Tikroch takes the time after the archery event to do some self reflection. What might his weakness be to using brute strength through an axe to chop logs? He's strong enough but not quite fast enough. A potion of haste would fix that.
Second problem, most of his battle experience is with natural attacks of his various forms. These forms enhance his attacks without using manufactured means. So how can he make this axe perform better? His usual abilities make any equipment meld into his form... but some spells let him keep his gear available. There's magic that, like Sofie's abilities, can let him turn into a form of the enemy. But not all forms are equal... so which one?
One of the legendary fey... a norn. It fits the requirements and it may be flashy enough for the crowd. A plan in mind, Tikroch rests with spells on the mind.
Watching the other competitors is a little disheartening with how well most of them are doing. Finally, his time arrives and he stands before his set of logs, axe in hand. When the signal to start sounds, he quaffs the previously purchased haste potion. Then, he gathers his magical energies and focuses them to transform into a fourteen foot tall fey woman and begins chopping.
He starts off strong, chopping through the first log in two hits. He begins on the second. Another strong swing sends a huge chunk of wood flying. Unfortunately, he seems to run out of steam from there. It takes a few more swings to get through the second log. On the fourth log, the axe gets away from him and one of his swings doesn't even bite into the wood. Using his new size, he is able to position himself between two logs, able to attack both. When he has to move, he puts extra force into one attack to maximize the one strike he makes .
By the end of the event, he's chopped through five logs. Grinning at his performance, he raises his enlarged arms in celebration.
57
122 -- Log 1 chopped
23
81
110
131 -- Log 2 Chopped
Move
41
72
109
135 -- Log 3 Chopped
0
31
57
84
113
138 -- log 4 chopped
Move
49
76
106
138
Senna finds herself cheering for the massive druid. His personal lack of pretense is appealing and transforming into a giant, log-hewing, fey creature is delightful showmanship. She claps and whistles as he eeks out his victory. ”Well done! Well done!”
After the cheering dies down, she quickly sketches a generously-endowed and scantily-clad norn whipping a greataxe through three trees at once. Shamelessly the tattooist tries to turn a profit on Tikroch’s success. ”Axe tattoos! Great and hand axes! Get a fey beauty wielding an axe! Commemorate this historic moment that you witnessed!”
Senna does a shocking amount of business selling norn pin-up tattoos for the rest of the day. Her hand is cramping by the time she snatches a late supper.
Chrysa cheers with the crowd at her companion's very entertaining victory, even though the very sight of the Norn makes her want to scream and stab.
"Their axes are not meant for wood but flesh. Still, it seems to be effective."
The local crowd seems to eat it up when Pitax’s favorite, and last year’s champion, Villamor manages to tie, guaranteeing a place on the scoreboard for Pitax. Smugly, the large barbarian’s muscles ripple as he gestures (almost mocklingy) for the equally large druid to take up an axe and begin.
By this point in time the spectators have seen a number of fantastical events and incredible feats of magic used to destroy almost two dozen logs, but they seemingly do not expect the man to turn into a mythical creature of legend - spoken about in the same whispers as the fates - and to get the work clumsily obliterating the wood.
Norms are immensely powerful guardians of the timeline and observers of fate. Ancient beyond imagining, the norns are a race of powerful women who hold in their hands the physical manifestation of fate and destiny in the form of golden thread. They watch over all life, intervening with reluctance when called upon or with a vengeance when the strands of fate are twisted and abused by lesser beings. Worshiped as gods by some, the norns do little to discourage this veneration.
For whatever reason, there are scattered historical records of Norns being present in the stolen lands at higher rates than elsewhere in Golarion, though they rarely interacted with people.
Unlike many other fey, they are deliberate, measured, calm, and solitary. Never capricious, but still prideful, crossing a norn was thought to be a death sentence - even if the sentence would be meted out long in the future, when the perpetrator would least expect it.
Norns have ties to two of the Eldest, the demigods of the first world, historically, Magdh and very occasionally Shyka. Sophiel is quietly a devoted follower of Magdh, though she does not proselytize.
In the first world, they hold immense power as arbiters and stabilizing influences that temper the chaos that so often runs rampant. Demanding respect, even if not seen, a Norn will serve as an anchor against the mutability of the plane with their very presence, and areas “watched over” by a of Norn are among the most hospitable places for humanoids (even fey-touched ones) to congregate, other than Anophaeus and some other scattered locations. The Norns rarely intervene to help people but malicious chaos and trickery is almost non-existent in their vicinity, though they rarely venture into the great seas of the plane.
Sophiel sometimes assumes the form of a Norn when necessary to do work as a large humanoid, or just because. She cycles between Swan Maiden, Pixie, and Norn, and her personality changes subtly depending on which she assumes for a day. Her presence as a Norn is taken a sign that she is particularly disinclined to tolerate foolishness for the day.
There are rumors that Norns have been spied within Gliocas, and they appear to be guarding or watching events, disappearing quickly if approached.
The theme of three runs rampant within the country of Gliocas. Things are organized in triangles or hexes, there are three branches of the university, the number of districts per city is in multiples of threes.
Oddly, within the culture, it is assumed that weal comes in threes, and when things are expected in threes and do not manifest, woe will follow.
This has influenced the culture of the residents regardless of whom they worship, and is the only real superstition that is followed by an otherwise erudite people. Clever observers know that the omnipresence of threes is likely heavily influenced by Sophiel’s own religion, following Madgh.
Sophiel does nothing to discourage this superstition.
Some of those gathered in the stands perform warding gestures, but even more are delighted and cheer and clap loudly at the curious being Tikroch has become. Sternly, the large woman downs the drink and seems to move as a being faster than time. Lifting the axe and dropping it at lightning speed, for a brief moment - it seems to some onlookers that golden shears have replaced Tikroch’s axe - slicing through the logs like they are little more than paper
Slicing through the logs quickly, Tikroch destroys five with relative ease before burying a greataxe into one log and then another for a handful of additional points. A full log ahead of his closest competitor, the silence lifts and the entire coliseum erupts into a hearty cheer, as the large druid’s form returns to normal. they chant, though there are a smattering of cheers for Gliocas as well, as is often the case - competitions are mostly a reflection of the competitors, and Tikroch receives the bulk of the adulation.
