Chapter 1: Master of the House

Retired Play by Post Campaigns Ars Magica 5th Edition: Roof of the World
21

Apple will greet each magi, asking them where they hail from, how long they have been at White Lady, and what do they think of the place.

To Cato: "Sir, it is an honor to make your accquaintance. I appreciate your invitation to join your group. How long have you been at the White Lady? Are things always so quiet?"

To Winds: "I'm Greek I believe. I'm not sure. My parens says he found me in a Greek temple." Apple shrugs. "Not the first time the Greeks left a horse as a gift for a city under seige."

Apple will watch the servants, looking to see how they react with Cato and Andrei.

22

The servants are mostly nervous, though they do not appear openly fearful of Cato or Andrei. They serve the magi with care, and then steal away as quickly as possible. The food is good, perhaps a little overdone, but serviceable.

Andrei smiles, his eyes averted. He seems more nervous than actually hiding something. “Um, yes, of course. It would be rude of me not to.”

Cato pauses, as if remembering. A faint smile crosses his handsome old face. "If you wish special arrangements, you may provide them, but we do have a communal tomb here. I knew Georgius, though perhaps not as well as I would have liked. He was a great man, perhaps the best of us. I am sorry for your loss."

Cato gazes levelly at the Tytalus. "I have been here for quite some time, young Apple. I suspect that time will end, and quite soon. I am getting ready to leave. Perhaps forever."

"I did not have a hand in choosing all of you, nor in bringing you here. I do not approve of you, but there are others who approve even less. We will see what you provide."

23

"Are you allowed to tell us more? I have been here several weeks and am unsure of what is expected of me in regards to the health of the White Lady."

24

Jonathan is a tiny bit uncomfortable around “normal” magi. There Gift does not bother him of course (because of Parma Magica), and he feels a little sorry for most of them. But the effects of the Gift upon their social skills with mundanes, well, it leaves them scarred. The put on a lot of false pomp and circumstance, or wax poetically about esoteric matters. This elder magus, why does everyone make such a big deal about him? He thinks to himself how he should really pay more attention to what is going on. Then he notices that they are looking at him, expecting him to make some sort of introduction for himself.

“Huh? Um, yes… My name is John Brian from Yorkshire, of House Flambeau” he says with a smile, bold and confident. “I came to the Covenant of the White Lady only a few short years ago, placed here by Pietro of Flambeau as her designated champion”

whew, he thought to himself, hoping that his off the cuff speech made a good impression. He was making most of it on the spot. In reality, he came to the Alpine Tribunal because he was enchanted by the tales of Hermetic culture there, how they behaved more like mundane aristocrats rather than introverted lab rats. His pater introduced him to Pietro some years ago, and in part it was the tales he told that gave him this impression. Pietro had found him a place at the White Lady for reasons of his own, using his influence and prestige. Jonathan was making up the part about being ‘her designated champion’, but it had a nice ring to it. Perhaps he had something of the poet in him as well.

25

Nonna Francisca totters in through the doors, snow-melt dripping off her layers of coats, only her wrinkled face visible. She gives a toothless smile, and the wrinkles seem to spread it all over her face. "Hello, dears," she says, walking over toward one of the largest chairs in the room - a fancily-carved, high-backed wooden one with a cushioned seat.. She tries to pull it back, and it barely budges. "Move it, chair!" she tells it, with a sharp kick. "I'm not in the mood for this nonsense!" The chair steps back on its carved legs, looking about as sullen as furniture can. She hops onto the seat with a little grunt and a smile. "Well then."

((Spontaneous ReHe 4: 9 + 0 Re + 0 He + 1 Sta / 2 = 5
It'll work even without an aura!))

26

Winds will frown slightly at Cato's answer to Apple's question. "I would think you would want some young blood here at The White Lady. Korvin has only been here a few weeks, and look at what he has managed to do in that time. The Mercere house looks more habitable than most other buildings I have seen here so far."

She turns to Jonathan, who only just introduced himself. "You claim to have been here a while, what is your opinion of the condition of this covenant? Do you thi-"

Winds is cut off by entrance of the wrinkled old lady. She stares with everyone else as she watches the woman force the chair out and sit down. "Greetings," Winds will say, a little unsure of the elder. "Er... are you Primrose?"

27

Apple will be grinning ear to ear. So many new faces!

To Cato:

"Interesting verbs you have chosen to use. Approve. Provide.

"I agree. We shall see what I provide. What any of us provide."

Apple nods his head to Cato. "I hope, that when you leave, you are able to go to some place that will give you peace. If that's what you actually wish."

To Korvin:

"Health? Is the White Lady ill?"

To Nonna:

"Do you want a glass? I am Apple ex Tytalus. A pleasure to met you. You look like you need a glass of something or other to help wind down your day. Tell your chair to come closer to the fire. I'm taking this seat here. This gentleman," he tips his glass in John Brian's direction, "was about to tell us about his duties to the White Lady as her Champion."

To John Brian:

"Greetings John Brian. Please, someone bring John Brian a glass. I'm the only one drinking. I feel like the one true monk at a Papal audience.

"You're the White Lady's champion? That sounds interesting. I'm new here. What can I do to support you in your duties? Please tell me what our challenges are."

28

"Primrose? Hm. What an odd name. No, no, my name is Francisca, but you can call me Nonna if you want." She tries, unsuccessfully, to scoot the chair back in toward the table. "It is awfully warm in here..." With much exertion and popping joints, she removes a coat, bringing her down to three. "A drink would be lovely, dear. What did you say your name was? Apple? So many names! So many faces!" She props her stick up against the side of the table. Perched on the chair, her feet barely touch the floor.

