[WFRP2e] The Power of One - Part 2 - "Transire Benefaciendo"

[MrAbdiel]

The Power of One
Part 2 - "Transire Benefaciendo"

Chapter 1 - Oltre

You know well by now that a trip by cart to Verezzo takes three days - first by Paesa di Silo, then a stop at the Pigly, before reaching Verezzo on the end of the third day; and all along those days stopping at toll stations to be denuded of another handful of copper at a time. In the flying machine, that distance is conquered comfortably in a single day. You glide over the tops of the silos in Paesa di Silo, and they do not wave as much as watch in astonishment as your trio zooms overhead. And it might never get old seeing the toll operators staring up at the flying machine's wake, bewildered at the craft, sometimes shouting out what you assume is an insistence that you still ought to pay a toll. You do not, of course.

You touch down at the great intersection by the Pigly for a late lunch, and you meet Bolo Hempfire once more; the halfling proprietor amazed at the craft you've brought, which quickly draws a crowd of babbling onlookers from the bar; this early in the afternoon, they are not pickled completely, but enough to enhance their sense of wonderment and to allow Cestié an opportunity to puff out his chest and explain some concepts of aerodynamics that he knows no one will understand but you, and he. Bolo's boy, Rumpold, runs you out a tray of roast pork sandwiches and a pie for good measure, as you picnic on the hill across the road from the Pigly. However fantastic the flying machine is, Cestié is reluctant to leave it unattended. It's for that reason that, rather than stay in the city proper at the end of the day, the Signore picks a farm with a large barn on a good straight bit of road, lands there, and successful imposes upon the hospitality of the old widower who lives there to stash the machine in his barn and put you all up for the night. The fellow - a simple enough man named Rufio wiling away his remaining days in ease and comfort on a much smaller farm than the one he tended in his youth - is won over by the promise of Bella and yourself putting his kitchen to proper use, such as it hasn't had since his oldest daughter last visited six years ago.

The day after you are off again. The Signore elects not to fly directly over Verezzo - marvellous as it would be to peer down at all the streets and people from directly above the city, he does not wish to invite confused crossbow fire. And when you pass the city, and look back over your shoulder at Verezzo's Northgate, you are as far from Bella Collina as you have ever gone under your own power. Cestié points out to you when you pass a pair of hills below, with a toll booth on each side and a road between. This is where the Republic of Verezzo ends; one booth taxes people leaving it, and the other booth taxes those entering the Republic of Remas. Flying low over their mutually shocked toll attendants, you catch a glance of the flags on each; the familiar white field and four coloured rings of Verezzo, and the unfamiliar flag of Remas - a field of thick red and white chevrons, beneath the stern masculine countenance of a golden sun. You camp out one night in a field which Cestié tells you overlooks a historical battlefield - you see a memorial plinth in the moonlit plain beyond, and a small shrine.

"The Battle of Riffraffa. A awful day for Remans; the most shocking defeat to the Arabyans Tilea had seen since the old crusades. A raiding force of Al Muktar's Desert Dogs landed on the coast and ripped through the local villages, raiding and plundering, finally falling on and roundly routing the Reman defender host assembled on that plain. Supreme horsemen, you see; and it's no small feat for horsemen to master a host of pikemen. They have to be moving in many small units in coordination to sway the pikes to where they fear to receive a charge, only to receive it elsewhere. Terrible day for Reman mercenaries. Wonderful advertisement for Al Muktar, though; went on to fight for coin in much further fields!"

The day after that, Cestié once again manages to charm himself into the graces of a farming couple close enough to Remas to see its mighty walls, and towers. And just as well - in the barn of this charitable couple's home, the Signore shows you and Bella one of the wooden struts for the left anterior wing, and a fine crack along is length. "You see? Mm. The Stresses of such sustained flying. I wonder if we can add strength to these struts if we bind them up with twine, without adding much weight. Still, I'll have to ask you girls if you wouldn't mind terribly heading down to the city in the morning, and bringing back a replacement strut, and a big spool of bailing twine. It's nothing to worry about - this is the kind of thing we knew would develop, but we couldn't carry spares for without carrying a whole second flying machine in our back pocket. But there's nothing in the flying machine that can't be replaced in a moderately sized village, much less in great Remas, except the mithril gearbox. I'll stay here tomorrow and give the machine a full service - I trust you won't be too enraptured by Remas that you'll forget to come back with the parts?"

Spoiler: OOC Thread Hyperlink

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The OOC thread is here.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

And just like that, Bella Collina became a small dot in the rear-view mirror before disappearing entirely.

Up here one was given a grand, sweeping view of the countryside, the wind pressing against Taalia's face as her steel helm was snugly sitting upon her head. Behind her was Bella, her best friend who was smartly dressed in clothes that made her seem like some type of explorer which, in a way, she was. It was very likely that the mad creation of Cestie was the first powered air-borne long distance flight performed by humans over any significant mileage, and Bella, though not an engineer or contraption-minded, was a part of that. Indeed, when they had taken off to the waving adulation of the town, Taalia had felt the ground move away from her feet and the free skies open up above, and her mind returned to those crows she had spotted in the forest when she had first escaped the Skaven, squawking their hidden opinions to each other before taking off to soar in complete freedom to where-ever they chose. Now she too had been given that same freedom, and as the world became both larger and smaller far beneath her and the great open blue of the sky was her highway, the shepardess snuck a look over her shoulder at Bella and offered her a bright grin.

