KidCthulhu
First Post
Hee-hee. Given a spanking by Nessie. Nice touch!
Alea Iacta Story Hour: A Mythic Rome Campaign (Baby Announcement: 8/17)
Orichalcum
First Post
Yup! I couldn't resist on that one. There _do_ be sea serpents in these waters...
Orichalcum
First Post
Fifth Session: All Roads Third Post: The Laws of Hospitality
Arr. It's been a tiring week here on the trireme, an' so the captain hasn't gotten to the tale about the party's fearless battle with the dread pirates of the Middle Sea, led by a giant Nubian wearing naught but a leopardskin loincloth on him and fighting like a right madman. So I'm afraid ye'll have to wait for that tale, and the story about Heilyn's matey the head-bouncing dolphin. But in the meanwhile, there are hijinks afoot in the not-so-peaceful Gallic village we all so know well, my mateys.
Llyr and Meloch hurry back to camp and tell the others an abbreviated version of their discovery, leaving out the entire manslaughter by sleep arrow aspect. Nevertheless, both Marcus and Heilyn are horrified that the two disturbed the laws of hospitality enough to cast sleep magic on young tribesmen who had done nothing to harm them. Still, Marcus and Metellus are concerned about the evidence of suspicious activity, and hustle Cornelia and Wena into the chieftain's hut, where they begin trying to lightly question him.
At this point, Divico, having been alerted by other tribesmen that the three youths guarding the sacred grove of Dagda have mysteriously disappeared, gathers up the eighteen young warriors of the village who are loyal to him and begins advancing on the chieftain's hut. He clearly intends to wipe out the meddlesome Romans and strike a blow for Gallic freedom. Guvartis, the chieftain, comes out and tries to reason with his brother, but Divico mocks him as a foolish, weak Roman-lover who has lost his ability to lead the tribe. Marcus stands guard in front of the hut, hands comfortably a quick grasp away from his sword and shield, ready to draw at the first signal of hostile action from Divico or the young warriors.
Heilyn suddenly steps forth, having found from somewhere in his heart an unexpected eloquence. "How dare you violate the laws of hospitality like this, Divico? We are guests in your village; we have shared bread and stew and mead with you, and your own brother has offered us home and hearth for the night. It would go against all the traditions of the Celts to attack us in the night when we have done nothing to harm you or your kin. You will not break the laws of hospitality."
Divico is startled by Heilyn's forceful words, and hesitates, dropping his sword. Guvartis chimes in his old, broken voice, "Brother, lay down your arms. Let us all rest, and in the morning we can talk peacefully, like civilized men and women." Divico gestures to his young warriors, and they somewhat sheepishly start trailing off to their family huts, and he himself goes back into another hut, with a rather confused look on his face. The midnight confrontation has resolved peacefully. Marcus has a sulky, balked look on his face, as he represses his disappointment at not being able to slaughter rebellious Gauls.
Marcus returns to guard the women's hut. Metellus orders Llyr to watch Divico's hut and make sure nothing suspicious happens. Llyr interprets these orders somewhat loosely, and when he sees Divico sneaking out on the path towards the grove he enlists Meloch and Wena to help him follow Divico and lay an ambush.
After some time, they see Divico coming back towards the village and jump out from the bushes, intending to tackle and interrogate him. Divico, at this point, in fear for his life, mutters a prayer to Dagda and vines come out to entangle Wena. Llyr shouts, "Druid!" and they rapidly attack Divico and beat him into unconsciousness.
Once the three troublemakers have dragged the body of Divico back to the village and explained the situation, yet more tensions arise. Guvartis, after searching Divico's hut and finding proof of his Druidic allegiance in a bloodstained sickle, sadly admits his brother's guilt. Divico resists interrogation, but finally admits that the sestertii and bows in the chest were intended for delivery to Britannia, to help the "Druidic Resistance Movement" there. He says that a man named Sycorax regularly delivers shipments to this village, and that two weeks later a boat from Britannia calls for the delivery. Guvartis promises to halt this illicit trade. He calls a village council and sentences Divico to be lashed to the mussel-covered rocks before high tide that morning, where he will be slowly, excruciatingly drowned.
All is not well, however, among our own group. After I've finished biting Meloch's ear half off for his irresponsible behavior, he confesses his murder to Cornelia, as well as his involvement in the unprovoked attack on Divico (who seems to have merely been returning from prayer in the grove.) Marcus, who knows only of the second offense, offers to flog Meloch; but Cornelia claims the right to punish her slave herself, a decision which gains her great respect from Marcus. For a while, it appears that Cornelia will flog him, but ultimately, he merely gives up his entire life savings, the three hundred sestertii earned in his pursuit of freedom, as weregild to the family of the young man he murdered. Meloch sneaks invisibly into their hut and tosses the sack of sestertii down on the floor; sadly, the parents learn of their sudden windfall even before finding their son's hidden body.
Heilyn, in particular, is utterly disgusted with Meloch, Llyr, and to a lesser extent Wena, for so blatantly breaking the laws of hospitality and attacking someone after the earlier peaceful resoloution of the situation. Unable to exact direct vengeance, he begins plotting minor annoyances, in an attempt to show the trio the error of their ways.
Arr. It's been a tiring week here on the trireme, an' so the captain hasn't gotten to the tale about the party's fearless battle with the dread pirates of the Middle Sea, led by a giant Nubian wearing naught but a leopardskin loincloth on him and fighting like a right madman. So I'm afraid ye'll have to wait for that tale, and the story about Heilyn's matey the head-bouncing dolphin. But in the meanwhile, there are hijinks afoot in the not-so-peaceful Gallic village we all so know well, my mateys.
Llyr and Meloch hurry back to camp and tell the others an abbreviated version of their discovery, leaving out the entire manslaughter by sleep arrow aspect. Nevertheless, both Marcus and Heilyn are horrified that the two disturbed the laws of hospitality enough to cast sleep magic on young tribesmen who had done nothing to harm them. Still, Marcus and Metellus are concerned about the evidence of suspicious activity, and hustle Cornelia and Wena into the chieftain's hut, where they begin trying to lightly question him.
At this point, Divico, having been alerted by other tribesmen that the three youths guarding the sacred grove of Dagda have mysteriously disappeared, gathers up the eighteen young warriors of the village who are loyal to him and begins advancing on the chieftain's hut. He clearly intends to wipe out the meddlesome Romans and strike a blow for Gallic freedom. Guvartis, the chieftain, comes out and tries to reason with his brother, but Divico mocks him as a foolish, weak Roman-lover who has lost his ability to lead the tribe. Marcus stands guard in front of the hut, hands comfortably a quick grasp away from his sword and shield, ready to draw at the first signal of hostile action from Divico or the young warriors.