29

"That is to be determined. My initial assessment is that she has an imbalance of Black bile. I would fear that she might have Liber pantegni or Melancholia. I hope for the later because it is easier to treat."

To Francisca:
"Well met...Francisca. I am Korvin ex Mercere. I will let you eat and drink a bit to ward off the chill before we talk at length."

30

"Well met, Nonna. I am Winds Silubreins, but you may call me Winds."

Winds motions to a nearby servant to refill her glass as Francisca settles herself. She studies the eldrly lady, and glances around the table at all the gathered magi, counting everyone in the gathering. The servant fills her glass generously before moving on down the table to serve others. Bringing the cup to her lips, she mumbles into her drink. "Three is not a coincidence."

31

Cato chuckles, and then breaks off into a short fit of coughing.

“Indeed, young masters. Peace is what I wish, but it is not my fate. Master Korvin, your diagnosis is excellent, though if I were you I’d be prepared for the worst, both here and abroad.”

“What do I wish from you? What, indeed.” He smiles a genuine, almost paternal smile, the most sincere he’s had all night.

“You all have reasons to love, to dislike, and, I suspect, to hate. Hatred is powerful. Revel in it if you must, but do not let it blind you, as I did.” At that, he looks as sad and distant as ever.

“You are young, and perhaps too foolish, too weak to face the legacy I will leave you. I am sorry for that, but you were the best I could do under the circumstances. You are quite right, Mistress Winds, there are no coincidences that we could help. My time here is almost over, and you will meet my compatriot soon. Jacopo.”

The servants make themselves scarce, suddenly and very quickly. Cato’s eyes darken, and you catch a glimpse of madness in them, the sort of passion that might once have infused these walls and brought down white towers and magi alike. He curls his lip up, as if to spit on the floor. “Jacopo of Tytalus is despicable, make no mistake. His name is rarely spoken here.”

32

Winds goes very still at this change in Cato, only her eyes moving about the room, expecting to see Jacopo emerge at any moment. She scans the exits and mentally reviews her known spells in case any are needed to get her out of here safely, for Cato doesn't look entirely sane.

33

While Cato is speaking, Apple will finish his glass and look around for a servant. He'll then get up and go help himself to a flask. He'll bring it back to the table and offer it up after refilling his own. After Cato finishes he'll say, "Well maybe we shouldn't speak it now then. We were having such a pleasant time.

"Though I am curious," Apple will met Cato's gaze, whether it's the good Cato or the bad Cato, "what legacy if I may ask? And who's it for? I'm asking since I wasn't approved of." Apple shrugs. "Not meaning to be rude. I just like to know the lay of the land before I decide to pitch my tent."

34

Jonathan remains as quiet as possible. The older they get, they stranger magi get. It is a fate that awaits him one day as well.

He looks around to see if he can spot the pretty girl from before, tries to recall her name :laughing:, and contemplates a way to sneak off and have the starlight picnic he promised her.

But alas, duty and responsibility come first. He sits through the dinner and the ramblings of the other magi as paitienly as possible.

35

Cato calms himself down with an effort. A fleck of spittle is still visible at the edge of his lips. "I am sorry, young Apple. I did not mean to offend. My time is short here, and I have less patience than I should. To answer your question, I say this: You of all people should know that it is not up to a man to decide where he pitches his tent."

Indeed, as though summoned by saying his name aloud, there is a loud bamf! as cups and bowls are flung about as a lean, hungry looking magus with a well kept brown beard appears on the table.

Andrei and the servants suck in a breath. This can only be Jacopo. The Tytalus pauses, and his shadow stretches across the room in the dim light. He cuts a figure for a moment…

…and then trips over a bowl, falling square into Jonathan’s lap.

Appearing unharmed (was that deliberate?) he looks you straight in the eye, your noses almost touching. Despite his buffoonish manner, his eyes are deadly serious. He laughs; a short, humorless bark.

"If I didn’t know better, boy, I’d think you were bored."

36

Nonna Francisca pushes herself out of her chair with a little grunt. "Come here, stick," she calls, and her walking stick obediently hops over to her hand. She totters as quickly as she can over to Jacopo, her stick clattering on the stone. "Are you all right, dear?" she asks, motherly worry on her face.

((Spontaneous ReHe 5: 5 + 0 Re + 0 He + 1 Sta + 4 aura / 2 = 5))

37

Jonathin helps the hold man up, concerned thathe may have injured himself (and ignoring any comments on his own attentiveness)
"Are you allright? Did you hurt anything? Here, let me assist you in seating".

38

Winds jumps to her feet, seeming ready to bolt from the room at the loud noise Jacopo makes upon entering. Wide eyed and breathing heavily, she leans against the table as she takes a few moments to calm herself enough to sit down once again. Upset about the break in her composure, she picks up her goblet and slowly sips some more wine to hide any expression on her face as she eyes Jacopo indignantly. Winds doesn't say a word as she watches the other magi rush to assist the old man, not caring if he hurt himself. She is skeptical about his fall truely being an accident.

39

Apple will look up at Jacopo's entrance, suprised as everyone else. He'll then look towards Cato, curious to see how he's reacting to his "friend's" entrance.

40

Cato is silent and utterly stonefaced, his white-knuckled grip on his goblet betraying frustration and cold rage. His eyes follow Jacopo’s every move.

Jacopo appears oblivious to this, and entirely unharmed. He pushes on Jonathan’s chest, harder than necessary, and stands up. The servants disperse immediately. Looking at the old woman maga, he sneers.

"Back to see your son, Grandmother? Maybe you should ask Cato about his well-being."

He rounds stands up, walking among the seated magi, rounding on the terrified Winds. "And you, little Bjornaer. Masquerading as one of your betters, tsk tsk. We can’t have that, can we?"