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Thread: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated May 19, 2019]

  1. #101
    Skotos of Sinope's Avatar Macstre Gaposal
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated January 23, 2019]

    Cheers, Alwyn.

    Just an FYI folks: I normally try to post an update at least every two weeks. I'm going to try to keep up that pace but I'm not sure I'll make it this time. Going to be having dental surgery in a couple of days, and since I don't tolerate pain meds very well---and don't get much done while clutching my jaw and rocking back and forth---the next installment might be slightly delayed. I won't be ignoring the AAR though as I'm still doing some polishing up of chapter three. Hopefully it won't be too long though.

  2. #102
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated January 23, 2019]

    Recap


    The Story So Far:

    The Gauls have invaded Italy. Only Tarchuna---the jewel of Etruria and birthplace of the Roman kings---stands in their way. Arnth Velcha, commander of Tarchuna's armed forces, has led an army to turn the Gallic invasion back---only to find himself both outnumbered and out of communication. His foster brother Avle Spurinna raised an army and rushed to his aid. Avle now races against the oncoming winter in order to rendezvous with his brother in time and face the Gauls as one...

    Characters Featured:


    Avle Spurinna: Main protagonist. Half-Roman Zilath (head of government) of Tarchuna. Descendent of the Roman kings on his mother's side and inheritor of the Kingsblood Quadriga. When we first meet him, he's an undisciplined drinker, gambler and chariot racer.








    Arnth Velcha: Brother-in-law and life-long friend of Avle. The Purthsvana or military leader of Tarchuna. Traditional, pious, dutiful, the model of an Etruscan statesman and the polar opposite of Avle. He longs for the halcyon days of the monarchy.








    Marce Velcha: Son of Arnth and heir to the Velchae. Poet and young idealist.









    Velthur the Stammerer: Uncle of Arnth. Patriarch of the Velchae. Honorable and irritable. A recent stroke has robbed him of his ability to speak. Now aide-de-camp to Avle Spurinna.








    Cneve Tetnies: Spy and assassin for the Spurinnae. Swore himself to Avle's service after Brennus took his home city of Sarsina.








    Terms Used:

    Chosfer: October.
    frontac: a priest who interprets lightning strikes.
    macstrna: aide-de-camp.
    apa: father.
    eterti: newly confirmed citizen.
    Thevru Mines: The Minotaur.
    tebenna: Etruscan forerunner of the toga. Worn in the 'togati style' by citizens.
    teverath: judge, usually of sporting events.



    Chapter Four – The Amber Road (Part Three)



    Continued from Chapter Four, Part Two...

    It is the nineteenth day of Chosfer, and the autumn storms have come at last. Howling winds, hail, freezing rain, and sickness continue to slow our advance. We spent four days in Veluzna enlisting mercenaries to fill our reduced rolls. It's striking how much faster men can report for duty when you wave gold under their noses. There was an abundance of sunshine at Veluzna. But as soon as we departed, clouds gathered, and for three days we braved cataracts and squalls. I asked the frontacs to consult the Brontoscopic Calendar to see what this portended. For the fifteenth day of Chosfer, it says this: "If it thunders, it threatens war and the loss of flocks to death." War, you say? I had no idea! How helpful! For the day of rain that followed, "If it thunders, there will be scarcity from a dry and searing wind falling upon the crops." I'd like to know their definition of the word "dry." The frontacs say the "dry wind" may be metaphorical. Then for the third day, it says "If it thunders, men will be weakened in such a manner that they will seem unrecognizable."

    I asked Velthur for his thoughts. Still sore at me, he wrote in his tablet that if I still intended to press on, then he will keep his opinions to himself. I reminded him of his duty as a macstrna---you can always provoke a reaction from a Velcha by mentioning his duty---and asked what I should do about the frontacs' pronouncements. His reply was swift: "Don't tell the men." We then had two days of sun. Rather than marching, we spent them hanging our shoes out to dry. The last thing we need is an outbreak of marsh foot. Then it rained again today, soaking everyone's drying shoes and once more stopping us in our tracks. More out of boredom than anything else I again queried the frontacs. This time the calendar said, "If it thunders, it warns of the downfall of a ruler or the overthrow of a king, but it warns of both discord among the common people and of abundance." So which is it? A ruler or a king? The last time we consulted the calendar, about the lightning strike in Cisra, it said a tyrant would be overthrown. So this must mean the downfall of Brennus. The discord among the common people we have already seen in the defections of the rustics to the Senones. This one I did announce to the men.

    Before Velthur lost his powers of speech, he once told me how terrible rain is for the morale of an army. There are no campfires, so no songs or tales of glory, no boasting of their feats to come. It beats men down slowly, and freezing rain seeps cold into their bones like snow never could. It is a time for grumbling and complaining. At least it was too cold for pestilence to spread. I uncorked the vinum and tossed the dice with Cneve, ordering him not to tell me how they were weighted. I wanted to figure out his method of cheating myself. Young Marce was working on a speech to his newly recruited units and came into my tent to see what I thought. What did I think? I think a rousing speech to mercenaries is a bit hilarious. But I indulged him. He wanted to mention the Fanum Voltumnae shrine we had just passed after leaving Veluzna, and what it meant to us all as the home of the League of the Twelve Peoples, a symbol of Etrusci unity. Somehow the subject turned into Marce asking about all the times I won the palm leaf at the Pan-Etrusci games at the Fanum. Soon enough Marce will be entering the youth games there, having now become one of the eterti. He's not sure he'll do well. He's always been an awkward boy and a terrible athlete, the kind that could trip over his own feet while still sitting down. He asked how I did in my first games. He must, of course, know that my first games were also Arnth's first. I think that's what he really wanted to know: whether he would live up to his father. I told him a sanitized version of what happened. To you Ramtha, I'll recount the whole story. If nothing else, it gives me the opportunity of continuing what I'd begun in my last letter.

    I was thirteen. Nearly a year had passed since the day my father had brought me home. Heraclitus said that we couldn't step into the same river twice. It is never the same river. And your home city is never the same city. All this time I had dreamt of my triumphant return to Tarchuna. But hope is the parent of disappointment. Once there, I found that there were those that were determined to make my life as hellish as possible. I now understand why. I was the cause of over a decade of strife in that city, yet I was the only one spared of it. That wasn't fair. And here I was back and thinking I could act as if nothing had happened. But they were determined to remind me of what happened, that they would never forget. One of my mother's serving girls had had her eye gouged out. Her father said she had flirted with a boy who she did not know was of a family that supported the Velchae. They took the wandering eye that gazed upon him. My father had found those who were said to have done it. No one asked what became of them. One day they were gone. But years later I discovered that her father had done it to her.

    As for my own father, he had promised to make up for lost time. And the moment I came home, he asked what I wanted to do together. "Go to the races, apa." The next Ludi were coming up later in the month. Once again I would sit beside him, and we would cheer, once again we would cry "Shipwreck!" every time a chariot crashed going round the turning post. Metru laughed. It was a laugh that came from his belly. "Oh, but Arnth doesn't like the chariot races. What else?" Arnth was going? I felt my hands ball up into fists and father saw the look in my eyes. "But he does like boxing. I think he might put up with a race if you go with us to a boxing match." [Why is a father negotiating with his children? Etrusci parents are permissive beyond all common sense. Whereas among us Romans the father is considered the bedrock of society, for the Etrusci it is the family unit of the husband, wife, and child in which all are considered equally important. – G. Sulpicius Peticus.] And that's how I came to know that father would show no bias between Arnth and I. Any time I spent with my father, Arnth would as well. In my own juvenile self-pity, I found myself so distracted during the ludi that I could not enjoy it. My only comfort was knowing that Arnth was miserable too.

