Tebati cries out in alarm, as she sees the arrow pierce N'bellocq's shoulder. For a moment, she is afraid he will lose his grip, the fall completing the arrow's murderous purpose; but the fingers of one hand remain jammed into a crack between the stones of the tower, and she sees him recover and continue his climb. If he can only end the Trial, they will have no further motive to attack him, she tells herself, then realizes that even if he is victorious, the other teams still benefit by removing another competitor from the final Trial. She wonders if they are already down one member, remembering Kieran's still and crumpled form. She turns her eye on the archer who shot the arrow, marking him well should they meet again. Ill winds and no safe harbor, she wishes him coldly, clutching her driftwood. May Shimye-Magalla swallow you up without remorse.
N'bellocq finishes his climb with blood streaming down his back- but reaches the top successfully to find the "Imp" sitting there quietly. Exhausted, he plants the flag into the plinth at the top of the tower, and a loud signal whistle is blown to indicate the end of the Trial. From up here, N'bellocq has a splendid view of the grounds of the Trials- including an archery range being set up nearby with targets at various distances from a shooting line. He can also make out a very large area of water upon which large wooden boats are being carefully lowered into the water by teams of workmen with blocks and pulleys.
The crowd show their appreciation for N'bellocq's efforts and sacrifice with a mighty roar of approval just after he planted the flag of Sargava. The symbolic representation of Sargava's victory of Cheliax appears to have struck a chord of national pride within the crowd somewhat, although the implications of it being a Mwangi that emulated the feat in the Trial may have interesting repurcussions. Looking back across the race course, N'bellocq can now see what the crowd have been able to for some time- very few competitors are even concious at the end of the race.
Your companion was in the lead when we carried you in here. You were poisoned sir, but with our aid you seem to have recovered fully. I recognise this poison; it is quite a weak variant of a knock-out poison wild Elves often tip their darts with; you could have been out for several hours and missed the final Trial. If you feel well enough to stand, please allow me to arrange for an escort back to your teams tent.
You are all gently escorted back to your tents after any wounds you have incurred are fully healed and are finally reunited inside your teams tent with some time to kill before the archery trial. The official responsible for your tent informs you that the Avistan's teams treachery is being considered before scores are tallied and that there might be some delay.
Tebati does not join in the crowd's applause, instead falling back into her seat in relief. Thank you, she thinks simply, raising her driftwood to her lips for a kiss.
By the time N'bellocq rejoins the group in the tent, however, she has recovered and is pacing quickly back and forth in the closed confines to relieve her nervous energy. When he is escorted back, she turns to him with a beaming smile and a voluminous hug. "Cousin!" she greets him. "Shimye-Magalla smiled on your efforts." Her hands on his back reminds her of his arrow wound, and she turns him around to examine the skill of the colonial healers. "Hm," she admits. "The Wealthy Father seems to know how to knit Mwangi skin."
N'bellocq grins. "I must admit that I was initially worried. And then more so when I never saw Kieran catch up...I saw from the top, very few even trying to win, just pointing weapons.
He shrugs his shoulders to stretch them out. "They have healed it, but the muscles still remember. I hope it does not affect my pull on the bow."
He turns to the guard at the tent. "Are the next two contests at the same time? If I am in the archery contest, does that mean I cannot fight with my cousin in the Finale?
The guard shakes his head.
The final Trial will only begin once the Trial of Marksmanship is concluded; you will participate in both.
N'bellocq grins. "I must admit that I was initially worried. And then more so when I never saw Kieran catch up...I saw from the top, very few even trying to win, just pointing weapons.
The smile slides off Tebati's face, her lips a tight line. "These Trials are a sham. 'Endurance,' 'Athleticism' -- all forgotten. The other teams seem to hope only to attack those who seem likely to defeat them, and as their desperation increases, so does the deadliness of their efforts." She turns to Jakob, accusingly. "Your 'friend' from the joust -- his team was the first to attack us, and he himself sliced a man open when he failed to climb the rooftop."
"Yes, by all means," he continues after the briefest of pauses, "I would very much like to rejoin my companions."
A few moments pass and then Kieran passes through the entrance into his team's tent, one hand rubbing the place where his injury was up until a few minutes ago. The pain, thankfully, is all but gone.
