Donovan bows to the ambassador, Naomi, and says, "My lady. Thank you for visiting. I do hope that you find your brief stay here inviting."
He turns his attention back to his liege and absorbs her instructions, then gives her a customary salute.
"I shall endeavor to give the nation a great show of valor on the tournament field," he says. With Chrysa dismissing him, he turns slightly on his heel to address Naomi. "If you will be joining us on the road to Pitax, I shall be delighted of your company." He bows once more and then makes his exit, as instructed by Chrysa.
Sophiel smiles when she sees Donovan, and she bows her head to him. ”You will be a fine addition to the lists, having a sacred sword of Iomedae will serve as a champion for the ideals of our people.” The church of Iomedae has grown in the last months, competing with that or the traditional god of paladins in the area, Erastil. Inspired by Donovan’s exploits, there is a growing chorus of voices calling for aid to be sent to the worldwound, though Sophiel hasn’t acted on the requests yet - given the closer threats and other priorities.
"Not my first, no."
The tattooist is inwardly relieved. First timers often fled when the needles came out, wasting both their times.
…she says lightly "A previous... occupation made them a requirement. Though magic has proven the better against their permanence." the lightness slips into a dark place for a moment at the word occupation.
Senna turns a blind eye to the redhead’s dark moment. It wasn’t generally good business to notice such things. But, having walked a few roads, she considers it likely that the other woman was, at one point another, a member of a mercenary company. They tended to ‘stamp’ their people.
"I am Chrysa, and you are?"
”Intrigued” is what Senna thinks, but can’t say. Names being exchanged was the moment when most highborns chose to cudgel ‘lessers’ with their titles. Anyone owning an acre of land with an outhouse was suddenly the Right Earl of Langford’s Privy. Senna’s eyebrow creeps cautiously upward at Chrysa’s lack of pretense, despite the company she was among. Curiouser and curiouser. She dips her head in a respectful nod, ”It’s Senna, Milady. Senna Proviso. An honor to meet you.”
The sun on her is eclipsed by a sudden shadow, Senna’s head turns. At 5’4”, her gaze has to keep travelling upward to appreciate the hulking druid. It’s a long journey. ”Gracious GODS, you’re a tall fella! I hope you aren’t the littlest brother.” Tan cheeks starting to show a shade of sunburn at the gaffe, Senna takes in the man’s druidical trappings and tries to smooth things over for voicing her thoughts. ”I also tattoo trees, mountains, various animals, and sacred geometry… if those hold any interest for you, good sir… Also, I apologize for my… for saying… for-my-careless-words.” She rushes through her conclusion not sure how to extricate the foot from her mouth without calling attention to what she said previously.
"My apologies, Madam Ambassador." Chrysa says with the same irrelevance as Naomi "Titles are only important to get people's attention, which is unnecessary for you." a compliment stated as a simple fact.
In the room, she listens attentively. Stepping away from the wall, Chrysa moves around the room, adjusting nik naks that Soph collected or made. "I met your lord once. He invited a group of 'like minded' rulers of the River Kingdoms for a social gathering. That was before I decided to merge the Fall with this land, of course. Soph is anything but like minded with Castruccio Irovetti."
Turning back to the Ambassador "I will attend. The question of security was a formality. The real question is why do you feel the need to travel here to present the invitation, to 'a country is still too new ... to be particularly relevant'?"
"Ah," Naomi's laugh is smoky and low, "you misunderstand. Your country is too new for promises made to benefit Sophiel's successor. I don't claim to understand all the factions that have joined here, but I do know that there are too many of them to make for unity in the face of sudden opportunity and tragedy. Far better to keep her safe, and therefore keep your young country... relevant."
She quirks her lips in a crooked smile, "Even if I helped Irovetti to succeed here, it will not be long before his reach exceeds his grasp. Why not seek a new position where my talents will be better appreciated, and my new ruler be less of a fool?"
Naomi leans in, no humor in her eyes as she makes her offer plain. "His Magnificence has not informed me of all his plans for this tourney, only that he wishes your presence. Come, let me help you foil what schemes he attempts to unravel and display his villainy, and still more damning, his failure before the other River Kings. Then you may deal with him as you wish, for who would make good their alliance to one who invites such disasters upon himself?"
”Gracious GODS, you’re a tall fella! I hope you aren’t the littlest brother.”
The comment starts with an arched eyebrow before migrating to a smirk as the artist fumbles with her statements. "Heh, no worries.And to be fair, I'm large even for my order."
Nothing in any spymaster's reports suggest that Cyrsa is prone to trust. So when she inclines her head agreeing it is evident to the other woman she is going along after weighing the potential risk and reward.