    If my father was unchanged, my mother had changed beyond recognition. All I had suffered since returning, she had endured ten-fold. Ostracized, she had become despised by both Spurinnae and Velchae alike. She no longer left the house. She was prone to violent fits and tumultuous mood swings and had made several attempts on her life. She would explode without warning at the slightest of comments. She cried when she saw me, already nearly a man, and mourned the lost years she would have watched me grow up. Unlike father, she ignored Arnth and put her attention singularly on me. When I returned home, she presented me with a gift. She had woven and sewn my tebenna for me. She asked me how I was treated by her family these past years. Then she asked what they told me about her. They had never mentioned her at all, I said. And she seemed relieved. I noted that she now appeared older than father and also that she defiantly wore a pendant of Roma around her neck. She said we had much to discuss. She asked how I thought I was going to do in the Pan-Etrusci Ludi at the Fanum Voltumnae. I said I would win. She said, "Race well."

    I struggled with my own language at first, and I had to work to hide the accent I'd acquired. I earned the cognomen "Rumach," or the Roman. While at Cisra I only spoke Etrusci with my tutors and on formal occasions, and the archaic Latin of the household was my everyday tongue. Thus, while I could speak Etrusci like an orator, I did not know what to call even basic objects around the house, except for their Latin equivalents. Even simple differences of pronunciation singled me out. When I was thirsty, I would ask for a cupa of water instead of a cupe, and suffered endless mocking.

    I knew what I would do about it. Ever since my father first spoke of the youth games when he fetched me at Cisra, I knew that I would make father proud, learning to become one with my horses, breathing together, hearts beating as one, just as he said.

    I found out that all the other boys were ahead of me in training, of course. Arnth had years to practice, though he preferred to ride mounted rather than the chariot cart. Arnth had two horses, one from his own family and one given to him as an engagement gift. He named them after the Tinas Cliniar, Castur and Pultuce, the twin sons of Tin. Neither was a Nisean though. (I still call them Niseans, even after I discovered that our name for Niseans was "Thamna Aisiu," the divine horse.) So petty was I that I took what pride I could in those little victories over my rival for father's attention. There were not many. Arnth already had a circle of friends from his eterti class. It was impossible for him not to make friends, of course. It wasn't just because Arnth's wedding to my sister was Tarchuna's event of the year. He smashed through every task (So much so that he earned the cognomen "Thevru Mines."), but rather than gloating he taught the others what they were doing wrong, and became almost a second instructor. He refused the offer of election to squadron commander since tradition held that it should go to the oldest in the squadron.

    I, on the other hand, had missed all that and had to be privately tutored to get up to their level. But I had already learned that life was lonely. Each day I woke myself up an hour before the cock crowed and began getting my chariot ready. There were posts and a gate outside the stables for placing the cart and then lining up the horses. I brushed, fed, and harnessed North Wind. He was all the friends I needed. Father lent me the use of a young gray filly named Phaun, who was the daughter of one of his mares and was to be sold the next year. My practice chariot was of the wicker type with handrails. It came up to my knee. It was a model of the same kind that would be used at the youth games chariot races. Father's chariot was not stored in the stable with the rest, but rather in a locked storeroom. It was only gotten out for special occasions.

    The next special occasion was, of course, the trip to the Pan-Etrusci games. Father was going to be teverath at one of the events. I was more nervous than I ever thought possible. The entire family and even our household made the journey — even my mother, to my surprise. The morning of the youth games, she visited me in the stables. She said it was time we spoke. After the games, she said, I would go to the Book of Citizens at the Fanum, enter my name into the rolls, and then I would have earned the right to wear the tebenna. Then her little boy would be a man. I was now old enough to know something. One day I would hear it from someone else, and on that day I would hate her. But if I didn't know, then others would use me for their own designs. Her own family, for instance. The Tarquins could not be trusted. She asked if I knew why my father broke the marriage contract with the Velchae and married her.

    “Because no oath is as important as protecting one's family," I said. I then repeated what Papa Larth had told me.

    “Protection? You call these past thirteen years protecting our family? No, that decision only put us in danger. And your father would never break his oath willingly. No, he didn't choose to break the contract. I chose for him.”

    Continue to Chapter Four, Part Four...

    Author's Notes


    • The Brontoscopic Calendar entries come from Jean MacIntosh Turfa's translation as found in The Religion of the Etruscans. Too busy/lazy/sloppy to translate directly from Johannes Lydos's Greek.


    Last edited by Skotos of Sinope; February 22, 2019 at 03:36 PM.

  3. #103
    Jake Armitage's Avatar Artifex
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated January 23, 2019]

    Had a really good reading here, Skotos!

  4. #104

    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated January 23, 2019]

    Ah, Skotos, I just love this! I think the detail I liked most in this update was the little point about hanging out their shoes to dry. That is an important military point, and something that is really easy to overlook, or to think irrelevant, but it is crucial here. Your quick treatment of it, and the little call to proper keeping of an army brought a smile to my face!

    One general point I think could be improved is some of the presentation in Avle's recounting of his past experiences leading up to the Pan-Etrusci games. In some of those passages it read more like Avle's impressions at the time, with little hints of boyish arrogance or jealously, but he is telling this as a grown man, one who has learned a good deal and now cares deeply for his brother Arnth. I think it might be good to just have a quick re-read and see if you notice anything like that yourself (after all, it could just be me), and if so, try to add a little veneer of nostalgia or reminiscence to it. The main point I guess is to make it so any jealously or other bad emotions have a twinge of regret attached to their presentation, as though Avle recognizes now what a punk he sometimes was then. Just a thought though. Other than that, I only managed to find three baby typos.

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Second Paragraph: More out of boredom than anything else I again queried the frontacs again. This time itthey said, "If it thunders...
    Third Paragraph: I think that's what he wanted to know, whether if he willwould live up to his father.
    Third to last Paragraph: The next special occasion was, of course, the trip to the Pan-Etrusci games.
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  5. #105
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 16, 2019]

    I enjoyed this reflective chapter, particularly the phrasing about what rain does to an army and about your home city. His mother's gift sounds touching, especially after everything she's been through. I wonder if it would be worth adding an explanation of 'tebenna' to the list of terms used.

  6. #106
    Skotos of Sinope's Avatar Macstre Gaposal
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 16, 2019]

    Quote Originally Posted by Jake Armitage View Post
    Had a really good reading here, Skotos!
    Well I'm enjoying playing with PIGS (The submod, I mean, not...actual pigs. ) for Divide et Impera so I guess we're even. RPGu is something that I'm excited to try if I can ever get the time.

    Quote Originally Posted by Kilo11 View Post
    Ah, Skotos, I just love this! I think the detail I liked most in this update was the little point about hanging out their shoes to dry. That is an important military point, and something that is really easy to overlook, or to think irrelevant, but it is crucial here. Your quick treatment of it, and the little call to proper keeping of an army brought a smile to my face!
    Thanks, man. As to the shoes...some of that was inspired by reading descriptions of Trench foot. It's freaking nightmare inducing. It's funny how there's so many ways to die on military campaign that have nothing to do with getting stabbed by a pointy object. Sometimes I think that that would be even scarier for an ancient soldier. At least a death in battle could be (reasonably) quick and would guarantee you glory, and it was something they could understand. Death by the elements or disease...much slower, seemingly out of your control.

