Alea Iacta IX: An Easy Descent Chp. 8: Falls the Shadow
This post is especially for Meloch's player who, as he mentioned, is currently in Afghanistan, in a fairly tricky situation. I'm going to try and post at least once a day until he's evacuated (within the week); as I missed yesterday, I'll do a double-length post today.
I'll also throw in a bonus post for the first person (who isn't a PC) who knows the origin of this post's chapter title.
*******
Having realized at least what the Black Chain Philosopher was doing, if not precisely how, we wasted little time in preparing to enter the Gate of False Visions and confront him within his domain before he could break open the tunnel to the Place of Forms and turn nightmare into reality and love into bitterness. Furthermore, it is becoming increasingly difficult for anyone to remember anything about the Emperor's brother, or the Ninth Legion, or even their friend and companion the Centurion, so haste is clearly merited. Before leaving the Place of Forms, Marcus briefly meditates and concentrates on his wounds from the chains closing and healing. To others' surprise, although not Wena's, he finds that he needs to exert only the minimum of mental concentration to achieve full healing, and indeed, it seems almost impossible for him to lose his focus. Still, now is not the time for experimentation.
After she has led us back to the Gate, we salute the Wolf in respect. "We will meet again, one way or the other," she says, as we exit into the dark stone hallway of the Imperial Palace, slightly to the surprise of the Praetorian Guards carefully watching either end of the hallway. Llyr calls out "Tell Hadriana we're still working on it," while Cornelia glares at him for his casual tone. Meanwhile, Heilyn, with some trepidation, pulls open the bar on the tusk-decorated Gate of Ivory, gleaming to his eyes with strands of strange, flowing color amidst the shining white ivory panels. Beyond, all is a shadowy greyness. Holding hands in a line, we step through, drawing a long breath, and feel the thick fog on the other side surround us and pour into our very minds and souls for a brief second, as we desperately try to push it out by sheer mental force.
***
We find ourselves on the crowded, sunlit, Via Sacra of Roma, on a hot and fragrant day. We are all gazing up, of course, at Metellus, who stands proudly in his gleaming armor and scarlet cloak upon the triumphal chariot as it processes along the parade route. Behind him, trying to look unobtrusive, stands Llyr, holding the triumphal laurel wreath, while Metellus focuses on driving the perfectly matched Celtic mares down the street, and the rest of us crowd around him. Lucretius rides his elephant, Sapientia, a few paces behind the chariot, dressed in full Praetorian regalia. A look of joy and pride is on Metellus' face, especially as we pass the balcony of his parents' house, who wave to him with admiration in their eyes, and pretty girls throw flowers from the crowd.
While Metellus enjoys his moment of glory, the rest of us are, well, slightly bemused. This is not where we expected to be upon stepping through the Gate, certainly, and it's not clear exactly how this will help, either. Heilyn pokes a nearby paradegoer in the arm to confirm that, yes, the man is solid - and quite irritated at the shove. Cornelia and Wena turn to each other and confirm that, yes, this seems a little strange. Llyr, up on the chariot, ventures a word to Metellus, "Ah Tribune, sir, this is all very nice, but don't we have something else we should be doing?"
Metellus is confused, and a little hurt by Llyr's lack of appreciation for his achievements. "This is the most important day of my life, Llyr! What do you mean?"
Llyr, who finds himself still mindlinked, if weakly, to Wena and Cornelia, communicates silently to them, "Ladies, we have a problem," and gestures up at the oblivious, grinning Triumphator.
Marcus, meanwhile, starts looking out for something or someone to kill, convinced that a threat awaits, and warns Lucretius to do the same. For another minute or two, their paranoia seems particularly irrational, as the only danger appears to be death by flower projectiles.
Suddenly, an elderly woman, her face hidden by a cloak hood, steps out of the crowd, directly in front of Metellus's chariot, which he wheels to a halt, pulling sharply on the horses' reins. "Who are you," she shrieks, "Quintus Caecilius Metellus Minor, to dare to triumph in the streets of Roma? You're a coward, that's what you are! You ran from a filthy dog in the wilds of Britannia! You let your lackeys do all the killing for you! You fled in terror from the ghosts on the Isle of Mona! You aren't worthy of being a real Roman, let alone triumphing!"
Metellus shakes in shock and horror at her accusations. Marcus, meanwhile, pulls his sword, asking us generally, "So, can I kill her now?" Llyr nods enthusiastically and jumps off the chariot, loading his ballista, and Lucretius and Sapientia begin to move forward, but Cornelia shouts, "Wait! She's just an old woman! We don't know what's going on here!"
As the old woman continues to spew invective, the formerly cheering crowd begins booing and hissing Metellus, the Coward, and instead of flowers, rotten fish and vegetables begin to be thrown at our party. (It's at this point that I hide under the chariot and hang on tight - one of those turnips could kill me!)
Metellus tries to stammer out a defense of his actions, as the woman walks closer to him, screaming "Coward" and "Bully." Just as Llyr leaps off the chariot, in front of Metellus, she pulls back her hood, revealing first, momentarily, the face of Hadriana, then that of Cornelia, before shifting finally to a long-forgotten but much-hated visage - the cruel, harsh features of Aeduana, Chief Druid of all Britannia. And a few seconds later, the woman turns into an equally familiar enormous mountain cat, many feet long, and the crowd scatters in terror.
"Now," Lucretius shouts, "Now you can kill her. If I don't get there first." While Metellus cowers in fear, Marcus, Llyr, Lucretius, and Heilyn advance upon the tiger. Llyr pauses to reload his ballista for a second, murmuring, "I knew it was a good idea to save a couple of the special Aeduana-target bolts, just in case," before launching a devastating attack upon the tiger's head with the ballista. Lucretius and Sapientia trample over the Aeduana-tiger's tail and rear legs, while Marcus and Heilyn deal massive damage to her front half. Marcus, in fact, is the only one of this group who has fought Aeduana before, and he notices with some slight surprise that it seems much easier to hit her this time. "My skills in fighting have truly grown," he thinks briefly to himself, before taking out some of his recent anger on the giant feline, with extreme prejudice.
In a remarkably short amount of time, the remaining crowds in the streets are taking home wildcat steaks to feed their families, and we return to the confused but calmer Metellus.
"Metellus," Cornelia says gently, "This isn't real. We need to go fight the Black Chain Philosopher now."
"But....Aeduana....and my triumph!" Metellus stammers.
"We've killed Aeduana. She's dead. She won't trouble you again, sir, and you're not a coward," Marcus asserts.
"And you'll have a triumph someday - but for now, we have more trials to face ahead. Concentrate on our quest, and rescuing Cimbrus, please," Cornelia tries to reassure the Tribune. Some combination of their words and the very dead Aeduana seems finally to strike home, and Metellus nods. "You're right. It's time to go on."
The fog creeps up the Roman street, blotting out the sky, and surrounds us all again, choking us as it slips into our lungs and eyes and ears.
