The natural light begins to fade as the sun starts to sink into the mountains of Wales. A spit of mutton is brought to the table of the three young magi as well as more of the fine ale that brings cheer to a council of ordinarily grim folk. Idle talk is spread through the tables on such subjects as Magic Theory, newcomers, to the fate of old friends (or enemies), to gossip of the doings of the mighty Arch Wizards. In one corner of the pavilion two wizards are incited past words and promptly challenge each other to Certamen.
"You are nothing but a thug in Wizard's robes!" declares one.
"And if your idle boasts were spells you'd surely be an Archwizard now! I challenge you to Certamen! Let us see if you know how to do more than talk! Rego!" The other seems to sober up only slightly and regards his challenger.
"Rego? Fine...and I choose Terram!" The other wizard's eyes twitch, was a weakness found?
"Terram then. Clear a space!" he commands. Grogs from Voluntas are already moving tables and asking people to step back as the two wizards take positions, both trying to sober up for the contest.
Jaen smiles a welcome to Bjorn. The smile becomes strange at Bjorn's story. "A Hand of Glory? I've...Really. That's interesting." He finishes his drink and passes on the offered mutton.
When the Certamen breaks out, he'll stand and mumble something about having to find the privy and being right back. He'll walk out into the crowd, looking for the Verditius described by Bjorn.
Björn is just beginning to dig into his mutton as the certamen is declared. Promptly forgetting his food, he stands to get into a better position to watch the fray. When Jaen makes his excuses and rushes to go to the privy, he yells over his shoulder to Jaen's retreating back, "But you'll miss all the fun!" Watching Jaen's back dissapear into the crowd, he shrugs and turns back to the combatants.
Sizing up the challengers, Björn leans closer to Kylios so he can be heard over the din. "I'll bet you a drink that the one who declared certamen will win," he says with a grin.
Bets are indeed passing among the spectators as they clear a circle for them to settle their hot blood. The magi stand at opposite sides, one is rolling up his sleeves and the other hands his hat to a servant. They plant their feet and begin to chant and mutter in Latin as they start to summon their magic. The light from the fading sun and the lamps seems to dim around the circle, focusing on the contest.
Soon in the center of the ring a shape begins to take place, initially it's two indisctinct muddy lumps, as if the earth in the circle is being drawn into the middle. The lumps grow taller and more cylindrical and take on more shape. It soon begins to look like the legs of a thick limbed statue, its trunk and torso now formed and now the heavy arms folded across its broad chest. Finally the head is formed, looking like a rather plain face of a man, a rough statue, perhaps one formed by a beginning sculptor.
The contest begins! The two magi focus their chanting in sharp exchanges of words and vigorous thrusts of the arms. The challenger seems to sezie the initiative and the statue's eyes open and arms raise. That is all it does though as the other wizard struggles for control. The statue seems intent on taking a step but neither can manage it yet.
Heading back through the crowds you see that many of the magi are putting things back in trunks, dismantling displays. The Custos that were hawking wares are now returning to their masters to give them any of their earnings in exchange for coin before heading to the food and ale.
The sun will be setting soon so you quicken your pace. Finally you find what you assume must be the display he was talking about. A table made for travel is still set up, while a a ghastly...man(?) is taking items and wrapping them in cloth before packing them into a trunk. You see nothing like a severed hand on the table, but there are relics of bones and reliquaries. The creature looks up and smiles, his smile is hardly inviting, and his sunken eyes dart over you and his smile grows still broader.
"Salve Sodales." he says with a lisp. "I'm sorry you have caught me as I am getting ready for Tribunal. Is there something that I can help you with?" his words are servile but his tone suggests something else. It's almost as if he knows something.
Rejected, it seems, Beneger would make his way to the foods tent. In all the commotion, he somehow managed to request an ale. In truth, he had no wish to watch a pair of fools make bigger fools of themselves. Once his ale was served to him, he would turn, looking out over the crowd.
Kylios takes no real interest in the certamen, and he certainly doesn't care what odd objects those crazy Verditius are poring over. He finishes another beer (his third), gets a fourth, and sidles over to the albino. "You've the look of someone new," he says, with a smile. "Something in the way you're sitting, perhaps?" He flops onto a seat, leans back, and kicks his muddy booted feet up onto the table. "The name's Biarni. What's your story?"
"I don't have a story." He says rather flatly, taking a sip of his beer. He gazes into one of the nearby lights, "Contrary to what most people will tell you." He takes a long drink of his ale, leaning back a bit, still watching the light."Whats your story?"
Siobhan looks to her fellows, [color=red]"The tirbunal is definately quorate. Six covenants and a lot more than twelve mages present. Now the question is how many more will appear at last minute before we start." She eyes the tent where she would get some food before the tribunal begins and to meet the one whose vote she will be guiding.
Jaen will stare at the man for a moment, as if he wasn't expecting him to really exist. "I...uh...You're a....I'm new to the tribunal...a Verditius..."
He takes a deep breath and closes his eye. He'll open it, trying to look calm and collected. "I understand you know something about hands, right?"
Caught up in watching the certamen, Björn hardly notices Kylios walking away. He shouts encouragement along with the rest of the spectators as he enjoys the show.
"Excellent!" says Fredegisa with enthusiasm. Her counterpart nods also, which is about the most enthusiasm you think she can muster. "Well, that was the main thing we needed you for. The Quorate count can be tedious between these other tasks." she asks for the sheet from you and looks it over, making the next magus wait, tapping his foot. She confirms your findings. "I concur. Trutina?" she looks up and examines the document that Fredegisa holds up, mumbling softly as she makes the count. She nods and returns to her other work. "Sic est." concludes Fredegisa.