    Quote Originally Posted by Kilo11 View Post
    One general point I think could be improved is some of the presentation in Avle's recounting of his past experiences leading up to the Pan-Etrusci games. In some of those passages it read more like Avle's impressions at the time, with little hints of boyish arrogance or jealously, but he is telling this as a grown man, one who has learned a good deal and now cares deeply for his brother Arnth. I think it might be good to just have a quick re-read and see if you notice anything like that yourself (after all, it could just be me), and if so, try to add a little veneer of nostalgia or reminiscence to it. The main point I guess is to make it so any jealously or other bad emotions have a twinge of regret attached to their presentation, as though Avle recognizes now what a punk he sometimes was then. Just a thought though.
    Well I already repped you to thank you for this, but just to reiterate, I definitely agree. That was a good catch and I've just revised it to make that clear. (And have corrected the other issues you've found.)

    Quote Originally Posted by Alwyn View Post
    I enjoyed this reflective chapter, particularly the phrasing about what rain does to an army and about your home city. His mother's gift sounds touching, especially after everything she's been through. I wonder if it would be worth adding an explanation of 'tebenna' to the list of terms used.
    Whoops. That definitely needs to be defined in the recap. Fixed now. Basically the tebenna, worn diagonally in the 'togati' style, is the Etruscan fore-runer of the Roman toga. I'm portraying it as their version of the Roman “toga virilis”. Donning the toga virilis was a rite of passage in Rome to show that a male had reached the age of adulthood, and was now a full citizen with all the rights and responsibilities thereof.

    Going to have at least 1-2 more updates by the end of the month. Things are going to be picking up as the clock ticks down to Avle's first taste of battle.
    Last edited by Skotos of Sinope; February 18, 2019 at 04:58 PM.

  7. #107
    Turkafinwë's Avatar The Sick Baby Jester
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 16, 2019]

    Like those before me, I have to say this was a great update!

    I only read this one after you edited it so I can only comment on that. I think you did a great job with Avle's recounting the days of his past. You capture the miserable life Avle must've experienced in Tarchuna very well and I really feel for him.

  8. #108
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 16, 2019]

    Yep, I felt that too

  9. #109
    Skotos of Sinope's Avatar Macstre Gaposal
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 16, 2019]

    Recap


    The Story So Far:

    The Gauls have invaded Italy. Only Tarchuna---the jewel of Etruria and birthplace of the Roman kings---stands in their way. Arnth Velcha, commander of Tarchuna's armed forces, has led an army to turn the Gallic invasion back---only to find himself both outnumbered and out of communication. His foster brother Avle Spurinna, having raised reinforcements, now races against the oncoming winter to rendezvous with his brother in time and face the Gauls as one...

    Characters Featured:


    Avle Spurinna: Main protagonist. Half-Roman Zilath (head of government) of Tarchuna. Descendent of the Roman kings on his mother's side and inheritor of the Kingsblood Quadriga. When we first meet him, he's an undisciplined drinker, gambler and chariot racer.








    Arnth Velcha: Brother-in-law and life-long friend of Avle. The Purthsvana or military leader of Tarchuna. Traditional, pious, dutiful, the model of an Etruscan statesman and the polar opposite of Avle. He longs for the halcyon days of the monarchy.








    Marce Velcha: Son of Arnth and heir to the Velchae. Poet and young idealist.









    Velthur the Stammerer: Uncle of Arnth. Patriarch of the Velchae. Honorable and irritable. A recent stroke has robbed him of his ability to speak. Now aide-de-camp to Avle Spurinna.








    Cneve Tetnies: Spy and assassin for the Spurinnae. Swore himself to Avle's service after Brennus took his home city of Sarsina.








    Terms Used:

    apobates race: A “chariot warrior” race, where a contestant in full hoplite panoply and arms will jump in and out of a chariot and run along side.
    eterti: newly confirmed citizen.
    teverath: judge, usually of sporting events.
    sparsors: boys who stand at the finish line and sprinkle chariot racers with holy water as they passed by.
    Taraxippoi: “Horse-disturbers”. Demonic entities or vengeful spirits that frighten horses and cause crashes.



    Chapter Four – The Amber Road (Part Four)



    Continued from Chapter Four, Part Three...

    We resupplied at Siena but were unable to recruit. Before we arrived, they had already committed all mercenaries to the city's defenses. The city wanted us gone, and I gladly obliged. Each step takes us to higher altitude. The winds blow without pity, and we've had to set up windbreaks so that our tents don't fly away in the night. The freezing rain isn't so much made of ice as needles that slash at our faces. The thinning air has made us all into old men, having to continually stop to catch our breaths. Though rain surrounds us, we're thirsty as if crawling through the desert. For those afflicted with ear pain, Cneve gave tuberous thistle stems to chew on. It helps one's ears pop as we climb higher. Cneve says this is nothing compared to the mountains north of the Po. There, those like us who are born in the low lands along the seacoast can be taken by mountain sickness. Entire armies can be helpless in the face of the dizziness and vomiting that soon yield to confusion and even hallucinations.

    Thankfully we have no need to venture further than Viesul, at least for now. North Wind is entirely unaffected by the mountain air, of course. He was bred for the mountains of Persia and of Italia. If we climbed Mount Olympus itself, and the air drove me mad, I know he will still be my rock. If ever I begin to wander, he will always guide me back to where I'm supposed to go. I've known it since my very first race with him.

    That reminds me, where was I in my story? Oh yes. The day of my first chariot race at the Fanum Voltumnae, mother visited me in the stables. I asked her what she meant when she said that she made my father break off his betrothal to the Velchae and marry her.

    “This may be difficult for you to hear. One day you might learn that though there are some things that can never be forgiven, they can at least be accepted. I never wanted any of this for you. You see...” She then hesitated. “Oh, what am I thinking? I'm going to distract you before your debut. Forget about what I said. We'll speak after the race. Tonight. I promise.” She attempted a reassuring smile. “Do you still think you'll win?”

    I wasn't sure. I thought I was, before I had seen the competition. They had longer training. Nevertheless, I said yes.

    “Good. Race well, my Avle. The chariot races are for the people, not us. We, the aristocracy gravitate more to the apobates race, believing that it's more of a test of our excellence. But the people love this event because it is traditionally the lower classes that drive chariots while the rich man takes the place of honor beside him. They love the reversal.”

    The teverath entered and gave the warning that we should begin harnessing our horses.

    “This will be your first day as a politician, my Avle.” mother continued. “When you enter the track, don't just smile and salute the crowd as the others do. As you pass them by in the stands, shake the hands of at least ten of them, ask their names and remember them. When we talk later, I'll make you repeat their names, to ensure you've done it. Then, at the next public event you will do it all again. Soon, they will begin coming to you asking for a favor, and you will willingly oblige. You will oblige because when you stand for election to office, you will then come to them and ask for them to give their assent at the next assembly of the people. They will agree, sealing the bond between you. Now you are their patron.”

    Favor for favor, my ruthless mother taught me, these are the ties that bind the classes together. That is how the Spurinnae beat the Velchae, she said. The Velchae based their power on the old way, through how many retainers of men they could put in the field. Whereas the Spurinnae built their power over two hundred years on the patronage system. In the war between the houses, the Velchae soon ran out of men that they could draw upon, but the Spurinnae never ran out of favors they could call in. The Spurinnae outlasted them. The Spurinnae were always going to win, she said. It was only a matter of time.