The first day of flight was thankfully uneventful. Though some might find it anti-climactic, Taalia was relieved. There were no problems, no torn gears or broken parts, no ignominious and sudden end to their historical great adventure that saw them plummet out of the sky to certain doom pancaked across the uncaring earth. No no. They had flown into the air, across the great blue and then touched down near The Pigly for one final little shindig with the halflings, towards whom Taalia was rather fond. She stood protectively near the machine, sharing Cestie's instincts of not wanting it to be left alone to the wandering hands of the curious, before they eventually settled for the night on the small farm of a widower whose final years now had this extraordinary story to share. Taalia and Bella happily put the kitchen and its ingredients for work, for as much their hosts sake as their own. Though a degree of rations had been brought along as supplies in case they went down on the periphery of civilization, it was the type of bread-like hardtack that one would prefer to use only in an emergency. Thus, when given access to a stocked cookery, the girls whipped up a large, shareable bowl of creamy, mushroom gnocci and chicken Bolognese with sides of fireplace crisped garlic bread.

It was a shame that they did not touch down in Verezzo. As they sailed past, but safely out of missile weapon reach, Taalia smiled to herself when she saw the patched up hole in the wall marring the face of The Tower, knowing that that had been her handiwork. That she would then land into the town within a unique and miraculous flying machine, two memorable events in one year...well, the might just think she was showing off now.

The following night was much more rural in their respite, with the group touching down in an open field that was flat enough to permit take off the next day. A tent was erected, a fire created with a couple of the hardtacks being crumbled up into boiling water and joined with honey to create a simple, but nice-enough tasting porridge-like meal that they enjoyed under the quiet stars of Remas. Heeding Cestie's tale about the Arabyans out-maneuvering the Remans in a legend-crafting battle made Taalia ponder about the situation, her mind asking questions like why the Remans didn't have cavalry of their own or missile troops that could pick the larger mounted targets off and dull their attack. Whatever the case, their failure had resulted in a dark day of defeat and further plunder of the land. Arabyans - Taalia had never heard of them. As if the pirates, orcs, goblins, skaven and trolls were bad enough, now there were raids by these Arabyans too? It certainly was an incredibly dangerous world. Taalia looked over at her guns safely stored on the flying contraption and felt a little more secure.

When the trio touched down again the following day and were in the warm graces of a welcoming older couple whom would host their contraption within their barn, Taalia was smiles and gratitude as always, offering either her own services for any tasks around the house (such as cooking, animal care etc) while Bella likely did similarly with her skills as a seamstress. However, the more pressing matter of repair and maintenance was soon brought to the shepardess' attention, as Cestie pulled her aside to display the crack on a wooden strut that had to be repaired, lest the next flight be the final chapter on their tale. Hearing what must be done, Taalia turned to look at Bella.

"Fancy a trip to Remas, then?"

Taalia would withdraw her armor from storage and don it. Following this, both her pistols were placed into their holsters on her hips, her shield across her shoulders and over her backpack, Daybreak sheathed, a dagger in her boot and Leonardo held in her hands. Taalia's angular face was accentuated by the steel helm resting on her crown, as she peered out from under the rim with her attentive, large heterochromia eyes. Next to Bella, she looked like a bodyguard escorting a lady of eccentric and indelicate attire.

[MrAbdiel]

As it turns out, she would fancy it very much.

* * * * *

It's a pleasant walk across the gentle downslope to the city walls. At the direction of your hosts, you head north first to the water and follow it on the well packed trail at the side of the River Remo. The impressive, broad river is the greatest you have seen; twice on your walk, a riverboat heading downstream overtakes you and precedes you to the river; the sailors on board almost slothful in the ease of the straight and easy charter.

Huge stone walls present themselves when you come to the city's gates; twenty men could not stand upon each other's shoulders and reach the crenelations, let alone the towers that sprout every eight feet or so along the ring. To your right, the wall becomes a great bridge high enough for even masted warships to go beneath comfortably, or perhaps be barred by some mechanism hidden in the walls. A number of ferry terminals along the river here provide a crossing that does not involve paying the tolls into the city itself; but that is much your destination. The guards are dressed in bronze cuirasses and scaled armor, with tall spears. Bella seems to recognize them at once, and seizes your arm excitedly as you crawl forward in the queue one person at a time.

"They are Ricco's Republican Guard - one of the most famous mercenary companies in Tilea! They played the heroes' role in the overthrow of Prince Mondo and the establishment of the Republic - the only other Republic in Tilea, along with Verezzo. But shortly after, they ran into trouble with the new Republican Council and Ricco was imprisoned in their prison Tower - then his troops rescued him, despite being outnumber ten to one, they say! They have companies that go across the world under 'Ragged Ricco'."

Spoiler: OOC:

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Mark off two scellini for passage into the city. Bella will pay her own two scellini!

Still, these brazen mercenaries and the great walls are not radically different from Verezzo. It's only within the city where the differences become pronounced.

Immediately, you can see so much more of the city because the streets are not narrow affairs choked with the stacked houses of Verezzo, but a much wider sprawl streets, shops, and domiciles mostly only one story high. You can see most of the city from inside the gate - or aleast, as much as can be witnessed up to the interior walls of the city which fence off the harbor to the west and the older parts of the city to the east. Still, even with these impositions, you can see Remas is greater than Verezzo - perhaps, full of a fourth again as many souls as that grand place.

