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Alea Iacta Story Hour: A Mythic Rome Campaign (Baby Announcement: 8/17)
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<blockquote data-quote="Orichalcum" data-source="post: 2079850" data-attributes="member: 3722"><p><strong>Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 12: Ne'er Shall Be Slaves</strong></p><p></p><p>Although Marcus's question relates closely to his own quest, he has no objection to anyone else hearing the answer, and, indeed, welcomes their presence. So the gruff Centurion, helmet carefully cradled in one arm, clutching the primus pilus brooch against his chest in the traditional posture of respect in the other, steps forward briskly and asks, "How can the Eagle of the Ninth Legion be freed?"</p><p></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> The Binder of Light and Dark holds the leash</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> of the Ninth Eagle, but the bond that ties</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> those devoted to the Eagle is stronger. </span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> In the Shadow of the Shadow, the Binder</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> slowly strangles the life and loyalty from your liege.</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> But in the Place of Forms, true faith can break the chain.</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em> </p><p></p><p>Marcus nods, tempted to use his greaves to try and immediately wish himself into the Place of Forms and save the Eagle, but determined to obey orders and stay with the Tribune for now. Metellus and Cornelia, meanwhile, note the possible double meaning of "liege" to each other, but decide to save this point for later discussion.</p><p></p><p>The remaining three all wish to ask their questions in private consultation with the Sibyl, so we retreat down the long stone corridor some distance while Metellus remains with the Sibyl. A pained expression crosses the young nobleman's face, as he almost shamefacedly whispers his question into the Sibyl's ear, careful lest its sound drift back to our group: Who should I marry to ensure the honesty and future happiness of my family?</p><p></p><p>The wrinkled cheeks of the Sibyl crack in a gentle, if awe-inspiring smile, as she answers thoughtfully:</p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> If you destroy the shadow on her heritage,</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> The hidden nobilissima will give your family </span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> great joy and much honor</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> although you much fear and worry.</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em> </p><p></p><p>While Metellus walks back to the group, pondering his answer and what it means for his future plans of courtship, Cornelia glances eagerly at him. He misses the look entirely, absorbed in his thoughts, and gestures to Lucretius to enter the Sibyl's niche.</p><p></p><p>The good-looking young Praetorian mutters a quick prayer to Minerva, carefully not looking ay anyone else in the group, and walks down the corridor. Lucretius also kneels before the Sibyl and, cheeks coloring, quietly begs her for an answer: How can I save Cornelia, perform my duty as a Praetorian, and perform my duty to Minerva?</p><p></p><p>The Sibyl intones her answer but Lucretius, overcome with tension and embarrassment, is confused by the answer. It is either:</p><p></p><p><em> <span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> If the truth of Roma wavers,</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> The truth of Cornelia will die,</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> Save her and show her your own truth,</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> and she will recognize the beauty of your soul. </span></em></p><p> <em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em> </p><p> or:</p><p></p><p><em> <span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> If the truth of Roma wavers,</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> The truth of Cornelia will not die,</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> Save her and show her your own truth,</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"> and she will recognize the beauty of your soul. </span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em> Lucretius desperately asks for clarification, but the Sibyl continues to stare silently into the fire. Depressed and dejected, the Praetorian treads back down to the group, gesturing Heilyn forward.</p><p></p><p>Heilyn the Smith, while he certainly cares about the welfare of his friends, is after all not here to worry about the health of Cimbrus Caesar. He has joined with our group in search of the Cap of Lugh and, now, out of a desire for vengeance against the Black Chain Philosopher, who manipulated him into handing over the Cap and, of course, also perpetrated a variety of other evil Druidic-related acts. But at this crucial moment for a question to a great seer, Heilyn finds it almost meaningless to ask where the Cap is, or how he can get it back. That answer is simple - find Scaevola and beat his chest in with a Big Hammer and snatch the cap from his crushed corpse. Heilyn the Spirit-Talker, who has been studying the various philosophical scrolls about the Place of Forms intently, has a more important question to ask.</p><p></p><p>He steps into the Sibyl's cavern, awed by the swirling, powerful spirits of the fire and the energy he can sense radiating out from the immensely old, wise spirit of the Sibyl herself, and kneels in reverence. "Honored elder, great Sibyl - what Word should I speak in the Place of Forms to protect and strengthen Britannia?"</p><p></p><p>The Sibyl smiles widely, as if, somehow, she had been expecting this particular question. She gazes into the flame and it shoots up between her and Heilyn, glowing almost blue for a second. Through the flames, the Sibyl's voice, chanting, almost singing, echoes throughout the cavern and into Heilyn's very soul.</p><p></p><p><em> <span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">When Britannia first, at the gods' command,</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">Arose from out the azure main;</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">This was the charter of the land,</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">And guardian spirits sang this refrain:</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">Britons never shall be slaves.</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">The nations, not so blessed as thee</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">Must, in their turns to tyrants fall</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">While thou shalt flourish great and free</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">The dread and envy of them all.</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">Still more majestic shalt thou rise</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">More dreadful from each foreign stroke</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">As the loud blast that tears the skies</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">Serves but to root thy native oak.