The sun shines bright between the clouds as you set off on the northern road to the rebel city of Volterra. The stench of your city is soon left behind as your party crosses the River Arn and enters the Tuscan countryside. Your leader, Ernando Dicollini, bears the flag of theach city and instructions from the council to format a pact with the Volerrans against the Neapolitan queen. With him is the aged sage Silvio, his half-brother; Shylock, a Jewish mercenary; Stepano, Ernando's dwarfish enforcer; along with a half-dozen footmen and servingmaids.
The road should take you to Volterra by the evening, past sparse flatland and farmsteads abandoned to the plague.
Noah Myers
The aged vizier Silvio spits a gob of phlegm, and drinks from his wineskin. Turning in the saddle, he gazes back at the city shrinking in the city.
>Blasted town! Promise me, Ernando, that when we return you'll take what's owed to you. I've had my fill of fools, especially ones that damn themselves.
Colton Murphy
I continue down the road, unless I see anything of particular interest.
Luis Lee
The old Roman road stretches on into the day. As the sun rises higher into the sky, your stiff woolens become hot and uncomfortable. By the time it reaches it's apogee, you are stiff in your saddles, though you have been riding only half a day. The well-kept farmlands of Sergia have given way to empty thatch buildings, homes abandoned for a year at least as peasants fled the plague. A family of squatters leers from one shutterless window; on the stoop of another farm, a starving crone begs for food. Somewhere in the distance, a goose honks. Some rest in the shade would do some good, especially for the servants, who have been walking all this way.
Aiden Martin
>Assuming the circumstances permit, I see no reason not to. However, I think finding DiNapoli would be more prudent; it is always wiser to wait to strike once the iron is hot, and I am sure, considering the greed and incompetence of the current council and "kinsmen", the consequences of our heroism against the Neapolitans, and our absence, the masses will be beg me to take charge of affairs upon our return.
Mason Phillips
I announce that we will rest for an hour before continuing.
Camden Hall
You find a spot in the shade of an olive tree and rest for a while. Some time passes before you see a party of men advancing from the north. They are on foot an unarmed, and appear to be singing hymns in a rough, garbled Latin; their voices carry across the barren plains. They are several hundred yards away, and may not have noticed you yet, nested as you are amid the olive trees.
William Hughes
>I'll hold you to that, Ernando. You're family was much more trouble that is was worth, I should say. But now that I am here, here I shall stay.
Silvio gladly accepts the chance for rest, though he looks upon the distant peasants with distaste.
Silvio keeps his stave near to him as he notices the monks, but takes no other action.
Noah Foster
I continue to wait in the shade, when they approach, I will ask them about the conditions in Volterra.
Jaxson Diaz
The peasants, five men and two women, are lead by a friar in roughspun. Two of the men wear the colors of Volterra, X and Y. The friar hails you as they draw close, brandishing his crook in your direction. "Hail and well met, noble sires," he calls in a raspy north italic. "Swear by God that you are faithful servants of our Holy Father, Clement, that we may know you as friends." His followers eye your party nervously, their gazes wandering over your fine clothes and weapons.
The peasants appear unarmed, save for a few knives among the men and the friar's staff. Though you are seated under the trees, just off the road, your weapons are close and you outnumber them. They do not appear hostile, but cautious as they await your answer.
Note: Clement VI is the current Pope in Avignon. He was chosen only a few years ago, just before the start of the plagues.
Liam Green
Sorry, forgot to mention that the colors of Volterra are red and white (Sergia's are white and black).
Kayden Price
I use my sword as a cross, and say >We are faithful servants of the bishop of Rome; I swear by the lord that we bear no ill-will towards the Holy Father.
Sebastian Nguyen
Silvio turns to address the friar, letting his stave behind where he sat.
>Hail Friar, we are indeed men of God. Will you sit and rest with us? We have wine and water plenty. We are men of Sergia traveling to Ferenza.
Mason Reyes
The peasants sigh with relief and sit down with you after the friar. They share your provisions, and offer a few slices of apple that one of the women produces from her robes. After this, the friar introduces himself as Alverro, and names himself and his companions as citizens of Volterra.
>We have been scouring the countryside for good folk in need of food and shelter. A great victory has been won in Volterra, not more than a day past. The rich men and nobles, in league with the whore of Naples and her Frenchmen, have been thrown out! Volterra is a free city once more, a commune under the light of God, as it was in the days of old.
He coughs, drinks to clear his raspy throat, and continues.
>Volterra is on the road to Ferenza. I would be happy to shelter you in my abbey, were you to spend the night with us. It was the perseverance of Sergia against the Neapolitans that gave us the courage to fight openly. All the city is celebrating, and our leaders would surely be joyous to receive you.