"Oh, Taalia - I can't believe we are in this place! Can you imagine it? Two thousand years ago, this city was here - the Reman Empire in its prime, built upon the ruins of an ancient elven colony abandoned when their kingdoms left the world. Myrmidia herself was born into the world here, and united peoples from Estalia to Luccini. Buying the goods for repair should be easy - we ought to do so in the afternoon, so we are not carrying the goods around all day. But we can see a fair portion of the city, if we move with purpose. I insist we see the great Harbour - there is a market there we can buy what we need, so we can do so later in the day. But what would you see while we are here, Taalia?"

Having apparently walked these streets in her imagination already, Bella is able to give you some options of how to spend your time in Great Remas.

Spoiler: OOC: Options!

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You can squeeze in three of these great sights and experiences, with a visit to the Harbour at the end.

The Great Temple of Myrmidia: "Technically the high priestess still calls the Magrittan temple the heart of the faith, but the Great Temple is where Myrmidia was born when she walked the world as a mortal woman. They say they have the a relic, there - a great, stone egg from which she crawled as an infant. Doesn't it sound fantastical? But perhaps we could see it..."

The Temple of Solkan: "Solkan is a strange God - the Remans have upheld faith in him as the lawbringer and enemy of the forced of darkness for a thousand years, but I'm told he is falling out of favor now - but the temple! Look at it, you can see it from here, even over the walls - it reaches nearly two hundred feet in the air at the points of its spires, looking over the ocean. They spent three hundred years building it. Taalia, can you imagine? Three hundred years! How many generations of masons and carpenters went by in families solely devoted to that one building, who were born and died with the project incomplete, content in knowing they were part of something so magnificent?"

The Temple of Shallya: "Shallya's temple, too, is wonderful here, I am told. The heart of her faith is in Couronne, but the masterful Da Venzio painted wonderful frescoes in the temple which are still marvelled at as a wonder of the world three hundred years hence. There are worse divines from whom to curry favor that Myrmidia's sweet and gentle sister."

The Bridge: "The bridge at the mouth of the harbor is two miles long and over six hundred feet wide - the city's most wealthy merchants and political factors live there. I doubt they'd invite us in for tea - but it would still be very grant. And they have leaning towers that bend off the sides of the bridge like magic!"

The Great Coliseum: "You can't see it past that wall, but the Coliseum is over there! Build by ancients in the old Reman empire whose mastery of stone and construction we even now don't understand. Only Leonardo di Miragliano was able to oversee its reconstruction. And it is still used - we could catch a show! They have ogre gladiators, and all kinds of beasts - Oh! That reminds me..."

The House of Roars: "I never got around to visiting the zoo at Verezzo, but Remas has the greatest collection of exotic beast from all over the world; some for fights in the coliseum, others just for study and keeping. Signorina Vanvitelli oversees the house, and leads many of the expeditions herself. Even some tyrant lizards from Lustria - they feed them in events in the coliseum, setting it up like a jungle and letting them hunt bulls before the audience. I feel bad for the bulls - but nature is not kind... though it may be glorious."

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


The two girls walked across the verdant field towards the towering edifice of stone and mortar that rose up before them. Taalia whistled as if she had just spotted a particularly attractive man, giving her friend a nudge on her shoulder as she gestured to the perimeter of Remas. The imposing front only reached higher and higher the closer they drew, before the massive gates were towering over them with armed guards waiting with open palms for the fee to enter such a well-fortified area.

Taalia was surprised by Bella's apparent knowledge of Ricco's Republican Guard, her friend seizing her arm and uttering what she knew in a hushed, excited whisper. It was quite cute honestly, and when the two passed the guards at the door, despite the acquisition of her money, Taalia gave a tip of her steel-helmeted head to a couple of members of the famed mercenary unit.

It was then that they entered the city proper, a wave of scents hitting Taalia's face like a silk-covered fist. Immediately she could detect the hint of cooking food on small, side-road stores, but so too came the odor of compressed masses and horse****. But the few distasteful aroma's aside, Taalia grinned as she looked down the bright lit and broad corridors of commerce that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, which was a particular distance owing to the lack of multistory buildings.

"Oh, Taalia - I can't believe we are in this place! Can you imagine it?"

The Shepardess turned to her friend, a grin across her face as she put her arm around her shoulders and gave her a tight, affectionate hug. They were two disparate souls either lost or discarded by the world, but had found a companionship in each other.

"Yeah ago I did not even know such a place existed!" she answered, her voice a little louder to be heard over the passing throngs of people.

But where where where should they go?

"Oh, we must go to the Great Temple of Myrmidia and pray together for a safe journey! And the temple of Shallya!"

That was two, but where would be the third?

Taalia grinned.

"The Great Coliseum!" she shepardess announced brightly, becoming visibly excited over the idea of entering the grand arena and witnessing one of the famed bouts.

"I will buy us cooked meat along the way, yes?"




OOC:

Spoiler

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Currency:
37 durii
8 scellini

[MrAbdiel]

The Temple of Myrmidia

The Great Temple of Myrmidia is, you realize, an example of what the temples in Verezzo are trying to be - not just a monument to man's stonecunning and devotion, but an almost transcendentally wonderful structure sufficient to cause a blurring of the lines between heaven and earth. White stones form the majorty of the structure, with great panels of black stone where huge engravings will render a sequence from a famous battle with details picked out in masterful gold leaf, all over the interior walls. Titanic columns on the temple's inner chamber morph into likenesses of the goddess, such that there are a dozen incredible columnic likeness of the goddess holding up the top parts of their columns and thus the ceiling. They range in their states of attire and strength. Here, she is armored and proud, holding the column up in full strength. Elsewhere, she is younger, driven to her knees by the 'weight' of it, rendered in rags on the very edge of her power's end. You have arrived after some manner of service has ended, and there is no shortage of Remans moving about the building and gazing reverentially at one piece of art or another, conversing with the black and gold glad acolytes and priests of the temple, listening in as a lectionary recites aloud from a sacred text (usually the Bellona Myrmidia, but you see other similarly exalted texts on the shelf behind the reader - The Bellum Strategia and The Book of War).