</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">All their attempts to bend thee down</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">Will but arouse thy generous flame</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">But work their woe, and thy renown.</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">To thee belongs the rural reign</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">Thy cities shall with commerce shine</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">All thine shall be the subject main</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">And every shore it circles thine.</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">The Muses, still with freedom found</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">Shall to thy happy coast repair</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">Blessed isle with matchless beauty crowned</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">And manly hearts to guard the fair.</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves!</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue">And Britons never shall be slaves.</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: LightBlue"></span></em> </p><p></p><p>As always, speculations and wild interpretations are welcome.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Orichalcum, post: 2079850, member: 3722"] [b]Alea Iacta VIII: Under Mud, Over Sea Chp. 12: Ne'er Shall Be Slaves[/b] Although Marcus's question relates closely to his own quest, he has no objection to anyone else hearing the answer, and, indeed, welcomes their presence. So the gruff Centurion, helmet carefully cradled in one arm, clutching the primus pilus brooch against his chest in the traditional posture of respect in the other, steps forward briskly and asks, "How can the Eagle of the Ninth Legion be freed?" [I][COLOR=LightBlue] The Binder of Light and Dark holds the leash of the Ninth Eagle, but the bond that ties those devoted to the Eagle is stronger. In the Shadow of the Shadow, the Binder slowly strangles the life and loyalty from your liege. But in the Place of Forms, true faith can break the chain. [/COLOR][/I][COLOR=LightBlue] [/COLOR] Marcus nods, tempted to use his greaves to try and immediately wish himself into the Place of Forms and save the Eagle, but determined to obey orders and stay with the Tribune for now. Metellus and Cornelia, meanwhile, note the possible double meaning of "liege" to each other, but decide to save this point for later discussion. The remaining three all wish to ask their questions in private consultation with the Sibyl, so we retreat down the long stone corridor some distance while Metellus remains with the Sibyl. A pained expression crosses the young nobleman's face, as he almost shamefacedly whispers his question into the Sibyl's ear, careful lest its sound drift back to our group: Who should I marry to ensure the honesty and future happiness of my family? The wrinkled cheeks of the Sibyl crack in a gentle, if awe-inspiring smile, as she answers thoughtfully: [I][COLOR=LightBlue] If you destroy the shadow on her heritage, The hidden nobilissima will give your family great joy and much honor although you much fear and worry. [/COLOR][/I][COLOR=LightBlue] [/COLOR] While Metellus walks back to the group, pondering his answer and what it means for his future plans of courtship, Cornelia glances eagerly at him. He misses the look entirely, absorbed in his thoughts, and gestures to Lucretius to enter the Sibyl's niche. The good-looking young Praetorian mutters a quick prayer to Minerva, carefully not looking ay anyone else in the group, and walks down the corridor. Lucretius also kneels before the Sibyl and, cheeks coloring, quietly begs her for an answer: How can I save Cornelia, perform my duty as a Praetorian, and perform my duty to Minerva? The Sibyl intones her answer but Lucretius, overcome with tension and embarrassment, is confused by the answer. It is either: [I] [COLOR=LightBlue] If the truth of Roma wavers, The truth of Cornelia will die, Save her and show her your own truth, and she will recognize the beauty of your soul. [/COLOR][/I][COLOR=LightBlue] [/COLOR] or: [I] [COLOR=LightBlue] If the truth of Roma wavers, The truth of Cornelia will not die, Save her and show her your own truth, and she will recognize the beauty of your soul. [/COLOR][/I][COLOR=LightBlue] [/COLOR] Lucretius desperately asks for clarification, but the Sibyl continues to stare silently into the fire. Depressed and dejected, the Praetorian treads back down to the group, gesturing Heilyn forward. Heilyn the Smith, while he certainly cares about the welfare of his friends, is after all not here to worry about the health of Cimbrus Caesar. He has joined with our group in search of the Cap of Lugh and, now, out of a desire for vengeance against the Black Chain Philosopher, who manipulated him into handing over the Cap and, of course, also perpetrated a variety of other evil Druidic-related acts. But at this crucial moment for a question to a great seer, Heilyn finds it almost meaningless to ask where the Cap is, or how he can get it back. That answer is simple - find Scaevola and beat his chest in with a Big Hammer and snatch the cap from his crushed corpse. Heilyn the Spirit-Talker, who has been studying the various philosophical scrolls about the Place of Forms intently, has a more important question to ask. He steps into the Sibyl's cavern, awed by the swirling, powerful spirits of the fire and the energy he can sense radiating out from the immensely old, wise spirit of the Sibyl herself, and kneels in reverence. "Honored elder, great Sibyl - what Word should I speak in the Place of Forms to protect and strengthen Britannia?" The Sibyl smiles widely, as if, somehow, she had been expecting this particular question. She gazes into the flame and it shoots up between her and Heilyn, glowing almost blue for a second. Through the flames, the Sibyl's voice, chanting, almost singing, echoes throughout the cavern and into Heilyn's very soul. [I] [COLOR=LightBlue] When Britannia first, at the gods' command, Arose from out the azure main; This was the charter of the land, And guardian spirits sang this refrain: Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves Britons never shall be slaves. The nations, not so blessed as thee Must, in their turns to tyrants fall While thou shalt flourish great and free The dread and envy of them all. Still more majestic shalt thou rise More dreadful from each foreign stroke As the loud blast that tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak. Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame But work their woe, and thy renown. To thee belongs the rural reign Thy cities shall with commerce shine All thine shall be the subject main And every shore it circles thine. The Muses, still with freedom found Shall to thy happy coast repair Blessed isle with matchless beauty crowned And manly hearts to guard the fair. Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves! And Britons never shall be slaves. [/COLOR][/I][COLOR=LightBlue] [/COLOR] As always, speculations and wild interpretations are welcome. [/QUOTE]
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