Even though the nod was an agreement, verbally she says "Gliocas is attending, with myself as its emissary, as our prime head lady of state and all that has decreed. All other plans must remain fluid until the landscape can be properly evaluated."
Basically no promises but still considering.
At the tattoo stall, Chrysa smiles up at the druid's smirk. Her touch shy of five feet height seems halfling sized next to the giant, but that also serves to day attention away from herself in battle, which Chrysa will never scoff at.
"This oak tree of an individual is Tikroch, Senna. Are you new to Pitax?"
"This oak tree of an individual is Tikroch, Senna. Are you new to Pitax?"
Senna offers the druid a polite (and thankful) nod for letting her off the hook. ”An honor, Sir Tikroch.” She’s reasonably certain a druid would eschew that sort of formality but it seemed polite to at least serve up an honorific. Answering Chrysa’s question was more nuanced. ”Hmm. Yes… and no, milady. I’ve been to Pitax before but it was some time ago. I’ve been traveling for several years and have only recently come back to the River Kingdoms. I’m sort of seeing it all again with fresh eyes, you might say.” She casts her fresh eyes to one of banners gracing their entourage, ”For instance, I believe there are new nations that weren’t here when I left... Congratulations.” In the court of politics, that comment might be condescending or laced with some hidden meaning. But the tattooist seems sincere and encouraging.
"Ah well," Naomi replies lightly, as though her whole expression weren't a moue of disappointment. "I had hoped that we could leave even this first encounter with firmer footing, but I understand the value of time and patience. I pray you, as I must continue to feign service to His Magnificence in small matters while I attempt to unveil and ward you from larger ones, continue to forgive me my little barbs; you can simply act as if you never noticed them at all."
Her decision finally made, Naomi relaxes her inner eye, allowing Chrysa's magic to flow freely and her mind's defenses to replace themselves unbreached.
"A true pleasure to meet with you thus, My Lady Shadowfall. May our furthered relationship prove ever fruitful."
She kisses the champion's hand once more in farewell, then sees about securing lodgings for the future.
They offer trust, and such shall they receive.
Still, every day that she sends in Gliocas means new friends, new friends who find themselves with thoughts and inclinations carefully sown to be harvested later at need. [i]"I should send a letter to Naomi; she'd want to hear about interesting goings on" "If I ever see her in trouble, I should do what I can to help" "She's a prankster is that Naomi, if I see her acting suspicious, I should keep my mouth shut - I wouldn't want to spoil the joke..."
***
Naomi watches her new confidants interact with the strange tattooist, Senna getting a piercing glare once Naomi fulfills her curiosity and notices the layered magical auras. "Remember dear gentles, we cannot tarry overlong without presenting offense to our Magnificent host?"
Then, politely stepping back from their conversation, she sidles up to Mila. "You mind offering your read of her? Just as a matter of professional courtesy, you understand."
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Chrysa gives an apologetic smile to the artist. "Ambassador Ravasz is correct, sadly. It does not seem like I have the time to indulge in your obvious talent." she does seem to regret that, letting her eyes linger on the images of drawn up. "Unless you would be willing to be put on retainer. I would pay you an hourly wage until the tattoo is completed, which I will pay double your normal fee for as well. If acceptable, you will come with us to meet Naomi's Magnificent host, and you will have access to more wealthy clients." the suggestion was put out plainly, without pleading or flowery enticements, just simple here is what you get.
In Chrysa's mind, she just caused confusion to any tails. While interest in artisans is a well-known trait she has shown in the Fall, most prominent is her weavers, followed close by furniture makers and pasties. Stopping at a single stall and suddenly recruiting that person to follow them would seem thinly veiled, like this Senna is already known to the Baroness and maybe already a part of her spy network.
Divide their resources.
Then, politely stepping back from their conversation, she sidles up to Mila. "You mind offering your read of her? Just as a matter of professional courtesy, you understand."
"I do not believe she is a spy," she starts, pretending not to really pay attention to the tattooist, "even if she is clearly underselling herself as a simple tattooist, glowing like the northern lights."
"I don't see darkness in her heart, which is already something, and I do not think she is a con artist. I say she is looking for something or someone... and if she does accept Chrysa's offer, then it is likely she was looking for us."
Donovan pulls up his horse short as Chrysa stops at the tattooer's tent. He seems accustomed to sitting horseback in heavy armor for long hours. With his greathelm closed, it is near impossible to see where his gaze lingers, but it is clear that he is in the retinue of the nobles from Gliocas, even if he does represent for Iomedae.
It doesn’t take long before the party is approached by a well-dressed young man in bright, cheery colors and a foppish hat, with the insignia on his tabard of a golden cup on a blue field. He looks up, a little intimidated by the crusader astride their horse.
