hiding." 

"All right, where did you meet.", the man began again, pressing for details. The questions kept coming, reworded, repeated and rephrased, for over an hour. 

In the end they released Penn. He returned to the inn to wait for his friends to be released. 

This was becoming annoying.
 *** 
"All right, what do we know?", demanded Sylus. "I'm tired of this mess, and the sooner we're done with it the better."

"We tracked down the Assassins.", Penn offered helpfully. "Believe it or not, they're in a black stone building in the south quarter marked "Here be Assassins."

"I don't believe it.", the Ranger responded brusquely. 

"Neither do I, really.", Penn agreed, leaning back in his chair. "Nobody that inept could be a threat to anyone. But if I was an assassin trying to blend in, where better than with a group of misfits pretending to be assassins?"

The Ranger pondered the possibility for a moment, trying to decide if the mischevious Bard was being serious or just having a laugh. It was insane. But was it insane enough?

"All right, I'll check out the arrows.", he announced, "I'll see where they lead me. If it's the same place, then we report it and we're done."

"And how do we report it?", Seeburn asked. "The triumvirate won't see any of us. We won't get past the guards without Marcus or Nedel and their warrants"

"We'll burn that bridge when we come to it."


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## Greenfield (May 14, 2012)

*** 
The shop of the Green Fletcher wasn't hard to find. Just outside the south quarter, it was on a side street with little traffic. The door was closed, but the shop didn't appear to be. Yet as the Ranger watched, not only did no one enter, passers by would cross the street rather than pass in front of it.

He approached the door carefully, waving his companion back to the side. Carefully he lifted the latch and eased the door open. 

There was a sharp "Twang", and an arrow zipped by his head, to lodge itself in the wall of the shop across the way. He turned his instinctive duck into a forward roll, coming upright in a low crouch near the counter, long knife in hand. 

The room was narrow and covered in the dust of disuse. Nothing moved, and all was silent. Except for... snoring? 

Carefully he raised his head above the counter, blade at the ready. Peering over the top he spied the source of the sound. A Half-Orc sat at the craftsman's table, slumped forward and apparently fast asleep. 

"Hey, you!", Sylus called, prodding the man with the tip of his bow. "Hey, wake up!" 

"Hmph, wha?", the man semi-articulated as his rest was disturbed. "What are you doing in my shop? How did you get in here?" 

"I'm here on business.", Sylus responded. "The door was unlocked, so we walked in." 

The foul-faced man looked up towards the door to where Penn stood, holding an arrow in his hand. "Good workmanship.", he commented. "But I've seen better. Besides, it missed." 

"Oh, that. Don't worry about that, It's just something I set up to keep people out when I'm, um, working." 

"Yeah, you were working pretty hard.", Sylus commented dryly. "I'm looking for some arrows.", he said, getting back to the point.  

"Ah, well, I have those. Lots of em.", the craftsman mumbled, stumbling to his feet. He crossed to a bin and began pulling out bundles of matched arrows. Long, short, heavy light, crossbow bolts, even a ballista bolt. 

"I'm looking for these.", Sylus said, holding up one of the black shafted quarrels from the previous night. 

"Oh, those?", responded the Half-Orc. "Yeah, I made those. Special commission, supposed to make a few hundred of em. Whole lot got stolen, ruined me." 

"Ruined you? How?', asked Penn. 

"Caesar commissioned the set, huge set, for the Praetorian Guard. I was one of the Imperial Craftsmen, you know.", he said, pointing to a plaque on the wall, shattered pieces hung in a semblance of their original form. "But someone stole the lot. I couldn't fill the order in time. Thought I'd have time, but then the Vandals came. Caesar died, I didn't get paid, it all went to Tartarus." 

"I'm curious about the metal of the arrowheads.", Penn asked in particular.  

"Oh, that? Bought a dozen pigs of that stuff from some Dwarves down from the Rhineland. Pretty stuff. Holds an edge too. Got some blades of the stuff. Most people don't like em, too light they say." 