Heilyn suddenly steps forth, having found from somewhere in his heart an unexpected eloquence. "How dare you violate the laws of hospitality like this, Divico? We are guests in your village; we have shared bread and stew and mead with you, and your own brother has offered us home and hearth for the night. It would go against all the traditions of the Celts to attack us in the night when we have done nothing to harm you or your kin. You will not break the laws of hospitality."
Divico is startled by Heilyn's forceful words, and hesitates, dropping his sword. Guvartis chimes in his old, broken voice, "Brother, lay down your arms. Let us all rest, and in the morning we can talk peacefully, like civilized men and women." Divico gestures to his young warriors, and they somewhat sheepishly start trailing off to their family huts, and he himself goes back into another hut, with a rather confused look on his face. The midnight confrontation has resolved peacefully. Marcus has a sulky, balked look on his face, as he represses his disappointment at not being able to slaughter rebellious Gauls.
Marcus returns to guard the women's hut. Metellus orders Llyr to watch Divico's hut and make sure nothing suspicious happens. Llyr interprets these orders somewhat loosely, and when he sees Divico sneaking out on the path towards the grove he enlists Meloch and Wena to help him follow Divico and lay an ambush.
After some time, they see Divico coming back towards the village and jump out from the bushes, intending to tackle and interrogate him. Divico, at this point, in fear for his life, mutters a prayer to Dagda and vines come out to entangle Wena. Llyr shouts, "Druid!" and they rapidly attack Divico and beat him into unconsciousness.
Once the three troublemakers have dragged the body of Divico back to the village and explained the situation, yet more tensions arise. Guvartis, after searching Divico's hut and finding proof of his Druidic allegiance in a bloodstained sickle, sadly admits his brother's guilt. Divico resists interrogation, but finally admits that the sestertii and bows in the chest were intended for delivery to Britannia, to help the "Druidic Resistance Movement" there. He says that a man named Sycorax regularly delivers shipments to this village, and that two weeks later a boat from Britannia calls for the delivery. Guvartis promises to halt this illicit trade. He calls a village council and sentences Divico to be lashed to the mussel-covered rocks before high tide that morning, where he will be slowly, excruciatingly drowned.
All is not well, however, among our own group. After I've finished biting Meloch's ear half off for his irresponsible behavior, he confesses his murder to Cornelia, as well as his involvement in the unprovoked attack on Divico (who seems to have merely been returning from prayer in the grove.) Marcus, who knows only of the second offense, offers to flog Meloch; but Cornelia claims the right to punish her slave herself, a decision which gains her great respect from Marcus. For a while, it appears that Cornelia will flog him, but ultimately, he merely gives up his entire life savings, the three hundred sestertii earned in his pursuit of freedom, as weregild to the family of the young man he murdered. Meloch sneaks invisibly into their hut and tosses the sack of sestertii down on the floor; sadly, the parents learn of their sudden windfall even before finding their son's hidden body.
Heilyn, in particular, is utterly disgusted with Meloch, Llyr, and to a lesser extent Wena, for so blatantly breaking the laws of hospitality and attacking someone after the earlier peaceful resoloution of the situation. Unable to exact direct vengeance, he begins plotting minor annoyances, in an attempt to show the trio the error of their ways.
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Cerebral Paladin
First Post
Marcus was extraordinarily frustrated by Heilyn's defusing the situation. Marcus takes hospitality seriously. So there was no way he was going to attack first. But if Divico swung first, Marcus was going to kill him. And he was really looking forward to being able to wipe out the Druidic sympathizers (and take the minor participants as slaves). But then Heilyn had to go and reach a peaceful solution. The bum. 
On a separate note, it's a darn good thing that Marcus never found out about Meloch's hijinks. Between murdering one of his hosts without provocation and then ambushing another host and lying about it, leading to his execution... If Marcus had found out the true details, he would have just cut Meloch in half, and then sorted out the trouble with Cornelia afterwards.
On a separate note, it's a darn good thing that Marcus never found out about Meloch's hijinks. Between murdering one of his hosts without provocation and then ambushing another host and lying about it, leading to his execution... If Marcus had found out the true details, he would have just cut Meloch in half, and then sorted out the trouble with Cornelia afterwards.
Orichalcum
First Post
Fifth Session: All Roads Fifth Post: All Gaul
During the questioning of Divico, we had learned that his contact Sycorax was currently on the road from northern Gaul, bringing more gold and crossbows. We contemplated attempting to ambush him, but decided that it was best to head straight for Rome - after all, no one wanted to miss Cimbrus' Triumph.
So, we set off along the Roman roads towards Massilia, the southeastern port city of Gaul where we could catch a fast ship to Ostia, the port of Roma. Also, it turned out that Cornelia’s cousins, the Cornelii Nepotes, lived in Massilia, so we could visit them, and save some money on expensive lodging, along the way.
The trip across Gaul was expected to be uneventful. However, my partner Meloch and Heilyn the smith provided more than enough excitement for several such treks. Heilyn began by speaking to Kaspar the Xth, Meloch’s newly purchased goat, and encouraging the creature to buck and throw us on every occasion. Obviously, it was necessary to retaliate – while Meloch’s behavior back in Duonon was certainly rash and careless, I still stand by my partner. So we put burrs underneath Heilyn’s saddle, and then he oversalted our food...and, well, matters escalated until Metellus and Cornelia started chastising us and Heilyn threatened to cut off my tail or even kill me!
By the time we reached Massilia, most of us were barely talking to each other. There had been some time for some important conversations, however. Marcus, irritated at nearly everyone, has spent his time studying the roads, and has come to an interesting discovery: the Roman roads in Gaul are not nearly as well kept as they should be for early spring. Normally, the legions in winter camp have the duty of trodding down the roads and maintaining the milestones in proper condition; here, grass is growing up between the stones, and some of the markers are difficult to read. Marcus develops various theories about the reasons for this, but no one pays much attention to him.
Cornelia tells Melech, who tells Llyr, about a conversation she had with her aunt Petronilla before leaving Londinium. Apparently, the gossip in Londinium over the fall and winter was that Hadriana’s sudden pregnancy after eleven years of marriage was not caused by renewed affection for Cimbrus. In fact, the rumor’s been spreading that the father of the new Imperial heiress is none other than the handsome young tribune Metellus. Metellus, meanwhile, has gotten a letter from his father in Rome, conveying much the same message, and a warning to be careful; he has told nobody. Melech begins spreading rumors that Metellus and Cornelia, rather than Hadriana, are involved; it is unclear that this helps anything.
