"A moment for counsel, then," calls the king in a voice pitched to carry across a battlefield. "Those of you with the knowledge of these foes, to me." He withdraws some distance from the cavern's entrance, his blue-glowing weapon still drawn and ready for battle.
Once those who know what the hell the devourers gather, he cuts straight to the point. "How dangerous are these things? Can we kill even one of them, much less however many come through that thing?"
Advice:
FYI, the stats for the Devourers are on the GM character page; those of you who rolled the knowledge, by all means tell them how tough these things are, and whether or not you think you can damage/destroy them.
Drily, the king comments, "Well, I can see we're going to have some lively politics in the future. Not that that's a bad thing; lap-dogs were never my style." He nods at Alysandra, who taps the spear-butt against the stone plate with a soft but clear ring of metal - to end the debate, yes, but also to call attention and remind everyone that courtesy at least is preferred. "I have no intention of ordering you about yet. I expect each of you to make the decision of where each of your team's members, leaders, lieutenants, and/or the bulk of your group needs to be. In general, though, if a person isn't highly mobile in the snow and sensitive - in whatever manner - to potential threats and issues, they shouldn't be in the scout group. If a person isn't fairly mobile in the snow, or not up to problem-solving, whether that's combat or in a more mundane sort of 'figure out how to break through a thirty-foot snowdrift' way, then they shouldn't be in the second group.
"If I could send the scouts out without weapons - to remind them that they're out there for information, not to fight - I would. Scouts are for information, not for handling problems. You don't have to make a hundred miles a day; twelve is just fine, but you're there to discover what issues exist for a few miles on either side of the road, so yes, you'll probably cover more than just twelve miles a day. Fortunately, there will be several of you out there - alone, in teams of two, teams of four, whatever, I'm not going to tell you how to do the job - so you won't each have to sweep an entire sixty square miles of travel. I know the value of having eyes in the sky, and I expect those people to be the very first to spot peculiar behavior or potential troubles. But the scouts are there to find problems, not solve them. Scouts are eyes and ears, not fist and sword. If it's late, and it's been an easy day of it, you want to clear a ridge of snow from the road or something, feel free - but it's not your job. Every night, you tally up what issues are where, and you send the list back to the second group. I'd like you to be off by ten tomorrow morning, so if you're going to volunteer, make sure you're here at the Citadel ready to go by eight.
"Now, this thing about diplomats among the scouts." Chalm's eyelids close, and he takes a deep breath before he opens them again; his expression at that point is extremely severe."It would appear that the meaning of the word 'scout' is not being clearly understood. The scouts aren't out there to parley with settlers; you make a note for the nightly message, and you move on. Don't stop, don't try to talk to people; you find the interesting thing, and you make a note. If you spot a big drift on the road, you make a note. If you spot a group of bandits, you make a note. If you see evidence of a monster prowling around near the road, you make a note. If you get attacked, you run away - and once you're away, you make a note." He falls silent, his irritation about the lack of clarity on the topic of 'scouts' clearly visible. "I trust I have made myself clear on the topic of the task definition of scouts.
"I intend to command the core of the second section - fifty cavalry. I expect we'll mostly be solving road-hazard issues, trampling the snow down into something we can get a notable number of wagons across. You leaders who are well-mounted, or whatever of your groups are so capable, are invited to be part of the section; I would appreciate being able to send out teams under your command, to take care of any significant active threats which the scouts might find, from destroying bandit camps to running off wolf packs to harrying trolls to their death. We'll get organized tomorrow, so unless you're going to be a scout, figure things out and get yourself here at the Citadel by noon tomorrow. And yes - save the magic for serious problems, like combat."
"The rest will travel and assist with the third, main section. A lot of wagons, a lot of civilians, a lot of organizing to be done in the next two days. Sir Pendrake has another fifty cavalrymen; Captain Croaker's infantry number a hundred. If you or your people are combat capable, I expect you to get together with them, Baron Vorwilde, and Princess Sarra tomorrow at noon to determine march order and sectors of responsibility, camp organization and security, and all the other very messy details involved in moving so many people twelve to fifteen miles a day for five days straight in the middle of Calistril. You have two days; make the most of it.