Central to it all is a great carved dark wooden altar, and above it the artifact to which Bella is drawn with breathless fascination.

"Oh my... it's... what can it be, except...?"

Above the altar, suspended in a cradle of stone leaning from a twelve foot high arch of dark granite, is the relic. It must certainly once have been a single whole stone, too large for you to get your considerable armspan around; a grey, distinctly egg shaped boulder with the kind of uniform looking exterior texture one expects from a riverworn stone rather than one carved with tools. It has been split almost perfectly in half in a bisection tallwise, with enough gentle jaggedness to the break that your eyes instantly match the shape on one edge to where it must have married to the other when the egg was unbroken. But it is displayed open with the interior facing out to the room; and within the 'shell', after about ten inches of stone either side, is are the two halves of a small cavity which is not grey stone at all, but full of glittering, violet crystals that completely cover the cavity's interior. You cannot imagine this would be a comfortable conveyance for a child, but that seems like a problem for a goddess to navigate.

"The Cradle of Myrmidia," offers a young initiate in a black robe nearby, as he sets down a wooden ladder he carried in his one remaining arm; the right sleeve hollow, folded, pinned neatly to the shoulder. He smiles a little. "From this vessel, the goddess crawled in her mortal form as a mere infant, to be found and adopted by kind Reman goatherders - and there, through her life, to learn of suffering and fragility; and then, to teach of war, and medicine. It is your first time in this temple, yes?"

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia moved up the massive steps of the temple, the mere ascent filling the shepardess' with a divine warmth that prompted her to reach out and hook her arm around that of her smaller friend, Bella. Looking over and down at her, Taalia smiled happily, the giddiness of the moment getting to the tall girl as she barely restrained what she felt visiting this most sacred of holy sites with her best friend.

Lingering within the beautiful cavern of what she swore would be manes finest, most divinely-guided work of the temples innards, Taalia exhaled and went rubber-necked as she peered about and squeezed her friends hands. For a girl who was used to genius of engineering and architecture being directed towards the most evil purposes of the Skaven, to be in such a blessed and beautiful creation from mans devotion to higher purposes, was nothing short of momentous.

"Bella look!" Taalia would claim as she'd point up at a particular painting recreation of some holy figure, before "oh Bella, see?!" she'd gesture at another, before finally the pair were delivered by architectural design to the sacred relic that held the gestation of Myrmidia herself.

"It is your first time in this temple, yes?"

Taalia stared in wonder, her heterochromia eyes transfixed and her mind seemingly in a hypnotic gaze.

"Singora?"

"Singora..?"

"Hmm?" Taalia finally snapped out of whatever trance had gently held her attention, the towering girl blinking a little before offering a friendly, if goofy-cute smile.

"Yes, yes Singore, my apologies, it's just..." looking back at the pod, the violet crystals lining the within.

"I just..." she drifted off. A girl from another world arriving in Tilea, taken in and raised by humble farmers? No, any comparison was a conicidence, and borderline blasphemous.

"Yes, yes it is our first time here, Singore. We are traveling through from Verezzo, and wished to pay our respects at and witness the beauty of Myrmidia's temple."

[MrAbdiel]

"Well - if you seek beauty, then I expect this hallowed place will not disappoint. The goddess calls her people from across the world to this place; for peace, or wisdom, or to witness the beauty of it. And, given that Myrmidia's words are not accessible on the page to those who cannot read, the works of Tilea's artists past tell much of her story in ways even those with no learning at all can witness. Here, you see..." The initiate gestures to one of the pillages. The Myrmidia there seems younger; she braces the column above her on one arm layed across the top of her head, the other arm holding a young goat in its elbow and a herding staff in the hand. "...The young Mymidia, raised by gentle goatherds; at this time, she knew no war at all, for she spurned violence like her sister. But her parents were lost to tragedy; and her aunt and uncle who took her in came to hate her, and took every opportunity to spite her, working her dawn to dusk on their petty farm. And when she came of age..."

He turns his gesturing hand to another column; this, the one with the kneeling, and almost crushed Myrmidia in rags. "...Even these cruel guardians gave her away to a worse fate still. Her aunt and uncle gave her away to their local lord, hoping in gratitude he would ease their taxes. But this lord was not a kind man, and he subjugated gentle Myrmidia to greater indignities..."

His gesture moves on to another pillar, this Myrmidia standing tall and proud again, this time fending off the pressure of the column above on the flat of a round shield, a spear in the other hand held idle and close. "...Until she could bear it no longer, and took a ceremonial spear from the lord's collection, and struck him down. While not resenting her sister's sweetness, she came to understand that between the open hands of the peaceful and the good, and the claws of the monster and oppressor, there must be the calloused fists of the soldiers; and she henceforth never went about without a spear in hand. From there, her legend grows. Most know her only as a mighty general who united the southern kingdoms; but before this, she travelled and grew in wisdom. It is Myrmidia who discovered the elven writings in the ruins of Tinea; and submitted them to the cult of her mother Verena. And now, two thousand years later, all doktors in Altdorf and physiks in Kislev and healers in Luccini all learn their skill in anatomy from the drawings and text contained in those scrolls."