Everyone except Metellus, Marcus, Wena, and Heilyn get more or less involved in a conspiracy to protect Metellus' reputation.
Llyr, Wena, and Melech also spend their spare time investigating the pearl merchant Verix, who continues to travel with us. They have become suspicious after noticing that he frequently sends letters through the normally official Imperial Postal Service; finally, Melech makes Llyr invisible and Llyr sneaks in to read a letter received from Rome over Verix’s shoulder. (N.B.: Interfering with the Imperial Post is punishable by death.) The letter turns out to be from Verix’s patron, Licinia Luculla, who is also Cornelia’s mother; it thanks Verix for the information about Cornelia and the exciting story about the sea serpent. Verix later tells Cornelia about their connection, and she learns a bit more about her mother, whom Verix highly admires.
Note: Cerebral Paladin points out that at this point you readers have enough information to make a guess about some of the larger political developments going on back in Rome. Care to hazard any suggestions?
During the questioning of Divico, we had learned that his contact Sycorax was currently on the road from northern Gaul, bringing more gold and crossbows. We contemplated attempting to ambush him, but decided that it was best to head straight for Rome - after all, no one wanted to miss Cimbrus' Triumph.
So, we set off along the Roman roads towards Massilia, the southeastern port city of Gaul where we could catch a fast ship to Ostia, the port of Roma. Also, it turned out that Cornelia’s cousins, the Cornelii Nepotes, lived in Massilia, so we could visit them, and save some money on expensive lodging, along the way.
The trip across Gaul was expected to be uneventful. However, my partner Meloch and Heilyn the smith provided more than enough excitement for several such treks. Heilyn began by speaking to Kaspar the Xth, Meloch’s newly purchased goat, and encouraging the creature to buck and throw us on every occasion. Obviously, it was necessary to retaliate – while Meloch’s behavior back in Duonon was certainly rash and careless, I still stand by my partner. So we put burrs underneath Heilyn’s saddle, and then he oversalted our food...and, well, matters escalated until Metellus and Cornelia started chastising us and Heilyn threatened to cut off my tail or even kill me!
By the time we reached Massilia, most of us were barely talking to each other. There had been some time for some important conversations, however. Marcus, irritated at nearly everyone, has spent his time studying the roads, and has come to an interesting discovery: the Roman roads in Gaul are not nearly as well kept as they should be for early spring. Normally, the legions in winter camp have the duty of trodding down the roads and maintaining the milestones in proper condition; here, grass is growing up between the stones, and some of the markers are difficult to read. Marcus develops various theories about the reasons for this, but no one pays much attention to him.
Cornelia tells Melech, who tells Llyr, about a conversation she had with her aunt Petronilla before leaving Londinium. Apparently, the gossip in Londinium over the fall and winter was that Hadriana’s sudden pregnancy after eleven years of marriage was not caused by renewed affection for Cimbrus. In fact, the rumor’s been spreading that the father of the new Imperial heiress is none other than the handsome young tribune Metellus. Metellus, meanwhile, has gotten a letter from his father in Rome, conveying much the same message, and a warning to be careful; he has told nobody. Melech begins spreading rumors that Metellus and Cornelia, rather than Hadriana, are involved; it is unclear that this helps anything.
Everyone except Metellus, Marcus, Wena, and Heilyn get more or less involved in a conspiracy to protect Metellus' reputation.
Llyr, Wena, and Melech also spend their spare time investigating the pearl merchant Verix, who continues to travel with us. They have become suspicious after noticing that he frequently sends letters through the normally official Imperial Postal Service; finally, Melech makes Llyr invisible and Llyr sneaks in to read a letter received from Rome over Verix’s shoulder. (N.B.: Interfering with the Imperial Post is punishable by death.) The letter turns out to be from Verix’s patron, Licinia Luculla, who is also Cornelia’s mother; it thanks Verix for the information about Cornelia and the exciting story about the sea serpent. Verix later tells Cornelia about their connection, and she learns a bit more about her mother, whom Verix highly admires.
Note: Cerebral Paladin points out that at this point you readers have enough information to make a guess about some of the larger political developments going on back in Rome. Care to hazard any suggestions?
Meloch the Pygmy
First Post
Setting the record straight
Shast, Shast, Shast.
What will that monkey get up to next? It's endearing how he keeps smuggling paper and ink around and thinks I won't realize he's up to something. He must have known it was only a matter of time until I found someone who would read me these little notes he's been dictating.
No, I can't read, any more than he can. Why spend the effort on learning to use a lot of symbols that only have power over the space between men's ears? Llyr keeps arguing with me on that point -- says there's all sorts of powerful knowledge that would be lost if it weren't written down. But he's hardly a neutral advocate; reading is as Roman as road-building, and Llyr (much though I love him) would run about wearing nothing but a bag over his head and a ribbon around his waist if he were told it was the fashion in Rome.
Knowledge passed down by word of mouth is tested in every generation. The knowledge which rests in books quickly becomes fat and unreliable. It's why the Romans end up believing so many ridiculous things. Let's take this little gem which my friend Orichalcum assures me is a real, written description of Roman views on pygmies:
"Small and burnt black by the sun, they were shrill-voiced, strong-legged.
The sun drew their blood to their heads, so they were quick-witted. On the
other hand they suffered from blood-deficiency and were therefore afraid
of losing the small amount of blood that they possessed. In consequence
they were like hemophiliacs, terrified at being wounded; so they made bad
fighters in hand-to-hand battle."
Now, Shast is a far from reliable witness, but I hope his little history has already disproved the idea that I am a gutless, bloodless cringer from battle. In the dunes and wadis of the Garama, before my capture by the Romanii, I was known as a great hunter as well as a great sorcerer. It's true that in fighting enemies twice my size -- which seems to be about par -- I would much rather stick them with arrows from a reasonable distance than club them to death. But as that rat Minucius can attest, I don't shrink from a hand-to-hand clash either. If I'd been concentrating on splitting his skull rather than keeping his hands off the Eagle, that fight might have turned out rather better for me than it did.
Pygmies do have a certain shrillness of voice (though contrary to Shast, I do not screech), and I'll be the first to claim strong legs and quick wits. We also shrug off the evil eye -- a gift that has come in handy not only against the shadow spirits of the Ouenikones, but a certain blacksmith in our party (a fact which Shast seems to have forgotten). And of course, the gods tasked us with keeping the other peoples from forgetting what's important in life -- we both inspire lust and make its natural outcome more likely. But we're no cowards. The only things that frighten me, frankly, are cranes. And if you'd seen them do the things I've seen them do, they'd frighten you too.