"It seems," he adds, "that there are still concerns about bandits. Between Sir Pendrake's cavalry, the Black Company, and the various combat-capable members of your own groups that I'd estimate are likely to be part of the main mass, we have I believe something on the order of two hundred fifty people with combat discipline. Once things are organized by Sarra, Oskar, Sir Theseus, Captain Croaker, and whomever else will be with the main group, I expect there to not be problems with dealing with a raid of ten, twenty, even thirty bandits at once. If they manage to survive the experience, then once we have time a week or so hence we can determine whether or not our prisoners are worth serving sentence. If they are, we have means; if they aren't, we have rope. And for those of you who aren't familiar with the Six River Freedoms, let me me remind you of number two - 'Oathbreakers Die'. Wearing the brand of an oathbreaker isn't a mark of honor there, it's a death sentence, and that will apply equally in Krádira - including with you lot.
"In regards to the general plan, we are first going to get ourselves and our people out of Brevoy by the end of the week. At that point - at least three miles south of the Road - we can pause a few days. We can then send out teams to do some examination of the territory, see how good our maps of the area are, locate problem points like goblin tribes and bulette territories, and figure out where we want to actually establish ourselves. I intend to stay close to the Shrike River, if only to ease water issues, but more definite plans will have to wait on what we discover about our new land.
:: Fake bandits and the time frame :: "I am not concerned about my cousin sending bandits to attack us; yes, if we fail he wins, but if we succeed, he also wins - and the latter is a more significant political boon to him, so he wants us off and working. The main penalty for us is loss of certain starting funds; the letters of credit are valid only after certain dates, and under minimal conditions - to encourage hard work on our part, instead of being lazy. The first letter requires our mob to be at least three miles south of the South Rostland Road by Calistril tenth." He gives Deneb a grim look of agreement.
:: Lines of communication :: "Communication, particularly between the scout force and the mounted, mmm, 'problem solvers', shall we say, has been my primary concern; my hope has been that between you people, you would come up with a way to solve it. In my admittedly limited experience with them, druids and rangers typically can convince animals to act as couriers of messages, so I'm hoping that that ... will be a non-problem."
:: Security of the children :: "While I am somewhat more concerned about my childrens' security, that has been handled." He nods at Coalhouse, who looks away in mock innocence. "Additional assistance," adds the king while nodding at Nimue, "would undoubtedly come in handy, but I'd prefer that most of you were on the active front instead of the defensive."
:: Real bandits, prisoners, and an invasion :: "I agree with the thought that there will be few real bandits on our course; few merchants are able to move during the winter, so only the most desperate bandits are out seeking them. I doubt we'll have the chance to take prisoners, but if we do, then prisoners they will be; we have a few dozen sets of manacles. Once we get to where we're going, they'll have the chance to work off their offence and become an upstanding member of our society. It isn't as though we're marching ten thousand soldiers into Mivon or Sevenarches, a month or six to the south; we're moving two thousand people into the sparsely-settled Stolen Lands." Muttering, he adds under his breath, "Which is an invasion by any stretch of the imagination ..."
:: Camp Discipline and Rallying Points :: "I will be taking command of the lead cavalry force; Sarra will be the final authority of the civilian caravan and camp, with Sir Pendrake as commander of her cavalry screen and Captain Croaker of the Black Company, which will serve as infantry protection and camp security. Oskar will be assisting her in this - showing her how it's done, mostly, but she'll have the final decision when it comes to options, including any actual discipline issues. Considering we're moving - what, over a thousand people - in the middle of winter, with people to find the problems, then people to make them problems no longer, it'll take some serious, bold, competent, and desperate people to manage to attack the caravan itself. Still, that's why there's a cavalry screen and infantry. The civilians," he adds grimly, "will undoubtedly be civilians if the fight comes to them. If they panic, run away, and get lost, the likelihood of them surviving long enough to rejoin us a day or three later is for all practical terms nonexistent. We will be the most significant thing anywhere near the road, a moving city; we are our own rallying point."