He looks a little out of breath, and boggles slightly at Naomi. ”Erm, Ms. Ravasz, the king was expecting you to bring them to the pavilion immediately. Please come to the royal pavilion at once.”
Senna calculates Chrysa’s offer quickly given the simple math and Pitaxian impatience. An hourly wage was new to her but it suggested the dark-armored woman valued the tattooist’s time which was gratifying and another mark in the intriguing column. And she couldn’t object to a doubling of her price or having access to more wealthy clients… Although she had found that lot reasonably timid when the needles came out. Even if she walked away with hourly wages only, she’d be coming out ahead. People were generally skittish about pain so the first half of her day was most often spent enticing customers and hoping they might return later after they plucked up their bravery or were halfway through a cask of liquid courage. So, Chrysa’s offer was pure profit. The only downside was, of course, losing the protective cloak of anonymity. It was an ugly trade but maybe – between the hulking druid, the knight in shining armor, and their dark-armored leader – Senna could go relatively unnoticed, hiding in plain sight, as it were.
Senna nods, ”Deal, milady. Just give me a moment or I’ll catch up.” Without a by-your-leave, the tattooist snatches up a few items from beneath her table and heads to the withered old woman working the front of a gaudy fortune-teller’s tent.
Senna’s animated comments are rapid-fired in a foreign tongue and go along with a curtsy (which looks odd in pants), an offering of coins, and a kiss on the cheek. “Tanti! Vântul mă poartă! Fie ca ea să-ți ghideze și ea drumul. Fiica ta este cea mai recunoscătoare. Ia aceste monede ca pe un mic cadou pentru a-mi oferi cortul tău, obosit de drum și în nevoie. Fii binecuvântat.“
The tattooist returns to the retinue at a trot, throwing a bandolier over her shoulder… which appears to contain the rest of her worldly possessions. ”Lead on, milady.” While the group moves on through the crowds, Senna utters a simple spell to shake all the dirt and stains from her clothes and (if we’re being candid) hair, to make herself more presentable. To gird herself for the unknown, Senna corrals her mane into a reasonably neat ponytail and secures it with a leather thong.
The interior of the royal pavilion stands in sharp contrast to its relatively plain exterior. Lush red carpets cover the ground and a dais supporting a carved and gilded chair evoke the feel of a throne room, while a haphazard collection of pedestals bearing sculptures and mounted paintings of wildly varying quality and realism suggests a strange sort of art gallery. A small raised stage supporting numerous large musical instruments sits to one side of the pavilion.
The herald clears his throat and gestures to the interior, announcing their presence. ”The competitors from Gliocas may enter.
King Irovetti is a handsome, muscular, dark-haired man in deep red velvets. A crown sits comfortably on his brow and an elegant cloak drapes his shoulders. His belt is thick with tools, weapons, and pouches, bespeaking an adventuring lifestyle not completely left behind. He also carries two strange pieces of equipment. The first and most impressive is a long staff of unusual metal, one end of which is fitted with thin blades and a spike that periodically shift and move with a soft whirring noise. The second is a thin, short rod of strange metal with a single spike at the end. Small, circular lights periodically flash along the length of this rod.
King Irovetti waits for them on his throne, attended by a pair of beautiful women. When they enter, a few trumpeters outside play short notes of recognition. He does not rise. Seemingly unfazed by their weaponry and accoutrements, the king speaks in a commanding voice “My most illustrious guests! I am so eternally and unerringly happy to see that you have safely arrived. Come, my supposing attendants, bring refreshment for these weary travelers—whether by magic or by mare’s shank, traveling is thirsty work! Drink with me to our continued success and the bonds of brotherhood and friendship that shall be ours.” He gestures to Naomi, ”thank you for retrieving them, Naomi. Though I must say I am disappointed by Lady Medvyed’s absence.” He looks disappointed, but in a pleasant way. ”I had hoped to commingle with her on important matters. Heavy wears the crown, after all.”
He spies the tattoo artist and Mila in the back, ”I know Chrysa, Tikroch, and Donovan. But who are these? And where is the boy, Vincent? And that other creature - the lizard fellow. I was told his scales were as dark as soot.” The two attendants move to obtain refreshments for the guest. ”I have heard that Glocus has grown quite preposterous. Is that so?”
Before entering, Chrysa pulled something from her travelling pouch, a thin dark metal bank that she slips over her head, nestled in her dark red locks and her coal black horns. Etched in ancient ruins from two dozen languages, it is the crown of Shadowfall, what Chrysa has decided needs to remain as a symbol of her lands power, even it merged with her best friends.