I was captured when I was only a youth, and brought north to a land where the sands were unfamiliar and the air heavy with wetness -- a land where I had to relearn all my skills from the most basic level. In the Garama, I had been on the verge of learning to call Fire upon the cranes. In the north, I was reduced to parlor tricks with lights and ropes. Long and wasted years. Only in Rome, after all the adventures Shast has been so enthusiastically retelling, did I finally teach myself how to summon Fire in these lands of clay and snow. But that's getting ahead of ourselves.
Strangely, it was in the wettest and coldest of these lands that I found myself most at home. I made the best of the years entertaining fools in Mediterranean brothels and taverns -- they weren't always bad places, and most of the people I knew there had a refreshingly low level of self-importance. There's nothing that annoys me more than someone too earnest to see their own foolishness. But then I was purchased and packed off to Britannia by Licinia Luculla -- a woman who as far exceeds me in sorcerous power as Marcus does in brute strength, and is every bit as terrifying as Shast portrays her -- to serve and secretly tutor her daughter Cornelia. Teaching a girl the Skill seemed a more interesting use of my long years of service than juggling in whorehouses. Still, I expected the daughter to be a lesser image of the mother: calculating, seductive, manipulative, and ultimately ruthless.
She couldn't have been more different. Poor, dear girl, she's far too kind for her own good. I immediately saw that Metellus was the best match that would come to Eburacum (if not Britannia) in our lifetimes. Cornelia has her mother's loveliness; she could have had him bent around her finger. Especially with my help. But she wove her Charm on him not to seduce him, but to convince him to bring her along to fight the Druids; and when she saw the effect that had on the poor morbid lad -- all that throwing himself on his sword business -- she was so guilt-stricken that she swore never to bend his will again. AND made me promise not to stick him with any love-darts, either.
Now, I'm not one of these oath-struck Greeks or Celts who'll hold to a promise though it cost them their hearts and hamstrings. My promises are only as good as the people who are willing to hold me to them. This is why I was so careful not to phrase anything I said in the Grove of Mona in the form of a promise: the Celtic gods (indeed, gods in general) will hold you to your oaths by the short hairs. So I won't deny that I kept my eye out for the chance to shoot Metellus with my blowpipe while he was idly eyeing Cornelia. But I also let several such opportunities pass by. It wasn't fear of being caught (the boy's so blind to magic he wouldn't notice if Hecate herself flew past him backwards on a chariot drawn by fire-breathing cuckoos). Let's just say I decided that the person holding me to that promise was good enough.
In the same way, even when at long last I learned the art of Invisibility (which I had only toyed with as a youth), it scarcely occurred to me that I could now free myself without the least need for gold. And though I argued Cornelia out of flogging me for violating hospitality in Duonon, it wasn't with the lies I foisted off on Marcus and the others. She's a Roman, but I trust her with the truth, even when the truth, as in Duonon, was my own bloodguilt.
I'm not going anywhere until I see her grown into a woman as safe as she is good -- secure in her powers, in a secure household with a good man, and (above all) beyond the power of her mother.
But there I go getting serious, when all I really set out to do was correct certain distortions of the record that have crept into Shast's little narrative...
Shast, Shast, Shast.
What will that monkey get up to next? It's endearing how he keeps smuggling paper and ink around and thinks I won't realize he's up to something. He must have known it was only a matter of time until I found someone who would read me these little notes he's been dictating.
No, I can't read, any more than he can. Why spend the effort on learning to use a lot of symbols that only have power over the space between men's ears? Llyr keeps arguing with me on that point -- says there's all sorts of powerful knowledge that would be lost if it weren't written down. But he's hardly a neutral advocate; reading is as Roman as road-building, and Llyr (much though I love him) would run about wearing nothing but a bag over his head and a ribbon around his waist if he were told it was the fashion in Rome.
Knowledge passed down by word of mouth is tested in every generation. The knowledge which rests in books quickly becomes fat and unreliable. It's why the Romans end up believing so many ridiculous things. Let's take this little gem which my friend Orichalcum assures me is a real, written description of Roman views on pygmies:
"Small and burnt black by the sun, they were shrill-voiced, strong-legged.
The sun drew their blood to their heads, so they were quick-witted. On the
other hand they suffered from blood-deficiency and were therefore afraid
of losing the small amount of blood that they possessed. In consequence
they were like hemophiliacs, terrified at being wounded; so they made bad
fighters in hand-to-hand battle."
Now, Shast is a far from reliable witness, but I hope his little history has already disproved the idea that I am a gutless, bloodless cringer from battle. In the dunes and wadis of the Garama, before my capture by the Romanii, I was known as a great hunter as well as a great sorcerer. It's true that in fighting enemies twice my size -- which seems to be about par -- I would much rather stick them with arrows from a reasonable distance than club them to death. But as that rat Minucius can attest, I don't shrink from a hand-to-hand clash either. If I'd been concentrating on splitting his skull rather than keeping his hands off the Eagle, that fight might have turned out rather better for me than it did.
Pygmies do have a certain shrillness of voice (though contrary to Shast, I do not screech), and I'll be the first to claim strong legs and quick wits. We also shrug off the evil eye -- a gift that has come in handy not only against the shadow spirits of the Ouenikones, but a certain blacksmith in our party (a fact which Shast seems to have forgotten). And of course, the gods tasked us with keeping the other peoples from forgetting what's important in life -- we both inspire lust and make its natural outcome more likely. But we're no cowards. The only things that frighten me, frankly, are cranes. And if you'd seen them do the things I've seen them do, they'd frighten you too.
I was captured when I was only a youth, and brought north to a land where the sands were unfamiliar and the air heavy with wetness -- a land where I had to relearn all my skills from the most basic level. In the Garama, I had been on the verge of learning to call Fire upon the cranes. In the north, I was reduced to parlor tricks with lights and ropes. Long and wasted years. Only in Rome, after all the adventures Shast has been so enthusiastically retelling, did I finally teach myself how to summon Fire in these lands of clay and snow. But that's getting ahead of ourselves.
Strangely, it was in the wettest and coldest of these lands that I found myself most at home. I made the best of the years entertaining fools in Mediterranean brothels and taverns -- they weren't always bad places, and most of the people I knew there had a refreshingly low level of self-importance. There's nothing that annoys me more than someone too earnest to see their own foolishness. But then I was purchased and packed off to Britannia by Licinia Luculla -- a woman who as far exceeds me in sorcerous power as Marcus does in brute strength, and is every bit as terrifying as Shast portrays her -- to serve and secretly tutor her daughter Cornelia. Teaching a girl the Skill seemed a more interesting use of my long years of service than juggling in whorehouses. Still, I expected the daughter to be a lesser image of the mother: calculating, seductive, manipulative, and ultimately ruthless.