And now the craftsman began to draw out blades of the bright metal. Penn picked one up carefully and tested its weight. It was indeed light, thin and quick, a blade you'd dance with instead of wrestling. 

"How much?", he asked, almost in a trance. 

"That one? 320. Unless you're a friend of Caesars. Then it's more.", the man replied jokingly, now fully awake. 

"Well, I may be able to put in a word, get your status restored.", Penn said suggestively. Then reality washed over him like cold water. His purse rattled near empty and he knew it. 

"Any idea who took your arrows?", Sylus asked, again dragging the conversation back on topic. 

"Oh, those posers down south. Stupid kids trying to convince everyone they're bad and tough." 

"You mean the ones who hang out at the 'Here be Assassins' hall?", laughed the Ranger. 

"That's them. They won't admit it, but I seen some of em with my arrows. They took em, and if I get my hands on them..." 

Penn laid down the fine blade and backed away. They'd learned what they could, and he resolved that he would indeed try to put in a good word for the "Green Fletcher", if the occasion arose. 
*** 
"So now what?", Seeburn demanded.

"This isn't really our problem, you know.", Penn said, feeling uncomfortable even as he said the words. "None of your sponsors called you to this, and as far as I know Denius might still be behind it. We could just leave town and be done with it." 

"I'd like to be alive again.", added Marcus, scratching at the thick beard he wore as a disguise. For the moment he was "Sebernius", cousin of Seeburn, his holy symbol and other identifying items hidden beneath the oddly checked half-robe Seeburn had loaned him. 

"We can't leave town without Nedel.", Apellenea added. "If the assassins don't kill him, Denius will. Failure will be all the excuse he needs." 

"All right, let's find Nedel.", Penn resolved. "In the mean time, Mar..., er Sibernius, you'll need to write a message to the triumvirate." 

"What should it say?", asked the disguised Cleric. 

"Start with, 'The reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated'.", Penn laughed. "Then tell them what we know." 

"How are we going to find Nedel?", asked Euphemia. "He can look like anyone, and he won't be using his own name." 

"We found the assassins without knowing their names or what they look like.", the Half Satyr countered. "We just have to ask in the right places." 
***
The trail was an odd one. One shopkeeper recalled seeing a strange girl who didn't speak. Another noted a man who looked like he came from beyond Egypt, but spoke with the rich, flowing dialect of the north. Yet another recalled a stranger dressed in poor man's clothes, but displaying a rich man's tastes, and again with that northern accent.

"Well, I recall someone odd. Not that there's anything odd about that these days.", a tavern keeper reported. "But you have to be careful. Me? I'm careful not to notice too many things. I likes me blood on the inside, if you know what I mean." 

"How odd was this person?", Penn asked, overpaying for yet another drink, while painfully aware that he couldn't afford such generosity. 

"Well, she didn't talk, but she took my spare room. Paid well, but I haven't seen her since. Not for a meal, not for a drink, not even for the necessary. Not that I'm noticing, mind you." 

"Is it this way?", Euphemia asked, indicating the narrow stair. 

"Yep. On the left. Not that I'm telling, mind you." 

"Not that we're asking.", Penn answered. 
***
Nedel sat silent, his back braced against the door, facing the barred window. If there was a way anyone could enter this room without him seeing them, he didn't know what it was.

He stiffened as he heard footsteps on the stairs, and his heart raced when the knock came at his door. Quickly he assumed his "tongueless girl" guise and peered through the crack in the door. When he saw that it was Penn he opened it, slightly. 

"We're looking for a friend.", Penn said quietly. "If you could tell that friend that a messenger will be looking for him at the other inn tonight, around sundown, it would be appreciated." 

The pair exchanged knowing looks, then the Bard retreated, Euphemia close behind. 

"Why did you tell her that?", the Halfling asked as they left. 

"That was him.", Penn explained. "I know the spell well, and if you know what to look for you can see through it." 

"Ah, so we're back to the others now?", she asked. 