"Glocus grows ever more from gold, industry, education, and well... tolerance" the last word is spoken with a mocking disdain, playing her role as thorn in whatever side she is needed. "Vincent and the Sootscale has tasks to perform as we all do." she smiles "These games are quite grand, King Irovetti, I am impressed, quite so. Oh but I'm taking all the introductions and you wanted to meet the others, please..." she nods over at the Senna and Mila. "Say hello to the ruler of these lands." a sliver of emphasis is placed on 'these'
Senna’s life had no pomp… so the lavishness of Irovetti’s pavilion, which was meant to impress, struck her as faintly ridiculous. She also couldn’t tell if his verbal missteps were purposeful or the result of a man speaking well beyond his grammatical limits. That said, the tune was called and she had to dance to it.
She offers Irovetti a deep bow. ”It’s an honor, Lord. I’m Senna Proviso. I advise milady on matters of ink.”
------------------------------------
Sophiel's reach extends all the way to Fort Drelev, and true to her word - she absorbs it, repairs much of the capitol, and builds a robust city wall. She also upgrades the small library to a formal academy in Tatzleford, and prepares to pave the streets in the capitol, which now houses 12,750 diverse souls.
Everything seems to be going well, when word comes that there is a portal which opened nearby and dislodged some dangerous fey creatures.
"And I'm Mila Ekanheart from House Orlovsky in Brevoy, my King," she says, with a deep bow of her own. "I'm an old friend to Lady Medvyed and since she could not attend, she's sent me in her place. I only hope I can properly represent Gliocas in this marvelous festival."
Naomi smiles prettily but blandly as Irovetti speaks with the visiting dignitaries. If there's one time he won't spring anything it's during introductions. His own offhand remark to her is answered with a respectful bow of her head. She prays forgiveness Your Magnificence, but as a minister to her people, rather than the prerogatives due to one who wears the crown, she instead must give in to duty where stronger leaders would persist."
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Iorvetti laughs, ”it is no matter. I know of her tendencies very well, and it comes as no surprise- she isn’t much for games or fun, is she. Not like Grand Pitax! We’re absolutely the pinnacle of perspicuity, aren’t we, Naomi!” He’s voice is deep and powerful, and it’s clear he can command a room with ease.
”Come, we have prepared liberations for you all, even the … guests.” He looks a little confused as to who the newcomer is, but there’s no malice in his tone or expression. He waves and the pair of women move to offer the party some food and drink. Notably, they hesitate before offering Senna anything, but a glance to the king is enough to resolve their indecision.
”A pleasant trip? I hear your mistress can travel at great speed when pressed. Some would say in unnatural ways… not I, of course. I daresay that any miscreate who spreads such scabrous lies suffers a punishment - isn’t that right Naomi?” He takes a swig of his drink and looks at his advisor. His two servants nod agreeably.
You peeked!
At the introductions he simply nods his head to Iorvetti. Tikroch sniffs at the drink trying to figure out what it is. This guy is awfully full of himself... Taking a sip of the beverage he looks between the king and Naomi waiting to see what happens next.
Chyrsa cannot help but have her lips tug up at their sides. "Dear Soph has all sorts of hidden talents, but yes you are correct... she does not enjoy events such as these." she left her agreement vague. Which is true. Of the two friends, Soph has much less patience for fools.
"Is there something we should know about your dear Ambassador, King Iorvetti? She was perfectly presentable the entire trip here." Chrysa takes on the tone of mild reproach.
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With his helm on, Donovan's amusement at Irovetti's malapropisms is not visible. The knight keeps his stance a little behind and to one side of Chrysa, attending like a good retainer.
Senna takes a glass of wine and begins to move about the pavilion looking at the paintings more closely than the sculptures. She holds the glass but doesn't drink from it, seeming engrossed in the artwork. It isn't entirely fiction. Painting on skin or canvas, a picture is a picture.
"As you say, Your Magnificence, the utmost pinnacle beyond all other possible superlatives." Naomi agrees, purposefully not trying to be the focal point in a meeting that is notionally between two other parties.
Sipping daintily at a glass of white, Naomi waits for her next cue, explaining, "His Magnificence is most magnanimous in extending the protections of lese-majesty to other river kings, even those who fear they are unable to bear the weight of a crown and its attendant demands of regality and self knowledge."
Surprisingly, Tikroch is actually trying to pay attention to the conversation that is probably politics and the big words being bandied about. Trying to get a feel for a battlefield that is well outside his expertise, he keeps an ear out for irregularities.
Iorvetti’s voice is powerful as he laughs in response to Chrysa’s question, ”my Naomi is always up to something. That’s why I keep her around, of course - the scheming and plotting.” He sips from his drink as his food and drink is passed around and he chats amiably, asking pleasant questions, and the food is good quality and for those that partake - not poisoned or otherwise injurious.