What is missing is much of the cheering from the Pitaxian and Daggermark sections, who clap politely, though the other river kingdoms seem to be enthusiastically on Tikroch’s side. With an almost overwhelming victory in two straight competitions, the champions of Gliocas have built a formidable lead in the competition.
King Irovetti for his part, cheers enthusiastically at the results, and stands his powerful voice carrying across the field ”well done, Champion. Your fecundity in this competition is well earned. I hope you go easy on us in the next rounds!” He raises a hand as the assembled chortle, heartily, though of course - some are a little confused. He lowers his hand, ”come then - a feast and carousing is called for before our third event - the boasting!”
Long ago, Irovetti was a champion of boasting, and his skill with words were unparalleled - having won multiple consecutive contests - until he “retired.”
The spectator file away politely at the request and everyone breaks for lunch.
Tikroch’s competitors approach him and congratulate him on the victory, other than Villamor Koth who looks angry. Taking out his anger on the logs he could not destroy, it’s soon apparent that had he gotten lucky with his own strikes, as Tikroch had, his ludicrous strength might have possibly destroyed a log in one hit. But fate had another plan today.
Irovetti watches bemusedly and then seemingly leaves with his entourage to his pavilion.
Naomi is hanging out with the party, in the stands, when a messenger seems to summon her to speak with Irovetti immediately.
Donovan is watching from the side with the retinue from Gliocas, his horse's reigns in hand. He raises his pennioned lance in salute of Tikroch's victory, then bangs it against his shield to join in the crowd's chorus of applause.
Senna loudly takes up the ‘Tikroch’ chant. Determined to ride his popularity as far as possible, Senna quickly sketches the druid from memory. She crumples up her first attempt as trash before starting over to capture him more accurately and in a suitably heroic stance. Her second effort is far better… enough that she amends her barker’s cry. ”Tattoos of the famous Tikroch! I’ve seen him up close and he’s more impressive than those split logs! See my drawings! If you fear the needle but wish to remember this auspicious day… get a sketch of the legend for just the price of paper, ink, and my time! Take Tikroch home with you tonight!”
Her eyes watch the furious champion destroying the wood, trying to read his cues.
"Pitax wasted you on wood." the presence of the baroness is almost a physical thing as she enters the competition area to chat with the swollen barbarian. "It is obvious your blade is meant for enemies, not Fluff like this." crowned and armored, in gear that has seen countless battles, Chrysa might be small but any warrior with any perception ability whatsoever can recognize her easy skill. Her hands are not clasped behind her back as they had been most of the conversations so far, but on the hilts of her lethal short swords.
A mark of respect toward Villamor's own ability, that she is ready in his presence, not discounting his ability to wreak violence at any moment. "Not every country would be so carelessly heap disrespect on such as you."
After her talk with the barbarian, she gives him a nod a leaves for her own people. Chrysa presence is enough that the crowds part for her as she walks without guard or worry to Tikroch.
"Sophiel would be proud of you for that form." the small woman says up to the giant druid with a smile. "Hopefully the image of you with the ax will burn in a healthy hesitation for war into their soldiers who watched that. Not that they will be given a choice."
She looks around, thinking, then gathering each of the Gliocasians (seeing Senna as well) "I had seating booked in a local establishment for lunch for us. If all wish to take a break?"
"I would have avoided using it if I saw another way. Though the abilities of the enemy can be useful at times... I may keep that idea as a tool to use if we need it... but Yes! Let's eat!" It seems some of the wild has shed from the druid as he spends time with a group rather than forging his way on his own.
"I never turn down a good meal." She says and as they go to the restaurant, Mila takes talks to the owner about allowing her to perform, free of charge as she was in a pretty good mood.
"I've heard Irovetti himself was a major boaster until he retired. To be honest, I actually suspect he might make a reappearance now, considering the score."
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A free meal and a chance to rest her hand after tattooing and drawing for several hours are opportunities not to be passed up. ”A meal would be appreciated, milady.” Senna follows along to lunch as she alternately flexes then shakes the strain from her hand. She half-teases the druid. ”You’re quite popular today. I’m selling quite a few Tikroch portraits and busty norn tattoos. I expect the Cult of Tikroch will be all the rage with the ladies of the Pitaxian court by next week. At this rate, you'll be married in a fortnight.”
The boasting event begins and the rounds are set: The order is: Gralton, Gliocas, Pitax, Mivon, Tymon, and Daggermark.
The mood is festive and the Gralton boaster steps up to participate.
Their boaster, Ankus is a relatively rotund dwarf, but he makes up for his apparent awkwardness with a bombastic voice. He boasts of how he stowed away on the Seawraith, the ship of the goddess of pirates, Besmara, and of his adventures in the outer sphere. In particular, he boasts of how he won a deva’s wings and a devil’s beard in a single gambling game. Despite the audacity of Ankus’s claims, the crowd seems to be particularly excited and delighted by his tale.
Since this is the event she's been pressured into, Chrysa pays particular attention to the relatively rotund dwarf for cheating, and to the crowds reaction towards various cues.
Annamede, the Pitaxian boaster, is socializing near the royal pavilion with other rabble-rousers. When she sees Naomi, she brightens up. An attractive woman in her late 20s, human, seemingly mostly Chelaxian - she was a graduate of the academy in Oppara and was a writer of satirical plays that transitioned into a comedian and then actress.
Naomi's smile upon seeing Annamede is equally dazzling, her eyes locking with the local celebrity as she hastens near. "Anna my love! How is it that the years carve only greater beauty from your features, but leave me scarce touched? Such jests surely show the inconstant and cruel nature of the gods and greater beings." She air-kisses Annamede's cheeks. "How fair you? Force me not to rely on tawdry rumor and scandalmonger's invective, I pray you."