She couldn't have been more different. Poor, dear girl, she's far too kind for her own good. I immediately saw that Metellus was the best match that would come to Eburacum (if not Britannia) in our lifetimes. Cornelia has her mother's loveliness; she could have had him bent around her finger. Especially with my help. But she wove her Charm on him not to seduce him, but to convince him to bring her along to fight the Druids; and when she saw the effect that had on the poor morbid lad -- all that throwing himself on his sword business -- she was so guilt-stricken that she swore never to bend his will again. AND made me promise not to stick him with any love-darts, either.
Now, I'm not one of these oath-struck Greeks or Celts who'll hold to a promise though it cost them their hearts and hamstrings. My promises are only as good as the people who are willing to hold me to them. This is why I was so careful not to phrase anything I said in the Grove of Mona in the form of a promise: the Celtic gods (indeed, gods in general) will hold you to your oaths by the short hairs. So I won't deny that I kept my eye out for the chance to shoot Metellus with my blowpipe while he was idly eyeing Cornelia. But I also let several such opportunities pass by. It wasn't fear of being caught (the boy's so blind to magic he wouldn't notice if Hecate herself flew past him backwards on a chariot drawn by fire-breathing cuckoos). Let's just say I decided that the person holding me to that promise was good enough.
In the same way, even when at long last I learned the art of Invisibility (which I had only toyed with as a youth), it scarcely occurred to me that I could now free myself without the least need for gold. And though I argued Cornelia out of flogging me for violating hospitality in Duonon, it wasn't with the lies I foisted off on Marcus and the others. She's a Roman, but I trust her with the truth, even when the truth, as in Duonon, was my own bloodguilt.
I'm not going anywhere until I see her grown into a woman as safe as she is good -- secure in her powers, in a secure household with a good man, and (above all) beyond the power of her mother.
But there I go getting serious, when all I really set out to do was correct certain distortions of the record that have crept into Shast's little narrative...
Meloch the Pygmy
First Post
Lies My Monkey Told Me
Well, "lies" may be too strong. But for someone who apparently lives in fear of being first in a long chain of Shasts, my familiar certainly hasn't hesitated to portray his human companions in an unflattering light. (The fear is perfectly ridiculous, by the way. Goats are for riding and for eating. Monkeys are to teach one godlike patience and self-control).
For one petty example: as we approached the fight with Aeduana, Shast claims that "all the humans utterly failed to notice the suddenly darkening skies." Speaking only for myself, I certainly noticed that the skies were growing dark, and was no happier about being rained on than Shast. What equally escaped my notice AND the monkey's was the fact that the clouds were rather heavier and came on slightly faster than normal -- the subtle signs of druid interference. But storms do come on fast and hard in Britannia. The point is, we're not idiots. We were walking outside; of course we noticed that it was going to rain.
Shast is normally a perceptive little beast. (For example, I agreed with his observation that Marcus would be well suited for a role as chief ape). Yet Shast quite misperceived my and Wena's motives for trying to liberate the Staff from Marcus' tent -- and our reasons were actually quite important. It wasn't that "going to the Governor would take far too much time." I've been known to leap without looking, but no one ever accused Wena of recklessness or over-haste. It was that we didn't trust Romans to know what to do with the Staff.
You see, the Romans have a distaste for magic that runs beyond normal fear. Personally, I think it's a pathological response to anything they can't control. It's why Cornelia has kept her skills so secret, and why even I can only hint at the fact that I practice sorcery. When Romans don't understand something, when they can't build a road over it or write a law for it, their impulse is to trample it to bits. Romans also have this distressing tendency toward mass punishment, toward lumping the innocent in with the guilty. So everything of Druid origin is evil and must be destroyed. Marcus is the perfect example -- a man so full of what he's been told in books that he can't see what's perfectly obvious before his face. The very idea that we should destroy the Staff! I mean, Mona was no joke, but it was clear that we should be seeking advice on how to safely lift the curse, and that we should at the least have the Staff around to keep our options open.
And yet Metellus seemed to be leaning toward Marcus's "solution," and there was no guarantee that the centurion wouldn't also be able to sway Cimbrus. We were lucky, in the end, that we found out that breaking the Staff would level Londinium; otherwise, if the only consequence of destroying it would be to leave us under Aeduana's curse, I think the Romans would have snapped it in half and left us to rot our roofs, doorways, and meals forever. Imperial road cleaners indeed! Wena and I simply could not allow that possibility -- and it was a very real possibility, especially without Heilyn there.
After Wena failed to convince Metellus of the obvious need to take the Staff to Mona, we had no other choice but to take matters out of the Romans' hands. So we came up with our plan. After I grabbed the staff, I was going to hand it off to Wena, who would make for Heilyn -- we knew we needed his expertise on this matter. We hoped the rest of the party would assume Wena had run for Mona, and head to the shores of Gwynedd, where Wena and Heilyn could eventually rejoin us. It wasn't a bad plan -- certainly the best we could come up with in a tight spot. And I must say that if I hadn't been unlucky ten ways from the Calends, I would have been through that roof with only a few cuts to show for it. But unfortunately, I was all but hacked in half, and thrown back once again on those quick wits for which we pygmies are known -- even among Romans. I would note that in the hopes of deterring the immediate destruction of the Staff, I babbled that the evil Druid spirit that possessed me had told me to steal the Staff and break it. Can't say that my credibility was terribly high at that point, but I like to think it gave Metellus further pause.
This brings us to the next misunderstanding by the monkey: my relationship with Heilyn. Far from being displeased when he rejoined the party after our fight with Aeduana, I was delighted -- he's a sarcastic fellow and can be a bit of a prig, but he knows what he's talking about, and he thought Marcus' "break the Staff" plan was every bit as idiotic as I did. I started having second thoughts about the man when he blackmailed the entire party into joining his mad little quest to Rome (and wait until Shast gets around to relating how that turned out). There are things you get away with doing to your traveling companions, and certain things that are beyond the pale. The blackmail was sort of on the line of acceptability. Particularly since it didn't really stick to me, and I hadn't seen Rome in a few years anyway.
But in Duonon, Heilyn crossed the line. He tried to curse Llyr! I mean, curse him! Not just harsh language, but making his vitals dry up, his sword hand wither, the whole routine. He was so upset by our violation of his hospitality code that he ignored what I think is a far more basic rule: Don't Curse Your Friends. Especially when they're doing the right thing. I'm just glad the curse didn't stick.
