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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Orichalcum" data-source="post: 1215249" data-attributes="member: 3722">Sixth Session: When in Rome 3rd Post: Tact is for the weak.In the morning, we gather, and some of us discuss our dreams. After some talk, it is noticed that various members of the group, namely Llyr, Heilyn, Wena, and Meloch, noticed black chains as a symbol in their dreams, even when they were dreaming of old painful memories, where the original event had no such chains in them. They decide that these chains must be a psychic symbol of the person who mentally threatened them, whom they christen "the Black Chain Philosopher," possibly although not certainly Quintus Mucius Scaevola, the tutor of the Emperor's nephew Rufus.    They decide to be on the lookout for any such chains, and realize that the people who noticed them are either those who have particular connections to the spirit world through their bond with Lugh or, like  Meloch, have racial protections against mental compulsion. Once again, I thank the Monkey King that I picked a master who was unlikely to cause me to have my mind taken over by anyone. Of course, this doesn't stop him from reckless behavior on his own behalf.Marcus says, unusually puzzled, "I think I had a Pythagorean dream..."      Cornelia responds sarcastically , "What, was it about triangles?"     Marcus answers, "Yes!" He details his dream, and they are all momentarily bemused. Thinking more deeply, however, Marcus realizes that the shapes in his dream remind him of the signal flags used to communicate between Legionary forces during battle. Yellow triangles mean "Danger, Need assistance." The red rectangle communicates "Under siege," and the black rectangle, "Can hold out for less than three months. Reinforcements needed urgently."       Marcus decides that these messages are the attempts of the Ninth's Eagle to communicate with him, the last surviving officer and the owner of the primuspilus centurion's brooch. This theory is confirmed when he discovers that Metellus and Llyr, the other legionaries in the group, also dreamed of yellow triangles, although in a more abstract way. He decides that, at the reception by Cimbrus in the Imperial Palace which has been commanded that morning, he will ask for permission to see the Eagle again.      Dressed in their best clothes - newly bought or borrowed in some cases, and with Wena still looking more than a little scruffy, our group sets out for the Imperial Palace. Cornelia refuses to ride in a litter and instead drives one of the two-horse open chariots; while she invites Metellus along, he refuses and chooses to walk, dirtying the bottom of his toga. Finally, the group reaches the palace, and begins negotiating its way through the myriad steps of Imperial protocol. After a few hours, we reach the entrance to the Secondary Imperial Reception Room, for meetings with minor clients and domestic business affairs. The haughty freedman at the entrance, dressed in a rich blue tunic, demands our ranks and the names of our fathers and grandfathers, before introducing us in rank order, leaving out Meloch and me, of course...despite the fact that I’m sure my lineage goes back farther than any of the humans.    “The clarissimus Quintus Caecilius Metellus Minor, son of Quintus Caecilius Metellus Major, grandson of Quintus Caecilius Metellus, former Tribune of the Sixth.     The clarissima Cornelia Crispa, daughter of the Acting Prefect Gaius Cornelius Crispus of the Sixth Legion, granddaughter of Gaius Cornelius Crispus.    The equitis Marcus Catellus Alexandros, former Fourth Centurion of the First Cohort of the Sixth Legion, son of Alexandros Iatros of Alexandria, grandson of Kassandros Iatros.    The citizen Gaius Tacitus Llyr, Auxiliary Decurion Engineer of the Sixth Legion, currently on leave, Prince of the Brigantes, son of Gaius Tacitus Reganix, grandson of Astanor.     The citizen Heilyn the Smith of Eburacum, son of Jaireth, son of...<long puzzled pause> the Walker of the North.     The citizen Wena the vates of the Iceni, associate member of the Library of Trajan, daughter of Liranon the vates, granddaughter of Cairna the vates. “    As we are ushered in, we see a large marble hall, with purple porphyry columns separated by elegant linen hangings woven with golden thread. Courtiers dressed in togas and other elaborate garments, both men and women, line the sides, at one end sits Cimbrus, formally dressed in a purple-bordered toga and golden laurel wreath, on a porphyry marble curule chair with no back. An identical chair sits empty at his side. There is no sign of Hadriana or of the rumored daughter, Cimbra.        Cimbrus interrupts the end of the majordomo’s speech somewhat impatiently, saying, “Yes, yes, we know, and our imperial greetings to the pygmy as well. We are glad you are here and well. You are well, aren’t you? No, um...lingering side effects?”        We wait for Metellus to respond, and when he doesn’t, Marcus helpfully answers, “No, Imperator. We rooted out the Druidic evil and banished the curse from ourselves.”              Cimbrus, clearly a little disconcerted at both being in charge and at having the Druidic curse mentioned so openly, says, “Well, yes, we’re glad that you’re healthy. We’re all healthy too.”    Metellus, desperately feeling the need to contribute to the conversation, suddenly asks, “How’s Hadriana feeling? Is she well?”    There is a long pause, as a sudden silence falls over the reception hall. Cimbrus blanches, and those in our group who had been informed about the rumors spreading around Rome and Britannia that Metellus was the secret father of Hadriana’s child  (at this point everyone except for Marcus and Wena)  wince. Metellus only realizes the dimension of his folly when one of the courtiers in the back begins snickering. At this Marcus, completely confused but determined to protect his patron’s honor, uses his psionic abilities to memorize the face of the courtier so he can track him down later and beat some respect into him.    “My wife is perfectly well,” Cimbrus finally says in a frigid tone. “She decided not to attend court today, as she was busy attending to our daughter.”         “Ah...um...” Metellus stumbles. “That’s very good to hear. But you said you had need of us, in the message that you sent? Perhaps we should discuss that?” His voice breaks on the last note.    “Indeed,” Cimbrus says with relief. “Let’s get down to the business. You see, I’m supposed to have this Triumph, for the war in Britannia. But it’s already been delayed by almost two months, because things keep going wrong with it – the animals died, and the floats aren’t working, and so forth. And besides, none of the people here really know what Britannia looks like or how to make floats that look like crazy wild animals led by Druids or any of the other things that we saw up at the Wall. And I can’t help them that much, because, well, I’m acting as Regent for my father, and besides, I was wounded and knocked unconscious so I don’t remember that much of the later stages of the battle. But you all know Britannia, and people like Llyr and Heilyn know how to construct floats and costumes that look British, so I want you to help out with the Triumph, mostly in the decoration aspects, but also a bit in security, because there are rumors that the prisoners haven’t been behaving well, and you know how to deal with these people.” He blurts this all out at high speed, and then continues before the group really has a chance to react.    “So, you should go have a meeting with one of our young Praetorian Guard Decurions, Septimus Lucretius, who will be your liasion back to the official organizers and the Praetorians, and he’ll explain everything. We are pleased to have your assistance.” He waves the small rod in his right hand, as if to indicate that the meeting is over. Servants begin to come forward, but Marcus boldly steps up and speaks to Cimbrus before they have a chance to usher us all away.    “Imperator, sir, may I request one small favor in return for our past services? The Eagle of the Ninth Legion is being stored here somewhere, I know, and I’d like a chance to pay my respects to it again, before the Legion is officially formed again.”    Cimbrus, a little surprised, nods. “Certainly – It’s in one of the old treasure rooms, I believe; Lucretius can lead you there after your meeting. “</blockquote>

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