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

[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]

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]

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

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.