Let me back up. When I went out there to the Druid grove and accidentally killed that poor boy, I had one thing on my mind: We need to shut down this Druid business before the Romans find out about it. Because once it comes out, the most likely outcome is crucifixions galore. You think the local Governor has time to distinguish between sweet elderly Chief and his malevolent Dagda-happy brother? I can't say I even trusted Marcus and Metellus to be careful in separating the innocent and the guilty -- Marcus had that kill-em-all gleam in his eye. It seemed fairly clear that the chief's brother Divico was Druid and anti-Roman to his guts; I figured that if we knocked out the boys and killed Divico, the outbreak of Druidism could be contained without any Roman involvement. Wena and even Llyr had some sympathy with this goal, and I like to think the experience opened Llyr's eyes to some of the shortcomings of his precious pax Romana.
So when we jumped Divico, Llyr really was trying to capture him, but I was trying to kill him. Unfortunately, when I'm trying to kill someone... you know how it goes. Heilyn showed up just as Llyr knocked Divico out. Now, I understand that he'd had a trying day, and had just got Divico to accept the laws of hospitality, and wasn't too happy with us then turning the tables on the treacherous rat. But that's no excuse for losing his temper and trying to curse a companion! Heilyn's such a... Celt!
Well, as I said earlier, nothing gets under my skin more than someone too earnest to see their own foolishness. So Heilyn and I had our little feud on the road to Massilia, as I tried to needle him into apologizing to Llyr. Course, I knew the man was so convinced he was right that he would never apologize. That was half the fun.
Until he tried to curse me, too. Of course, it just rolled off me; but I must admit it had me angry for a moment, too, and I spat a blowpipe dart into him as he walked away. Would have served him right to fall hopelessly in lust with Wena, or his horse, for a few hours. But he didn't. And he didn't notice the dart either, which I suppose is just as well. We made our peace a few weeks later, after events that gave him a bit of perspective.
But that's another story, which I'm sure the monkey will get to eventually. If I don't find the slanderous little beast and roast it on a spit first.
Well, "lies" may be too strong. But for someone who apparently lives in fear of being first in a long chain of Shasts, my familiar certainly hasn't hesitated to portray his human companions in an unflattering light. (The fear is perfectly ridiculous, by the way. Goats are for riding and for eating. Monkeys are to teach one godlike patience and self-control).
For one petty example: as we approached the fight with Aeduana, Shast claims that "all the humans utterly failed to notice the suddenly darkening skies." Speaking only for myself, I certainly noticed that the skies were growing dark, and was no happier about being rained on than Shast. What equally escaped my notice AND the monkey's was the fact that the clouds were rather heavier and came on slightly faster than normal -- the subtle signs of druid interference. But storms do come on fast and hard in Britannia. The point is, we're not idiots. We were walking outside; of course we noticed that it was going to rain.
Shast is normally a perceptive little beast. (For example, I agreed with his observation that Marcus would be well suited for a role as chief ape). Yet Shast quite misperceived my and Wena's motives for trying to liberate the Staff from Marcus' tent -- and our reasons were actually quite important. It wasn't that "going to the Governor would take far too much time." I've been known to leap without looking, but no one ever accused Wena of recklessness or over-haste. It was that we didn't trust Romans to know what to do with the Staff.
You see, the Romans have a distaste for magic that runs beyond normal fear. Personally, I think it's a pathological response to anything they can't control. It's why Cornelia has kept her skills so secret, and why even I can only hint at the fact that I practice sorcery. When Romans don't understand something, when they can't build a road over it or write a law for it, their impulse is to trample it to bits. Romans also have this distressing tendency toward mass punishment, toward lumping the innocent in with the guilty. So everything of Druid origin is evil and must be destroyed. Marcus is the perfect example -- a man so full of what he's been told in books that he can't see what's perfectly obvious before his face. The very idea that we should destroy the Staff! I mean, Mona was no joke, but it was clear that we should be seeking advice on how to safely lift the curse, and that we should at the least have the Staff around to keep our options open.
And yet Metellus seemed to be leaning toward Marcus's "solution," and there was no guarantee that the centurion wouldn't also be able to sway Cimbrus. We were lucky, in the end, that we found out that breaking the Staff would level Londinium; otherwise, if the only consequence of destroying it would be to leave us under Aeduana's curse, I think the Romans would have snapped it in half and left us to rot our roofs, doorways, and meals forever. Imperial road cleaners indeed! Wena and I simply could not allow that possibility -- and it was a very real possibility, especially without Heilyn there.
After Wena failed to convince Metellus of the obvious need to take the Staff to Mona, we had no other choice but to take matters out of the Romans' hands. So we came up with our plan. After I grabbed the staff, I was going to hand it off to Wena, who would make for Heilyn -- we knew we needed his expertise on this matter. We hoped the rest of the party would assume Wena had run for Mona, and head to the shores of Gwynedd, where Wena and Heilyn could eventually rejoin us. It wasn't a bad plan -- certainly the best we could come up with in a tight spot. And I must say that if I hadn't been unlucky ten ways from the Calends, I would have been through that roof with only a few cuts to show for it. But unfortunately, I was all but hacked in half, and thrown back once again on those quick wits for which we pygmies are known -- even among Romans. I would note that in the hopes of deterring the immediate destruction of the Staff, I babbled that the evil Druid spirit that possessed me had told me to steal the Staff and break it. Can't say that my credibility was terribly high at that point, but I like to think it gave Metellus further pause.
This brings us to the next misunderstanding by the monkey: my relationship with Heilyn. Far from being displeased when he rejoined the party after our fight with Aeduana, I was delighted -- he's a sarcastic fellow and can be a bit of a prig, but he knows what he's talking about, and he thought Marcus' "break the Staff" plan was every bit as idiotic as I did. I started having second thoughts about the man when he blackmailed the entire party into joining his mad little quest to Rome (and wait until Shast gets around to relating how that turned out). There are things you get away with doing to your traveling companions, and certain things that are beyond the pale. The blackmail was sort of on the line of acceptability. Particularly since it didn't really stick to me, and I hadn't seen Rome in a few years anyway.
But in Duonon, Heilyn crossed the line. He tried to curse Llyr! I mean, curse him! Not just harsh language, but making his vitals dry up, his sword hand wither, the whole routine. He was so upset by our violation of his hospitality code that he ignored what I think is a far more basic rule: Don't Curse Your Friends. Especially when they're doing the right thing. I'm just glad the curse didn't stick.
