Greenfield
Adventurer
This tale comes from our ongoing campaign. The DM this time was The Viking, as we play "Round Robin" style, and pass DM duties around the table.
For this tale he's pretty much jumped us a thousand years in the future, though to the PCs it's all the same world, the same age. Call it literary license.
*******
"Now, where are we going again?", asked Penn, scratching his head. "And why?"
"We're heading to central Italy, Florence by way of Piza.", Sylus explained patiently. "We were asked to go there and meet with someone."
"Who? And why?"
"I'm not sure.", the Ranger admitted.
"Then how will you know when you've met them?", asked the Fey, the ghost of a smile dancing about the edges of his mouth.
There was a clatter of hooves fleeing across the deck, accompanied by the "thunk" of a belaying pin striking the gunwale.
"Why did we bring him along again?", asked Seeburn, his temper as dark as the sky.
"Well, the captain wouldn't let Appelenea bring her wolf, so...", speculated Cassius laughingly. "Besides, it gives Sylus an excuse to practice his marksmanship."
"My sponsor mentioned him in his Sending.", Marcus inserted. "He said we should keep an eye on him, so I invited him along. Hard to get any details when you're limited to only a couple dozen words or so. I hope we did the right thing."
"The problem's easily enough solved.", suggested Seeburn, gesturing towards the rail. "I could just ask him to step outside."
"No, none of that. That boy could talk the ticks off a dog, and probably get them to pay him for the privilege.", laughed Cassius. "He's useful. And as long as he steers clear of Appelenea, Sylus will probably let him live."
The ship landed in the port city of Piza, and the group elected to book further passage by river, though the expense grated on Seeburn. He was probably the most flush of the group, when it came to gold in his purse, yet he was by far the most miserly.
Once in Florence, they found that rooms had been arranged for them at the Golden Glass, a moderately well to do inn in a more than well to do city. Seeburn again grated at the waste of good coin, even though he wasn't the one paying it.
Then they waited.
***
"Where are we going?", Seeburn asked in shock.
"We've been invited to a dinner party.", Marcus said, reading the note again. He had returned from his day's business in the city, most of it spent keeping the half Satyr out of mischief, to find the sealed packet waiting for him at the inn. It contained the note, and a set of finely engraved invitations.
"Why would this Cosmic fellow want to meet with us, if he's all that important?", Seeburn asked. "And why do we have to dress up just for him?"
"Cosimo.", Marcus corrected the burly Scott. "Cosimo Medici, and he's just hosting the party. Someone is supposed to contact us there."
"Do we know who?", asked Penn, pointedly eying Seeburn's garb. The Scott was wearing one of the two outfits he owned, and though it was the better of the two, "better" was a relative term.
"No.", Marcus replied, then quickly added, "They'll know us.", just to cut off the impudent question he saw lurking on the Bard's lips.
"Well, if I'm supposed to dress nicely, I suppose I'll have to dress.", laughed Penn, noting his ever-fashionable coat of body hair, the only "clothes" they had seen him wear to date. "Anyone want to go shopping with me?"
He was eying Appelenea as he asked, but the question was really directed towards Seeburn. Neither accepted.
***
"The final days are upon us!", the man cried. "The gods have abandoned us for our wicked ways! Greed has been our downfall, and its poisoned fruits our doom!"
Nearby, a bonfire blazed, and to the amazement of Marcus and Penn, people were throwing wood carvings, tapestries and painting into it with an air of desperation.
"So, they think that by burning things, they'll clear the smoke from the sky?", Penn asked, ever impudent.
"Apparently.", Marcus replied. Then, a look of determination on his face, he approached the street preacher.
"What foolishness is this?" he called, raising his voice to match the red faced fanatic. "You would burn the gods in effigy to appease them", he asked, indicating the nature of the art being destroyed. "Is this mean market an appropriate temple for sacrifice, that your pleas may be heard and your offerings accepted?"
Over the next several minutes, the Cleric of Jupiter delivered a scathing diatribe against the insane practice, encouraging the people to direct their worship in a proper manner. The fanatic fumbled his way through a half hearted argument, explaining that the gods were weary of man's fixation on wealth, but the Cleric deftly dissected the man's rhetoric, exposing its flaws as easily as a butcher exposes the bones of a roast.
Then, with the man slack jawed in shock, Marcus gave a just nod and stalked off.
Behind him, the man began his cries again, undaunted by fact or reason, for such is the way of fanatics.
"Let me have a try.", suggested Penn. And he began to sing.
Then Penn and Marcus began to pick through the debris, to see what treasures might be salvaged from the scorched ruin.[/FONT]
For this tale he's pretty much jumped us a thousand years in the future, though to the PCs it's all the same world, the same age. Call it literary license.
*******
"Now, where are we going again?", asked Penn, scratching his head. "And why?"
"We're heading to central Italy, Florence by way of Piza.", Sylus explained patiently. "We were asked to go there and meet with someone."
"Who? And why?"
"I'm not sure.", the Ranger admitted.