:: Melting Snow, Spell-Cast Transport :: "I'd rather not melt the snow; trampling it down will work fine, so let's keep the magic to a minimum. That includes spending thousands of gold on something that we really don't need," and here he gives Sylvia a long warning look, "when we'll sooner need that gold for something we really, really will need."
Bits and Bobs:
Achieving the long-range transport is like making rabbit stew: "First, catch a rabbit." The world is not rife with 17th-level spellcasters; Elena Comăneci as a 13th-level sorcerer is the highest-level spellcaster within a hundred miles, and that includes the priests. (FYI: The 67 year-old Rytier Kanamir Khavortorov, The Aldori, is at 16th level pretty much the highest level character in the entire south of Brevoy, and possibly in all of Brevoy.)
That having been said, spending 4,000gp to get a thousand people any particular distance - even, or perhaps especially, one that's functionally within a week's normal travel - is a prime example of The Adventurer Disease, wherein you lose perspective on the actual value of goods due to a relatively overwhelming amount of cash. You can buy a decent-sized farm - land, critters, buildings, and all - for the price of your +1 weapon; you can buy a good-sized manor house for the price of your +2 weapon. If you had a full-blown +5 Holy Avenger, you could exchange that gp value for four warships, and have enough pocket change left over to crew and provision them all of them for a year. While later on in the campaign I have no doubt you will be using exactly this sort of short-cut, at this stage it's considerably beyond overkill.
I also disagree - strongly - with the idea of 'it takes thousands upon thousands of GP to build a simple house' translation of BP to GP and the rest, especially since you can buy that manor house for 4000gp. In any case. That's a topic for a bit later on.
In response to the flourishes added by Darivan, Chalm nods slightly; he meets the eyes of each of those who give oath. When Zámoždom Duchovný rises in his turn to swear oath, the Sarenite speaks it flawlessly; the only difference is that he says 'my goddess' each time instead of using Sarenrae's name. There is a momentary silence as both Chalm's and Alysandra's eyebrows lift; the two exchange a long look, but then the king gives a slight nod, and accepts the priest's oath, creating him an Elector Count right along with all the others.
Coming at the end of the pocket orchestra's latest instrumentals, the acoustics of the Hall amplify the words - and the three-times-struck hard stamp of the heel of his staff against the stone plate - of the Lord Herald who, roughly three hours ago, announced each and every one of you. Even with that amplification, though, he cannot be clearly heard at the Hall's opposite end while people are still speaking, which is why Restov tradition holds for those closest to him to cry out, "Attend, attend!!" before falling silent themselves. The words thus ripple in a wave from the Herald's position, silence following, until a smack follows the raucous 'Attend!!' shouted out a third time by the Black Company Mwangan; his compatriot delivered the strike, resulting in a brief spate of laughter around them.
Now competing only against the breathing of the six hundred-plus individuals in the room, the Lord Herald's exquisitely-trained voice can reach out to everyone. "The gathered Swordlords and Nobility of the Free City of Restov, its environs, and its allies, are called upon this Oathday, Second of Calistril, to bear full and fair witness to the oaths given by various and sundry gentlefolk to His Royal Majesty, Chalm Kelsen Kowalskiy, by the grace of the gods King of Krádira --" He pauses as a murmur rises throughout the room, the name of the new nation having first been announced. The Lord Herald gives the crowd a couple seconds to settle, and bangs his staff against the stone plate thrice again when it doesn't do so. The strikes are enough to remind the people that he isn't finished, and he backtracks a bit as he resumes. "By the grace of the gods King of Krádira, and to witness their receipt of his oath in return. Ladies and gentlemen, please assemble yourselves within the Council Chamber."
It takes about fifteen minutes for the roughly four hundred nobles, Swordlords, adventurers, and the like to file into the nearly-equally-vast Council Chamber. The space is essentially an auditorium; on a four-foot high dias rests a long, slightly-curved desklike table with front panels, obviously for the Council, which faces the sizeable half-circle of the rest of the chamber. In the space before this table, still upon the dais, is a simple tripod-style camp stool, to which the King goes and sits. Between this rude seat and the Council's table are two other chairs, these ones standard padded ones, to which Sarra Marta and Tobias Jared are escorted.