Let me back up. When I went out there to the Druid grove and accidentally killed that poor boy, I had one thing on my mind: We need to shut down this Druid business before the Romans find out about it. Because once it comes out, the most likely outcome is crucifixions galore. You think the local Governor has time to distinguish between sweet elderly Chief and his malevolent Dagda-happy brother? I can't say I even trusted Marcus and Metellus to be careful in separating the innocent and the guilty -- Marcus had that kill-em-all gleam in his eye. It seemed fairly clear that the chief's brother Divico was Druid and anti-Roman to his guts; I figured that if we knocked out the boys and killed Divico, the outbreak of Druidism could be contained without any Roman involvement. Wena and even Llyr had some sympathy with this goal, and I like to think the experience opened Llyr's eyes to some of the shortcomings of his precious pax Romana.
So when we jumped Divico, Llyr really was trying to capture him, but I was trying to kill him. Unfortunately, when I'm trying to kill someone... you know how it goes. Heilyn showed up just as Llyr knocked Divico out. Now, I understand that he'd had a trying day, and had just got Divico to accept the laws of hospitality, and wasn't too happy with us then turning the tables on the treacherous rat. But that's no excuse for losing his temper and trying to curse a companion! Heilyn's such a... Celt!
Well, as I said earlier, nothing gets under my skin more than someone too earnest to see their own foolishness. So Heilyn and I had our little feud on the road to Massilia, as I tried to needle him into apologizing to Llyr. Course, I knew the man was so convinced he was right that he would never apologize. That was half the fun.
Until he tried to curse me, too. Of course, it just rolled off me; but I must admit it had me angry for a moment, too, and I spat a blowpipe dart into him as he walked away. Would have served him right to fall hopelessly in lust with Wena, or his horse, for a few hours. But he didn't. And he didn't notice the dart either, which I suppose is just as well. We made our peace a few weeks later, after events that gave him a bit of perspective.
But that's another story, which I'm sure the monkey will get to eventually. If I don't find the slanderous little beast and roast it on a spit first.
Orichalcum
First Post
Fifth Session: All Roads Sixth Post: Kissing Cousins
I think Meloch may have found some of these notes for my Great Roman Novel. Ah well, he can’t read, so it won’t mean anything to him anyways. And besides, he should appreciate what I’m doing; after all, he’s the brave sidekick of the story! I may even allow him to make witty comments occasionally, as sidekicks do. But to continue with our great adventures:
Eventually, we came to Massilia and the somewhat dilapidated atrium-style villa of Cornelia’s poorer country cousins. The father, Gnaeus, is her first cousin, an older landed farmer whose wife died some years ago; he has three children, Septimus, who’s 28, Decimus, who’s about 23, and Cornelia Nepa, called Nepa, who is 15. They were somewhat surprised to see such a large group, but took us all in, even Verix, with whom Gnaeus apparently had some familial business dealings.
After a brief wash in a cracked and dusty bath (but still better than the facilities back in the Gaulish village), we assembled for dinner, which was, well, awkward. Gnaeus had chosen to seat us on the three couches according to his perception of our relative ranks, which, of course, made sense. Well, it meant that Melech and I were waiting and serving food, but I’ve gotten used to that, and it gives me a good opportunity to pick up dropped scraps. Gnaeus and Metellus were in corner positions on the central and leftmost couches, in the positions of honor, next to each other. Marcus and Verix sat next to Gnaeus, and Septimus and Decius sat next to Metellus. The women, according to the old-fashioned custom, sat on chairs; Cornelia faced Gnaeus and Septimus, and Nepa was to her right, facing Decius and Metellus, while Wena faced Marcus and Verix. Meanwhile, this left Llyr and Heilyn alone on the last couch, desperately trying to hold some sort of polite conversation.
Gnaeus began the evening by mentioning how grieved he was to hear of the passing of Cornelius Crispus, and how Cornelia should know that his family was always willing to take care of her. Cornelia flinched a little, but thanked him for his generosity. Marcus, trying to find out more information about the mysteriously forgotten Emperor’s brother, Aemilianus Gallus, who had quelled a Gallic revolt, asked Gnaeus about his military service.
“I was a Decurion in the Seventeenth for three years, sir. Of course, my farms are too extensive to allow me to be a full-time soldier, but when the call came to defend Rome, I answered. That was a brilliant campaign, if I do say so myself – three months and all the rebels were quelled and the Germanii mercenaries swept back across the river. Just glorious,” Gnaeus replied.
“Indeed, that must have done you great honor,” Metellus commented. “Who was your commanding general?”
“Oh, don’t you know? It was...um...actually, I can’t think of his name right now. Must be the wine,” Gnaeus awkwardly responded. As he says this, we observed his forehead suddenly frowning, as if he had the name, and then suddenly lost it.
“So, where, did you do your military service, Septimus?” Marcus asked, his questions about Gallus answered for the time being.
“Oh, ah...I didn’t serve. Bad lungs,” the thin Septimus answers, blushing and looking down.
“Oh,” is all Marcus can think of to say in response, as his own golden phalerae for bravery clink on his dress uniform.
Meanwhile, on the Celtic couch, Heilyn finally makes an attempt to end the deadly silence: “So, how is the little horse doing?”
“Oh, the child of Epona? I named her Talat. She’s well,” Llyr enthusiastically says.
“She seems to be growing somewhat faster than normal baby horses?”
“Yes, about two or three times the rate, I think. And she’s far more intelligent, too. And, I’m not sure, but I think, once or twice she spoke to me in my mind, like her mother.”
“Really,” Heilyn says excitedly. “What did she say?”
“’Apples???’ ‘Want Apples?’” Llyr murmurs sheepishly.
“Oh. Well, she is young. I’m sure Talat’s wants and vocabulary will get more sophisticated as she gets older,” Heilyn offers as consolation, a little disappointed himself at the words of their local avatar. The two Celts smile at each other, their previous arguments temporarily stilled in their joint concern for the child of Epona.
Meanwhile, Gnaeus had somewhat blatantly steered the discussion on the other couches back to the topic of Cornelia’s inheritance. “My dear cousin, you realize that you have a sizable amount of farms and good vineyards in Gaul and Italy to administer now. Of course, I’m sure you’re not very experienced in running such things. What you need is a good man to help you. You ought to marry a healthy, trustworthy young man, with experience in farming, of good birth like your own, don’t you think?” Gnaeus pontificates, pointedly glancing at Septimus.
“I have always thought,” Marcus interrupts, “that Cornelia ought to marry a brave war hero, like her father.” He, in his own turn, briefly looks at Metellus. Metellus tries desperately to study the peeling floor mosaic of grapes.
A silence falls over this end of the dining room, during which they can hear Llyr’s discussion about whether or not they should shoe Talat.