The initiate gives a serene smile. Perhaps he survived the loss of his arm due to having a medic who understood blood vessels and trauma from just those texts. It seems likely that the medicine Antonuccia learned was from the same source; and that the Madre Angeletta's surgical knowledge, while alloyed to Ishean herblore and natural medicines, must echo from the same source, even if second hand.

"I suppose I've had a long time to think about such things - but I'm still excited to see new travellers coming in. If you have any questions, I shall be happy to try to answer them. In the interim, don't mind me-..."

With one armed coordination developed through hard practice, he hoists up the ladder, and lays it against the stone arch; and then climbs up without hurry until he is beside the cradle of the relic. Leaning against the arch with his empty sleeve, he takes a silk cloth from his vestments and begins a ritual he must enact daily; carefully, gently, reverently dusting away any motes that would irreverently dare to settle on the stone and crystal of the sacred Omphalos.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Are there striking parallels? Yes. Are they precise? No, no... Are they close?
Well... Myrmidia had black hair, for one, so it's probably fine.

It's probably fine.

She's not Myrmidia; she's a very naughty girl.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia listened with awe in her eyes as the initiate informed her of the details of Myrmidia's 'mortal' life, her time of development and ingratiation into the society that adopted her with both displays of love and wickedness. The parallels to her own life aside - which were shamefully blasphemous to even broach - the shepardess let her mind wander to the cross-roads of the goddeseses own divinity and her mortal shell. That she were divine and heaven-wrought, yet required incubation in a crystalised chamber before further growth and development was curious to say the least, as one might expect a perfect being to already be formed as they should be, not a mote more or less. But...such a presumption rested on the gods being impeccable and infallible, which they did not seem to be. The Norscans had their own grim and bleak gods, the Empire had Sigmar, the Bretonnians had, as far as Taalia understood it, a Lady dwelling within a Lake and bestowing blessings and fortune to those who strove to find her favour, and here in Tilea there was the presence of Mor, Verena and Myrmidia, Taal and Rhya, a pantheon that anthropomorphized elements of life, helped to explain the facets of the world around them and gave men better natures to incline themselves towards instead of giving in to rapacious and greedy thoughts. Together they conceptualised death and the soul, knowledge and justice, industry and strategic conflict, fertility and nature, agriculture and mans connection with the wild. Truly, what else to life was there? Taalia had seen the...things conjured forth from the black and twisted relationship of the Skavens connection to the world around them (or indeed, the world they had created), that thing that lurched forth from the pit of corpses, blood caking and streaking across its features as it hauled itself from a tear in reality to foster upon its disgusting followers an euphoric call to spiritual arms. If a peoples gods were a mirror of their collective nature, then the Skaven truly were irredeemably unfit to exist in this world, however merciful individual members may be.

Ah, but that was the clinch, wasn't it? Myrmidia's story was not just her own - it was theirs. Divine and immortal as she may be, her developing years had been shaped by them, the mortals of the material plane, and eventually her scripture and virtues would mold us as much as we had shaped her during her formative years. Had she been given an easy experience during those initial two decades, would she have become a goddess hardened by wickedness and cherishing decency? Or would she have emerged as a much more care-free, happy and free-spirited soul whom believed in the best of everyone, a young, social butterfly goddess of drink, festivities and frivolity? If that were the case, then the gods were certainly not perfect, for a perfect being would be what they were, regardless of the environment in which they grew.

"I suppose I've had a long time to think about such things - but I'm still excited to see new travelers coming in. If you have any questions, I shall be happy to try to answer them. In the interim, don't mind me-..."

Taalia nodded, her heterochromia eyes still fixed on the incubating chamber before her, a sacred relic touched by the divine.

"Yes, of course, thank you Singore. May Myrmidia bless your path," she smiled, before turning to Bella.

"Shall we pray here together?"

Should Bella acquiesce, then Taalia would follow through with the appropriate ritual at the designated area. She prayed for safe travels, she prayed for safe preservation of loved ones in Bella Collina, and she prayed for Mymidia's guidance.

[MrAbdiel]

You and Bella spend some time in prayer at the Temple of Myrmidia. Bella isn't much of a warrior, exactly; but the love of Myrmidia is so universal in Tilea that it hardly matters, and you settle into an alcove beneath a fresco of one of the Twelve Battles apparently described in detail in The Book of War. There is no music filling the space at the time; but there is the surrussus of others in alcoves nearby at similar prayers, and that commonality unites you to your fellow Tileans as you cast your thoughts back to Bella Collina, and to the road ahead.

Spoiler: OOC:

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You can mark down The Blessing of Myrmidia as a trapping, even though it is obviously not a trapping in a physical sense. Once, you can add 20% to your Weapon Skill for one turn. Importantly, you can do this after rolling; so a judicious use might turn a post full of failed parries and missed riposts into a series of narrow deflections and telling hits. You will not gain this automatically every time you visit a Myrmidian Holy Place - first taste is free. But piety may increase the chances of receiving it again.

* * * * *

The Temple of Shallya

Shallya's temple is less of a monument to the enterprise of masonry while still being extraordinary and grand in its own right; a cathedral of white stone with extensive wings east and west so that the layout of the building is a cross whose crossbar is twice as long as the upright. But the 'short' run, north to south, is the temple proper; the wings reserved for medical sequestration of victims of various plagues and unfortunate injuries under the care of the sisters here. And they are primarily sisters; Shallya's initiates are strongly over represented by female applicants. Bella asks the question to one of the sisters as you ascent the steps, even as you notice a longer, curved stone ramp that leads up to the same entrance for the benefit of lamer visitors than yourself.