Before long he claps his hands and says, ”thank you all for indulging my curiosity. You are a motley bunch. Welcome to the Rushlight Festival, and I wish you the best of luck, though my champions will not go easy on you.” He allows the party to leave, politely, though if they wish to linger and chat with him or eat anymore food - he doesn’t begrudge them either.
Naomi makes her apologies to Chrysa and her retainers as she hangs back for a private moment with her own erstwhile employer.
"My most fulsome apologies, Your Magnificence. Her Excellency's mind was simply too staid and stolid for me to budge." A thought seems to strike her as she stares closely at Irovetti. "Or perhaps it is that even the reflected glory of true monarchy has bolstered her abilities? I have never succeeded before in bending even the least of kings to my will, after all."
She smiles, that thought floating away to the farthest corners of her mind. "To guide your distinguished guests and advise them of local curiosities is of course a more than sufficient task than many to which I might be put, but now that I am here, returned to the beating heart of civilization, and pretenders' ears are deaf to my meaning, is there some other service I may perform for you, Your Magnificence?"
As they leave the king's presence, she whispers to the others. "The king is either a fool or is pretending to be one. In the River Kingdoms, fools do not last longer, so I'm very inclined to say he is just pretending and he is pretty good at this. Be careful."
After their retinue leaves, Senna mulls the encounter and Mila’s observation awhile before speaking, ”As my Great-Aunt used to say, ‘A gamecock is dumb… but the real fool ignores its spurs.’ A bit of homespun wisdom to confiscate on.” A small, impish, grin crosses her face.
Chrysa nods, but adds "He may just be a figurehead, controlled by another power all more dangerous obscured to act with impunity." she considers Senna for a moment, but decides to speak to Mila anyway "Our ladyship would want information more than anything at this point. So... Mingle."
Unfortunately, Tikroch didn't catch any of what the ladies are referring. "Did he speak poorly? It seemed fine to me. But these games we are supposed to compete in... would they be a ruse to weaken the champions from other nations? And that one rule, "don't get caught cheating"... I fear some of the contestants may use underhanded tactics." Tikroch's observations are rather obvious to those used to playing in the political arena but the fact that he is even paying attention to the subtle parts of the interactions is a vast improvement to his attitude when he first arrived in the stolen lands. "Lets see if we can find out more." He purposely searches out the rules for the events to review.
Naomi makes her apologies to Chrysa and her retainers as she hangs back for a private moment with her own erstwhile employer.
"My most fulsome apologies, Your Magnificence. Her Excellency's mind was simply too staid and stolid for me to budge." A thought seems to strike her as she stares closely at Irovetti. "Or perhaps it is that even the reflected glory of true monarchy has bolstered her abilities? I have never succeeded before in bending even the least of kings to my will, after all."
She smiles, that thought floating away to the farthest corners of her mind. "To guide your distinguished guests and advise them of local curiosities is of course a more than sufficient task than many to which I might be put, but now that I am here, returned to the beating heart of civilization, and pretenders' ears are deaf to my meaning, is there some other service I may perform for you, Your Magnificence?"
Irovetti seems to zone out a moment, ”eh? Anything else to do? I suppose not. Go cheer for the competitors from Pitax instead, I think. I have some matters to attend to.” He waves his hand dismissively as he ponders his cup, and it seems the audience is over.
The Rushlight Tournament has all manner of common entertainments, minstrels, mummers, singers, jugglers, tumblers, trained animals, and on and on, but much of its allure lies in the glory of competition. All competitive events take place in the Coliseum and, with the exception of the Midnight Joust, begin an hour before noon. Typically, the competitions last for a few hours, with the day’s winners announced at the rotunda in the Commons in the early evening.
The schedule of games is posted throughout the festival grounds. Each competition has its own rules, but there are three rules that govern all of the events: harm no spectators, kill no competitors, and don’t get caught cheating. Breaking any of these rules is grounds for disqualification from that event.
Each contest has a first-place winner and a second-place winner—those who don’t place first or second win no accolades at all and in fact are often mocked by the crowd during the competition. Contestants can always yield in a contest if they wish. Most of the contests are timed—time is tracked by the use of a large and extravagant water clock kept in the noble’s palisade to the east of the coliseum.
Tikroch notes that there are different rules for each contest, and there are four contests. Naomi and Senna know that the master of ceremonies, Nunzio Arpaia is the announcer, introductions, and commentary - but when it matters, the final arbiter and judge will be King Irovetti himself. The four contests are: archery, a test of strength with handaxes or greataxes, a boasting contest, and a drunken Joust.