Two arcing rows of moderate but sturdy desks are clearly where the non-Council Swordlords and Restov nobility sit; those worthies go to their seats, though in this particular case their students and/or guests are directed to chairs set up by their desks. Beyond the desks are another pair of rows, these of wooden chairs; beyond those are another three rows of benches. The half-circle arcing rows of the audience are broken by three aisles that lead from the center to the far walls; the stone floor rises a couple of steps for each subsequent row.
At the center of the room is, as might probably be expected, the classic oval dueling table upon which Cvetko Shevchenko and William Lawsrick so recently shed blood; it stands only a couple feet above the floor, three steps up from stone to freshly-sanded wood. Experienced Aldori know that while the table may look to be one solid piece, it is designed to be able to be taken apart for cleaning - just in case. Thirty feet long, fifteen feet wide, it is big enough to enable maneuvering, small enough to require a fight. In this particular case, however, there are somewhat over a score of chairs set up in three rows to which the titular leaders of each of the expedition's groups are directed; all others, whether the leader's lieutenants or more 'significant' members of the groups, will be relegated to the chairs - or perhaps the benches in back.
Most of the previous occupants of the Great Hall's balcony, fifty-plus soldiers in silver-trimmed blue, now line the walls of the Council Chamber. Only three of the Lord Mayor's Guard, all armed with swords, stand behind that worthy's position at the Council Table.
Once everyone is in and mostly settled, a copper-haired half-elf female in an elegant emerald gown (Alysandra Janus, for those of you who have spoken to her) emerges from the door behind the Council Table bearing an eight-foot war-spear with a single silver-trimmed blue battle ribbon upon it. With a deep curtsey of respect to the king, she holds the spear in both hands and offers it to him; he grips it for a moment, then releases it, after which she steps up onto the dais and turns to face the crowd. With the spear's ribbon rippling as she does so, she strikes the butt of the spear thrice against the stone plate, an almost musical chime pairing with the crash and revealing the weapon's mithral make. "Silence for the king!!"
Chalm waits patiently for quiet (which falls rather rapidly); Janus takes three steps backwards as the king speaks from his crude 'throne'. "Kráska - beauty. Diviť - wonder. Radosť - triumphant joy. These are what I dream; these are what I call the people who come with me to build. These are what will keep us to our labors to make the country we forge out of the roughlands and forests and plains; these are what I will pass on to my firstborn." There is a sussuration of sound as the social calculus of inheritance is swiftly recomputed amongst those who keep measure of such things - nobles, clergy, adventurers. "These things - beauty, wonder, and triumphant joy - are what we must consider, what we must desire and develop and produce, in all the things we do. In our towns and cities. In our laws and traditions. In our strength, in our justice, in our mercy.
"In our people.
"Kráska. Diviť. Radosť. Krádira."
The military commander whose honesty and iron resolve has essentially kept the peace of the entirety of Brevoy's western border for the past four years rakes his glance across the score-and-four who will follow him, forge the new nation with him. "You have volunteered," he addresses you directly. "Now is the moment. Your former allegiances - to nation, to group, to family - must be put aside. My dream must become your dream. Krádira requires your ultimate dedication, your devotion, your task, if she is to come into being, if she is to endure. If this is your wish, then swear your oath, knowing that its violation will be branded upon your flesh."
When he looks over his shoulder and nods to her, Alysandra glances back and nods to the two children on the chairs behind her. Both of them rise; Tobias brings forward a cushion that had been placed by his chair, putting it in front of the king. He takes a step back, and upon this cushion Sarra Marta gracefully kneels. Alysandra then gives a medallion to Chalm, who places it between his palm and his daughter's as they clasp hands; her other goes around his one, while his other is placed over the three. Alysandra then guides the young woman through her oath.