Once they've caught up, Naomi asks, "Has his Magnificence yet summoned you to impress his desperation, modest and kingly though it be, that you triumph in today's challenge?" She rolls her eyes with a gentle smile, only the slightest hint of mockery on her lips. "It is interesting, is it not, that in a contest of puffed up egos and the skewering thereof, it may not be any of the contestants who feel most exposed?" She laughs, visibly coming upon an idea for the first time. "Why if by some mischance your taunts tripped off the tongue to a lesser clamor than they had earned, then all would know that Annamede and her long tail of triumphs were still to be esteemed. But our noble king? Embarrassment, apoplexy, perhaps even dyspepsia would surely fall upon him in such an unhappy world. For he does so claim the deeds of his subjects as his own - as is surely his right as the master of us all. Even in his pique though, I know that his Magnificence, wroth though he be, would still find himself all but helpless against the gleeful bonds of true friendship in which you should doubtless find safe harbor"
Annamede replies mischievously, ”Nothing of consequence. I have some new plays in the works - I’ve been trying to recruit new performers from elsewhere, but it has been a struggle. You’ve been outside of Pitax, yes? We can’t escape the rumors.” She sighs theatrically, and listens carefully as Naomi explains in her typical way the situation. Naomi notices that some of the actors and writers gathered around seem nonplussed by Naomi’s florid language, but Annamede takes it in stride, ”You speak carefully, but the King is distracted by his toys.” And her eyes flit over to where Irovetti is, indeed, messing with one of his Numerian gadgets after the royal party has eaten their lunch.
Annamede looks carefully at Naomi’s expression, and seems to be thinking, ”How interesting - I hadn’t thought you cared so much about these games, Naomi.” She shrugs, ”Well, I always try to challenge myself. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She inclines her head and dismisses her compatriots, retiring herself to her own tent elsewhere.
Watching Ankus's performance with slowly spreading condescension, Naomi excuses herself a moment to discreetly message Chrysa.
"Pardon me, My Lady Shadowfall, but I thought that you might be interested to know that his rotundity here has perhaps spent more time preparing his audience than his material - particularly one member of his audience who is taking it upon himself to bolster this blaggard, even should it cross the lines of propriety and fair play. Yes that one, in the overwrought shade of plum."
Chrysa understands the trade of favors, understands the weaving of the cloth of invaluableness one creates to be included in all things. Understanding this though does not mean she does not use that in her favor. Her dark eyes consider the other woman, then the plum. "Very good, Ms. Ravasz, very good"
Her baroness voice cuts into the air as the applause dies down "I am new to these festivities, but does the proceedings allow for a companion to the boaster to boaster the crowd instead of him? Like that one." she gestures to the plum male "The most eager, the loudest both in volume and in dress, and please do not deny your part, for that would go Much Worse for you."
It is amazing how much malice and threat one can put into two words, like Much Worse. It causes a shiver and a gulp to most that hear it and might even cause the one the dark eyes track lose himself inside that plumness.
"If that is allowed, might I simply bring my giants next year to clap and roar?"
The cheater is booed off the stage in a wave of soft fruit and veg.
Chrysa strides up, pushing one of the vivid red tomato with her dark metal toe, smearing it across the wood.
As if the color reminds her she starts with, "I began in blood, you know." her voice iron across the crowd that stilled. The red and horned woman commands attention despite her diminutive height "The wicked fey borrowed me as a child, but I was too sharp. A harpy tried to make me Her, but I fed her to the fire in front of her own. And then... I grew up." she gestured to her less than five foot tall form "Somewhat at least." she sighed, letting them laugh before turning her gaze around the ring "I am THE BARONESS OF SHADOWFALL!" her shout drowns out the laughter, chokes it, "I have taken what is mine, and will drown the world to protect it. Never doubt that." a slight pause "Even Sophiel Medvyed, the just lady of Gliocas herself, who I have allied my everything with, never Ever doubts that."
"Have you heard of Varnhold?" she asks the crowd, silent for the moment it takes someone to find their voice again and answer with a weak "N-no" making Chrysa smile a warm beam "Rightly so since each and every soul in that city was enchanted into a dark pit of a ruin where a thing cut out their brains, One. By. One." she enunciates slowly "A creature by the name of Vordakai, a giant cyclops, towering over us as Sophiel and I confronted him, one hideous blazing eye, staring in hate."
"This beast wasn't the brainless lout our modern cyclopes are, oh no , this one was ancient wizard who sold his soul for power becoming a lich. A terrible power that could rain down fires of hell from above and bring up tearing grasping dead from below."
"He wanted to kill us, to kill all of US" her gaze swept over all, resting on a child "All of us" she said with a hint of sadness. "But Sophiel and I were there, so I started cutting low" her swords slide out in a whirl, her body moving with a fluid grace, slice, cut stab, "Bringing the hulking giant to his knees, and as I craved my way up, Sophiel Medvyed, the kind, the gentle, became the rage needed to protect this land and RIPPED his brain sucking head right off his bleeding body."
Chrysa knew it didn't completely happen that way but decided production was better this way.
Chrysa waits until the gasps die down. "This happened. It is not a Boast" she lays the word out like a mock to the other participants.
"Our lands are strange, violent, and so very Wonderful. Cherish what is yours, but be prepared to defend it always." she advices in thanks to their listening.
Her presence holds the crowd, easily. Holding it silent for nearly a minute, getting her to the edge of her time before she continues "Our lands, Gliocas and Shadowfall, united in purpose and heart, accept any and all willing to do that, Cherish and PROTECT. For we Will. That I promise." her eyes find the King, and the baroness smiles.
After the cheater from Gralton is identified, Tikroch decides he should attempt to find if anyone is trying to sway the crowd against Chrysa the way the dwarf was trying to influence people towards Ankus. Using one of his newer druid abilities, he extricates himself from the crowd to a private spot to transform into an average human. Using is hopefully unassuming form, he pays particular attention to anyone trying to turn the crowd against his party member.
Keeping an ear on the story being told, he is a bit surprised at the story of Vordakai. The environs surrounding Varnhold is where he met Donovan while making their way into the Stolen Lands. Knowing it had been so dangerous just a short time before they got there gives him a new appreciation for the ladies of Gliocas and Shadowfall.
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The crowd is laughing jovially when Ankus is caught, and the dwarf sheepishly gets off the stage, he and his bard friend becoming spectators.
Irovetti raises a hand chuckling, ”it was a good effort, but we prefer a traditional approach,” and he nods for the next participant.