"So, am I to gather from your expressions that N'bellocq here managed to win? And despite certain individuals' best efforts, I might add," he remarks, his tone rather carefree all things considered. "Those bounty hunters were certainly determined to put a stop to you, did they not? Unfortunately, I did not prove as much help as I would have wanted to."
A sigh and then a smile. "I blame the wine," the half-elf quips, true to form. "Well, that and the nasty man with the polearm and the one with the poison-coated scimitar. But mostly the wine."
Picklebeard looks eager for the next trials. He is currently tapping his foot and playing with his beard.
A small amount of relief can be seen to cross Tebati's face when Kieran enters, but it is heavily mixed with disapproval at his flippant attitude."So you are not dead, then. Did you see any of the other competitors in the healing tents?" She turns her head to address both N'bellocq and Kieran. "Were any killed?"
You saw other men being tended in other tents but you weren't kept appraised of their fates.
The smile slides off Tebati's face, her lips a tight line. "These Trials are a sham. 'Endurance,' 'Athleticism' -- all forgotten. The other teams seem to hope only to attack those who seem likely to defeat them, and as their desperation increases, so does the deadliness of their efforts."
"You are just noticing this now? It has been a sham from the inception. A glittering prize called 'winning' holds our attention and we fight among ourselves to claim it. All the while our hosts are testing our fitness like cattle in a marketplace. This 'contest' is a jingoistic distraction."
She turns to Jakob, accusingly. "Your 'friend' from the joust -- his team was the first to attack us, and he himself sliced a man open when he failed to climb the rooftop."
"It is a pitty he and his team proved themselves shortsighted fools. Working together we gould have taken control of the games and found their true purpose. They are too distracted by the prize to see anything else. Still it was worth appealing to their better nature, pity they were not brave and smart enough to take the oppertunity."
Turning to the others. His face grave.
"We need to each decide how we will continue. I am strongly inclined to walk away from the final trial. I see no point to more bloodshed but you will have to make up your own minds. I suggest that N'bellocq competes in the archery trial. From what I have seen he will do well and this will give our team a strong lead in this pointless exercise. I then propose that we either publically walk out of the game, or simply refuse to fight in the final. A public walk would be more impressive as simply not competing could be misinterpreted as a tactical move should our lead be such that a zero score in the final trial would still allow us to win."
"It may effect your decisions to know that I have absolutely no intention of continuing. I will avail myself of our host’s amenities but I will no longer risk my life nor raise my hand against another for this farce.’
"It seems they upped their desperation from making loud noises to poison, arrows, and attempted drownings. AND that monkey bit me." N'belocq holds up his finger. He does a double take and smiles when he realizes there is no mark there. "Well..they healed that too." he laughs.
It seems much of his earlier tension has decreased.
At mention of not competing, N'belocq's cheer fades. "There is still the matter of the prize. I am not in a position to be thinking that I won't be collecting on our efforts. And while I do not approve of these games, I plan to make them pay me for the indignity they have inflicted."
A small amount of relief can be seen to cross Tebati's face when Kieran enters, but it is heavily mixed with disapproval at his flippant attitude."So you are not dead, then. Did you see any of the other competitors in the healing tents?" She turns her head to address both N'bellocq and Kieran. "Were any killed?"
"No, not dead. Just a little light-headed, but kind of rested as well," Kieran replies. "But your concern is appreciated nevertheless, dear lady." If he has taken note of her disapproving tone, he makes no indication. "There were indeed others being looked after by various physicians, but I do not know of the seriousness of their conditions. I suppose the fact that they were being poked and prodded by the healers probably means that they are not dead."
"You are just noticing this now? It has been a sham from the inception. A glittering prize called 'winning' holds our attention and we fight among ourselves to claim it. All the while our hosts are testing our fitness like cattle in a marketplace. This 'contest' is a jingoistic distraction."
The smile slides off Tebati's face, her lips a tight line. "These Trials are a sham. 'Endurance,' 'Athleticism' -- all forgotten. The other teams seem to hope only to attack those who seem likely to defeat them, and as their desperation increases, so does the deadliness of their efforts."