"No. You're probably still being watched, and if we stop now the watchers will know that we found what we're looking for." 

"Ah, it's always in the last place you look.", Euphemia chuckled. "So now what?" 

"East, I think. If I have to spend my last few silver on this, I'd like to spend them in a better neighborhood."


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## Greenfield (May 14, 2012)

***
The Senatorial Page jostled his way through the crowded common room, calling out as he came: "Marcus Gaius Domenicus? Message for Marcus Gaius Domenicus?"

Marcus groaned quietly. He'd sent the message privately, to ensure that his secret would be kept. And what do they do? The sent someone to scream to the entire room, Tartarus, to the entire town, that he's alive. 

"He's dead at the moment.", Penn volunteered casually, a chuckle rolled through the room. "But I'll give it to him when he comes back." 

"I have to deliver it to him personally.", the page insisted. 

"Come join us for a moment, we'll see if we can work things out. Sebernius, make room for our friend." 

Once they had the noisy lad corralled, Marcus identified himself quietly, and they explained the need for the ruse. The boy's response was surprising. 

"The assassins? I wouldn't worry about them, though I wouldn't be on the streets tonight if I didn't have to be. The Guard are out in force tonight, and they'll bring them down once and for all." 

Penn and Sylus exchanged a worried look. 

"If the guard are down in the south quarter, clearing out the baby assassins, what are the real assassins doing?" 

"I don't know.", Apellenea responded, "but I know where they won't be. They won't be anywhere near that building in the south quarter." 

"That's crazy", Sylus said to no one in particular. "Do you think they did this whole thing with the sign just to draw the guard there?" 

"And if the guard is there, we know where they won't be too.", Penn responded. 

"Grab your gear, folks. It's going to be a busy night.", Seeburn said, happy for some action. 
***
Nedel leaned back in his chair, setting down the dice cup. He'd been waiting for half an hour, and his disguise spell was going to fade soon. No Imperial messenger had arrived, but the others were heading for their gear in a rush, so he decided to wait outside.

As the companions emerged into the starless night, he spoke to them. 

"Imperial messenger my ass.", he complained. "I'm risking my life just being here, the least the guy could do would be show up on time." 

"Well, if that's the way you feel, then here's a better idea. Instead of standing here, risking your life for nothing, come risk your life with us." 

"Best offer I've had all night.", the Sorcerer replied with a smile. 
***
Euphemia was the last to arrive, since she'd had to take an evasive route to the palace in order to lose her shadows.

The arranged meeting point was the fountain plaza just north of the palace, and she quickly spotted her friends in a nearby alley. 

"What do you see so far?", she asked Sylus, whose sharp eyes were scanning the area. 

"The gate guards are at their posts, and the patrols are nice and regular.", he reported. "See? 40 paces down, turn, and 20 paces back, pause and sweep, then 20 paces more. A child could slip past them." 

"What about those guards down there?", the Halfling asked, indicating another group up the way. 

"They don't seem to be doing anything. They're not at attention, they're just hanging out in that alcove." 

"Okay, we know what comes next.", Penn groaned. Looking at Nedel he said, "One of us has to go and challenge them. Whichever one it is will likely be killed. And we're the only ones who can do it." He drew a pair of dice from his pouch. "Loser gets the job?", he asked. 

Nedel nodded and the die was cast. 

"Good bye, Nedel.", the Bard said quietly. 

"Good bye, Penn.", the Sorcerer responded. Then he drew himself up, muttered a few words, and took on the seeming of a real Centurion, 4 Cubits tall, a scar on his face and a mean look in his eye. He all but stalked up to the group and mustered the gruffest voice he could manage. 

"What are you lot doing here?", he demanded. "Why aren't you at your posts?" 

The guards didn't respond, or even move, and Nedel quickly realized that they were dead, hanging on spikes wedged into the walls of the alcove to make it look like they were standing on their own. 

He turned towards the group and noticed another disturbing fact: All the other visible guards had vanished. 