In a clear voice, the fifteen-year-old young woman declares, "I, Sarra Marta Kowalskiy, daughter of Chalm Kelsen Kowalskiy and Anna Natalya Lefstek-Kowalskiy, being of sound mind and without reservation, swear fealty of mind, body, and soul to the King and People of Krádira. I swear to bear loyal and true service to the King and People of Krádira, and to honor, preserve, protect, and uphold the laws, justice, and mercy of and for the People of Krádira against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and to bear true faith and allegience to the King and People of Krádira. I swear to faithfully execute the charges given to me, to protect and guide the people over whom I am granted rulership, guarding them in times of peril, nurturing them in times of peace, leading them in times of war, and governing them always with justice tempered by mercy, as the gods give me the wisdom to so do. This I swear to do until my final death, the world's end, or my lord release me."
Chalm looks to be almost on the verge of tears, but his voice is as powerful and relentless as bedrock. "For the People and the Crown of Krádira, and with the gods and these as witness, I accept your oath, Sarra Marta Kowalskiy. As your King and overlord, and with the gods' help, I swear and shall answer fealty with fealty, protection with protection, justice with justice, and oathbreaking with vengeance, until my final death, the world's end, or your rightful release."
Sarra, perhaps on impulse, bows to kiss her father's hand; he too bows his head to kiss the crown of hers. As they straighten, applause starts to rise; Alysandra tamps it down with three ringing strikes of the spear-butt, then takes the medallion offered back to her by the king.
"By my authority as king, I create you Princess of Krádira, and name you my heir. Rise, Princess Sarra Marta Kowalskiy, Heir of Krádira."
The applause that rises as the princess does is allowed to go on as the girl hugs her father. After a couple of minutes, Alysandra bangs the spear once again, and Tobias Jared takes his oath and is created Prince.
Once the children are through swearing their oaths, they will take their places behind their father, Tobias to his left and Sarra to his right, one of their hands upon his closest shoulder. Alysandra will then strike the heel of the spear against the stone plate, and call each leader up in turn; there does not seem to be any particular order.
The Oath:
All right, so that's the basics:
"I, [your name here], [son/daughter] of [parent] and [parent], being of sound mind and without reservation, swear fealty of mind, body, and soul to the King and People of Krádira. I swear to bear loyal and true service to the King and People of Krádira, and to honor, preserve, protect, and uphold the laws, justice, and mercy of and for the People of Krádira against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and to bear true faith and allegience to the King and People of Krádira. I swear to faithfully execute the charges given to me, to protect and guide the people over whom I am granted rulership, guarding them in times of peril, nurturing them in times of peace, leading them in times of war, and governing them always with justice tempered by mercy, as the gods give me the wisdom to so do. This I swear to do until my final death, the world's end, or my lord release me."
If and only if you are a sworn dedicate of a god - i.e. you are specifically sworn to a patron deity and you receive from that god spellcasting or other abilities which can be rescinded, e.g. paladins, clerics, dedicated druids, and suchlike - you will be guided through this variation of the oath:
"I, [your name here], [son/daughter] of [parent] and [parent], being of sound mind and without reservation, and excepting only my oaths to [god's name], swear fealty of mind, body, and soul to the King and People of Krádira. Should my oaths to [god's name] come into conflict with my oaths to the King and People of Krádira, I will go to my lord King that I may return unto him the titles, duties, rights, responsibilities, and privileges which he has granted me, that I may be released from the oaths I here swear unto the true and loyal service of [god's name]. With this sole exception, I swear to bear loyal and true service to the King and People of Krádira, and to honor, preserve, protect, and uphold the laws, justice, and mercy of and for the People of Krádira against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and to bear true faith and allegience to the King and People of Krádira. I swear to faithfully execute the charges given to me, to protect and guide the people over whom I am granted rulership, guarding them in times of peril, nurturing them in times of peace, leading them in times of war, and governing them always with justice tempered by mercy, as the gods give me the wisdom to so do. This I swear to do until my final death, the world's end, or my lord release me."
The only readily acceptable variation of either of these is replacing the 'son/daughter of parent and parent' with 'orphan' if your character doesn't know either of their parents' names. If you want, you can add fluff, pomp, circumstance, bravado, whatever you want to call it, but the above is the core of the oath; unless at least that is sworn, you'll get tossed out. The medallion which is clasped between your hand and the king's is an oath breaker's brand; this should be immediately recognizeable and apparent, and y'all should certainly be willing to so swear. (Note that this is the last of the 'do this or you're out' railroad.)