Tebati rounds on Jakob with frustration. "Was not entry into this contest your conception in the first place? If you suspected it to be meaningless from the beginning, why take part? And now that we have gone this far, you counsel us to quit? What will that look but cowardice, particularly if we have an insurmountable lead? If one of the colonial teams were winning and refused to take part in the final battle, would we not consider it an act of arrogance and self-preservation?"
At mention of not competing, N'belocq's cheer fades. "There is still the matter of the prize. I am not in a position to be thinking that I won't be collecting on our efforts. And while I do not approve of these games, I plan to make them pay me for the indignity they have inflicted."
Jakob looks quizically at N'bellocq. "The greed I can understand. It is a glittering dream they offer. I wish you every success."
Jakob starts to turn away.
"I find it odd though that your dignity can be restored with a few trinkets. That is a very civilised attitude. You will do well here."
Tebati rounds on Jakob with frustration. "Was not entry into this contest your conception in the first place? If you suspected it to be meaningless from the beginning, why take part? And now that we have gone this far, you counsel us to quit? What will that look but cowardice, particularly if we have an insurmountable lead? If one of the colonial teams were winning and refused to take part in the final battle, would we not consider it an act of arrogance and self-preservation?"
"Yes I joined this contest willingly. I was fooled. I admit that. I gave our leaders the benefit of the doubt. You have rightly pointed out me weakness in that area. The events of today have proved to me that I was in error. I am simply recommending that we not compound that error. We colonials have a saying about throwing good money after bad that I think applies here. But please do as you will, I make no claims apon any of you. There are good reasons to depart and good reasons to stay. I have made my choice, a choice you will each need to make for yourselves."
"Yes simply refusing to take part in the final trial would appear to be an act of cowardly self-preservation. This is why I recommended that we leave the contest entirely, refusing the prize if it is offered to us. That will make clear that we are rejecting personal risk but rather rejecting the foul nature of the enterprise."
"Oh, you do misunderstand. It is not greed. It is payment. I have labored too long only for others to reap the benefits. If they pay me to climb a rope or shoot a target, I consider that a good days work. I have not sunk to levels where greed replaces compassion, where poison replaces skill. And...I am not sure you are aware but these games are taking on more than a colonial showcase. I heard the crowd from the tower, Mwangi, Elf, and Dwarf..." He nods toward his companions in the tent, "have been showing quite well in the games. This is being noticed. I imagine the Sargavan sponsors are not quite pleased, and I plan to continue to to put a Mwangi face to their colonial celebration."
Ansha breathes a sigh of relief when Kieran arrives in the tent, but remains quiet throughout the discussion. Then as the argument develops, she smiles when N'bellocq indicates her, and looks at Kieran with a shrug of her slender shoulders.
"I don't really have anywhere else better to be, personally. Do you, Kieran? she asks, her mellifluous voice carrying echoes of Kieran's flippant tone. "And the crowds did seem to love me, fickle as they often are. Besides, my curiosity is already piqued: no sense leaving when things have just gotten interesting--though, if Jakob or anyone else walks out, that does leave us at a disadvantage in the final trial."
Qhude listened to the discussions quietly, busying himself with ensuring that his armor and cestus were tight and secure. These colonials and Mwangi both bicker over things that matter not. You cannot grasp what is beyond reach, you can only grip that which is within your palm.
Once he was comfortable and battle ready, he ventured his input: "What talk is this of turning tail and cowering like a rat, scurrying away on our bellies? Did you think that this would be like a courtly game played on well-kept grass where we all curtsied and bowed to one another? Obviously some of you have been over-sheltered in your youth."
"I came here to win, and nothing less. I will do what needs be done to achieve that goal, if blood needst be spilled and bones broken I have no qualms about doing so."
To Jakob specifically "Perhaps you are not to be my Induna, but I'll not let your delicate tastes prevent me from my reward."
Tebati levels a cool gaze at Jakob. "Do you really think your people will let you walk away and publicly spurn them on their holiday? Will they give you a platform from which to explain your intentions and ideals? Would it not be less ... disruptive for them simply to detain you and explain that you sustained an undetected injury in the joust that prevents you from continuing the Trials? You took their token, signed the paper accepting their right to put you to death. Do you think they will not exercise that right before they will let you shame them?"