Finally, Cornelia quietly intervenes, “Cousin Gnaeus, thank you for your advice. I always appreciate hearing the voice of experience. But right now, I just want to visit my mother, and take some time to think things over about the next stage of my life.”
Shortly afterwards, the dinner falls apart, and we drift off to our various bedrooms. Marcus has a short conference with Metellus beforehand, in which he expresses his concerns about the courtship of Cornelia by her cousins, who he deems to be a completely inappropriate match based on their clearly lower economic status and lack of military experience. Metellus largely dismisses these fears, but agrees that they should sleep in the rooms on either side of Cornelia, and be aware. Meloch and I, having heard all of this, decide that we are sleeping on the threshold of Cornelia’s bedroom and staying up as long as possible. After all, it is two days until the next ship leaves for Rome.
I think Meloch may have found some of these notes for my Great Roman Novel. Ah well, he can’t read, so it won’t mean anything to him anyways. And besides, he should appreciate what I’m doing; after all, he’s the brave sidekick of the story! I may even allow him to make witty comments occasionally, as sidekicks do. But to continue with our great adventures:
Eventually, we came to Massilia and the somewhat dilapidated atrium-style villa of Cornelia’s poorer country cousins. The father, Gnaeus, is her first cousin, an older landed farmer whose wife died some years ago; he has three children, Septimus, who’s 28, Decimus, who’s about 23, and Cornelia Nepa, called Nepa, who is 15. They were somewhat surprised to see such a large group, but took us all in, even Verix, with whom Gnaeus apparently had some familial business dealings.
After a brief wash in a cracked and dusty bath (but still better than the facilities back in the Gaulish village), we assembled for dinner, which was, well, awkward. Gnaeus had chosen to seat us on the three couches according to his perception of our relative ranks, which, of course, made sense. Well, it meant that Melech and I were waiting and serving food, but I’ve gotten used to that, and it gives me a good opportunity to pick up dropped scraps. Gnaeus and Metellus were in corner positions on the central and leftmost couches, in the positions of honor, next to each other. Marcus and Verix sat next to Gnaeus, and Septimus and Decius sat next to Metellus. The women, according to the old-fashioned custom, sat on chairs; Cornelia faced Gnaeus and Septimus, and Nepa was to her right, facing Decius and Metellus, while Wena faced Marcus and Verix. Meanwhile, this left Llyr and Heilyn alone on the last couch, desperately trying to hold some sort of polite conversation.
Gnaeus began the evening by mentioning how grieved he was to hear of the passing of Cornelius Crispus, and how Cornelia should know that his family was always willing to take care of her. Cornelia flinched a little, but thanked him for his generosity. Marcus, trying to find out more information about the mysteriously forgotten Emperor’s brother, Aemilianus Gallus, who had quelled a Gallic revolt, asked Gnaeus about his military service.
“I was a Decurion in the Seventeenth for three years, sir. Of course, my farms are too extensive to allow me to be a full-time soldier, but when the call came to defend Rome, I answered. That was a brilliant campaign, if I do say so myself – three months and all the rebels were quelled and the Germanii mercenaries swept back across the river. Just glorious,” Gnaeus replied.
“Indeed, that must have done you great honor,” Metellus commented. “Who was your commanding general?”
“Oh, don’t you know? It was...um...actually, I can’t think of his name right now. Must be the wine,” Gnaeus awkwardly responded. As he says this, we observed his forehead suddenly frowning, as if he had the name, and then suddenly lost it.
“So, where, did you do your military service, Septimus?” Marcus asked, his questions about Gallus answered for the time being.
“Oh, ah...I didn’t serve. Bad lungs,” the thin Septimus answers, blushing and looking down.
“Oh,” is all Marcus can think of to say in response, as his own golden phalerae for bravery clink on his dress uniform.
Meanwhile, on the Celtic couch, Heilyn finally makes an attempt to end the deadly silence: “So, how is the little horse doing?”
“Oh, the child of Epona? I named her Talat. She’s well,” Llyr enthusiastically says.
“She seems to be growing somewhat faster than normal baby horses?”
“Yes, about two or three times the rate, I think. And she’s far more intelligent, too. And, I’m not sure, but I think, once or twice she spoke to me in my mind, like her mother.”
“Really,” Heilyn says excitedly. “What did she say?”
“’Apples???’ ‘Want Apples?’” Llyr murmurs sheepishly.
“Oh. Well, she is young. I’m sure Talat’s wants and vocabulary will get more sophisticated as she gets older,” Heilyn offers as consolation, a little disappointed himself at the words of their local avatar. The two Celts smile at each other, their previous arguments temporarily stilled in their joint concern for the child of Epona.
Meanwhile, Gnaeus had somewhat blatantly steered the discussion on the other couches back to the topic of Cornelia’s inheritance. “My dear cousin, you realize that you have a sizable amount of farms and good vineyards in Gaul and Italy to administer now. Of course, I’m sure you’re not very experienced in running such things. What you need is a good man to help you. You ought to marry a healthy, trustworthy young man, with experience in farming, of good birth like your own, don’t you think?” Gnaeus pontificates, pointedly glancing at Septimus.
“I have always thought,” Marcus interrupts, “that Cornelia ought to marry a brave war hero, like her father.” He, in his own turn, briefly looks at Metellus. Metellus tries desperately to study the peeling floor mosaic of grapes.
A silence falls over this end of the dining room, during which they can hear Llyr’s discussion about whether or not they should shoe Talat.
Finally, Cornelia quietly intervenes, “Cousin Gnaeus, thank you for your advice. I always appreciate hearing the voice of experience. But right now, I just want to visit my mother, and take some time to think things over about the next stage of my life.”
Shortly afterwards, the dinner falls apart, and we drift off to our various bedrooms. Marcus has a short conference with Metellus beforehand, in which he expresses his concerns about the courtship of Cornelia by her cousins, who he deems to be a completely inappropriate match based on their clearly lower economic status and lack of military experience. Metellus largely dismisses these fears, but agrees that they should sleep in the rooms on either side of Cornelia, and be aware. Meloch and I, having heard all of this, decide that we are sleeping on the threshold of Cornelia’s bedroom and staying up as long as possible. After all, it is two days until the next ship leaves for Rome.
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Meloch the Pygmy
First Post
Fimmtiu said:
It most certainly is. And I must say that Orichalcum ("Chalky" for short) is even better at running a campaign than writing about it. The game is good enough that I'm positively looking forward to crossing half the eastern seaboard this weekend for the next installment...
(O Chalky, am I allowed to post the Meloch the Pygmy song? I don't know if you're trying to maintain a "tone".)
Cheers,
Pygmy
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