Each of you, for your sins, will be created Count Elector.
:: Bartek :: "Thank you, Master Yaroslav," replies Lord Mayor Sellemius. "Your service in this will not be forgotten."
"Skender Lazar," the duelist replies to Bartek, shaking his hand quite companionably. "Oh, the usual tripe," he adds in a resigned tone, sounding vaguely tired of the whole thing. "Contempt about his ancestry, lack of history, something like that. Honestly, I wasn't paying attention to it yet; Damian and I were busy being fascinated by the truly stupendous amount of gear stacked against the last pillar on the left up there." He makes a gesture towards the two staggered rows of mannequins at what is, by this point, the far end of the room.
"But around here, you can always get some fresh-faced idiot to call challenge if you insult his father or his House. Older students tend to get inured to such vocal idiocy and learn backchat and wordplay, only drawing steel if it's a challenge about the Art, but Cvetko's always been a bit of a bully. Truth be told, I hope this Lawsrick teaches him a lesson, but going by the fellow's armor, I don't have high hopes that he'll do well without it." He sighs, pauses to visibly brace himself, waits for the king to finish what he was saying, then wades into the fray ...
.
:: The Royals ::
One corner of the king's lips twitches upwards in response to that one simple, direct, and ultimately key question. "Is that what she wants to do?" His hand still upon his daughter's shoulder, his gaze and attention moving to Lyda, taking in the scales highlighting her eyesockets, the twin horns parting her hair. After a moment, he identifies her. "Lyda, Voice of Mountains. As it happens, I have three options available with which to apply to my children; either leave them in Issia - which, eventually, would mean with my cousin - and thus make hostages of them for my own good behavior towards him, or leave them in Rostland, and thus inevitably allow them to become either hostages for my good behavior towards them or else a casus belli, a cause for war, for my cousin to march in and reduce Rostland to ruins, or else bring them with me in the hope and expectation that they will survive, adapt, learn, and thrive."
He lets that hang there for a moment before continuing. "Should Sarra discover, in our exploration and establishment, that she has an especial vocation or talent of some sort, whether that is the mystic arts," here he nods a courtesy first to Amavin and then to Sylvia, "the martial," and he again gives a brief bow of his head to Lyda herself, "or the political," and his nod goes to Zámoždom Duchovný and a sideways glance at Alysandra, "then she will by all means be encouraged in that pursuit, for whatever length of time it requires her to gain proficiency. But the life of a noble," he concludes, "includes duties, burdens, obligations laid upon you by your position, not just choices and preferences of one's own. But this lesson ..." He pauses, then that twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips becomes a twist, black irony given a moment of form. "Well, 'tis something that more than a few will be learning a bit later tonight."
"Your Majesty?"
It's a couple of beats before Chalm turns; for those with any amount of political training, it's pretty clear he's not used to the whole 'your Majesty' thing yet. In the event, however, behind him are two individuals, one with a swordsman's air about him, the other the sorcerer Bartek Yaroslav, of the Swords of the Legion, one of the more organizedly-militant groups that was chosen for the expedition. "Yes?"
The duelist gives Chalm and his daughter a swordsman's courtesy, then straightens up. "Skender Lazar, student of the Diving Claw School of the Northern Schools; Dáma Tetyana Medvyed is our Swordmaster." He pauses as King Chalm frowns at him.
"Do I know you, Lazar?" asks King Chalm, sounding thoughtful as the group's attention turns to this new point of interest; the Brilliant Sword duelists that half-surround the group look particularly intrigued.
The man - late twenties, so you can't really call him young - hesitates, then says, "You spent a couple weeks at Skybreak a good number of years ago, sire."
Chalm scowls for a moment, then lightens back up as recognition dawns. "Second son of the house. You had exquisite taste in women, as I recall."