Clearing his throat and clearly feeling a little awkward at having opened the tent flap to a heated discussion, your tent official clears his throat loudly.
I can come back in a short while...? he asks, almost hopefully.
"What Ansha just said pretty much sums up the way I see things as well," Kieran says with a shrug, agreeing with his elven companion. "Not to mention that I have yet to contribute anything, seeing as how I spent most of the last competition blissfully unconscious. I would not mind getting the chance to... heh... have some fun, maybe even trying my hand at a rematch with the man that injured me."
"Besides," he continues, "I hardly think openly defying the ones behind this whole thing will go unanswered. We did 'take their token and sign their papers', to quote our exotic Mwangi beauty here."
"And I hardly need more enemies," he finishes with a soft sigh, his voice barely a whisper.
Almost as an afterthought, the half-elf waves the man away. "Yes, yes, maybe in a few minutes."
Clearing his throat and clearly feeling a little awkward at having opened the tent flap to a heated discussion, your tent official clears his throat loudly.
I can come back in a short while...? he asks, almost hopefully.
Shaking his head at the others Jakob turns away and towards the official.
"Yes, is there news."
To all
Jakob sighs in resignation.
"I seem to keep choosing incorrectly. So be it. I will do my best to aid the team through the remaining trials. Though I expect that aid to be minimal. Please just let us get through with this."
To the official, N'bellocq steps forward with his bow. "No, I am ready for this." He stretches his back, cracks his neck, and then follows the official.
"Let's get to fightin'!"
"Good luck, N'bellocq!" the elf calls after him, following to the tent entrance. While there, she's sure to wave and blow a kiss into the crowd, then ducks back inside til officials come to lead the rest of the party to the spectators' stands. "Well, now that that's settled...On with the show!"
Remaining silent though it is clear that his mind is flushed with anger, Qhude follows the rest of the group to the spectator's stand. Unconsciously he clenches and unclenches his right fist in the cestus.
As N'bellocq attempts to move towards the official he shakes his head.
Its not time yet, I just wanted to tell you the current score and explain that the Avistani have been docked five points for their use of magic in an trial that prohibited it. Here are the current scores, we'll be wanting your archer in a few minutes.
Team 1 (you)- 46 points
Team 2 (Mwangi)- 30 points
Team 3 (Swashbucklers)- 26 points
Team 4 (Avistan Adventuring Party)- 31 points
Team 5 (Mercenary)- 30 points
Team 6 (Bounty Hunter)- 30 points
"Our lead is not insurmountable," Tebati observes. "Any team save the pirates has motive to see us take last place, and the easiest way to ensure that would be to see us dead." She looks to N'bellocq with concern. "They have already proven that they can pierce your skin. Admittedly, few of their arrows found their target, but we may presume that their entrant in the Trial of Marksmanship will have greater skill. If you are to be judged by the number of arrows that hit the target, they could risk turning at least one on you." She goes to the tent flap to address the official. "Will all the archers fire on the targets at once, or will each enter the arena alone?"
Every archer will fire at once- and the contest will not be held in the arena.
Perhaps sensing some concern, he adds-
There will be no blood spilt in the next Trial; the Trial of Athleticism was always going to be nasty. Thankfully no one died eh.
There will be no blood spilt in the next Trial; the Trial of Athleticism was always going to be nasty. Thankfully no one died eh.
"And you guarantee that, do you?" she asks him pointedly. "If some of the competitors choose to train their sights on the competition, your officials are prepared to deal with that?"
"And you guarantee that, do you?" she asks him pointedly. "If some of the competitors choose to train their sights on the competition, your officials are prepared to deal with that?"
There will be no blood spilt in the next Trial; the Trial of Athleticism was always going to be nasty. Thankfully no one died eh.
Yes he answers simply. Many of the judges feel enough blood has been spilt already today.
"Then the judges' feelings do them more credit than many of the competitors' have today," she replies, reasonably mollified but not overly trusting in the colonials' preparations. She withdraws back into the tent. "It would seem no more lives are to be put at risk until the Trial of Teamwork at least, if the colonials have their way. Perhaps you judge your countrymen too harshly, Jakob."