Matters get awkward for Senna. On one hand, she was on Chrysa’s coin so she should be available until their business is concluded. But ‘milady’ didn’t strike her as a woman who wants or needs a shadow. And being a hanger-on - in addition to just being boring - might be intrusive enough to convince Chrysa not to get a tattoo, which is just bad business. It is a quandary. After some internal debate, Senna decides to handle matters directly and let the chips fall as fate decrees. She strides up next to Chrysa. ”Milady, with your permission I’ll follow you at a discreet distance until you are ready to discuss a tattoo. I’m sure your retinue has matters to discuss that aren’t my concern. And I’d rather not nip at your heels like a stray (and possibly unwanted) dog.”
Senna slows her pace until the official members of the Gliocas party pass her by. She matches their pace when she is about 30’ behind the last of them. Then she just follows along in the wake of the group, enjoying the sights, sounds, and entertainments of the festival.
Senna scans the notices regarding the different contests. She wasn’t a champion for any country and few of the matches were in her skillset… not that she had ever let a small thing like competence stop her before:
* A test of strength was not her strength.
* She was a skilled drinker so the ‘drunken’ part of the joust wasn’t a stretch.
* She could use a crossbow but not with any degree of skill.
* If the ‘boasting’ required snarky comments, she could probably carry her weight there. But if it was a contest where you claimed you wrung the necks of two storm giants simultaneously… that would be the exact attention she didn’t want to draw.
Upon reflection, she decides her role may be rooting (and potentially cheating) on behalf of whatever ‘hero’ struck her fancy. Or getting caught cheating to eliminate some competitor that she doesn’t like.
The first tournament event is an archery competition, and occurs on the second day of the Rushlight Tournament. Since this competition is meant to test skill and not magic, each contestant must use one of the masterwork longbows provided by Irovetti. Contestants stand at the eastern end of the Coliseum and fire at one of three targets set up at varying distances to the west (particularly foolish or daring observers enjoy sitting on the benches on the west side of the shooting range).
Contest Rules: In this stage, each contestant is given six arrows to fire at three different targets—a blue target at a range of 30 feet, a green target at a range of 220 feet (–4 penalty due to range), and a red target at a range of 550 feet (–10 penalty due to range). To score points, the contestant’s arrow must not only hit the target but must stick into it as well (a shot that fails to do enough damage to overcome the target’s hardness bounces off and does not stick). A successful critical hit on a target counts as a bull’s-eye. All shots must be taken in 6 rounds or the shooter is disqualified. Likewise, if no shots hit, the shooter is disqualified. If the shooter fires all six arrows in fewer than 6 rounds, he earns 2 bonus points for each remaining round.
Blue Target (range 30 ft.; AC 5; hardness 0): This Tiny target has a picture of a kobold painted on it. The target itself is made of canvas stretched over straw. A solid hit earns 1 point, and a critical hit 3 points.
Green Target (range 220 ft.; AC 7; hardness 2): This Diminutive target has a picture of an owlbear painted on it. The target itself is made of several layers of thick hide. A solid hit earns 3 points, and a critical hit 9 points.
Red Target (range 550 ft.; AC 11; hardness 4): This Fine target has a picture of a dragon painted on it. The target is made of soft wood. A solid hit earns 5 points, and a critical hit 15 points.
The second tournament event is a test of strength, and occurs on the third day of the Rushlight Tournament. In the test of the axe, six logs are brought into the Coliseum and lined up in a row. The contest is to determine how many logs each contestant can hew through in 1 minute.
Contest Rules: At the start of the contest, each contestant is supplied with a masterwork greataxe or a pair of masterwork handaxes (contestant’s choice), and each contestant has 1 minute (10 rounds) to chop through as many logs as she can. Each log is placed 10 feet apart, so upon destroying one log, the contestant must move this distance before beginning on the next log. Attack rolls are, of course, necessary, since even though the logs have an AC of 3, a natural 1 is considered a miss. If the contestant damages a log with something other than one of the provided axes, she is disqualified from this event.
Spellcasting is allowed, but only once the timer starts. 1-Foot-Thick Log (AC 3; hardness 5; hp 120): Each log that is fully destroyed grants the contestant 5 points. Each log that is merely damaged grants only 2 points.
The third tournament event is a test of boasting and storytelling, and occurs on the third day of the Rushlight Tournament. This is the event that the audience is anticipating the most, as well as being one of the most traditional events—it has occurred in every Rushlight Tournament from the start, beating out the Midnight Joust by 1 year for that honor.
