The dark sky ominously rumbles as its continual tears fall on the uncertain populous below. Two years previously the unimaginable happened Valens Augustus fell vaingloriously upon the fields of Adrianople to rabble, that a strong Roman sneeze should have scattered to the four winds.
Now Theodoseous the younger, a man who has never known Constantinople, commands the armies of the east. Will he be enough to extinguish the fire that burns in the gothic heart and tame their unbridled souls, or will he follow Valens to the land of his ancestors? Where will his allegiances lay in matters of faith? For in this land every creed has felt the oppression of the state. These and others questions hung heavy in the mind of the men of Constantinople. The world had turned upside down; long and far ranging will be its repercussions. But a for few, their only thoughts for the moment are where to escape the rain….
Constantinople, the Kalendes of Aprilis, in the year of our lord Iesous Christos 380 ad
In the shadowy portico of the Basilica of the Holy Apostles had gathered a collection of beings, fruit that only a city such as Constantinople could have bore.
Among the manicured Greeks stood tall and pale northmen, while dark eyed Syrians animatedly quarrelled in their inflected tongue. Even a Nubian porter had set aside his bundle to repose against a marble column.
All had gathered to escape the rain and wait for the storm to break; a storm that had transformed the Mese from road to a silvery stream as the over burdened storm drains struggled to keep up with the torrent.
Luckily for what might have been a tedious wait, among the crowd was one Flavious Lupius Hibernius predominant and esteemed member of the senate. His reputation for amiability, candour and Patrician sensibilities had for once proven to be true. Even those who had been much critical now stood in rapt attention eager for their turn to gain plainspoken answers from someone truly in the know. An oddity in such a byzantine city.
putting down a bundle of tools wrapped in sackcloth, and wiping the rainsoaked hair from his eyes Rufinus, a tall scarred and beaten man looks at the gathered and shrugs with a deprecating smile. Hunching to be less threatening, he walks up to the Nubian porter and says "Ave friend. What is this gathering?"
Hrothgar combs back his scraggedy blond hair and eyes the weakling Romans with disdain. He flips back his faded scarlet cloak to reveal his mailed torso and belt from which hung the tools of his trade, a battle axe and two daggers. He smiles cockily, daring anyone to challenge him.
Rufinus makes sure his hands are visible and sets his huge hammer against his sack by a pillar. He is trying to see what this gathering is about. His eye is caught by an imperfection in the marble that looks like a bird. He awaits the Nubian's reply, but nods toward his countryman with respect.
Sense motive 1d20+1=9 (What is this gathering for, and what is it's mood?)
Modius stands by his big friend quietly, listening to the Senator and watching the faces of those gathered around for their reactions, somewhat distracted by the fresh air brought by the rain.
Then loudly: "Thank you Jesus! I was tiring of the dust, this is refreshing," he says, looking up at Hrothgar. "See, when you need it most, there is rain. Some money shall come, too, big brother." Modius rests his hand on his purse.
Protectively cradling his medical kit, Isat looks curiously at the growing crowd. Slightly bored, he allows his eyes to wander and to amuse himself, guesses the identities and characters of some of the bystanders.
Look at them all. So many and so different. I wonder where they come from?
Glancing at his own companions, he supresses a smile.
You could say the same for us. A Goth, a Persian doctor and a secretary with secrets ... we must look odd enough. Sounds like the start of a tavern brawl to me. Never a dull moment with them.
Slightly shifting position to keep Hibernius in sight, Isat waits to see what the man has to say.
1d20+2 ?¨ [19,2] = (21)
Modius stands by his big friend quietly, listening to the Senator and watching the faces of those gathered around for their reactions, somewhat distracted by the fresh air brought by the rain.
Then loudly: "Thank you Jesus! I was tiring of the dust, this is refreshing," he says, looking up at Hrothgar. "See, when you need it most, there is rain. Some money shall come, too, big brother." Modius rests his hand on his purse.
"This Jesus of your must be rich to send money our way for no apparent reason."
"Oh yes Jesus is rich. Heaven's roads are paved with gemstones. The buildings are gold, big brother, all gold."
"This Jesus of your must be rich to send money our way for no apparent reason."
"From what I hear, it's more loaves and fishes than money, but you might be lucky" comments Isat.
He nudges his huge friend slightly "Hrothgar - look. I didn't know barbarians were interested in masonry". With a quick gesture, he indicates the large man examining the stonework with a practiced eye.
