L'Eglise Aristotelicienne Romaine The Roman and Aristotelic Church

[marco_depolis]

Having received the first reply, Marco ordered the reception hall to be prepared in order to duly welcome the mayors he had invited.

He walked slowly through the corridors of the palace, his keen eye ensuring that every detail was in order: the hangings refreshed with flowers, the soft glow of candles illuminating the wide windows, and the furnishings arranged to lend proper splendour to the occasion.

At the centre of the hall, he had a long table laid out, upon which was set a sumptuous banquet: wines and beverages from every corner of the known realms, and an abundance of dishes to satisfy every palate. A little further away, he arranged for a more intimate setting: several couches gathered around a finely carved low table, conceived as the privileged place for conversation, where the guests might sit in comfort to discuss matters in greater privacy.

Marco paused for a moment, surveying the whole: the palace now seemed ready not only to receive guests of high regard, but also to host the dialogue he hoped to foster among them.

[Lordhammer]

Lord hat ein Brief aus Italien bekommen, wo er nach Rom eingeladen wurde.
Wo man wohl über Diozöse reden wollte.
Lord war zwar Gläubig und geht Regelmässig in Messe, aber als Politiker war er weltlicher Mann und Mann der Zahlen .
auch kannte er sich in Kirchlerer Gesselschaft nicht aus, und so war er leicht nervös als er vor den toren stand.
Er schaute sich um, ob noch jemand aus Schweiz da war.
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Lord received a letter from Italy inviting him to Rome.
Where they probably wanted to talk about the diocese.
Lord was a believer and attended mass regularly, but as a politician he was a worldly man and a man of numbers.
He was also unfamiliar with church society, so he was slightly nervous as he stood at the gates.
He looked around to see if anyone else from Switzerland was there.

[marco_depolis]

The old prelate had been informed of the arrival of the first guest and wished to welcome him personally. His robe was simple, devoid of frills or embroidery, far from any sign of rank or power; he spoke of devotion rather than title, as befitted one who had chosen to serve God rather than men.

From the doorway, the prelate watched the traveler make his way across the cobbled courtyards, his steps uncertain on stones worn smooth by time. A man of order, he thought, accustomed to numbers and decrees more than prayers and bells. He noticed the nervousness betrayed in the traveler’s gestures, in the way he scanned the horizon as if searching for familiar faces from his distant homeland.

The prelate stepped forward with slow but deliberate steps and opened the doors, letting the light of the chandeliers spill across the ancient wooden boards.
“Mayor, welcome,” he said, his voice gentle and calm. “I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

There was no stiffness in his manner, no ceremonial protocol to observe: only an invitation to cross the threshold into the interior, where a small room illuminated by candles and oil lamps awaited. On the table, a modest refreshment suggested hospitality without ostentation, as if to say that in this place the soul mattered more than the title.

As the mayor advanced, the prelate spoke of simple things: the convent’s inner garden, the mild September weather, the silence that allowed the mind to focus. Each word served to ease the guest’s nervousness, yet behind that smile lay an ancient wisdom, a knowledge of hearts that went far beyond numbers and laws.

The prelate observed the mayor’s hands carefully, calloused and marked by labor or by writing decrees, and felt a small twinge of curiosity: what thoughts could stir in a man so accustomed to counting coins and men, when faced with a reality where the soul weighed more than gold?
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+ Reverend Monsignor Marco Ibleto Polo d'Oria Borbone
---------- Archbishop of Genova | Vice Primate of the Holy Roman Empire | Bishop of Trento