Contest Rules: For this event, a wooden platform is built in the center of the Coliseum. In turn, each contestant is to take this stage and boast to the audience of one of his greatest accomplishments. The boast must last for 5 minutes and must consist of a beginning, a middle, and an end. Each of these stages requires a specific skill check to determine how well received that portion of the boast is by the audience.
Beginning: The boaster must introduce himself as someone to respect and perhaps even fear by making a DC 25 Intimidate check.
Middle: The bulk of the boast must be done believably and convincingly by making a DC 25 Bluff check.
End: The boaster must end his tale by graciously thanking the audience for their time by making a DC 25 Diplomacy check.
Overall Performance: Each boaster must select one style of Performance to augment his boast. Once the three stages are complete, he makes a single Perform check of the appropriate type to determine how loudly the crowd cheers for his tale. The result of this check counts as points
toward winning the contest.
The final tournament event is one that many look forward to, since it is the Midnight Joust that promises the best chance at seeing competitors really hurt each other. It’s something of an unspoken tradition that those who participate in the Midnight Joust are drunk; certainly the majority of the audience is. The Midnight Joust, as implied by its name,
takes place at midnight on the last day of the Tournament. The Coliseum is well lit by dozens of everburning torches, many of which are held by drunken observers in the stands. Those who elect to participate in the jousting while drunk are effectively sickened—jousting while drunk amuses the crowd but doesn’t grant any additional points.
Contest Rules: Each jouster is equipped with a masterwork lance and a heavy wooden shield. Riders may provide their own armor and gear, but they must use the weapon and shield provided. A heavy horse and a military saddle are provided for anyone who doesn’t have her own mount. The joust takes place in three stages, as detailed below.
Stage One: The goal of the first stage is to weed out contestants until only two remain. In this stage, each contestant jousts against a Pitax warden (the champion of the previous year’s Midnight Joust—Villamor Koth in this case—does not take part in this aspect of the competition).
The order in which the contestants joust is determined randomly. If a contestant is unseated by a Pitax warden, the crowd jeers and that contestant is disqualified. Once all five contestants have gone, the jousting continues, but in reverse order, so that the last jouster gets to joust again immediately. Once only two contestants remain, Stage
Two begins (this system does give those contestants who go later a slight advantage).
Stage Two: In this stage, the two jousters who made it through Stage One joust each other until one of them is unseated. The winner advances to stage three.
Stage Three: In the final stage, the remaining challenger jousts against the reigning champion, Villamor Koth.
Jousting Rules: A joust consists of both competitors beginning at opposite ends of the jousting arena (called the lists), then riding toward each other, lances lowered, in an attempt to unhorse the other. Both jousters make Ride checks to determine the order in which they attempt to unseat the other—the jouster with the higher Ride check goes first. In the result of a tie, both strike simultaneously, possibly unseating each other in a dramatic clash. When attempting to unseat a foe during a joust, resolve the attempt as a bull rush. These bull rushes never provoke attacks of opportunity from the opposing jouster. If the first jouster fails to unseat her foe, then the second jouster gets a bull rush attempt against the first. If neither jouster is unseated, they replace their lances and shields (both are designed to shatter dramatically when they are used) and line up for another go. An attack against a foe’s horse is grounds for immediate disqualification.
Before Naomi rejoins the official representatives, she catches up with Senna where she trails. "So, Ms. Proviso, Senna, you're new to Pitax, are you not? I expect that the life of a traveling tattooist must have given you a wealth of simply fascinating tales, and I would simply adore it if I could learn of them." She gives Senna a dazzling smile. "Shall we? No wine tastes better than when it's bought with someone else's coin; having a drink or two while still earning Lady Shadowfall's coin would be even sweeter."
Things to see on the map:
The festival grounds are laid out along Cutter’s Creek, a minor tributary of the Rushlight River. The major features of the festival grounds are described below—all of these locations can be visited at any time by curious PCs.
Coliseum: All of the official tournament events take place in this large field of hard-packed dirt. The northern side of this large open field has rows of bench seats for spectators. A noble’s box stands at the east end of the field—but seating there is limited.
Menagerie: This enormous purple pavilion is a showplace of tamed horrors and monstrosities from across Golarion. The mysterious Madame Duclarion (N female human sorcerer 10) and her hulking handlers, the Brothers Ohka (CE male ogres), keep a charmed menagerie of dinosaurs, exotic animals, and magical beasts culled from every land for the viewing pleasure of festival-goers. Madame Duclarion keeps her creatures (and her handlers) calm and controlled through judicious use of charm person, charm monster, and other enchantment effects.
Rotunda: The Rotunda is where passes to tourney events can be purchased; each day’s events cost as little as 1 gp for a single ticket to as much as 1,000 gp for a noble “box” suitable for seating up to 10.