"Oh yes Jesus is rich. Heaven's roads are paved with gemstones. The buildings are gold, big brother, all gold."
"Modius, the flaw is that Heaven is for the dead. I thought your plans included riches in this life, not just the next one."
"Modius, the flaw is that Heaven is for the dead. I thought your plans included riches in this life, not just the next one."
"I'm praying Jesus will send me some of his gold and save me some time."
<Looking back at Hrothgar.>
Waving his nose at Rufinius: "He looks like your kin, Red one."
A short, scarred man walks towards the gathering. His gear has seen use, and his chain shirt is patched in several places where weapons have sought his life. He walks towards the Persian he sees nearby.
"Ave, friend. What is going on here?"
A short, scarred man walks towards the gathering. His gear has seen use, and his chain shirt is patched in several places where weapons have sought his life. He walks towards the Persian he sees nearby.
"Ave, friend. What is going on here?"
Isat smile slightly, acknowledging the newcomer.
"We don't know ourselves. Hibernius is often worth listening to though - so we await the fruits of his wisdom."
"Aye, we know not."
<He gestures toward his friends.>
"My friends, Hrothgar, and Isat, both of whom perplexingly refuse to take Roman names. My name is Modius. We find ourselves out of work and we're thinking of starting our own legion."
<He smiles welcomingly so Gnaeus will know his jokes are friendly.>
"What do you think, Legionnaire?"
Isat extends a welcoming hand. "Modius longs for us all to join his fold of lost sheep. Red and I stand determined in holding our own identities in the face of his persistance. Isat Vastra, late of Antioch, surgeon to - well, these two mainly."
The young Nubian languid smile dissolves as you shadow falls over him. Startledy he climbs to his feet, leaving whatever idyllic thoughts that had occupied him behind. Searching earth coloured eyes bore in to you.
“Are you one of dem, or one of me?” Sourly, his tongue running roughly over the words.
Hrothgar sizes up "Paper" the way a wolf does a rival. "Are you any good with that pigsticker you got strapped to your belt, Roman?" Hrothgar flexes his muscles.
Rufinus, Hrothgar and Modius
Isat
Most are excited to have such a high authority present and are eager not to relinquish their opportunity to procure juicy conversation for later dinner parties.
While your presence has been accepted, many a whispered comment and harsh you has been cast towards your barbarian friends.
.
Turning to Paper and Modius, Isat comments "Our Hrothgar seems to be attracting his usual attention. And so is he." - indicating the other tall barbarian.
"Ah well, Modius and I are used to that. Still, I'm not expecting trouble, I think most of these folk just want the latest gossip. I wouldn't mind myself.", he adds thoughtfully.
"These are interesting times."
Knowledge (local) and Listen Checks (1d20+1=5, 1d20-1=12)
Hrothgar makes a rumbling sound in his throat. "Let's go ask the weird one staring at the marble."
“I concur with you Ateus. there are many lights to which to see Victors desertion. But he will never see trial, if in fact he is still alive. For I believe him to be dead. Executed in secret, for as long as he is missing tempers will simmer for sure, but they will never boil.” The senator finishes.
"Any more questions?"
Rufinus lifts his hands gently to show they are empty, and steps back from the startled nubian. "I am one of me, friend, and meant no offense. I just felt it would be unseemly to approach the gentlefolk. "
He walks toward the wealthy goth, persian and legionairre, gathering his things from the pillar, but using his hammer like a walking stick to avoid attention.
Listen1d20+1=18
A look of concern appears and he moves toward the sound he hears
"Some poor soul is in trouble"
Isat raises an eyebrow and looks at Modius.
"Doesn't your friend Jesus have things to say about helping others?" he asks.
"And my profession rather dictates not ignoring those in pain."
Isat smile slightly, acknowledging the newcomer.
"We don't know ourselves. Hibernius is often worth listening to though - so we await the fruits of his wisdom."
Paper twitches his lips in what could be reasonably classed as a smile.
"Wisdom is a fruit to savor indeed."
"Aye, we know not."
<He gestures toward his friends.>
"My friends, Hrothgar, and Isat, both of whom perplexingly refuse to take Roman names. My name is Modius. We find ourselves out of work and we're thinking of starting our own legion."