    “Always remember,” she continued. “It's better to rely on the people, than our own class, as the Velchae have done. Aristocrats are expensive friends. They will want power sharing, wealth, alliances against this gens or that gens. What do the people want? Mostly, just to be left alone. To not be oppressed. What they will ask you for is trivial; to attend their son's naming, to advise them in a matter of law or defend them in court, to use your satelles to intimidate a gang that's been stealing from their stall in the market place. This is why among your Tarquin ancestors, Servius Tullius was a far more secure king than your great great grandfather Tarquin Superbus. The people were loyal to Servius Tullius.” All I knew of Tullius by that point is that he organized the first Roman chariot games. She went on, “That's why Servius Tullius could not be overthrown, as Superbus eventually was. He had to be assassinated in a coups by the Senate conspiring with his own family. I'm not saying to ignore your fellow aristocrats, of course. And do not side against them, ever. They may come to fear you as a demagogue if you do. But never need them and never trust them. Look elsewhere for power. Watch your father when you shadow him in public. He knows the right balance.”

    I nodded.

    “Race well.” she continued. “Come in first, and you will make it to the final heats. Then they will know your name.”

    I asked her if she was coming out there too. Didn't she also want to ingratiate herself with the people? She fingered the pendant she always wore, embossed with the image of the goddess Roma. “They aren't my people.” She said icily. “And they never will be.”

    One of the teveraths came in and instructed us that we were up after the next race. I spied Arnth across the stables as his friends from his eterti class joked with him. We gathered and drew lots for starting position. I took second from the inside, which meant I would be off to an early lead, but also that I would have eighteen other teams coming at me from the right.

    We all donned our conical leather caps and criss-cross wrap-around knee straps, then mounted our chariot boxes as grooms helped us tie ourselves into the reins. For the first time, I felt the solid weight of father's words, “Our people do not fall out of chariots...if our horses crash and die, we die with them.” I was so nervous that the first time I tied them around my waist, I tied them so tightly that I couldn't breathe. I was close to hyperventilating, before I undid the leather straps and wrapped them again with quaking fingers. When I looked up, I saw a hand reach out, and I jumped. It was Arnth. He had driven up beside me. His team was a gray and a piebald brown and white. They stood a foot longer at the withers than my own. I shook the hand that was offered.

    “Remember what I said,” Arnth gripped my hand firmly. In the look we exchanged, we both knew that we would not shed a tear if the other lost. But unlike me, Arnth was trying to overcome his pettiness. “Don't be afraid. Your horses will follow your example. Show them a steady hand and they will not fail you.”

    I thanked him and set North Wind and Phaun forward in a three-beat canter. Arnth matched my pace.

    “When the race is over, I want to introduce you to some people. This is a good place to make friends.”

    I told him there was no need. I had plenty of friends from Cisra. I make friends easily.

    “No you don't.” He added and headed out the tunnel to the warm-up track.

    After the warm-up track we entered the trigarium. Men in mules towing planks behind them were leveling the track after the last race. The two wooden turning posts at either end of the track towered above us. They were flanked by flat white stones, as they do in Greek chariot tracks since the days of Homer. Buried underneath the far turning post is an altar to Nethuns.

    Small bush oaks were temporarily planted in the middle of the track and surrounded by a raised earthwork berm. The oak was sacred to Tin, of whom Voltumna was a manifestation, just as the tree was sacred to Jupiter and Zeus. The trees and berm acted as a kind of dividing barrier, so that you couldn't accidentally cross it and careen into oncoming traffic. We would have to wait a few minutes before we were ordered to the starting line. I did as mother told, and introduced myself to some of the spectators in the stands. They bathed in the attention, almost glowing. I imagine that I was something of a curiosity to them. I think I understood mother's point then.

    One day I'll get you to the races, Ramtha, and you'll see it all for yourself. At the starting line was a taut rope. One of the few Greek traditions in Etrusci racing is a bronze eagle that is mechanically raised along a pole, and as it does so, the starting ropes that kept us back would be released, beginning at the outside. Too keep it fair, those on the far inside of the track such as me would be released last. When all the ropes had been released, a trumpet would blow signaling the start of the race. Then the most dangerous part of the race commenced: the initial jockeying for position. You see Ramtha, there are more contestants than there is room for them all to fit across the track, so this is where there are the most collisions. I realized if I were to leave the fray behind and escape a pile-up, I would have to get out ahead early.

    The horn sounded. The starting ropes dropped and we all snapped our reins in unison. As we passed the sparsors, they showered us with the Water of Nethuns to keep the Taraxippoi away. The crowd roared and we thundered down the first straight-away. Just as I'd planned, I rocketed ahead of the pack. Gods, North Wind was fast. I led all the way down to the first turn. But as we circled the first turning post, someone swooped in to block me, and then curiously slowed down. I maneuvered around him and retook the lead. Then it happened again. Someone else cut me off—he had two silvers with white manes—and then slowed, forcing me to pull the reins lest we collide. The one who was in front of me before now was directly to my right and pushed me into the inside lane. I soon recognized their horses. Both of these two I had seen joking around with Arnth before the race. I looked for Arnth. He was perhaps in fourth or fifth place, and I noticed he was giving hand signals to the others. Then it dawned on me. They were conspiring against me. Anger, impetuousness, righteous indignation...whatever name you give to the mania that rose up in me, I was a man possessed. Around the next turning post, I deliberately turned wide and gave the boy to my right a choice: either give way, or we both collide. He pulled his reins and fell back, and it took him a moment to regain control over his horses. Another tried to move in to take his place, but now Arnth was directing him to a boy who had rushed ahead of me and promptly took the lead. I only had the chariot in front of me to deal with. I closed in on him until he could feel the dust from my horses' hoof beats on his back. He turned and looked in apt confusion at me as if I was insane. I think he was right. I waved him out of the way. He shook his head, so I urged North Wind and Phaun on. If this fool did not move, I would trample him. I was now hovering between second and third place. I still had a chance to win. Rounding the next turn, I saw that he turned too shallowly and his axel had skid along the berm, sending his left wheel into the air. I saw my chance and tried to squeeze in between him and the dividing trees. He saw me and over-corrected. We almost crashed, but North Wind jolted out of the way. When his left wheel came down, it became caught in the wicker side of my chariot box. We were stuck together. He tried to move away, but it only tangled him further. I looked at him, then looked at the linchpin at the hub of his wheel, now lodged firmly in my box. It fixed his wheel to his axel, but it was held in place only by pig lard. I reached down, smiled at him. He shook his head, and his eyes gave a pleading expression. I yanked the linch pin out, his wheel spiraled off, and he careened out of control. The next thing I knew, three chariots were colliding. The crowd gasped and cheered. Miraculously, there were no injuries. My own wheel that rubbed against his was now wobbling, the iron rim coming unfixed from the felloes, and I was struggling to retain control. The trumpeter sounded the seventh and final lap, and I was surging ahead, but by then it was too late. I watched helplessly as one of Arnth's friends came in first. I took second, which was no small feat, but it meant I would not be preceding to the final heats against the other cities.

    Afterward, in the stables, Arnth and his friends were all celebrating and hailing the winner as if he were their conquering general. Arnth left them and came up to me. He congratulated me on finishing second, then put his arm around me as he ushered me toward their group. He began to introduce me and sing my praises to his friends. I had had enough of this condescension. I shoved him up against the wall. His friends moved toward me but Arnth motioned them to stay where they were. I called Arnth out for his vindictiveness, for not even trying to win, just ensuring that I lost. In an honest one-on-one, none of them could have bested me. He said nothing.