Seeing that they must yet wait, Qhude turns and paces within the tent. He stops and performs some stretches. Listening to Tebati he muses: We shall be awash with blood in the final trial, I wonder if some of these have the stomach for it...
Heaving a sigh at the continued wait, Ansha takes a seat at the table in the middle of the tent. She digs for the elaborately-painted fortune-teller's cards she keeps in a belt pouch and starts idly drawing cards, occasionally looking up to glance at one of her companions.
Moving to one of the chairs, Kieran sits down and puts his feet on the table. He then proceeds to take his sword out of its scabbard and, placing it across his lap, starts to clean it from any residual blood still sticking on the blade. As he works, he whistles a merry tune, pausing only now and then to listen to his companions or offer his opinion on the matter at hand.
It is during one of these pauses that he addresses Qhude. "You seem... agitated, angry even," the half-elf notes simply, his tone nonchalant. "Why is that? From what I can tell you seem to like a good fight and you will probably be getting just that soon enough. That should put you in a better mood than this, yes?"
As he talks his eyes turn to Ansha momentarily, catching her as she plays the part of the celebrity, catering to the crowd. "See? She seems to be enjoying it well enough." His comment is addressed to Qhude, but the wink of his eye is for the mage once she is back from waving to her fans.
Stopping and turning to Kieran to answer his query "I am... impatient, unused to this deception and 'shadow play'." sending a black glare Jakob's way.
Referring to Ansha: "Your companion may bask in the attention of the crowd, but I do not. I care not for any of them, why should I take heed of what they care of me?"
"He is Bas'o," Tebati ventures, her eyes on Qhude. "Were his people in charge of these games, each entrant would fight in the arena to prove his or her worth. Straightforward, no tricks, no waiting about. It is not the prospect of bloodshed, but the pretense that the Trials are leading to anything else that ... irritates him."
Picklebeard looks to Ansha seeing her playing with what he assumes to be a harrow deck and talking to Qhude. He waits for them to be done and then asks Ansha. "Excuse me for a moment, Ansha...While we got some downtime...Do you think you could do me?"
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Straightening his back with some pride, but also a mixture of other feelings "I was raised Bas'o, and you speak the truth Tebati. Though even the Bas'o are not always plain." his left hand cradles the amulet around his neck.
Ansha makes a face as she looks at Picklebeard. "The last time I started, it got interrupted. But alright."
She reshuffles the deck, then draws the first card. Turning it face up and placing it on the table, she reveals a gaunt, grotesque demon with greyish skin and a malicious sneer, holding high a lantern. At the sight of it, the elf winces. "Well, that's...not a good start." She takes another card from the deck and turns it over, revealing a man in fine clothes at the doorstep of a peasant's hovel. He holds a small sack out as a peasant in the doorway drops several coins in.
"Oh. Huh." She sounds relieved, somehow, and then removes a third card from the deck. This card depicts a cricket. A fourth follows, revealing a knight in shining armor who wields a flaming longsword against an unseen foe; and a fifth follows, depicting the carnage of a battlefield hours or days after the battle. Prominent in the artwork are a flock of crows. She purses her lips, silent for a few moments. Then she looks up at Picklebeard.
"Well, my friend. It seems that you have quite the mixed future ahead of you. Soon, your enemies will be strengthened by a foe of low origins--possibly a fiend, though not necessarily. But the Publican favors you, and this foe will have a change of heart toward you. He will help you keep ahead of your other foes"--she indicates the Cricket--"and will see you safely to the Paladin, a great champion for your cause who will defend you against all odds. A great contest will be fought, and you will have to make an important decision about what is most valuable to you."
The appointed time for the Trial of Marksmanship is upon you. Your team is escorted to a long, rectangular building; as you approach you can see that it simply consists of galleries on three sides, with targets set up on the far end and a sheet of metal placed to prevent stray shots from harming spectators outside of the event.
There are a great many spectators present for this Trial, as it is the only one taking place right at this moment. Perhaps it is merely the density of the crowd, but you who are spectating can't help but get the impression the non-participating members of each team are being kept apart from other teams spectators.