David White
>We are most grateful for your hospitality, and accept your offer. When the time allotted for rest has past, I call the men and servants together and continue the journey to Volterra.
James Powell
Before long Volterra appears before you, a small walled citadel rising above the Tuscan plain. At first merely a spot on the northern horizon, it quickly grows as the road curves towards the old city. Alverro happily tells you of its rich history, first as a hill-fort of the Etruscans, then for generations a fortified Roman farming town. The bishop's church was built nine century's ago, but only recently was this ancient institution given due recognition by Avignon.
The city is less than half the size of Sergia, but the walls seems better kept to your eyes. A shantytown of wattle-and-daub hovels clusters around the hill below, centering on the few wells dug to feed the hungry countryside. Several bonfires burn high in the afternoon sun, and families have gathered below the city walls to dance, sing, and play in the afternoon sun. A crowd gathers about a young woman, held aloft by several cheering farmboys. The girl must be no more than twelve; dressed in pure white linen and crowned with a wreath of flowers, she smiles and waves as your party passes into the lower town.
>The have crowned the Queen of May, I see. rasps the friar >A harmless tradition, carried from the old Roman days. I think it a fine sign, that our victory should come on this first of May, when it is common for the folk to honor spring with hymns and song.
Beneath the veneer of peasant solidarity, however, you notice some worrying signs. Many families are clearly incomplete: children and elderly folk seem scarce in these celebrations, a sure sign of the plague's busy work in the past year. You think back to the shallow hillside you passed a mile before the city, its sides covered in loose earth and wooden crosses. For every three homes inhabited, a fourth is abandoned, left to rot and collapse. Friar Alverro leads you through the southern gate, the Porta Diana, and beckons you to the Piazza dei Priori, the town's central square.
Luke Torres
Silvio eyes the surroundings suspiciously, his dissatisfaction with the conditions are evident.
>Alverro, I must ask: does the May festival have this usual effect on the citizens of Volterra? Where I would expect celebrations, I see less than I would expect.
Grayson Collins
The friar sighs as he steers your horses through the filthy streets.
>Good sire, I fear the great death that came to Italia the year caused much despair among our people. There is no man in Volterra that has not lost children, friends, and neighbors. What you see below is a people only just recovering their courage from the scourge that once afflicted them.
In a few minutes you are brought to the city's single Piazza. A crowd of more than a hundred men and women throng the square, arrayed about the steps of the ancient cathedral. A few among them carry staves and swords, others wave flowers and stained sheets in place of flags. A party of three men and one woman stand above the quiet citizens, as an old man in rusted armor drapes each with a cloth of red and white. His task finished, the old man hobbles down the steps, and someone in the crowd cries, "Hail brave Marcio, wise Tulio, pious Maria, and fair Enrique! Hail the guardians of Volterra!" The crowd cheers. Folk lean out from windows to throw flowers at the feet of the city leaders.
Brayden Diaz
(Out of Universe) Will be very busy this weekend. Will likely not be posting until maybe Sunday. Sorry folks.
Kevin Cox
I ask the friar, >I would like to meet with those responsible for the liberation of the city, ideally this evening. Would that be possible to arrange?
Xavier Cook
"of course," Friar Alverro coughs. He leads your horses down a narrow side street, carefully avoiding the refuse. You emerge in the courtyard of a grey stone abbey, only two stories in height. The crowd's cheers can still be heard, though they are muffled by the wooden tenements that shelter you from the Piazza.
>This place was left to us Fraticceli two dozen years ago by the widow that once lived in it. Your horses will be stabled here in the yard. I will have one of the younger men see that they are fed and watered, and that a watch is posted to ensure they are not disturbed by any carousers. I will show you to the quarters we keep for guests. I will send for straw and blankets; the cook will bring you soup and bread this evening, when it is ready. I shall see about the councilors now.
You are left for a short while to stretch your legs in the abbey courtyard. The area adjoins several houses, and passers-by, most of them women, call to wish you and the monks a merry May. The building itself is simple and clean, with most of the rooms converted from what must have once been a rich merchant's quarters. There is a small chapel, and a library with less than ten books, although one is a very old Roman text kept inside a box.
As the afternoon slides into evening, a party of footmen in battered steel caps and white leather enter the courtyard as the cathedral bell chimes six. The four footmen are led by the old knight from the cathedral steps. Seen from up close, his armor seems ill-fitting and battered, and he is missing most of the pieces from the right leg, but the elderly man struts as best he can. He and the footmen bow before you, and he introduces himself as Lomar diVolterra, the city's ancient. He says that the four councilors have asked that you sup with them in the cathedral. They are meeting with the bishop, and desire to include their friends from Sergia. He asks that you bring your city's standard with them, that they may show the bishop.
