The Aerie of the Spirit's Breath

	Hpsoma teV PnoeV tou PneumatoV
Y'psoma tes Pnoes tou Pneumatos

Salve Sodeles!

As a brief introduction, Y'psoma tes Pnoes tou Pneumatos means The Aerie of the Spirit's Breath, and is a player character covenant in an Ars Magica saga headed by Jeremiah Genest.

The place is Eastern Anatolia--the Pontic Alps, to be specific--on the eastern edge of the Byzantine Empire. Obviously, one of the reasons that our covenant name is in Greek is because that is the civilized language of the empire and the language most often used by the Order in the Theben Tribunal (don't argue with over 2000 years of tradition...).

The time is the beginning of the thirteenth century (the saga started in 1170). Our saga has departed some from the real world history, most notably being in a restrengthening of the Komenoi line. You will find details of this on these pages.

The In Character Information section of this page contains information on the Covenant and those residing therein, including the libraries and a list of our magic items (the ones we've bothered to research, anyway).

The Out of Character Information section contains way too much stuff Jere's written about our Saga, including the Storyguide Primer, the Saga House Rules, and much, much more.

And in the Background Information section you'll find the Sourcebook for our Tribunal, and lots and lots of essays and other historical resources.

There's also a handy Links page, as if there wasn't enough to read on this site.

Finally, we'll leave you with a poem by William Butler Yeats:

Byzantium

The unpurged images of day recede;
The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed;
Night resonance recedes, night walkers' song
After great cathedral gong;
A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains
All that man is,
All mere complexities,
The fury and mire of human veins.
Before me floats an image, man or shade,
Shade more than man, more image than a shade;
For Hades' bobbin bound in mummy-cloth
May unwind the winding path;
A mouth that has no moisture and no breath
Breathless mouths may summon;
I hail the superhuman;
I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.
Miracle, bird or golden handiwork,
More miracle than bird or handiwork,
Planted on the star-lit golden bough,
Can like the cocks of Hades crow,
Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud
In the glory of changeless metal
Common bird or petal
And all complexities of mire or blood.
At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit
Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit,
Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame,
Where blood-begotten spirits come
And all complexities of fury leave,
Dying into a dance,
An agony of trance,
An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.
Astraddle on the dolphin's mire and blood,
Spirit after Spirit! The smithies break the flood.
The golden smithies of the Emperor!
Marbles of the dancing floor
Break bitter furies of complexity,
Those images that yet
Fresh images beget,
That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.

Last modified: Tue Oct 12, 1999 / Jeremiah Genest