"There are men who serve the White Dove of Mercy, in fact; but they certainly fewer. There are some monastries, but they also are sent frequently for itinerant service instead of temple attendance." The very young initiate explains to you and Bella; a girl of no more than sixteen, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure the other, older sisters who are greeting visitors on the steps do not see as she leans in to whisper an addendum: "Most often men who declare a desire to serve in the temple are doing so for a reason less than a divine calling. And those who are genuinely called are though to be... distracting, for the sisters who serve."

Bella gives you a wry look as you pass by the sister toward the entrance. "Distracting... I'll bet."

But within, the temple is certainly the equal in beauty to the Myrmidian temple. There are fewer sculptures, and they are often rendered in wood instead of from stone; but every wall is a massive fresco depicting in startling beauty and clarity some divine event of healing, or martyrdom, or mercy from Shallya's historical servants. And on the ceiling is the greatest painting of all: the feminine form of Shallya, tastefully shrouded from nudity by dancing, untethered silks and spiralling white doves descending from a thundercloud sky like an angel of light penetrating the mortal gloom.

In stark contrast to all this incredible beauty is the human suffering that is drawn to it. The average societal stratum here is much lower than at the temple of Mymidia, and many of those visiting are doing so for immediate concerns - bandaged injuries, or pale fevered loved ones. The side wings are the sanatoria, but the smell of chemical disinfectant and herbal incense is strong here, drowning out less pleasant medical smell that crowd to the edges of the temple. At the rear of the temple, positively mundane compared to all the human created art, is a tall, finely wrought aviary cage containing hundreds of white doves, nests for them to brood in, hewn limbs from trees for them to perch upon. The cage is open at some places towards its top, and the doves seem to come and go as they please. It might be considered a sort of miracle that the birds are not, infact, caking every perchable surface in the temple with their own heartfelt offerings.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

In addition to any impressions Taalia might have, give me a Perception test. +0%.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


"Distracting... I'll bet."

Taalia smirked knowingly in response to Bella's cheeky little bit of sarcasm. The girls had spent many nights together drinking wine, practicing their singing and cooking food as they gossiped about the town, spoke about their days and shared inner thoughts that only close friends would convey. As such, the shepardess had a bit of a better insight into her friend than anyone else would, and so when Bella asked her little question, the white-haired former slave smirked and rolled her eyes, until snickering softly at her wry little quip.

"Thinking of applying?" Taalia whispered in jest to her friend as they ascended the marble steps, before the girls eyes were drawn to the beautifully illustration commemoration that occupied the entire canopy illuminated above.

"Ohhh, Bella..." she uttered in an excited whisper, "...to be able to paint ones devoted soul in such a way..." she uttered, shaking her head in disbelief and reverence for the sheer craftsmanship required to not only devise such a monument but to conjure it into existence across the expansive, cavernous roof. Indeed, to even stand before the sculpted and painted magnificence was to almost feel small, tiny and insignificant, that no matter what one did they could never reach such heights as to even be considered worthy of standing before and basking in the heavenly glory that gazed down upon her across the luminous ceiling.

But, there was another sensation. Another emotion that dispersed across her body from the core of her soul: awe. Inspiration. This was not an imposing, concrete mountain designed to cower and demoralise onlookers into obedience. No, this was a rampart of upliftment, a cathedral to the mother of mercy and her serene ways that brought relief with a touch and cures to the ailments that had struck down a mans body or spirit. That was the difference. Other gods glared and intimidated followers into obedience. Myrmidia and Shylla, as per their sacred sites, offered forth guidance and inspiration. It was a subtle but powerful single degree of difference that would cast a great influence over any journey.

In many ways it was a distinction that was draped across the mantle of their own adventure to Nuln and Altdorf. Theirs was an expedition founded on optimistic pursuit of dreams and adventure, and though Taalia was not naïve enough to believe that there would not be trying and difficult times ahead, it was a frame of mind that differed significantly from one who put their first foot on the road and had the lure of money and women to compel them.

"Come, show me how to pray to Shallya," Taalia whispered to her companion. If Bella was not familiar with the personal rituals, then the shepardess would politely attract the attention of an initiate who could demonstrate the means through which one offered whispered invocations to the celestial patron of the temple.

[MrAbdiel]

Bella is pleased to teach. She knows a peasants' prayer for most of the divine family - Old Father Morr, master of death and dreams; Verena, mistress of justice is truth; their world-weary and hardened daughter Myrmidia, and her gentle and balming sister Shallya. Ishea and Karnas, too; but it is clear Bella's favorites are that quartet of classical gods even if she bears a wary respect for the earthier gods of field and forest. Many of Verena's prayers, as you've learned, are long and verbose for the sake of fullness and clarity. In the prayerbook you've read, most prayers are built around the third and second person neglecting the first - (Verena, place your blessing upon his home) - anticipating literate acolytes or laypriests praying over those who cannot read those prayers and haven't the afforded time to memorize them. The Shallyan prayers that Bella has committed to memory, some of which are rendered in framed parchment on the walls in large clear letters, are first-to-second person (Shallya, may your blessing fall upon my home). They are smaller, simpler, and recited three times. And in this case, they have tactile and material component s that Verena's, and Myrmidia's do not.

Bella prays with her wrists crossed in front of her stomach, palms up and fingers together so the blades of her hands form 'wings'' and the crossed thumbs a 'neck' in the likeness of a dove. She also guides you to the cage of doves, for the purchase of an intercessore. This is a prayer combined with an offering, of sorts; Bella purchases one of the pretty, and very tame white doves from a handler for a single silver piece, returns with it sitting pliantly in her palms to the alcove of prayer you occupied before, and offers a short prayer over it before whispering to the dove the name of someone to whom she is seeking to direct the goddess's particular merciful attention.

