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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Orichalcum" data-source="post: 2482876" data-attributes="member: 3722">Alea Iacta X: A Civil Campaign Chp. 3: I like Thrax!Just to make things clear, I'm posting rapidly at the moment, because we're about to go on vacation for ten days or so, so there'll be a corresponding drop in storyhour. And then after that I need to plan for the next actual session.Also, as an advance warning, it's going to be a long long time before you see any significant combat. We're into a much more intriguey and roleplaying-heavy section of the game, so don't expect a lot of power attacks.In game logistical notes, however, CerebralPaladin suggests I mention that, when Metellus gave "the speech of his life," that was a Diplomacy Check of 37, which was, in fact, as well as he could possibly do.***Heilyn hurries back to Metellus' parents' house, and tells him the grim news.     "You have to understand," Heilyn says, "he isn't dumb or a bad smith. He just wanted a hot, hot, hot forge."      "What's wrong with a normal, normal, normal forge? Like the one I invested in?" Metellus whimpers.         "Well, a normal forge can't produce lightning bolts. But in any case, I need your help finding out more about this lawsuit and getting it overturned."         "I'm sorry, Heilyn. Maybe in a few weeks I can help. But it turns out that, with the time having passed like it did, the official election campaign season starts tomorrow. I've decided to run for Judge, and I need to write a speech. Go talk to Marcus or something..."Metellus answers unhelpfully, perhaps a little irritated at the loss of what Heilyn promised was a "sure profit."         Heilyn, unwilling to confide his problems to the gruff Centurion, goes and practices speaking to spirits in his room, trying to think of ways to navigate the complex world of Roman law.***The next morning, we all get up early to go to the Forum and hear Marcus' speech, as well as those of the other candidates. It seems to be a popular year - four other candidates are running for the three annual judge slots. The Roman citizens will vote in their tribes in early December, and in each round of balloting the majority of tribes will elect one judge. While Metellus therefore only needs to be within the top three candidates, he will of course accrue more honor and political clout if he is the first candidates returned by the voters.The five candidates draw lots randomly from an urn to determine the order of their announcement speeches, and Metellus, looking quite nervous, is fourth.The first speaker steps up to the rostra, a tall podium formed out of the dozens of ships' beaks captured by the Roman fleets. He is a quite young man, a few years younger even than Metellus, but broad-shouldered and fair of face. He is quite properly wearing a toga, but he also has bronze greaves strapped to his calves, and a thick pair of military boots, despite the hot weather.      Marcus represses a gasp as he notices the most unusual aspect of this man's costume - the dried, almost colorless wreath of woven grass blades which adorns his brow. He leans forward and murmurs quietly in Metellus' ear, "He's wearing the Grass Crown, sir. You only receive that honor for being personally responsible for saving a Legion from destruction on the battlefield.""I know what the Grass Crown is, Centurion!" Metellus hisses back, even more nervous than he was before.     Meanwhile, the specially talented members of our group have quietly activated a barrage of detection spells, determined to gain as much information early on as possible about the opposition. Cornelia and Meloch confirm that he has no magic on him apart from the Grass Crown itself, which seems to radiate some sort of transmutation effect, much like Marcus' golden phalerae for heroism. Heilyn sees no particular spirits around him. And Lucretius uses his paladin abilities to Detect Pantheon, and finds that the man, whoever he is, has a perfectly orthodox devotion to the Olympian pantheon, especially Mars, and the divine Emperors, particularly the great general Trajan and Mamercus Aemilianus, the previous Emperor. Marcus, meanwhile, also notes that there are a fair number of people standing near the man who bear obvious signs of military training, especially one older man decked out in the full armor and honors of a primuspilus centurion, who is missing an arm.      The young man clears his throat and begins to speak in a light, resonant tenor, "My name is Aulus Gellius Thrax, and I come before you today to ask for your support in my campaign for the honorable position of judge of Roma. Some of you may have heard my name before, but for those of you more focused on the internal affairs of our great city, let me tell you my story.      Four months ago, I served Roma as a military tribune of the 17th Legion. Our great Emperor had commanded us to join him in the war against the foul, fire-throwing Parthian Magi, and we were marching across the Thracian steppes towards Parthia. My legate, Quintus Vitellius, had commanded the cohorts to separate into three groups in order to make better use of the scant resources of food and water available. Out of nowhere, as we were beginning to make camp one evening, hordes of Thracian barbarians attacked our army. In the first volley, Vitellius was killed by an arrow through his throat. The men began to panic and flee, but I took up our Eagle, and rallied them into tortoise position. Shield to shield, arm to arm, we stood by each other and fought until the last light of sun began to fall below the horizon. In desperation, I threw my last javelins at their bloody, bearded chieftain and lured him into single combat. I managed to kill him, but not before his axe sliced open my leg, the reason for the clumsy boot I now must wear. With the loss of their leader, the Thracians fled into the shadows. My men cheered me on the field and bestowed this Grass Crown upon me, led by their brave and loyal primuspilus centurion, Regulus, who had lost his own arm defending me. We rejoined the other cohorts and protected them from the Thracians, and together we brought the 17th safely to the Parthian front. With my wounded leg, however, I could no longer remain on the battle lines, and thus I have come home, to serve Roma in a different way, as best as I can."Wild cheering breaks out throughout the crowd, carefully led by the various soldiers that Marcus noted earlier.</blockquote>

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