"Go! Go!", he called, waving his friends on as he ran for the gate. The Assassins had already infiltrated the guard, the attack on the palace was under way. 

The others responded, joining him as he entered the palace grounds. He quickly explained what had happened. 

A quick check down one side path revealed several uniforms, breastplates and all, dumped there as the Assassins shed their disguises before going into hiding. 

"Well, if you're the Centurion, then I'll have to be Caesar.", Penn declared, after assessing the situation. "The more confusion we can spread, the better. And if we give them two targets, then they won't be able to focus on either one completely." And then with a brief song, his form shimmered and shifted as well. Now he looked like Markus Caesar, accompanied by his staunch Centurion bodyguard. 

The group advanced towards the palace proper. 
*** 
The attack shouldn't have been a surprise, since Penn and Nedel were trying to draw exactly that sort of attention. But it was.

The party had barely reached the palace entry when arrows flew from the darkness. 

Nedel and Penn were both struck, as was Apellenea. Nedel was hit in the shoulder and the thigh, neither fatal but together they were enough to drop him. He may have looked like a hardened battle veteran, but beneath the seeming he was still the same fragile Carpathian Sorcerer. 

The Bard fared better, but was still badly injured. Apellenea held a hand to her side to staunch the bleeding, but kept her feet. 

Sylus almost smiled at the thought of an archery duel. He and Seeburn were both excellent bowmen, but the enemy outnumbered them six to two in this exchange. Yet his bow sang its song of death, neither knowing nor caring about the odds. 

Seeburn's bowstring struck a similar chord, and the battle was on. 

Ahead they could hear the clatter of heavy armor as more of the enemy approached, which was fine with Cassius and Marcus. They stood their ground, ready for whatever came. 

"The archers are Bugbears.", Seeburn called. "See? Atop those columns." 

"I'll get Nedel up.", Marcus replied. "We'll need everyone for this." 

An onlooker might have thought it odd that the bearded highlander was hoisting his half robe over the fallen Centurion, but that was where Marcus had secured the magical wand of healing, and in any case his target was unconscious. 

Penn crouched next to his fallen comrade. He had been about to do a similar bit of healing, but since the Jovian had been faster he decided to try something else. He clasped his hands in concentration, and began to chant. 

" _Silently the morning mist is lying on the water..._", and moments later a shroud of fog arose to provide them with cover.

"Believe not what you see.", he whispered to Marcus and Apellenea. "And tell the others, quietly." 

Roars of frustration arose from the archers, suddenly denied targets, but Sylus felt much the same. He knew that the Half Satyr was a tricky bastard, and had heard him say not to believe in the fog, but his eyes told him it was very very real. 

Seeburn had taken cover outside of the mist covered area, so it neither protected nor impeded him. 

Cassius had moved to the leading edge of the fog bank so he could peer out while at least partially covered. 

Ahead he could see the approaching foot soldiers. 

"Tartaurus!", he swore. "Minotaurs, on the way. Could use some help here." 
*** 
Seeburn charged the first of the foot soldiers, blade in hand and a song in his heart. He'd grown weary of people playing word games and hide-and-seek.  Having a solid foe in front of him was far more to his liking.

Sylus smiled as he saw the archers slide down their climbing lines. They were looking for a way to see their targets, but they'd left their good cover behind. 

Nedel waved feebly to Marcus, telling him to go where he was needed, then called together his will and summoned forth the magic of light. He sent the image of the flaming man up, clear of the "fog", to try and draw enemy fire while he pulled himself to his feet. Marcus had healed some of his wounds, but he was still bleeding and far from ready to fight. 

Then the real fighting began. Seeburn held two of the great bull warriors at sword point, but he knew he was overmatched. More came stampeding into the fog, seeking prey. 

A pair found Penn and Apellenea and with a roar of triumph laid in. The Elf maid dodged nimbly aside, but the other drove his blade nearly through the frail Bard and he fell. The fog vanished at once. 

"I got him!", thundered the warrior. "I killed Caesar!" 

