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

[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]

"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.

 

[Simon Jester]

Just finished the thread, to date. Excellent!

 

[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.

 

[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.

 

[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.

 

[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.

 

[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?

 

[Simon Jester]

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.