    Of course, afterward I learned that Etrusci chariot racing isn't “every man for himself” as in Greek racing. We race in teams, where one acts as “second chariot” and directs the others, while everyone else does blocking duty so that the fastest among them, labeled “first chariot” has a clear path to victory and won't crash into anyone. Apparently Arnth wanted to give their squadron commander this victory as a send-off before he began his course of offices next year. But since Arnth refused to explain, I seethed in ignorant rage. I planned to get even in the apobates race, Arnth's favorite, but that opportunity would elude me. As would the opportunity for my mother to tell me whatever secret she held.

    That very day, rumors began to circulate about something Arnth had done. We would all soon be embroiled in a political scandal that would force Arnth out of the youth games and nearly get him banished from Tarchuna...

    But that will have to wait, Ramtha. I've run out of space on my linen page, if not words words to fill it. I should turn in early anyway. Tomorrow we will finally reach the Amber Road, and there we will be hidden no more. If the Senones haven't spotted us yet, they will then.

    Continue to Chapter Four, Part Five...

    Author's Notes

    • No one really knows why the sparsors sprinkled water on the passing chariot teams in Roman chariot racing. Some say that it was to refresh the tiring horses. My interpretation is that, as Nethuns/Neptune/Poseidon hippos was both the god of the sea and the god of horses, that this was sacred water from the ocean that served an apotropaic function to protect the drivers and horses from the Taraxippoi and the influence of curse tablets. (The prominence of curse tablets in chariot racing is a whole other discussion.)
    • It's likely that the cooperative aspect of chariot racing described here only developed much later when the racing faction structure emerged in Imperial Rome. However, since the second Etruscan King of Rome Servius Tullius is credited (probably inaccurately) by some ancient sources with bringing the racing factions to Rome, I felt I wasn't too out of bounds showing hints of this in late Etruscan racing.

    Last edited by Skotos of Sinope; March 10, 2019 at 01:55 PM.

  10. #110

    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 22, 2019]

    Lovely update, as ever! There were two things in particular I really liked. The first was the discussion of altitude sickness and its effect on those unaccustomed to high places. That is an interesting thing to include, and another of those "mundane" details of military management that are easy to overlook. Again, I liked its inclusion! I wonder if the Appenines are really high enough to induce altitude sickness though? Where are they crossing over the ridges? ... But I digress. The second thing I really liked was the the discussion about politics from Avle's mother. The details about the classes and how to treat aristocrats versus commoners is interesting and well-presented and (in my opinion) spot on as well. That was a nice, highly-condensed splash of info on a rich political tradition, and I was super happy with how you molded it in there. But enough of praise - you know how much I like this anyway, and what you really want are the critiques that might be of use. So let's move that way.

    The main thing I noticed is something that need not be a critique, but could be depending on your wishes. This update begins in a nice and natural way. The previous update likewise ended in a nice and natural way. However, I had thought that these were supposed to be multiple parts of one letter Avle is writing, and the split between the two updates doesn't make sense given that. You don't necessarily have to change it, but if you want to keep true to the "letter" format you've started, then there will have to be something to link them up more. To be honest, I can't actually think of a good way to do that, and you might just need to leave this one as is, but I thought it would be good to let you know so that you can keep that in mind and try to avoid it in future installments.

    Edits

    In the recap: "His foster brother Avle Spurinna raised, having raised reinforcements, now races against... "
    First paragraph: "The winds are blow without pity, and..."
    Beneath the stuff about aristocrats: "Come in first, and you will make it to the final heats."
    At the race start: "One of the few Greek traditions in Etrusci racing is a bronze eagle eagle that is mechanically raised..."
    At the horn sounding: "The horn sounded, sparsors anointed us with the Water of Nethuns to keep the Taraxippoi away, the crowd thundered, and I rocketed ahead as expected." [I think the highlighted text should be moved before the sounding of the horn (just a cut paste, really), as it otherwise makes little sense to me. I mean, doesn't he bolt from the line the second the horn blows? If so, then there won't be time for this afterward. Just the little switch would make it more plausibly sounding I think, and also give the beginning of this event a bit nicer pacing (by building up to the horn blow and start, rather than having a drop-off in action right after the horn being blown). Just a thought though.]
    The race scene: "Rounding the next turn, I saw that he had turned too shallowly and his axel had skid along the berm, sending his left wheel went into the air."
    End of same paragraph: "I took second, which was no small feat, but it meant I would not be precedingproceeding to the final heats against the other cities."
    Second to last paragraph: "Apparently Arnth wanted to give their squadron commander thisthat victory as a send-off before he beginsbegan his course of offices the next year."
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  11. #111
    Skotos of Sinope's Avatar Macstre Gaposal
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 22, 2019]

    Quote Originally Posted by Kilo11 View Post
    I wonder if the Appenines are really high enough to induce altitude sickness though? Where are they crossing over the ridges?
    I've looked at this again, just to be sure. I initially checked typical elevations of the Tuscan-Emilian Apennines, but I neglected to focus in on the Chianti mountain chain, which cover what was once Siena, Aritim and Viesul. So that's where they should be right now. The highest mountain peak there is Monte San Michele, at 893 meters above sea level. And according to the Army Public Health Center, symptoms of acute altitude exposure would not occur until at least around 1,200 meters. So I made a boo-boo. This will have to be fixed.

    As to the others, it looks like I posted the wrong version of the doc. I knew I had corrected some of those (the duplication of the word "eagle" for instance.) as well as improving the style. Uggh.

    Quote Originally Posted by Kilo11 View Post
    The second thing I really liked was the the discussion about politics from Avle's mother. The details about the classes and how to treat aristocrats versus commoners is interesting and well-presented and (in my opinion) spot on as well. That was a nice, highly-condensed splash of info on a rich political tradition, and I was super happy with how you molded it in there.
    Thought you might like that. Seianti (I just realized I haven't called his mother by name in these recent posts) is actually paraphrasing a point made by Machiavelli. She's definitely a Machiavellian character, in contrast to Avle's father. But her family has had to be to survive the overthrow of their dynasty. She's well-versed in realpolitik.

    Quote Originally Posted by Kilo11 View Post
    The main thing I noticed is something that need not be a critique, but could be depending on your wishes. This update begins in a nice and natural way. The previous update likewise ended in a nice and natural way. However, I had thought that these were supposed to be multiple parts of one letter Avle is writing, and the split between the two updates doesn't make sense given that. You don't necessarily have to change it, but if you want to keep true to the "letter" format you've started, then there will have to be something to link them up more.
    Hmm. Not entirely sure what you're getting at. Can you elaborate or be more specific? They are multiple parts of one letter, but he is periodically setting it down and coming back to it. Sometimes these intervals in writing can be separated by days or even weeks. And it's going to be a balancing act between a realistic letter and something that retains a bit of a dramatic inertia. And in the past I have erred too far in the direction of prose and away from the narrative conceit that this is a letter. I'd be hesitant make it to quotidian. Does anyone else find this to be an issue? If the problem is that the way the parts are broken up hurt immersion or the suspension of disbelief, I think I have a few ideas to make it work better.
    Last edited by Skotos of Sinope; February 23, 2019 at 03:05 PM.