" _Then you'd better keep him in one piece, for the reward._", came the subtle suggestion from Nedel, with all the magical charm he could put behind it. He saw that his friend was still alive, and didn't want him beheaded as a trophy.

Apellenea shifted to her left and chanted the simple words, " _Vitae!_", and sent the healing energies into her fallen friend.

Penn was still in agony, but was now awake enough to feel it. He knew that he had no harmful magics, and the thought of him fighting such warriors was laughable, even under the best of circumstances. But he had one final trick up his sleeve, the demon amulet. He placed his hand on it and focused his will, trying to get it to serve him once more. He felt it stir to life, its power reaching out to seize the minds of the weak. All he had to do was give it form. 

"I am Markus Octavius Caesar!", he roared, with a strength he didn't really feel. "Who would dare to strike me?" 

The magic swept out, taking hold of the minds of several of the taurian foot soldiers. They stood immobile, caught up in the shock and awe of the moment. Even the one who kept his wits about him was shaken for a moment as he realized what would be done to him for this, whether he succeeded or not. 

Sylus took advantage of the moment, spun in place and fired an arrow upward, under the chin of one of the immobilized combatants. The Minotaur clutched at its throat and collapsed, drowning in a river of his own blood. 

Penn couldn't recreate his imaginary fog, but that became unnecessary a moment later as arrows began to fall in the area, shedding magical darkness as they struck. Apellenea almost laughed at their tactical blunder. The enemy archers had effectively taken themselves out of the battle, at least for the moment. 

Cassius rushed forward to make it more permanent.  

Penn handed the second healing wand to Apellenea and urged her, "Help Nedel. He's still in bad shape." She nodded and turned to follow in the direction the Sorcerer had taken. 

Nedel found himself in an odd game. He still looked like a burly Roman soldier, but staggered with the severity of his wounds. A Minotaur was after him, and he dodged around a statue, to a column, into the darkness and out again, his pursuer all but berserk with frustration at the foe who wouldn't stand and fight. 

Penn knew that his amulet was still active, so he ran out of the darkness to confront some of the archers. If the power of the demon amulet could shock them into submission, they just might survive this fight. 

Seeburn was doing more than just "survive". Taken with the battle madness, he had felled one of his opponents and was battering the second one soundly. He was bleeding from a dozen wounds by this time, but in his fury he hardly noticed them. 

Fortunately for him, Marcus noticed. The Cleric found him in the chaos and shared the gift of divine healing, then began to maneuver to herd the great bull warrior, to hedge its maneuvering room, making it easier for Seeburn to deal with. 

Euphemia had taken shelter within a low fountain, a place too small for any human sized person to hide in, but for her it provided a perfect sniper's position, and she was peppering the enemy archers with pinpoint accurate fire. 

And slowly, slowly, the tide of battle turned. One archer fell, then another. The foot soldiers were scattered, lost, frustrated and harassed. Some had fallen, and all were bleeding, and every time they thought they had a victory, somehow their prey managed to rise again and continue the battle. 

Marcus had decided to abandon any real attempt to keep his identity secret, and called upon the blessing of his grandfather, Chronos. He stood twelve feet tall, and laid about him with a mad abandon that would have made the bravest of men hesitate. None could close with him, and the few that managed to even step within striking distance were met with his huge blade and battered back. 

Then, from the direction of the palace there came the sounds of running feet. A dozen more men approached at a full charge, weapons drawn. And there was no way to tell if these guards were real, or more hirelings of the Assassins' guild. 

Apellenea decided not to take any chances. "_Rootbind![/I}", she said, almost gently, asking the plants and trees to aid her.__ 

The charge slogged to a grinding halt as the grasses of the garden seized upon any convenient foot, leg or sandal that happened to be within reach. The grasses did their job, deaf to the blustering oaths, threats and curses of the soldiers. 

Nedel saw what had happened and dashed into the darkness once more, headed straight for the enchanted area. Counting his steps carefully, he pounded hard that way, then abruptly changed course, treading more lightly now in the hopes that his blundering pursuer would lose track of him in the murk. 