Skender gives a rueful grin. "She could charm a raven into singing like a lark, sire. I was a bit more on the buzzard side, though."
"Aren't we all. You were there, Sarra," Chalm asides to Sarra. "You were five or so, and ... Lazar, was it? Lazar here was a teenager, not much older than you are now, and spend much fo the time mooning over your mother. Your father still well?" he asks Skender.
The duelist gives a shrug. "Well enough that I can remain down here, not so well he can disown me for learning the sword in Restov."
Chalm barks a laugh. "Where have I heard that before. What can I do for you?"
Skender gives a brief nod of thanks. "Sire, a challenge has been declared against one of my compatriots, Cvetko Shevchenko by name, by Lord William Lawsrick of the Shivering Exiles. Lord Mayor Sellemius has allowed the use of the dueling table in the Council Chambers, on condition that your permission be acquired."
"Hmh. All right, convince me."
Skender glances aside at Bartek as if for support, then says, "Terms are to third blood or disarming, single sword only, no spellcasting or ally interference save enchantments already on the weapon, no coup de grace, and a healer present in case of serious accident. A healer has already volunteered. Lawsrick," he adds, "wanted it to be to surrender or the stayed kill, but the seconds ..." He shrugs.
"There's a judge for these things, right?"
"Yes, sire. Me, right now."
King Chalm hmmms, then glances down at his daughter. "What do you think? Should I allow it?"
Sarra hesitates, then says, "Can I ask some questions?"
"Of course," replies her father. "Best thing to do; can't make a good, informed decision with no information."
The young woman gives a smile, then looks at Lazar. "In your opinion, is there much danger of a, a, an accident? And what does 'no coup de grace' mean?"
Skender looks surprised for a moment, then thoughtful. "'No coup de grace' means that they aren't going to go out of their way to really seriously try to kill each other. Hm. I ... don't know Lawsrick's level of skill, my Lady, but he's using a pretty sizeable sword. If he's good enough for your father to include him, though, he's got to be decent. So I'd have to say that while an accident is a possibility, it's not an especial likelihood."
Sarra nods, her lips twisting slightly as she thinks, her eyes darting to the people around her, listening to her questions and waiting for her reply. "You're his friend? The other man, I mean, the one from your school."
Skender Lazar gives a sort of shrug. "That's ... not entirely accurate, but being in the same school ... we, um, back each other up, yes."
Sarra's eyes narrow. "I don't think that would make you a very fair judge, would it?"
"Well, I don't exactly like him," admits Lazar reluctantly, "but ... you have a point, my Lady."
OOC:
:: KS: Nobility 15, Diplomacy DC 20::
Skybreak is a county/earldom on the east side of the Choral river, along Winterbreak Bay in House Orlovsky territory, in the possession of a minor House.
:: Bartek ::
You'll be there for the last bit of Chalm's commentary, from about 'Should Sarra discover ...'
:: Lyda ::
To be honest, I constantly forget that you're a tiefling. Thank you for reminding me. :P I will try to be more distrusting in the future. ;)
:: General ::
I pause here to allow the rest of you to pipe up and come up with a solution. ;) I have at least three possible ones in mind, but hey look - there are PCs available to fix things!! ;D
:: Bartek :: "'Cover up'?" Chalm's expression becomes like a sky with storm clouds on the horizon, storm clouds which quickly roll in. "We do not 'cover up' blunders. We discover them. We admit to them. We deal with them. We learn from them. And with the gods' grace, we do not make them again. But we do not cover them up; that way lies venality, greed, corruption, and in the end, self-destruction. It is the covering up of blunders that has made ... " He clearly has to make an effort, but he also manages to not make a colossal faux pas in a most socially- and politically-critical place. "Situations," he finally says after a moment, "go from good to bad, and bad to worse. My apologies, Master Yaroslav; I have something of a reflexive reaction on the subject. Perhaps later we can discuss it in a ... less public setting. If you will pardon me for a moment ..."
And with that, he begins to make his way through the crowd, Kawaler Alexeyevich nearly materializing out of it to lend an ear and then cut a path (not literally) towards the side of the hall, thence to one of the smaller side doors.