The master of ceremonies continues, ”the next to boast is the representative of Gliocas,” and he waves his hand invitingly for Chrysa to step onto the stage and speak into the tube which will magically augment her voice. The other competitors watch her and the crowd for signs of what they may or may not be receptive to.
******
When Chrysa finishes her boast, there is an eruption of applause, and Irovetti judges, ”few have come close to matching my own skill at boasting, but with Chrysa at least - one has come close. Well done!” The king applauds and gestures for the next to continue, with the crowd cheering wildly.
46
Pitax is first after Gliocas and the well-known comedian and satirist steps up, It’s commonly known that the woman, Annamede Belavarah, has a strained relationship with Itovetti, but as one of the most famous and popular entertainers in the River Kingdoms, it seems he’s loathe to lose an advantage for his kingdom.
The woman appears to be in her early 30s or late 20s and smiles wryly as she approaches the podium, nodding respectfully to Chrysa. Interestingly, all of her boasts seem to be about the Stolen Lands - and it becomes clear (perhaps only to Chrysa) that she claims to have been responsible for most of the seemingly random misfortunes which affected the barons and baronesses who had been given charters, including Shadowfall. And the boasts are effective and at least a little embarrassing, but unfortunately the targets for embarrassment have all either fled the stolen lands, retired to live within Gliocas, or become absorbed by it.
Some notable examples include : Destabilizing the Android Annala’s unicorn and fey themed barony with a subtle propaganda campaign that escalated to the point that the barony collapsed.
Finding a way, somehow, for Sootscale’s kobold allies to betray him, though she admits that the goal was to overthrow the governor, not kill him.
Sending in someone to seduce the leader of Shadowfall, as she mischievously winks at Chrysa, so they could take over the country after getting married to her.
Slowly poisoning Orri Lebeda with non-lethal stomach ailments to get the young man to quit running the barony.
She buttons this by noting that all of ways that she tries to embarass Gliocas failed, and she lists a half-dozen, from trying to smuggle in some imps to cause mischief to pure-direct disinformation campaigns. She notably does not mention the failed assassination attempt.
Interestingly, the way she explains this, with humor - is extremely effective. But when it comes to skewering Sophiel or Gliocas, she’s notably joking with a sense of respect, and in some ways, her language mocks Irovetti, placing blame upon him for the failures of the more outlandish schemes.
At the end, she has 46 points and Pitax is in second place..
14
Ceala’s boast is a tale of blood and danger—she tells of how she single-handedly saved a small village in northern Galt from the ravages of a demonic chimera who had wings of fire and a scorpion’s tail. If her tale is to be believed, Ceala lopped off the chimera’s dragon head with her sword, crushed the goat head under a falling rock, and tore the chimera’s tail from its body and strangled its remaining lion head in order to kill it—all without spilling the glass of elven absinthe she’d started to drink when the chimera spotted and attacked her.
It falls a little flat and she only gets 14 points.
36
Mialolessa is a beautiful elven woman, well known and well loved in her home kingdom of Tymon. She boasts of her days spent in Kyonin, and of how she seduced a succubus who had been sent from Tanglebriar to enslave her and drag her back to Treerazer to serve as the demon’s consort. After she seduced the succubus, Mialolessa sent her back into Tanglebriar and, to this day, receives gifts of strange fungal potions and wines with which the succubus attempts to win her back. If her tale follows Memon’s, she adds a stinger to her story, mentioning that it took her weeks to recover from a particularly embarrassing condition she “caught” from her succubus lover, and how she hopes none of her other lovers since then have been suffering from a painful rash of late. She casts a sly glance at Memon, who seems to look a bit worried, but the performance is well done and she receives 36 points.
24
Shaking off a look of concern, Memon spins an implausible tale about how he stole into a temple of Calistria and seduced all seven of its priestesses, including the high priestess, in a single night. When the clergy realized he loved none of them, he escaped on the back of the temple’s sacred giant wasp with the high priestess’s corset as a trophy. The priestess’ boast seems to have gotten to Memon who ends with 24 points.
With the boasting concluded, Chrysa wins easily - all but guaranteeing victory for Gliocas in the Rushlight festival. Chrysa stands at the podium while she is awarded a first place ribbon, and Annamede graciously accepts second place, though she has a smirk on her face. The announcer raises his voice, saying ”congratulations to Gliocas!”
Irovetti’s genial composure seems, at the margins - shaken, and he stands, commanding the quiet attention of those assembled ”Shadowfall and Gliocas it seems. How interesting is it that the borders of our neighbors have changed so recently. And convenient. But, of course! It is not against the rules. I will remind all assembled that a competitor must be fielded in every competition - even if caught cheating -“ He grins at Ankus ”to win the festival, and that second place is wide open. The Midnight Joust awaits!” He smiles down at the competitors and he and his retinue dose appear into the viewing tent to return to the pavilion.
Annamede turns to Chrysa, as the crowd begins to disperse, ”well done - you should be proud of yourself. Not everyone can subject themselves to the slings and barbs of the stage.” She breathes in deeply, ”I think my time in Pitax draws to a close. Soon.” She hesitates and adds ”as for my boasting … well, it is just that, boasting. Irovetti isn’t nearly smart enough to do all that.” She extends a hand, ”Annamede.”
Naomi makes her way over to Annamede and Chrysa with a gentle sway, face drawn up in a sorrowful moue. "You poor dear. It's so good of you to put on such a brave face." She gives Annamede a quick embrace, then halfway releasing her she turns to face Chrysa. "I trust you haven't made the error of esteeming our Annamede lightly, my lady? Where her ire is truly aimed, her chosen targets will always find that no matter their swords, her pen is mightier. An important friend to have and hold close against all misfortunes."
Chrysa smiles at the other woman "Yes, since I know who did send that someone... and where their head ended up." the smiles is not kind, a shade lethal, but she shifts it to resigned. "We play our parts, Annamede. I understand that." Chrysa takes the woman's hand "Chrysa" she know the other woman knows this, but by presenting her by her own name and not a title she gives her permission to do so as well. "Why do you stay here?" she asks after introductions "Your name is known... everywhere." her own theater in Shadowfall has put on her satires in fact.