The Royal Blue: The buildings that surround this small lake are grand silken pavilions facing the water. These are reserved for the private use of visiting dignitaries from the other River Kingdoms, the flags flying above them marking the lands of their inhabitants. If the PCs accept their invitation to the event from Lord Irovetti, they are granted the use of the easternmost bathhouse for the duration of the event.
Royal Pavilion: This pavilion is used by the king, his bodyguards and minions. The pavilion is protected by a permanent mage’s private sanctum so that anyone who peers into the tent sees only a dark, foggy mass.
Staging Pavilion: This pavilion is used for competitors preparing for games in the Coliseum. The pavilion consists of several smaller areas formed by canvas walls surrounding a larger central area for competitors to gather in before they emerge when they are announced for a competition.
The party has a few good meals and a nice time visiting the menagerie and socializing, and is able to rest safely in a pavilion set aside for them. They meet some of the other competitors, and take some time to get to know some of the inhabitants of the other city-states of the River kingdoms. Surprisingly, other than daggermark which is pretty closed off and standoffish, the others are relatively friendly, and are happy to see Gliocas participating i the first Rushlight. The second day of the tournament starts in earnest. The master of ceremonies, a well-dressed, handsome man with a van d$+~ beard and a foolish hat enters the coliseum as the spectators watch and the competitors prepare themselves.
In the time since they came, the party finds out that one of their competitors, a hulking, barbaric looking fellow, is names Villamor Koth, and he is the winner of last year’s tournament - having won two contests himself and representing Pitax. Somehow he has enough bow skill to probably be successful here, though the others that are assembled seem also able in Mila’s estimation - based on how they handle the contest bows and how they move their bodies. Ilraith is a cocky looking roguish fellow who represents Daggermark. Gralton is represented by Florante, a female half-elf who seems to be somewhat strong. Mivon has in their champion a flamboyant looking Ranger-type, wearing greens. Villamor will be fourth, and last is another nature-y character, Damanjot - who represents the gladiator state of Tymon.
"So, Ms. Proviso, Senna, you're new to Pitax, are you not?”
The tattooist shrugs off the title, ”It’s just Senna. I wouldn’t say I’m new to Pitax but the last time I was here was… maybe 5 years ago? So, I suppose I'm new-ish.”
"I expect that the life of a traveling tattooist must have given you a wealth of simply fascinating tales, and I would simply adore it if I could learn of them."
Senna gives the other woman an appraising look. ”Like beauty, ‘fascinating’ is in the eye of the beholder. But the real question is who is asking me that question? Are you speaking as the Ambassador, Miss Ravasz, or… Naomi? I believe I heard that is your first name.”
She gives Senna a dazzling smile. "Shall we? No wine tastes better than when it's bought with someone else's coin; having a drink or two while still earning Lady Shadowfall's coin would be even sweeter."
Lady Chrysa of Shadowfall.. check. The tattooist hesitates and gauges the distance and crowd between herself and milady. ”I do need to keep milady in sight as I’m at her beck and call, at this moment. However, if you don’t mind a stroll while we drink and chat, I won't refuse that offer.”
The announcer grabs a magical microphone and the arena stands are positively packed with spectators. There are even more folks standing and watching, some from a nearby hill, others from the edge of the field.
The announcer Nunzio speaks, his voice carrying magically. His voice drops a bit and he continues ”Our first contest is archery, and all of our neighbors are well represented! Your highness, you shall judge the matter, as always. Have you any words of encouragement for our competitors?”
Irovetti stands to cheers of approval, his own voice magically loud, ”Friends, I welcome you all again to our games of skill and chance. While I am certain my competitors will win the day, nothing is certain! May the best person win!” He raises his hand and waves cheerfully at everyone before sitting down, to a roar of applause and approval, and soon enough, the contest is underway.
The first archer smiles slyly and steps up when his name is called. He turns and bows to the King with a theatrical flourish, and prepares himself. He seems to concentrate, and then raises his bow.
His first arrow soars through the air, arcing gracefully for the full distance before burying itself into the dead center of the red target. With a snap, he fires another arrow at the green target.
His first two arrows hit and the competition is afoot with a roar of approval from the crowd. He bows and seems to concentrate again, just before picking up another arrow and firing it at the furthest target again and then at the medium range target.
Every arrow so far finds their mark and seems to bury themselves into the center of each target, and the crowd is going wild.
Somehow every arrow he fires finds its mark, and his is as close to the center as to be perfect. The crowd has gone wild and is cheering the man’s name as he bows again to them and then to the king, grinning.
Senna watches the archery with animated interest, blending in with most of the crowd by inserting ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ at the right moments.