N'bellocq is led into the internal section of the building, grass underneath his feet as he is led into a small group with a Halfling from the Swashbuckler team, a Human from the Mwangi, a Half-Elf from the Avistans, a Half-Orc from the Mercenaries and another Human from the Bounty Hunters team. Several officials offer you a choice of weaponry from: Longbow, Shortbow, Light and Heavy Crossbows, or a type of Sling, including the Sling Staff. Predictably, the Halfling selects a Sling Staff, the two Humans and the Half-Elf take Longbows and the Half-Orc selects a Heavy Crossbow.
Once weapons have been selected, the six participants are arranged in a shooting line. A pompous looking official explains the rules of the Trial-
The Rules-
There are six rounds of shooting, where each participant fires simultaneously. After each round of shooting, the current score is displayed so that the marksmen may choose their next shot strategically. Each participant is only allowed to take a single shot in each round, and has six units of ammunition available for use. A critical hit (a bulls eye) scores triple points for the target. The ammunition must stick into the target or leave a definitive mark (essentially, the shot must bypass the targets hardness or it doesn't count as a solid hit).
The official then draws everyones attention to the three available targets-
The Soldier-
The soldier is a straw man dressed as a soldier of Cheliax, with a menacing snarl on his face and a raised sword; with a target painted on a piece of canvas stretched over his chest.
Range: 30 feet. 1 point for a hit, 3 points for a bullseye.
The Devil-
This wooden statuette is a fierce representation of a Devil, complete with painted red wings and two imposing red horns. The target has been carefully painted on the Devil’s wooden chest, and is a little smaller than the one on the soldier.
Range: 250 feet. 3 points for a solid hit, 9 points for a bullseye.
The Dragon’s Maw-
A menacing red dragon has been carved painstakingly out of wood- the dragon itself is rather large but the very small target has been inserted into the dragon’s roaring mouth, canvas stretched over a panel of hard wood.
Range: 400 feet. 5 points for a solid hit, 15 points for a bullseye.
To ensure no foul play is attempted, several Sargavan soldiers have their crossbows loaded and they look ready to intervene if anyone aims at anything other than the targets. Each participant is handed six units of the ammunition he uses for his weapon, and the official retreats to watch with the rest of the crowd. Each participant readies themself and then the whistle is blown.
N'belllocq takes a longbow. Sizing up the targets he decides to try the Devil first.
Picklebeard stands firm and contemplates his fortune.
"Not bad, girl. Yer pretty good at that. There's truth in what you say. I can feel it in my beard. Where did you learn that?"
"Not bad, girl. Yer pretty good at that. There's truth in what you say. I can feel it in my beard. Where did you learn that?"
"From the school of parting men from their coin," Tebati murmurs under her breath as she ducks out the tent flap on the group's way to the next Trial. "Cousin," she reaches out to N'bellocq to stop for a moment before he is led away, "Shimye-Magalla grant you success. May the winds blow fair and the tides sustain you." She touches him again, head and chest, with the driftwood.
Ansha smiles faintly, apparently ignoring Tebati's observation as she puts the artfully-crafted cards in the small box she stores them in, then tucks that box in a pouch at her belt. "Here and there," she replies to Picklebeard as the group heads toward the next trial. Playing to the crowd around her as much as possible, she settles into her seat between blown kisses and flirtatious winks and watches as N'bellocq and the others take to the field.
The other competitors let fly at the same moment as N'bellocq. N'bellocq's arrow narrowly misses the target, thudding into the Devil's head and glancing harmlessly off the wood.
The Halfling whirls his sling staff and sends a bullet at the straw man, slamming into the target.
The Mwangi's arrow hits the Devil on his arm, failing to score a point although the arrow does stick.
The Avistan's arrow sails narrowly over the Dragon's head.
The crossbow appears to have a hair trigger; or at least that is how it appears as the Half-Orc lets fly a bolt before he finished aiming, sending a bolt slamming into the metal sheet at the other end of the gallery.
The finest shot of the round, the Bounty Hunter receives a round of applause as his arrow slams into the target on the Devil's chest.
A small group of Hedge Wizards make use of a simple spell to illuminate the metal sheet with the current scores from their position in the viewing gallery. They are in large letters, easy to read even at such a distance.
First Round-
N'bellocq- 0 points
Swashbuckler- 1 point
Mwangi- 0 points
Avistan- 0 points
Mercenary- 0 points
Bounty Hunter- 3 points