Annamede looks over towards the royal tent, and seems distracted, but receives Naomi’s embrace, her smile tight, ”you embarrass me, Naomi. I am nothing more than a simple performer” And she composes herself. The woman has light brown hair cut in a pixie style, with a round face and a pair of stylish spectacles. She examines Chrysa for a moment, ”situations change quickly. Why was I here so long? Irovetti is, for all of his faults, a generous patron of the arts.” And quietly, ”a though his taste is notoriously suspect.” Her eyes flit here and there and says, ”if you will excuse me - I have some matters to attend to.” She bows politely and excuses herself, disappearing into the crowd.
"Your friend is interesting" the baroness says as she watches the artist disappear in the crowd, tracking her for several moment. "My favorite piece was on the dismantling of a single small village council. No figures of historical note, but each twist and banter was so full of scornful life it made one wonder if she really knew these people and what did they truly do to earn her ire to be turned into an immortal parady..." Chrysa muses silently, remembering with a soft smile.
Turning to the Naomi "The cheater proved to be advantageous" she says simply "The reveal of his plan laid the perfect backdrop for the start, an introduction to the actual introduction." her dark eyes look, then her head inclines into a nod of gratitude, keeping the actual verbal one unvoiced, now that they could be watched even closer due to acidic envy. "Do you have any activities that you would recommend for us simple Gliocasians and Fall folk? Before the joust of course?"
Chrysa gets a sense that people are reasonably content in Pitax, though there are questions about the amount of money that Irovetti spends on art and the grand academy. Most people think he has good taste and that he’s a gregarious and cheery leader, even if he is self absorbed. The taxes are higher here than elsewhere in the River kingdoms, with a little less to show for it, but he follows the River freedoms as far as everyone knows.
He didn’t found Pitax, of course, and most people don’t really know how he became king but he was a historically good boaster and does seem accomplished as an adventurer. Many of his advisors are less respected than he is, people seem to respect Naomi but the average person admits they don’t understand what she’s saying most of the time - Irovetti seems to like it.
She does notice that there is an undercurrent that sycophants and talentless hacks have become more prevalent, and the few folks she speaks to who seem to know about Art, taste, and propriety have grown increasingly disillusioned with Irovetti chasing new, frankly ugly styles as time goes on, and the frequency of his changes is increased.
Those same people seem to understand what Annamede did and expect her to leave before too long.
Senna keeps her ears open for interesting tidbits while she plies her trade. Sadly, boasting competitions don’t exactly inspire tattoo purchases
The baroness explores the markets with whatever companions wish to accompany, though the easy grace in which she moves shows she is not being guarded, just being accompanied.
She spots the tattoo artist and stops to greet her "How has the competition been for your business, Senna?" a simple question, a casual raising of an auburn brow.
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.
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.
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. 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).
5
4
2
3
Mila is first.
1st
12
24
24 vs CMD 36, fail
23 vs CMD 18, unseated
22
10
30 vs CMD 18, unseated
34
21
15 vs CMD 18, fail
19 vs CMD 25, fail
Try again
33
26
26 vs CMD 18, unseated
29
24
30 vs CMD 18, unseated
29
11
Natural 1 vs CMD 18, fail
23 vs CMD 27, fail
Two fails, go again
18
25
20 vs CMD 27, fail
34 vs CMD 18, unseated
21
20
18 vs CMD 18, unseated
36
12
natural 1 vs CMD 18, fail
16 vs CMD 28, unseated
22
7
16 vs CMD 18, fail
13 vs CMD 25, fail
Both fail
30
13
18 vs CMD 18, unseated
17
17
23 vs CMD 18, unseated
22 vs CMD 30 fail
22
16
31 vs CMD 18, unseated
17
25
16 vs CMD 36, fail
21 vs CMD 18, unseated
25
14
30 vs CMD 18, unseated
20
20
21 vs CMD 18, unseated
18 vs CMD 25, fail
35
17
30 vs CMD 18, unseated
35
33
33 vs CMD 18, unseated
37
26
32 vs CMD 18, unseated
31
8
20 vs CMD 18, unseated
21
11
17 vs CMD 18, fail
17 vs CMD 25, fail
Both fail
24
22
20 vs CMD 18, unseated
24
24
25 vs CMD 18, unseated
22 vs CMD 30 fail
31
17
30 vs CMD 18, unseated
The first two full rounds of the match are full of sound and fury, but signify nothing. While not every competitor manages to ride better, or unseat the Pitax warden on their first pass, none of the competitors are dismounted by the wardens - as each easily outclasses the guard’s martial ability.
21
8
19 vs CMD 18, unseated
27
8
27 vs CMD 18, unseated
22
22
33 vs CMD 18, unseated
9 vs CMD 25, fail
25
22
21 vs CMD 18, unseated
21
24
22 vs CMD 27, fail
33 vs CMD 18, unseated
19
18
17 vs CMD 18, fail
20 vs CMD 27, fail
24
26
15 vs CMD 28, fail
28 vs CMD 18, unseated
27
21
29 vs CMD 18, unseated
19
21
21 vs CMD 30 fail
36 vs CMD 18, unseated
27
17
31 vs CMD 18, unseated
In the third round, little of consequence happens again as everyone cheers on the competitors who largely unseat the wardens one after another. Irovetti seems to be getting bored and impatient, and he enlists guards who aren’t drunk for the next round.
14
24
27 vs CMD 36, fail
24 vs CMD 20, unseated
34
27
21 vs CMD 20, unseated
34
23
32 vs CMD 20, unseated
27
20
18 vs CMD 20, fail
21 vs CMD 28, fail
Both fail
33
10
16 vs CMD 20, fail
26 vs CMD 28, fail
Both fail
20
20
25 vs CMD 20, unseated
23 vs CMd 28 fail
18
17
26 vs CMD 20, unseatEd
28
14
31 vs CMD 20, unseated
18
14
32 vs CMD 20, unseated
26
23
19 vs CMD 20, fail
28 vs CMD 25, BRIANNEL unseated, first eliminated
20
22
18 vs CMD 30 fail
26 vs CMD 20, unseated
13
9
31 vs CMD 20, unseated
Sir Briannel is the first eliminated, which everyone cheers him for, as people were also starting to get bored.