His plan worked perfectly as the Minotaur charged blindly into the darkness, then out again in a straight line and directly into the waiting clutches of the grasping vines. 

And then, suddenly, it was over. The companions stood, gasping with exhaustion, with no foes left to fight. A few of the enemy had turned and run, one had surrendered, and the one in the tangling grasses was quickly subdued by the soldiers, once their identities were confirmed._


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## Greenfield (May 14, 2012)

*** 
"Hail Caesar!", cried the captain of the guard, raising his hand in salute.

"I'm not really Caesar.", Penn corrected him, making an effort to use his own voice. "Here, check for yourself.", he added, placing the man's hand on his horns, hidden from view by the illusion but perfectly obvious to the touch. 

"I assumed his appearance to try and draw the assassins' efforts away from Markus Octavius.", he explained. "And it seems to have worked. But that doesn't mean that Caesar is safe. The enemy are impersonating guards. Have your men search the palace. Work in teams, and if you meet a guard you don't know, personally, hold them." 

"Hail Caes... Good plan.", the Captain caught himself. The next few moments were occupied with him assigning search teams. 

There was a disturbance from beyond the gate at this point, as a torch bearing crowd approached, lead by Senator Denius and his personal guard. He was obviously upset. 

"May I?", Penn asked the Captain in his best wheedling voice. "Just for fun?" 

The Captain looked aghast at the idea, but didn't say anything, so Penn simply struck his most Imperial pose and waited. 

"This man tried to kill me!", Denius thundered. "He's the 2nd in command to General Calvinus, and says he was under orders. I demand that you call an immediate session of the Senate. Tonight!" 

Penn tried to maintain his composure, while the Captain of the guard stood slack jawed, swiveling his head back and forth between 'Caesar' and the Senator. 

"Isn't that your job?", Penn asked, trying to impersonate Caesar's voice while simultaneously squelching a belly laugh. He failed at both. 

"Wait a minute!", Denius cried in shock. "You're not Caesar! Captain, arrest this imposter!" 

Penn gathered himself and waved off the Captain, then dropped his disguise. "I'm sorry, Senator, and I humbly beg your forgiveness. My name is Penn', and I was playing the part to confuse the assassins who sought Caesar's life this night. As for this man, shouldn't he be tried by the Priests of Themis?" 

"Well, yes, but..., wait a minute? Why are you giving orders?" 

"I'm not, really. I was just asking about the point of law. If the trial is to be held before the Senate, so be it." 

The report came back at that point that Caesar had been located, safe and sound, and the entire assemblage began to break up. The mob started to dissipate, and the Senator and the guards went to meet with the Emperor of Rome. 
*** 
"I never ordered my Aide to assassinate Senator Denius!.", General Calvinus said to the assembled Senate. "The Senator, Caesar and I were working together to thwart the assassins. Why would I have him killed?

The High Priest of Themis nodded solemnly. He wasn't really a “high” priest, since the senior staff of the temple had been slain by the Vandals, but he was the most senior available, and was barely capable of casting the spells needed to discern truth from lies, even with the help of the sacred scrolls. 

Still, his judgment was taken seriously by the assembled, and Calvinus was escorted to the side. He looked satisfied, while Denius appeared frustrated by the judgment. 

Gallius, the soldier arrested that night, was the next to stand before Justice. 

"My name is Gallius Theus, and I have been General Calvinus second in command for the last 5 years.", he began. "I have served him loyally, and I served him that night when I tried to carry out his clear orders. He told me that Denius was a danger to Rome, and that he was involved in the plots to assassinate Caesar and various members of the Senate. What I did, I did for Rome, under orders from its commanding General." 

"So you admit to trying to murder me?", Denius snarled. 

"Of course. I was following orders." 

There was turmoil in the room when the High Priest slowly nodded. The man appeared to be speaking the truth. 

Because the Senate was a public chamber, the companions were there, along with many others. Penn took the opportunity to stand. 