"Polo de Mirici, Clerk Guildsman of Bella Collina." You think back on Polo, whose gave up his hands to blade and bludgeon in the battles against the pirates and in doing so clawed back to himself a modicum of his honour as a man to be relied upon in combat. He had walked through canonfire like the rest of you, and Andreotto's fire magic had poured courage into him, enough to find his own. You had fought both in that grevious combat, and also exhaustingly in the aftermath to save lives, and limbs; Polo's hands among them. The last time you saw him, the wounds were closed and healing well; but they were not yet safe from late infection completely. So Bella releases the dove, or rather launches it with a generous upward toss; and it takes to wing, circles the interior of the temple, and then flies out one of the high windows into a shaft of sunlight and the sky beyond, presumably to deliver this prayer directly to Shallya's ear.

A cynic would find such a ritual foolish. For one, it is clear that the same doves purchased come flying back in some time later to their handlers, are rewarded with feed, and placed back in the cage. In this way, people wander in and give money to the Shallyans a bird they don't even get to eat, and then give it back for free. It's almost a rental. Furthermore, there does not seem to be an absolute value to these birds. While you are there, you witness both a wealthy looking young man and the paramour on his arm purchase thirty of the doves in display of ostentation; and unless his extended family is struck with plague or he is an uncommonly thoughtful and caring fop, he has not invested in each of these birds an individual task. The duration of the prayer seems much like Bella's, so perhaps this mighty armada of avian angels carry between them a single very important name. Not long after that, a coalition of fourteen ragged and shabby beggars shuffle in together with a comfort that suggests they are used to the routine; and they scrape together from their collective pockets enough copper to sum to a scellini and a single dove among them. They huddle over it together for a long time with one of the initiates holding it for them (they seem almost ashamed of their dirty hands and definitely reluctant to stain the bird in some way, opting instead to make the prayerful dove-hands for the duration). They confer quietly long enough that, when this dove is launched, you half expect it to stumble and strain through the air with the over abundance of prayers heaped onto its feathery flanks.

"If the gods aren't able to tell which supplicants are making meaningful sacrifice and which are giving only a miser's share, then they can't be all that godly, I suppose. And the money they collect must be essential for their charity and medicines, I have come to figure. Oh - I'll get another, while we're here. For Ernesto."

As Bella slips off to buy another dove, you continue to take in the temple - but your eyes are drawn to a group of young men who make their way into the temple helping a shuffling, heavy set older man who leans on the young men with one arm and holds his gut with the other. They make their way to an alcove featuring a plaster sculpture of the goddess; a bust with arms additionally features, with hands crossed in the dove pattern. The young men and their older friend array themselves around the alcove obscuring it from view; and your instincts tell you that something about they way they meaningfully array themselves in an overlapping line so no one can see past them is an action performed with forethought.

In just a couple of minutes, as Bella is returning bird in hand, your suspicion is vindicated. Prayer complete, the young men begin helping their shuffling friend away... With a small change. The image is not the same as it was before they got to it; instead of Shallya's palms open and flat in supplication, they are upright; with pinky and ring fingers tucked down, index and middles crossed. Since no man is capable of altering a plaster rendition after it has been set, you can only imagine the fellows smuggled in this admirable quality of imposter under the 'sick' man's robe, perhaps braced by his arm; and are taking the original out the same way.

It's a strange theft. For one, it's a plaster figure; not a gold or even wooden one. If its value can be measured in gold, it is no more gold pieces than can be counted on the upright fingers of the imposter-image's hands. Secondly, the arrangement of fingers seems meaningful. You've seen that before - on your longest held possession in this world, not counting the crooked knife you pulled from your back as you fled to the surface. The little snarl of plant roots that looked to you like a hand with its five fingers in just this arrangement is still with you; and now, you see it again; brought to bear by six mischievous fellows who are about to get away with an incredibly petty heist indeed.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Ignorant, but well-meaning Taalia self-consciously watched her friend and attempted her best to mimic the movements of the ritualistic prayer that they were both offering to the gentle and merciful Goddess of the temple. Her efforts were mostly on point and followed through, but there were a few instances where her replication were less than impressive. One such occurrence arose when the time came to perform the requisite hand signal, the shepardess looking at Bella's interwoven fingers and attempting to do likewise, only for her hands to mix and mash together in an ever more convoluted serious of gestures that might have earned a stifled snicker from her friend. Visibly growing irritated, Taalia narrowed her eyes and grunted softly in frustration before simply holding up her hands before her, palms facing her, and crossed them past each other until her thumbs met. Seeing the general shape of a...bat? Something with wings, Taalia brought it down into her lap, rose her flanking sheet of fingers, pricked her thumbs upwards and smiled once and nodded in satisfaction that she had mostly managed to replicate this divine signal.

However, when the four youths and their portly, older ringleader attempted their theft, Taalia had actually been considering offering the small crowd of hobo's a gold coin. This temple was a sacred realm of mercy and charity after all, but the girl couldn't help remember back to her time in the Oxen Quarter of Verezza and how her efforts to provide some respite to the less fortunate only seemed to attract more people who felt themselves worthy of her charity and extended their hand with an open palm to receive as such. The experience had been...conflicting for Taalia, to say the least. Conflicting in that she genuinely wanted to give assistance to those who needed a helping hand from those around them, much as she had when she had emerged from the Skaven Under-Empire, and those who were merely lazy or lived in a fantasy world of victimhood where their poor situation was everyone else's fault and if they were just simply handed some money then they would absolutely spend it wisely and all would be better for it. The problem was discerning between the two groups, for the latter could easily string together some sob story that would pull at the heart-strings and camouflage them as a member of the former camp.