15
17
24 vs CMD 36, fail
32 vs CMD 20, unseated
30
28
20 vs CMD 20, fail
12 vs CMD 30, fail
Both fail insanely
24
22
34 vs CMD 20, unseated
29
10
19 vs CMD 20, fail
12 vs CMD 28, fail
Both fail
25
12
17 vs CMD 20, fail
26 vs CMD 28, fail
Both fail
33
19
33 vs CMD 20, unseated
23
17
16 vs CMD 20, fail
14 vs CMD 27, fail
Both fail
23
23
17 vs CMD 20, fail
14 vs CMD 27, fail
Both fail
36
27
16 vs CMD 20, fail
29 vs CMD 27, damonjot unseated!!
28
21
17 vs CMD 20, fail
23 vs CMD 28, fail
Both fail
36
17
26 vs CMD 20, unseated
19
9
25 vs CMD 20 unseated
19
11
30 vs CMD 20, unseated
Damonjot is eliminated finally after a grueling duel with a warden, and the crowd becomes more boisterous as the competition this.
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"How has the competition been for your business, Senna?" a simple question, a casual raising of an auburn brow.
Senna considers the question more seriously than probably warranted, ”Overall, I won’t complain. No offense, milady, but the boasting didn’t spur my sales. Now, if you can convince that tall drink of a druid to pull more shenanigans, I could really turn a profit.” She adds with a hint of mischief. ”That man is money in my pouch. Other than that, the transactions in gossip are more furious than the coin ones, especially since the boasting.” Her pointed look at Chrysa lasts a moment too long. The lady of Shadowfall reads it as an unspoken amendment ... and some of the gossip was about you.
She immediately follows it up with an innocuous question, "Have you given any more thought to that tattoo we were discussing?"
"I have" the other woman answers, after a brief pause acknowledging the silent push. A push that impresses and confirms that Chyra's interest in the artist is warranted.
"I believe one's first should attempt a summation of self. A difficult task. So I have been thinking what that would be.
Most who see me immediately look to these..." her gloved fingers reach up to trace the wicked sharp twisted root like horns. "Wondering what I am. But I am just human, slightly cursed. Next they hear whispers of my past, the little girl bandit, robbing and killing with the best of them. But that was simple survival no matter the thrilling tale.".
Chrysa's dark eyes watch Senna, searching for what rumor has sparked the interest.
"Self might easiest be defined with what is most important to the person. And most would suggest the Fall for me, given what I have done to birth it." another pause, weighing "It is my will, my duty, my strength, but... My All is my family."
There.
A smile reaches her lip, some mix of wicked and warm "But for me ... Family is who you choose it to be, not that you are born with."
"Maybe my decision would be easier led by an expert such as you?" a not so subtle message of ask me what you will
12
15
15 vs CMD 36, fail
25 vs CMD 20, unseated
25
14
27 vs CMD 20, unseated
35
18
32 vs CMD 20, unseated
35
17
19 vs CMD 20, fail
27 vs CMD 28, fail
Both fail
29
28
32 vs CMD 20, unseated
22
10
23 vs CMD 20, unseated
13
17
17 vs CMD 36, fail
34 vs CMD 20
Nothing happens other than wardens getting knocked out, again, even with the sober wardens.
"I believe one's first should attempt a summation of self. A difficult task. So I have been thinking what that would be. Most who see me immediately look to these..." her gloved fingers reach up to trace the wicked sharp twisted root like horns. "Wondering what I am. But I am just human, slightly cursed. Next they hear whispers of my past, the little girl bandit, robbing and killing with the best of them. But that was simple survival no matter the thrilling tale.".
Senna brushes an imaginary fly from her face giving her the opportunity to subtly shake her head, conveying that rumor wasn’t what she had heard.
"Self might easiest be defined with what is most important to the person. And most would suggest the Fall for me, given what I have done to birth it." another pause, weighing "It is my will, my duty, my strength, but... My All is my family."
A smile reaches her lip, some mix of wicked and warm "But for me ... Family is who you choose it to be, not that you are born with."
That draws a raised eyebrow and a slight smile along with a curt dip of her head, indicating this was related to whatever rumors she’d heard. Senna laughs, ”Saying that is practically heresy in Brevoy, milady, where blood is the only measure of ‘family’ they care about. And even then, most families have their black sheep, do they not?” As if her next sentence should be discarded, she adds breezily, ”I suppose you and I might find some common ground in our thinking there. I belief in meritocracy, not aristocracy. And true friends are the family you weren’t born with. What did the poet say, ‘Friends help you move. True friends help you move bodies.’ ” The intensity of her metallic black eyes stand in contrast to her light tone, clearly speaking to the importance of her last comments.
"Maybe my decision would be easier led by an expert such as you?" a not so subtle message of ask me what you will
”I wouldn’t presume to guide anyone on their first tattoo, save from an artistic standpoint. It should be meaningful to the wearer – of course – like a ‘summation of self’ as you said. That’s an admirable phrase which I may steal. The marvelous thing about a personal summation is it can be for different audiences. It can be public – readily visible and easily understood, like a paladin bearing Iomedae’s symbol. Or it can be personal, written in the private symbology of our hearts. For instance, the whippoorwill you suggested. The meaning you ascribe to that bird would be hard to decipher. Is it a symbol of freedom, a desire for flight, your self-image, or a fond remembrance? Its charm is that it announces who you are while also protecting your secrets, should you wish to.”
”Some of my fondest first tattoos are ones whose meanings still elude me. One lady wanted an obelisk on a hilltop with a crescent moon behind it. I have no idea what it meant to her. A child-like fellow named Vincenzi or Vincent wanted a bat and wolf running under starlight. You just never know what you’ll be asked to draw.”
Chrysa gathers the hints, seeing a softening, or at least an understanding. She smiled at the bodies comment, counting the number of bodies silently in her head.
"I must give it thought then, since there is weight in the decision." her mind had already made up its mind, just hadn't formed a clear picture of just what symbolized it.