  12. #112

    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 22, 2019]

    Quote Originally Posted by Skotos of Sinope View Post
    I've looked at this again, just to be sure. I initially checked typical elevations of the Tuscan-Emilian Apennines, but I neglected to focus in on the Chianti mountain chain, which cover what was once Siena, Aritim and Viesul. So that's where they should be right now. The highest mountain peak there is Monte San Michele, at 893 meters above sea level. And according to the Army Public Health Center, symptoms of acute altitude exposure would not occur until at least around 1,200 meters. So I made a boo-boo. This will have to be fixed.
    Sorry about that. I didn't want to force a rewrite on you, but I thought that might not be high enough to really cause altitude sickness. At any rate, you should store that detail (and presentation) for later use, as that is a cool point, and another thing that can add to the realism and immersion of the story.

    Quote Originally Posted by Skotos of Sinope View Post
    Thought you might like that. Seianti (I just realized I haven't called his mother by name in these recent posts) is actually paraphrasing a point made by Machiavelli. She's definitely a Machiavellian character, in contrast to Avle's father. But her family has had to be to survive the overthrow of their dynasty. She's well-versed in realpolitik.
    You know me, I love a good old fashioned Roman Republican idea whenever I see one!

    Quote Originally Posted by Skotos of Sinope View Post
    Hmm. Not entirely sure what you're getting at. Can you elaborate or be more specific? They are multiple parts of one letter, but he is periodically setting it down and coming back to it. Sometimes these intervals in writing can be separated by days or even weeks. And it's going to be a balancing act between a realistic letter and something that retains a bit of a dramatic inertia. And in the past I have erred too far in the direction of prose and away from the narrative conceit that this is a letter. I'd be hesitant make it to quotidian. Does anyone else find this to be an issue? If the problem is that the way the parts are broken up hurt immersion or the suspension of disbelief, I think I have a few ideas to make it work better.
    My thought was that the previous letter ended on a rather cliff-hangery note, and I couldn't imagine someone who is writing a letter actually leaving off there. The main reason is that I imagine if I ever wrote that myself in correspondence, I would immediately continue with some more explanation. However, that could be made sense of if something cut him off, or if he gave some quick comment that he'd get to that later.

    However, that being said, I totally see the rhetorical and stylistic reason for ending there and then picking up where you did. That's why I said you only need to take it as a critique if you really want to stay committed to the letter aspect here. There are good reasons to for this instance relax it slightly for purposes of exposition, but I think that as it is, it cannot be treated as a pure continuation of the "letters" approach, as you'd need something to bridge the gaps.

    One idea that just came to me (if you want to create a bridge) would be to have a quick aside at the beginning of the current part where you say something like "Last night I was torn away from my papers by... -- ... but I must continue with this letter to you Ramtha." It's just off the top of my head, so feel free to disregard it, but that's one idea. And again, you can leave it all as is anyway, as it'd be a trade-off here between the prose and the comittment to the letter gambit. It also depends on if this is only ever going to be published here on TWC, as the update aspect here totally masks my point anyway. It would only be worth really exploring if you might want this in print at some point, or published (possibly online) without the breaks that naturally occur with stories posted here.
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  13. #113
    Skotos of Sinope's Avatar Macstre Gaposal
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 22, 2019]

    Quote Originally Posted by Kilo11 View Post
    However, that being said, I totally see the rhetorical and stylistic reason for ending there and then picking up where you did. That's why I said you only need to take it as a critique if you really want to stay committed to the letter aspect here. There are good reasons to for this instance relax it slightly for purposes of exposition, but I think that as it is, it cannot be treated as a pure continuation of the "letters" approach, as you'd need something to bridge the gaps.
    Yeah, I figured that's what you were getting at.

    Quote Originally Posted by Kilo11 View Post
    One idea that just came to me (if you want to create a bridge) would be to have a quick aside at the beginning of the current part where you say something like "Last night I was torn away from my papers by... -- ... but I must continue with this letter to you Ramtha." It's just off the top of my head, so feel free to disregard it, but that's one idea. And again, you can leave it all as is anyway, as it'd be a trade-off here between the prose and the comittment to the letter gambit. It also depends on if this is only ever going to be published here on TWC, as the update aspect here totally masks my point anyway. It would only be worth really exploring if you might want this in print at some point, or published (possibly online) without the breaks that naturally occur with stories posted here.
    That's pretty much what I was thinking. Either have an excuse at the end of the letter or the beginning of the next one. It's not really hard to fix.

    (By the way, I tried to rep you for your last post here, but I got the old "Spread around your reps first, hoarder!" message. Anyway, you have one on the way when it finally lets me.)
    Last edited by Skotos of Sinope; February 25, 2019 at 12:00 PM.

  14. #114
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 22, 2019]

    Wonderful writing, as per usual Skotos! I too especially loved the conversation between Avle and his mother about politics and the games we have to play to come and stay into power, a clever and proud woman if I might add. The mystery surrounding why Avle's father broke his oath continues with each time a little bit of information or hints of information coming our way. I like it! I completely understand Avle's reaction to Arnth's actions and would probably have done the same in the given situation so I think you did a great job portraying that. Together with the reflection Avle has on said situation, makes it feel really genuine.

  15. #115
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 22, 2019]

    Avle's mother sounds like a wise instructor in the political life of this era. I like the way that you thought about the reasons why things were done, such as why they sprinkled water on the horses at the chariot races, presenting your own interpretation, and that the bronze eagle on the pole was a Greek tradition, preserved in in Etrusci racing. The last line sounds ominous!
    Last edited by Alwyn; March 10, 2019 at 01:10 PM.

  16. #116
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 22, 2019]

    Recap


    The Story So Far:

    The Gauls have invaded Italy. Only Tarchuna---the jewel of Etruria and birthplace of the Roman kings---stands in their way. Arnth Velcha, commander of Tarchuna's armed forces, has led an army to turn the Gallic invasion back---only to find himself both outnumbered and out of communication. His foster brother Avle Spurinna, having raised reinforcements, now races against the oncoming winter to rendezvous with his brother in time and face the Gauls as one...

    Characters Featured:


    Avle Spurinna: Main protagonist. Half-Roman Zilath (head of government) of Tarchuna. Descendent of the Roman kings on his mother's side and inheritor of the Kingsblood Quadriga. When we first meet him, he's an undisciplined drinker, gambler and chariot racer.








    Arnth Velcha: Brother-in-law and life-long friend of Avle. The Purthsvana or military leader of Tarchuna. Traditional, pious, dutiful, the model of an Etruscan statesman and the polar opposite of Avle. He longs for the halcyon days of the monarchy.








    Marce Velcha: Son of Arnth and heir to the Velchae. Poet and young idealist.









    Velthur the Stammerer: Uncle of Arnth. Patriarch of the Velchae. Honorable and irritable. A recent stroke has robbed him of his ability to speak. Now aide-de-camp to Avle Spurinna.








    Cneve Tetnies: Spy and assassin for the Spurinnae. Swore himself to Avle's service after Brennus took his home city of Sarsina.








    Terms Used:

    Zilath mexl rasnal: Military dictator of all Etruscans in wartime, what the Romans call a Praetor Etruriae.

    Fatel: League.

    cicenda: An herb. Today called gentian.

    Naper: Etruscan unit of measurement.

    Tuba: Trumpet of Etruscan origin.




    Chapter Four – The Amber Road (Part Five)



    Continued from Chapter Four, Part Four...

    Yesterday we finally reached The Amber Road, the fastest route to the frozen edge of the world. It reaches up to the northern lands where the blonde and red-haired giants of Hyperborea are said to dwell, a region too cold even for Gauls. Papa Larth once showed me a prize he'd brought back from the wars against the Boii and other Gauls that migrated in the previous century.