"Thank you Siobhan! Such a help! We will finish here, perhaps you should get some food and drink while you can, the Tribunal will start soon. We will finish with this lot, we ate before we started." she gestures towards the food tent where the tempting smells of food have been distracting you for some time.
The smile never leaves his face, he definitely seems to enjoy the reaction he has on people. "...Hands?" he asks as he holds up one of his inhumanly spindly hands and examines it briefly before suddenly thrusting it within inches of your face! He retracts his hand just as fast into the depths of his sleeve, the whole motion grotesque and almost magical.
"Oh! Pardon me Sodales, I believe I misunderstood you!" As you flinch back involuntarily you see he has now somehow produced a morbid item; a clawlike human hand, preserved and frozen in an open grasp with its fingers and thumb pointing upwards, a small ash gray candle afixed to each finger tip and the thumb. There is a pool of dried wax that has collected in the palm. "You must have meant my Hand of Glory...I can see that word has spread of its creation. Beautiful isn't it? This is the first to be made Hermetically I believe. Do you have an interest in my craft?" His question and tone are eager and concilatory, but also there seems to be a subtle undercurrent in his words, a seperate meaning?
The Certamen continues briskly, the challenger, who you now know to be Malifax of House Tytalus is clearly the aggressor. His opponent called Gwarni of Ex Miscellenea is defending but losing ground. He sweats profusely in the cool twilight, his mouth hanging open as he breathes hard.
The statue in the middle has come to life and the intent is to make it move to the other wizard and attack him. In the first few moments it stood and turned back and forth indecisively before taking purposeful steps towards Gwarni, with only the occasional flinch to indicate the struggle. Once it was within arms' reach Malifax began forcing it to raise its arms and flail at the other wizard. The illusory blows initially were repelled by an unseen force, but with each thrust it got closer and closer until it finally struck Gwarni. The blow passed through him, but was costly. Gwarni's hands clutched his chest as he struggled for breath.
Malifax shows no mercy and presses the advantage, soon two more blows land on the gasping magus. Before the last blow lands Gwarni seemed about to call out something, perhaps his surrender, but passes out with a wheeze and lands on his back. Malifax has a grim smile on his face as he surveys his victory, and then quickly begins a spell (Spontaneous by the look of it) and you see clods of earth float up from the ground to hover briefly over Gwarni's face before he unceremoniously drops them onto him. Gwarni coughs and sputters and his servant rushes up to try and clean his master's face and help him breathe and sit up.
Malifax holds his hands high in triumph, though not as many of the crowd seem as pleased now with the victory. Perhaps the dirt on the face was a bit much.
A subdued bustle of activity begins to spread through the crowd. The sun is setting and the wizards every where begin to take the steps to raise their Parma again, the ritual has become an instinctive reaction in most.
Feeling a little let down by the ending of the certamen, Björn turns back to his mutton and ale, only to be distracted once again by the setting of the sun. Focusing inward, he chants the ritual of Parma Magica, a rite still rather new to him. As his Parma goes up once more, he takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, bringing himself back to the present. Björn looks around, noticing all the other magi making thier way to the entrance of the caves. Quickly gulping down a few more bites of dinner to tide him over, he stands up and makes his way with the group to the door.
A gong is rung by the cave's illusory entrance as two of Blackthorn's residents step out of it carrying torches and Goliard steps out revealing herself as the source of the gong as she hands the chime to the frumpy maga that had led you out of the cave earlier today.
"Sodales...the Tribunal in the 1,361st year of Aries will now be convened. Please form a line under this banner." her voice carries easily, perhaps magically assisted and she gestures to her left as more servants arrange a wide banner bearing the twelve symbols of the Houses of Hermes in gold thread. "You will be given a token for the Aegis by my Filia and then follow the lights inside to the hall where we shall have our meeting. You will be seated by my other filia at that time and shall introduce yourselves upon the approval of our honored Praeco, Talion of House Flambeau. Please, form a line and we shall begin shortly." She retreats inside, leaving her servants and her scowling and grumpy filia holding a pouch.
"Step forward Sodales, let us not dawdle." she says to the first magi that have gotten in line. She hands him a small clay disk, a little bigger than a coin.
Off to the side of the cave a servant seemingly steps out of the wall and he peers into the crowd, looking for particular magi perhaps.
Edgar the Redcap is hurrying through the crowd, searching for the apprentices. He finds Acacius, Elysia and Rhodri in turn. "Hurry my friends! We are seated in a different order than the rest. We have a servant that will take us there." he gathers you quickly and rushes you to the entrance away from the other magi.
"Ah! Well you see my Sodales..." he begins with his strange lisping voice, when the sun goes down. He stops in mid sentence and begins raising his Parma as you do the same. "Now then, the principles behind this marvel..." he begins again and raises the Hand and points it at you when a gong sounds at the cave entrance as well as Goliard's voice. He waits until she is finished speaking. "Well...perhaps another time. You still have...time yes? Plenty of time still to learn of such wonders..." his voice trails off in a soft hiss as he wraps the Hand in cloth and puts it into the trunk.
He begins to load the rest of his things into the trunk and looks up to find you still there. He makes a brisk shoo-ing motion with his skeletal hand. "Off with you now! You'll be late for the Tribunal!"
She asks her fellow queasitors: [color=red]"Would you be able to quickly describe Jocelin of Mercere to me so I might see her as soon as I get some food." She waits for the answer before rising.
Siobhan quickly hurries to the tent to get some food that she eat as she does not have much time. She sighs as she can't eat much before the call and she still has to find a certain redcap to discuss how to indicate a vote before she moves to the side of the Senior queasitor to assist him.
She takes her food and looks for one that appears to be a female redap so that she can locate the person before he enters the champer.