"I have no voice in this place, except the voice that you might choose to give me.", he began apologetically. "Still, I ask to be heard. May I speak?" 

Caesar waved the Bard forward.  

"It is quite possible that both General Calvinus and Legate Gallius are speaking the truth, as they know it.", he began. "Someone could have impersonated the General, in order to issue these commands, and turn Rome against itself." 

"But that's impossible.", Gallius objected. "He knew things only Calvinus and I knew about our time together." 

Penn approached the man with a stern look on his face, then whispered, "I'm trying to save your life, you idiot. Don't fight me here!" 

Turning once more to the assembled Senators, he resumed. "Such impersonations are far from impossible. And as he spoke he assumed the form of General Calvinus. Calling up his vocal talents, he made a fair approximation of the General's voice and accent.  

"In the turmoil of that night, this man became the unwitting tool of the assassins. They knew that whether he succeeded or failed, Rome would be denied a valuable servant. There are few men of his caliber remaining, and to execute him is to give the assassins a victory. I say, deny them even this small prize." 

The men of the Senate were visibly shaken by the words, a speech that many might have expected from Calvinus himself in defense of his trusted officer. The fact that the words appeared to come from the General's mouth added to the turmoil, which was part of what Penn wanted. He waited for the room to settle, then bowed deeply. He wore his own face when he straightened, and few heard his final words of thanks as he left the floor. 

"You did great.", Marcus said. "I think you got about half the room, over all." 

"It doesn't really matter.", Nedel said. "The final judgment is up to the High Priest. Denius needs his victory, and he can't get Calvinus. Gallius becomes the sacrifice. It's just politics, you know." 

Calvinus was indeed acquitted, and Gallius was found guilty.  

"Let there be a feast!", declared Caesar, "to celebrate our victory over the assassins. On Saturn's day to follow, this man will stand in the arena to face his final fate." 

"What will happen to him?", Apellenea asked quietly. 

"Remember that Minotaur we caught that night?", Sylus asked. "I'll bet he and Gallius end up facing off." 

"That's horrible.", the Druidess said in shock. 

"Not really.", Seeburn said, looking at the disgraced Legate with a professional eye. "He's a career soldier, a veteran of years of the campaign. He looks a bit old, but I'd hate to be that Minotaur. You don't get to be a Legate, and second in command to Calvinus, without learning to fight. He'll make a show of it, if he's smart. And it won't be at this game, but pretty soon he'll win his freedom and resume his post with Calvinus. We'll see him again." 
(finis)


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## Greenfield (May 14, 2012)

Epilogue:  We kind of bent a rule on this one.  The player of Cassius was the DM this time, although the adventure took place in the home territory of Marcus' player.  It was done with Mr. M's permission and blessing.

We bent another rule as well, unintentionally.  You shouldn't be able to put a spell like _Alter Self_ into a potion, but we forgot and the DM let us get away with it for the sake of good story. That is how Marcus could suddenly be missing a finger just as the drugged wine kicked in.  The would-be Assassin's finger was used in its place, wearing the real iron ring that belonged to Marcus.  That ring is the sign of a Roman Citizen.

For those wondering at the Bard's ability to manipulate wine and spirits, the group allowed him to learn a spell from an older edition.  It was called _Metamorphos Beverage_.  1st level spell changes any liquid into any other, with a volume in cubic feet per level.  You have to have a bit of whatever you're changing the liquid to, and the caster has to consume it.  Won't create potions, and the need to consume it pretty much takes poisons and alchemical blends off the list as well.  We have an agreed upon limit, in game, on how much money he can make trading on this ability.  It's not much, and is used far more to move the story along than anything else.

I hope you're enjoying the tales.  I'll keep posting a chapter each week until I run out of chapters.


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## Azkorra (May 22, 2012)

Greenfield said:


> I hope you're enjoying the tales.  I'll keep posting a chapter each week until I run out of chapters.




Yes, I do enjoy them! Keep them up!


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