    It was a beautiful sun wagon figure, intricately sculpted out of bronze. Did you know, Ramtha, that they call their pantheon the Aisar, just as we do? It makes sense that they would worship them too. After all, the far north belongs to the Aisar, just as the gods of nature rule in the south and the gods of the dead rule in the west. I surmised that these Hyperboreans must be far more civilized and rational than we, being so close to the highest of the gods. Papa Larth laughed. Not many trinkets find their way down from Hyperborea anymore, and those that do are carelessly cleaved out of primitive bog iron and depicting strange new gods. After the Gauls took the Amber Road north of the Po, trade was cut off. Papa Larth said they always needed tin from us too make bronze. I was in a market place yesterday, and found a rough iron cauldron with a crude figure on it that resembled Hercle, but seemed to possess a hammer instead of a club. This is what the Hyperboreans were reduced to.

    But I ramble. I mention it because I was just awakened from a dream of that cauldron. I sat down at my desk and began to continue this letter to you, only to have my timorous linen page blown away by the wind. Even my stationary wants to desert, Ramtha. We had lost roughly fifty more men since passing Siena. And this morning...well, let me start with what happened yesterday.

    Now that we are on the Amber Road, from here on out we will be noticed. We march on the most well-trod road in the north, but there is no other way to reach Viesul and rendezvous with Arnth before the winter makes all roads impassable. Many of the men had begun coming down with a strange ailment that our physicians could not identify, overcome by cramps and vomiting of blood. Cneve said the symptoms were similar to poisoning, but that was a bit of a reach. It's just as likely they picked some queer mountain berries or mushrooms. One of our physicians suggested that cicenda could be used to treat it. It can be found in a small purple wildflower that grows in these parts. Unfortunately, it is no longer in bloom this late in the season.

    We stopped by a small village to resupply and hoped some apothecary might have cicenda. The inhabitants eyed us with the usual suspicion bordering on outright hostility. In the market place, I noticed that hammer I mentioned earlier. I also saw some of the torcs being sold, those ropes of gold that the Gauls wear about their necks. It's the fashion here for Etrusci women to wear them and so I purchased one for a certain woman with the wisdom of an Etrusci, but the fierceness of a Gaul. It was then I saw someone approach our caravan. It was a druid.

    My satelles intercepted him, but I motioned for them to stand down. The druid began speaking to me. I asked Cneve to translate. He introduced himself as one of the Insubres, here arranging the purchase of a flock of sheep to be sacrificed for an upcoming festival. He asked if we were that lot that was to beat back those savage Senones who had taken Viesul. The Senones had raided Insubre territory years before but were sent packing, he stated proudly. Cneve said he could not place the man's accent, but he did not dress like an Insubre. I told the druid I was unaware of any Senone army. We were headed to the border to guard against the Ligures. The druid then said he overheard our inquiry for cicenda...which I thought was strange since we were not speaking in his tongue, but our own. But perhaps he merely recognized our name for the drug. He said we wouldn't find any there, but he had some in his possession. I heard that druids were remarkable physicians.

    Velthur now appeared beside me and wrote in his tablet, "How do we know he's not the source of the men's sickness?" Cneve read it too and nodded at me. I declined the druid's offer. The druid then asked if we had any sheep to sell. Such a large army surely had plenty to spare. He eyed the army for quite a while. Velthur wrote again in his tablet, "He's counting our numbers." I said that we had no sheep to spare, but I thanked him and wished him a safe journey. As if he didn't hear, the druid then proceeded to our baggage train and loudly said that he would offer five times what each sheep is worth. He pulled coins from sacks he carried with him. I've long heard of coinage and have even seen Greek merchants using them in Rome and Campania. Father once tried to have Tarchuna begin minting our own currency, but the Velchae objected, saying that money would only lead us to decadence and acquisitiveness. I certainly never expected to see them in the hands of a barbarian. One of the coins fell on the ground, and I examined it: a bronze tetras minted in Syracuse, with a nymph on one side and an octopus on the other. It's said that since so many Syracusan trading ships are the target of piracy, their coins are the calling card of raiders and bandits.

    The men did not understand the druid's speech, but they did understand the coins. He then dropped his sack, and more coins spilled out. He did this again. Soon men began to surround him, eyeing the loot. He then pointed to one of the mercenaries and offered to purchase his bronze greaves, and to another their tripod. Velthur and Cneve both shot me a look. "More armies are brought down by avarice than bloodlust." Velthur moved in. That's when we heard him speaking Etrusci. "I buy." He pointed at another mercenary's mirror he carried in his rucksack. I told the druid that it was time he left. Now. He ignored me. "I buy." He pointed at another. "I buy. You come see me. Pay much bronze. Pay amber and incense too. Fair price. Pay for sword, pay for sword arm. Come see me tonight. Fair price." Now I personally did not hear this at the time, but Velthur and Cneve both told me later. I wish I had heard it. I would have never let him leave. Velthur grabbed him by his robe and tossed him into the muddy ditch. He then swatted the druid on his backside with the flat of his sword, as the druid staggered down the road. I should have had him followed. I do not know why I did not.

    I knew what the news would be when I was awakened by my page this morning. There was a strange smell in the air. Smoke. Smoke from campfires that had been allowed to burn brightly all night, rather than reduced to embers or quenched as we usually do. Someone lit their fires and then snuck out during the night. All our mercenaries, save one unit, had deserted. The only bit of news that surprised me was that the sole unit that stayed was the one Marce had delivered his rousing speech to. I was right: poets can make the most unlikely leaders, but inspiring ones. This boy had kept his men. The rest of us had not. We'd even lost our mercenary cavalry. Then Cneve gave even worse news: Cneve had spoken to merchants in the market place. Besides sheep, the druid was also seen purchasing dozens of shovels and picks, several napers of tent rope, enough wood to heat a small village and enough leather to cover one, and several wagon-loads of horse oats. There was no other conclusion: The druid must have been traveling with a Gallic army, and that army must be nearby. Cneve wanted to take some men, only those I could trust, and scout ahead. In the meantime, we should fortify our camp and not travel unless necessary or we'd risk an ambush.

    I thought again of the hammer, and of the dream. I often dreamed of hammers as a boy, ever since my vision in Tarquin the Proud's tomb during my divination of the specularri. Always the same dream: a barbarian woman with ginger hair, hammering at a chariot wheel. For us, the hammer and nail represent the power of fate. Those that are proud, fate will hammer down. Father first explained this to me all those years ago at the youth games. We walked past the temple of Nortia, where every year the high priest marks the passing of the year by hammering a nail into the threshold of the sanctuary door. One could see the freshly forged iron nails gave way to rusted ones, which gave way to bronze and then copper. The threshold was large enough to hold ten saecula worth of nails: the appointed lifetime of our people. There was not much room left now. Father pointed to the door as we headed to the Fanum Voltumnae sanctuary. I did not know what was going on, only that there was some scandal and that Arnth was at the center of it. I also knew that my father was implicated. He pointed to the door and told me that fate must humble us every now and again lest we succumb to our own ambition. Perhaps he had grown too proud, too entitled in all those years he was zilath. Perhaps that's why today we would suffer the hammer blow.

    We reached the sanctuary. Gathered before us were the zilaths of the Twelve Cities. It was here, a century before, that in this very grove the twelve cities gathered to elect the last Zilath mexl rasna: Larth Porsenna. Porsenna was elected to lead a united Etruria to Rome to smash the newly declared Res Publica and put Tarquin the Proud back on the curule throne. Instead, he tried to take the chair and scepter for himself. They say it was Porsenna's betrayal of King Tarquin and final defeat that ensured they would never elect another leader of all Etruria.