"Then how will you know when you've met them?", asked the Fey, the ghost of a smile dancing about the edges of his mouth.
There was a clatter of hooves fleeing across the deck, accompanied by the "thunk" of a belaying pin striking the gunwale.
"Why did we bring him along again?", asked Seeburn, his temper as dark as the sky.
"Well, the captain wouldn't let Appelenea bring her wolf, so...", speculated Cassius laughingly. "Besides, it gives Sylus an excuse to practice his marksmanship."
"My sponsor mentioned him in his Sending.", Marcus inserted. "He said we should keep an eye on him, so I invited him along. Hard to get any details when you're limited to only a couple dozen words or so. I hope we did the right thing."
"The problem's easily enough solved.", suggested Seeburn, gesturing towards the rail. "I could just ask him to step outside."
"No, none of that. That boy could talk the ticks off a dog, and probably get them to pay him for the privilege.", laughed Cassius. "He's useful. And as long as he steers clear of Appelenea, Sylus will probably let him live."
The ship landed in the port city of Piza, and the group elected to book further passage by river, though the expense grated on Seeburn. He was probably the most flush of the group, when it came to gold in his purse, yet he was by far the most miserly.
Once in Florence, they found that rooms had been arranged for them at the Golden Glass, a moderately well to do inn in a more than well to do city. Seeburn again grated at the waste of good coin, even though he wasn't the one paying it.
Then they waited.
***
"Where are we going?", Seeburn asked in shock.
"We've been invited to a dinner party.", Marcus said, reading the note again. He had returned from his day's business in the city, most of it spent keeping the half Satyr out of mischief, to find the sealed packet waiting for him at the inn. It contained the note, and a set of finely engraved invitations.
"Why would this Cosmic fellow want to meet with us, if he's all that important?", Seeburn asked. "And why do we have to dress up just for him?"
"Cosimo.", Marcus corrected the burly Scott. "Cosimo Medici, and he's just hosting the party. Someone is supposed to contact us there."
"Do we know who?", asked Penn, pointedly eying Seeburn's garb. The Scott was wearing one of the two outfits he owned, and though it was the better of the two, "better" was a relative term.
"No.", Marcus replied, then quickly added, "They'll know us.", just to cut off the impudent question he saw lurking on the Bard's lips.
"Well, if I'm supposed to dress nicely, I suppose I'll have to dress.", laughed Penn, noting his ever-fashionable coat of body hair, the only "clothes" they had seen him wear to date. "Anyone want to go shopping with me?"
He was eying Appelenea as he asked, but the question was really directed towards Seeburn. Neither accepted.
***
"The final days are upon us!", the man cried. "The gods have abandoned us for our wicked ways! Greed has been our downfall, and its poisoned fruits our doom!"
Nearby, a bonfire blazed, and to the amazement of Marcus and Penn, people were throwing wood carvings, tapestries and painting into it with an air of desperation.
"So, they think that by burning things, they'll clear the smoke from the sky?", Penn asked, ever impudent.
"Apparently.", Marcus replied. Then, a look of determination on his face, he approached the street preacher.
"What foolishness is this?" he called, raising his voice to match the red faced fanatic. "You would burn the gods in effigy to appease them", he asked, indicating the nature of the art being destroyed. "Is this mean market an appropriate temple for sacrifice, that your pleas may be heard and your offerings accepted?"
Over the next several minutes, the Cleric of Jupiter delivered a scathing diatribe against the insane practice, encouraging the people to direct their worship in a proper manner. The fanatic fumbled his way through a half hearted argument, explaining that the gods were weary of man's fixation on wealth, but the Cleric deftly dissected the man's rhetoric, exposing its flaws as easily as a butcher exposes the bones of a roast.
Then, with the man slack jawed in shock, Marcus gave a just nod and stalked off.
Behind him, the man began his cries again, undaunted by fact or reason, for such is the way of fanatics.
"Let me have a try.", suggested Penn. And he began to sing.
And so the song began, encouraging the crowd and capturing their ear and heart. But then it began to change, as the verses wore on.Away with the evil ways, let the fires burn!
Done with sweat of back and brow, and all that they have earned.
For what profits a man in gold or silk, if they come at such a cost,
For noble born or of meanest ilk, 'pon death all wealth is lost...
[FONT="]The song continued, building support into hyperbole and finally parody, an all too serious mockery of the fanatic's message, echoing his own words back off the emptiness of the man's heart. And the crowd started to disperse. Soon the local fire brigade began to douse the flames, fearing the spread more than the mob.Care not for those who follow you, they do not know your pain,
that your offspring and the ones they sire must earn it all again.
For the labours of a lifetime are but ashes in the breeze,
like leaves upon a passing wind, or foam upon the seas.
Ignore the cries of hunger from those with naught to burn
for if they wish to join this dance, admission they must earn.
The sun will rise again someday, but not for you and I,
for all our hopes and all our dreams are now smoke up in the sky...
Then Penn and Marcus began to pick through the debris, to see what treasures might be salvaged from the scorched ruin.[/FONT]
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