16
11
29 vs CMD 36, unseated
31
15
36 vs CMD 20, unseated
36
11
28 vs CMD 20, unseated
32
11
18 vs CMD 20, fail
15 vs CMD 28, fail
Both fail
28
15
30 vs CMD 20, unseated
22
26
13 vs CMD 30, fail
31 vs CMD 20, unseated
13
11
29 vs CMD 30, unseated
Growing frustrated again, the reigning champion Villamor orders that the elite guards be brought in to compete.
21
9
29 vs CMD 22, unseated
31
17
33 vs CMD 22, unseated
26
27
17 vs CMD 28, fail
25 vs CmD 22, unseated
19
29
26 vs CMD 28, fail
16vs CMD 22, fail
Both fail
33
20
32 vs CMD 22, unseated
22
28
32 vs CMD 30, unseated
Chantal is unseated
29
16
32 vs CMD 22, unseated
Finally, another person is unseated, one of the favorites, when a warden gets a lucky strike, and Chantal is knocked onto her back. Villamor and Irovetti seem satisfied.
The only two competitors left are Mila and Khristel Cotoio, a male human fighter from Mivon. Mivon, of course, is the refuge of the Aldori swordlords who refused to bow to Choral the Conqueror and managed to avoid getting killed by his red dragons. The Aldori of Brevoy tend to look down on the Mivon as ‘cowards’ in some sense, though something must be said for the fact that many historians consider the Mivon Aldori to have better kept the traditions of the swordlords than their distant cousins who stayed behind and bent the knee. The rulers are largely swordlords with the surname Aldori, and are all masters of the Aldori dueling sword, with the mayor and ruler of the small state being the best duelist, at the moment Raston Selline.
Khristel has his Aldori dueling sword at his hip during all the passes, and the young man seems to be a formidable rider with a lot of experience jousting, though perhaps less than some of the other already-eliminated riders.
The man takes off his helmet, his hair matted with sweat, and bows to Mila, respectfully, ”you’ve more than held your own, milady. You should be commended, but I won’t go easy on you. “ He wipes his forehead, ”my apologies. This is my first midnight joust, is it yours?” Like every other competitor, he seems genially soused, and the effects have not yet worn off.
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Senna takes Chrysa’s comment at face value. The rumors she’d heard about the Lady of Shadowfall ranged from interesting to quite intriguing - certainly worth private discussion. But, as she was technically on retainer, her comments were more aimed toward keeping Chrysa informed of the gossip rather than satisfying her own curiosity… for now.
The tattooist puts aside her needles for the joust as tattooing in dim lighting was a cardinal sin. Having time on her hands, she works her way down to a seat close to the lists, near enough to hear the competitor’s banter.
Cotoio’s condescending false-gallantry sets Senna’s teeth on edge. She debates (and is reasonably confident) that she could knock the strutting peacock through the stadium wall. But it would be a small satisfaction compared to the trouble it would cause her. She fumes for a moment before she decides to hurl some words in response.
She yells into the audience and makes sure it carries into the field, ”OY! Listen to that preening dandy! He’s done no better than her in any of the matches and he’s warning her? Sounds like all the tavern drunks who threaten to make the serving wench bowlegged and end up with their pants down in the goat pen instead. And even the goats don’t recall the encounter! Seems like the stiffest piece of wood he can muster is that lance! Go on, ya peacock! Let's see if yur any good handling your own wood!”
Chrysa does manage not to laugh outloud, just barely. Politics demand so much from a ruler.
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Mila watches the young man, wiping the sweat of her face as well. She might not be drunk, but she was still a woman, and after so many rounds, she was mighty tired. It also occurred to her that Irovetti put lousy jousters to face them just to tire them off before they face his champion.
"You are in quite a tough spot, aren't you, Mister Khristel?" She asks, smiling. "I unseat you and you've lost to a woman. You unseat me and you've only beat a woman." She shrugs. "Specially if you then lose to the unrested reigning champion."
"Anyway, I wish you luck!" She winks, before riding away to take her place in the list.
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The man seems confused about the exchange with Senna, and obviously embarassed, and even more confused at Mila’s response, ”sorry miss, I didn’t mean anything by that”, he mumbles, ”in Mivon half the swordlords are women? What are…?” he shakes his head ”no matter, the same to you as well.” He bows and puts his helmet back on.
He mounts his horse and wheels around to strike Mila.
The pair fail to unseat each other, their lances connecting but glancing off the shields.
Mila shakes her shield arm. It is heavy and painful. She is not going to endure it much longer.
The final round is exciting, as the crowd is on their feet when Khristel’s lance fails to dislodge Mila, striking first, and her own lance catches on a corner and knocks the fighter off.
Laughing, and shaking his head, the now only barely drunk competitor dusts himself off and stands up, ”Milady, you have the blood of a swordlord.” He bows, and there is a momentary interlude.
The barbarian, Villamor Koth is visible where he’s been stalking around as he watches the competition. He seems angry about how the competition has gone so far, but the enormous man (not as enormous as Armag, of course), moves off and heads to the stables.
The announcer begins their penultimate announcement of the games, ”a thrilling victory for Gliocas, setting up what was unlikely until it became inevitable. The bard, Mila Ekanheart, has bested the greatest riders in the River kingdoms, and the small, upstart country must now prove that its earlier success was not a fluke!” He smiles at her, and the crowd, and says ”but her foe in this matter is no ordinary competitor, it is Pitax’s own Villamor KOTH!” There is a cheer, but compared to the first day, it seems to have muted somewhat in the last few days, as the tide seems to be shifting against Pitax.
Irovetti stands up, and smiles cheerfully, calling out loudly without aid of the microphone, seemingly augmenting his own voice, ”fortuitous! A true competition! We are blessed to have a new competitor of this caliper, but it was a shame their illustrious leader, the lady Medvyed, could not come. She did send her best, though, and for that we can all be grateful.” He looks down at the competitors and grins. ”May the best man win!” He raises his hands, and putting them together, shakes them gregariously.
There is a cheer, and the announcer takes over again, ”for those who are new to the Rushlight festival, on the last joust, competitors are permitted to use their own horse, should they have them, but as always are not permitted to cast spells on themselves in advance. The final joust, the Midnight Joust commences in ten minutes!”