    They yielded the rostrum to father. He thanked them for this assembly and said there was a matter he wanted out in the open. Though the crime he had been accused of was against the constitution of Tarchuna, it had ramifications beyond his own city. If the charge was true, he was a threat to them as well. Father brought Arnth forward and he repeated what he had said: that instead of giving up the zilch, the zilathship, which father had held in perpetuity since the beginning of the war between the houses...that Metru should instead use his popularity to have himself elected king. A clamor came over the delegations of the twelve peoples, and a man shouted a call for order.

    You see Ramtha, after Porsenna's failed war to restore the monarchy in Rome, one by one the monarchist factions fell from power in the twelve Etruscan cities, until all except Veii were republics like Rome. This league of Etrusci, though you couldn't call it a league as the kind the Greeks have, had over the past century gradually evolved into a gathering of Etruscan republics. All treaties were between kin groups and governments, and thus all of Tarchuna's treaties would be null and void if a king came to power. Besides, if the wave shifted again, and monarchies sprouted in Etruria once more, that would be a threat to their own hold on power in their own cities. So father asked for the methlum of Tarchuna to hold their hearing of this charge before the Fatel as well, that nothing remain hidden. They agreed.

    They questioned Arnth. He assured them he had not plotted against his city. He had only said that Metru Spurinna had finally brought peace to the city, and without him perhaps the wounds of fratricidal war could reopen. As the state of emergency that allowed Metru to serve beyond his one year term would come to an end with the reconciliation of the houses, no one could say if the peace would hold. That is all he said. The magistrates murmured for a moment, asked a few more questions, and then Arnth was dismissed. They then asked if the next witness was present. Metru said he was.

    “Avle Spurinna. Step forward.” I froze.

    I'd gone to the Fanum hoping to outrace my brother. I wonder to this day if I would have gone if I'd known I would be asked to publicly denounce him.

    But I'm afraid I will have to stop there. I've just heard the tuba blow, which means that the scouting party has returned. I fear there's only one reason why they would be back so soon: They've found the enemy army, and it is close by...
    Last edited by Skotos of Sinope; March 23, 2019 at 01:03 PM.

  17. #117
    Skotos of Sinope's Avatar Macstre Gaposal
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated February 22, 2019]

    Quote Originally Posted by Alwyn View Post
    Avle's mother sounds like a wise instructor in the political life of this era. I like the way that you thought about the reasons why things were done, such as why they sprinkled water on the horses at the chariot races, presenting your own interpretation, and that the bronze eagle on the pole was a Greek tradition, preserved in in Etrusci racing. The last line sounds ominous!
    Yeah, Avle's mother is really one of my favorite characters in this story. It's a shame that, because of the structure and chronology of the AAR, there isn't much room for her. (We begin a year after she died.) Metru's the idealist, she's the realist. The Tarquins of Rome had to learn to be survivors, and Seianti--finding herself in the middle of a near civil war that she is blamed for--well, she had to be a survivor among survivors.

    And yes, that last line is ominous indeed, as we'll discover in the next update...

  18. #118
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated March 10, 2019]

    These are worrying developments! It sounds like the situation just got much more dangerous, I hope that Avle Spurinna will be up to the challenge ahead.

  19. #119

    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated March 10, 2019]

    I absolutely love the word Hyporborea! It is beautiful and sounds exactly like what it is; ice and frost, but with a midnight sun and trees taller than buildings. Lovely stuff. And your usage of Aisir/Aisar is cool too! Glad to see that made its way in!

    The other thing I really liked was the whole sequence with the druid. It was done absolutely perfectly, with the bits of slightly broken speech, the details of what made him seem shifty, and the lead-up to the desertion that follows. All of it was just on it! I am excited to see what will happen next!

    Edits

    As always, a few edits, but nothing big this time around.

    You still have the same thing in the recap/character box: "His foster brother Avle Spurinna raised, having raised reinforcements, now races..."
    Second paragraph: "Not many trinkets find their way down from Hyperborea anymore, and those that do are carelessly cleaved out of primitive bog iron and depicting strange new gods."
    The paragraph where he wakes up: "The only bit of news that surprised me was that the only unit that stayed was the one Marce had written and delivered his rousing speech to."

    And that's it. Pretty clean this time through. It would seem my nagging is having an influence
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  20. #120
    Skotos of Sinope's Avatar Macstre Gaposal
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    Default Re: The Last Chariots of the Tarquins (A Tarchuna RotR AAR) [Updated March 10, 2019]

    Quote Originally Posted by Kilo11 View Post
    I absolutely love the word Hyporborea! It is beautiful and sounds exactly like what it is; ice and frost, but with a midnight sun and trees taller than buildings. Lovely stuff. And your usage of Aisir/Aisar is cool too! Glad to see that made its way in!
    I thought you might. ;-) I also like the fact that Hyperborea means “Beyond the North Wind”. The Nordic/Germanic bronze age is fascinating (Although I should note I've only done the most cursory of research, so some of this could be wrong.). They were connected to the Mediterranean via the Etruscans and so there was some cross-pollination of culture and a real sophistication to their culture. But when different Celtic groups began migrating in and displacing the northern Etruscans, it was almost like a mini-dark age. Sometime thereafter the recognizable gods we know of Norse mythology began to appear. It was probably much later, but I wanted to hint at the transition by having a figure that may be Thor appear on something sold in the marketplace.

    Quote Originally Posted by Kilo11 View Post
    The other thing I really liked was the whole sequence with the druid. It was done absolutely perfectly, with the bits of slightly broken speech, the details of what made him seem shifty, and the lead-up to the desertion that follows. All of it was just on it! I am excited to see what will happen next!*
    Thanks. The seed of that scene was this new mechanic in Rome II where an agent can bribe units to desert. And the druid agents in RotR were really brutal when I was trying to march a small army all across Etruria. Although agent spam was somewhat reduced in RotR, you definitely wanted to steer clear of them if you could. I was struggling how to effectively portray this in-story.

    Quote Originally Posted by Kilo11 View Post
    Edits

    As always, a few edits, but nothing big this time around.*

    You still have the same thing in the recap/character box: "His foster brother Avle Spurinna raised, having raised reinforcements, now races..."
    Second paragraph: "Not many trinkets find their way down from Hyperborea anymore, and those that*do*are carelessly cleaved out of primitive bog iron and depicting strange new gods."
    The paragraph where he wakes up: "The only bit of news that surprised*me was that the only unit that stayed was the one Marce had written and delivered his rousing speech to."

    And that's it. Pretty clean this time through. It would seem my nagging is having an influence
    Fixed. Thanks again, man. And yes, you are definitely having an influence.

    And now a little housekeeping: I've been grappling with Avle's armor as it stands now for quite a while. The more I look at it and the more I research, the more historical anachronisms I notice. Consequently, (and thanks to Benjin's amazing AAA RotR overhaul and the assets he was able to import from Attila and Arena. OP will be updated to give proper credit.) Avle will be getting a wardrobe change. All other character portraits will also be slightly tweaked with higher quality models. I will probably slightly modify the armor below to be even more historically accurate, but here's the WIP:

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Avle:



    Old Avle:




    New update coming by the end of the weekend, which will be the last installment of chapter four and will (finally) set the stage for the epic first battle between Avle's army and the Gauls...

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