<He smiles welcomingly so Gnaeus will know his jokes are friendly.>
"What do you think, Legionnaire?"
Paper turns to the smiling man
"I am looking for gainful employment as well. I find myself unsuited for little but bladework."
Isat extends a welcoming hand. "Modius longs for us all to join his fold of lost sheep. Red and I stand determined in holding our own identities in the face of his persistance. Isat Vastra, late of Antioch, surgeon to - well, these two mainly."
Paper shakes Isat's hand
"Well met Isat. I am Gnaeus Cornelius Papyrus, but most either call me Papyrus or Paper. As to joining a lost fold of sheep ..."Paper smiles wryly "Wolves rarely need the shelter of a sheepfold."
Hrothgar sizes up "Paper" the way a wolf does a rival. "Are you any good with that pigsticker you got strapped to your belt, Roman?" Hrothgar flexes his muscles.
Paper sizes up the menacing barbarian.
"It's seen the inside of a few Goths and Germans." Paper says in a casual voice.
Listen/Local for above:
Local Knowledge (1d20 4=22)
Listen (1d20 3=5)
"It seems strange that the Senator is unaccompanied in public, there have been attempts on his life. The life of a Senator... is all too dangerous."
<Modius seems to be a little distracted after saying this.>
"It seems strange that the Senator is unaccompanied in public, there have been attempts on his life. The life of a Senator... is all too dangerous."
<Modius seems to be a little distracted after saying this.>
"Agreed. I hadn't noticed before, but now you mention it, that is odd." Isat glances across at his friend "Modius? Do you think there's something wrong here?"
"Agreed. I hadn't noticed before, but now you mention it, that is odd." Isat glances across at his friend "Modius? Do you think there's something wrong here?"
"Yes, but then I think there is always something wrong when one is discussing matters of Senators and the Senate."
To his friends: "Trouble, brothers."
<Modius approaches the man warily.>
"Hey fellow, what has happened?"
"Isat, you're needed!"
1d20+3 ?¨ [7,3] = (10)
1d20+3 ?¨ [17,3] = (20)
Isat hurries to the horrifically maimed man and attempts to offer aid. As he does so, he murmers to his companions,
"There's more at work here than we think. We should talk. But not now, this poor soul needs help."
"Isat, you can manage that one. He is not strong like me." Hrothgar then flexes his muscles to show off, probably catching the eye of some Roman woman.
"Isat, you can manage that one. He is not strong like me."
Isat sighs. "Red, if I end up squashed, who's going to patch you up after your next brawl? Not everyone understands your unique charm as well as me."
Modius looks Rufinus over with suspicion and surprise. He seems much friendlier than Hrothgar, his rough Goth friend.
Hrothgar, not being one to admit when he is wrong, simply shrugged and moves near the injured fellow, "Now see here, my friend is a healer and he needs your cooperation. So be a nice fellow and help him help you. Or else."
Paper approaches to help
"I am no doctor, but I have helped in the field. Isat, tell me what you need."
Paper approaches to help
"I am no doctor, but I have helped in the field. Isat, tell me what you need."
"My thanks Paper - if I may call you that?." Isat glances around.
"This is a little public. Can we find somewhere quieter? I'll need to look at the wounds."
Turning to his patient, Isat speaks slowly and calmly to sooth the man.
"We will help you if we can. Please show us that you understand our intentions."
He nods slightly at Hrothgar, indicating it would be helpful if the huge barbarian moved behind the wounded man in case of trouble. Out of the corner of his mouth, he whispers to Modius "Try not to let Red hit him will you."
Hrothgar moves behind the man and cracking his knuckles as he does so.
My thanks Paper - if I may call you that?." Isat glances around.
"This is a little public. Can we find somewhere quieter? I'll need to look at the wounds."
"Please, call me Paper, it's what I am used to. Perhaps there is a courtyard or alley nearby we can take him to."
Paper kneels down to see what the best way of moving the injured man would be without aggrivating his injuries.
Laying the victim gently on his own poncho, as a makeshift stretcher, and stepping back to give room to the persian doctor"I was trying to hear what people are saying, and I heard him cry out. His chest is bloody, let me get rainwater to clean it so you can see what you are doing. Do you need a light? He is not my friend,and I have no coin to pay a doctor, but I can carry him if you need. Water or light, you need?"Realising that he is babbling, he just moves back embarrassed at the attention.