Naomi knows Irovetti well enough, at this point that Irovetti is insinuating something in his speech, some knowledge that he has which few others would have, and that at the moment - despite facing a loss in the festival, he exudes confidence. He seems to think he will win, or has won, something already.
His malapropisms usually crop up whenever he’s feeling confident and he wishes to make the others around him bow to his interpretation of what words mean, what reality means. He uses them to try to catch people who are not loyal. For the best measure of loyalty is subservient to the king over the truth, is it not?
Within 5 minutes, Villamor arrives on a horse much larger and stronger than a typical one. He is fully armed and armored, and his mount has chainmail barding. Somehow, if such a thing were possible, the horse looks at the party with disdain. Villamor tightens his gauntlets and rides over crisply, and from behind a heavy helmet, the hulking brute of a man says in a deep baritone, ”you won’t take this one from me, little girl.”
"Or woman..." She adds, between heavy breathes, to the monarch's speech.
Mila eyes bitterly at Villamor when he threatens her. The injustice of the competition overwhelming her, even if she knows that the results matter little now. She could withdraw. She should, for sure, withdraw. Why risk her life if there is nothing to gain?
"You are probably right, Villamor. I'm just a little girl. I'm exhausted after having to joust SEVENTEEN TIMES, while you are well rested. How brave of you!" In a fit of anger, Mila throws her shield away.
"You might win, Villamor, but I'm sure to make it taste hollow and bitter." With that, Mila turns around to get ready. No shield, for she knows it won't make a difference thanks to the strength difference between them. But she was way faster, so perhaps, just perhaps, she could still beat that a*%%+~!.
Villamor grins, ”is everyone in that dump of a country a noodle-armed egghead, or just the women?” He spits to the side, ”I know you’ve been using magic and trickery and I’m going to catch you, b+&&+.” He gestures rudely at her and then nimbly hops on his huge horse, also forgoing a shield.
Villamor enrages as he approaches Mila on his large horse, and strikes first, Koth’s lance aiming for Mila’s midsection with a quick slash that seeks to wound the bard
Despite seeming to miss badly, nearly fumbling his lance, he manages to control himself well enough to keep the tip steady, and he flicks it up towards Mila’s neck.
It seems Villamor Koth is aiming to kill Mila in one blow, and it’s only her toughness and luck which stays death’s hand. He seems proud of himself, the 280 lb brute bearing down on Mila, but the overconfidence is his undoing, as Mila’s own, blunt lance, connects with his midsection, and he loses his balance, barely, sliding off the horse onto his feet.
Snarling, he roars, ”cheater!” he fumes, though it seems not particularly borne of any evidence beyond disdain, and draws his Greataxe a moment after Mila passes, and from about 50 feet away roars, ”come on, let’s f*+!ing go!” He beckons from the ground, having landed on his feet, his stance wide, the barbarian seems ready for a real fight if Mila wants one.
But there’s a severe puncture wound in Mila, and it seems like the force that nearly kills the young woman was the only thing that kept her on her horse (beyond her boots which seemed to root her into the stirrups), as the sharp lance just went through muscle and tissue of her shoulder instead of knocking her off. She slows Tikroch down and wheels, around as the barbarian is taunting her on the other side of the jousting pitch. Despite the fact that he’s lost - he cuts an intimidating figure.
Curiously, Tikroch realizes that horse met his eyes during the charge, and the horse seemed to have a malign intelligence charging almost straight at Tikroch until the last moment, when it swerved out of the way. It’s almost as if the horse itself was trying to stare down Tikroch, to intimidate him.
The crowd has grown somewhat subdued and confused. Irovetti seems be watching carefully, leaning forward. Everyone is waiting to see what Mila will do.
"Cheater?" Mila asks, looking from the blood in her hands to the man. "You've used a lance with a metal point. You've tried to kill me... just because you were afraid to lose? You are pitiful."
Mila then opens a tear in reality, urging Tikroch to cross with her, and soon they reappear among the rest of Glyocans. There, she turns to the king. She knows she should stop, but such a close call with death has got the better of her reason. "So, King Irovetti? Does the actions of Villamor, the Coward, represent the honor of Pitax?"
Senna loudly asks the bystanders around here. ”I thought a joust ends when the loser is unhorsed? Does Pitax have different rules or are we just seeing a poor loser?”
"Your dog is off his leash, Irovetti. I'd thought you would have more control over your beasts than that." her voice holds a hint of disappointment, as if she actually thought better of the King than that.
"Rather poor form, if I may comment Your Magnificence. If the day is lost why sully our own reputation to back a warrior already rabid with failure?"
King Irovetti listens carefully as he watches the development, but his face and expression are only visible to Naomi. Handsome, the man raises an eyebrow ”failure? What failure is it if they cheated? I think it’s plain that only subterfuge could have brought Gliocas such success recently.” He studies her face, and his voice drops low ”no matter - between our armies’ movement and the new weapon that is almost finished at Whiterose Abbey, their victory will be short.” He smiles wryly”in fact, upon their return - they will find their capitol little more than a smoking ruin. To think a bunch of intellectuals could ever measure up to Pitax”. He turns away from Naomi after watching her reaction, and brushes off his pants.
A moment later, the king stands, and in a loud voice proclaims, ”Friends - it has been a great tournament, and my own people of Pitax have a competitive spirit which should be commended. In this case, while we all know Gliocas has resorted to underhanded tactics other times this week, I’m afraid that as judge, I can find no fault which would disqualify their ‘champion’.”[.b] He inclines his head towards Mila, and then turns his attention to Villamor. [b]”Villamor Koth, you struck well, but today is not your day. Stand down. There are always other times.” Villamor fumes for a moment before clipping his axe to his back, hopping back onto his horse quickly, and riding off without another word. Irovetti raises his voice again, ”such as the next Rushlight Festival” He grabs the attention back from Koth, seemingly entirely through his oratory, as murmurs go through the crowd and the tension disappeared.
He raises his hands, An awkward but eventually great cheer erupts and he and the master of ceremonies descend from the pavilion with their troupe of advisors and hangars on, and he claps as the Gliocasans assemble.