Perhaps it was better if she did not intervene with coins, Taalia thought to herself. Besides, the group had managed to cobble together enough of a donation to purchase the favour of a single dove. Surely the gods would see into the hearts of those gathered and be able to separate the deserving from the freeloader.

It was then that Taalia spotted the theft taking place, her mind needing to undergo several reverse-steps to make sure what she was registering was truly what was taking place. Surely this group were not stealing from a holy site like this? And from a goddess of mercy and healing?! A group of homeless beggars went to the trouble of pooling their resources and handing it over to the church in return for just a sliver of divine mercy, yet here these four arrogant bastards were in an act of blasphemous desecration for their own petty gain?! The longer Taalia beheld this ruse the more her blood boiled, and it was only a mental reminder that this was holy ground that stayed her gloved hand from moving to the hilt of her sword, drawing it and screaming bloody thievery.

Plus there was something about the silhouette the new fingers of the statue created, something about it that drew Taalia's mind years back in time to that oddly shaped root she had discovered by the river in the first twenty four hours of her freedom...

Pursing her lips, Taalia started to move, her trajectory carried by her long legs that ensured she managed to intercept the men and place herself between them and the temples exit.

"Excuse me, Singores?" Taalia spoke, wearing that bright smile of hers, despite carrying two guns on her hips, a sword, a shield, clearly wearing mail armor, a steel helm upon her head and a blunderbuss over her shoulder - she had a winning, infectious smile.

"I am a traveler through these parts, and I am starting a tradition where I offer respect to the gods with the locals of every place I visit. Would you fine singores do me the honour...?" she started, before her eyes moved over to the nearest initiate, or group there-of.

"Singora? Singora?!" Taalia spoke, projecting her sonorous voice to gain their attention.

"These men have said they wish to pray with me, would you please come over here and lead us in procession?"

OOC:
Readying her action to draw her blunderbuss on the group if they try to make a run for it.

[MrAbdiel]

"Oh, ah, that's not -"
"Bless you, but -"
"Really, we can't-"

They struggle to object without drawing attention to themselves, flustered and falling over themselves; but when you call over a sister of mercy they deflate and look despondent. Your readiness to produce a weapon immediately feels overguarding; when discovered by the sister, the crew of miscreants adopt the demeanor not of thugs backed to a wall, but children caught in the act of dipping a finger into the honey jar.

"What is - Oh! Giuliano Mancini, you ribald sneak! What did you do? Undo it at once!"

The middle aged Shallyan seems to recognize the older man, and immediately charges up with a wagging finger and scolding attitude."

"Ah, ah, alright, alright; peace, peace woman! No harm, no harm." The younger men glower at you, having spoiled their fun; and get about undoing what they have done. The 'fat' man, not fat at all but indeed clutching the sculpture under his cassock with a cushion over it, releases the Shallyan likeness from his keeping and the young men place the original article back, taking the false one back. "Very well, Ambra. Just a jest, of course; I suppose we'll take this one and have it smashed so you needn't fear our toothless humor again."

"That's Sorella Ambra to you, you... you cheeky man! Man of such... such cheek! And you can't destroy it, it's a likeness of Shallya, however unfortunate you have rendered it for you deed. Leave it behind!"

Giuliano has found his mood again, and begins wheeling and dealing. "Well, now you're robbing me. You can buy it, if you like. Say - five scellini, at such a discount considering our history."

Sorella Ambra is on the prettier side of middle age, but her face flushes red and her blue eyes nearly bug out of her head when he makes this pitch. "You scoundrel! I will pay you for it in the medium of not having you dragged up a tower and flogged for your ceaseless, petty blasphemies! Get out, get out!"

She starts pushing at him; shorter and weaker and not at all made for battle, her ferocity is much like that of a small dog that, confronted by a larger dog, seems unaware that it is small. But the ribald cheeker raises his hands in surrender, laughing gently and encouraging his confederates to keep their chins up as he allows himself to be chased out of the temple. Sorella Ambra returns to you, composing herself, looking down at the cross-fingered imposter statue left behind; and then up to you, and Bella clutching the dove by your side. "Well... Thank you, signorinas, for spotting them in the act. I suppose we'll just have to put this... Erm.. In the back."

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the motely crew as they squirmed on the spot at her apprehension of escape. It was clear to any of them now that she knew. But what she didn't know was the frat-boy like innocent and playful nature of their thievery, clearly intended as mischief rather than self-serving enrichment.

Indeed, when the initiate drifted over with her diminutive stature containing within it the heart of a lion, Taalia covered her mouth with her right hand and stifled a laughter into it. Her demeanor noticeably softened, going from judicious to merely entertained as she watched the little charade unfold before her. When the fellows were leaving, Taalia had a smile across her face as if she were a class-mate tut tutting a chastised class clown, but finding the antic amusing nonetheless. She even snuck a look over at Bella, her cheeks now brushing a soft shade of red as she shook her head a little.

"Singora, singora..." Taalia gently grabbed the attention of the initiate, a bewildered smile across her face.

"Please, explain, who were they? Why such scallywagery?"

[MrAbdiel]

The sorella huffs, and gestures to the false statue once more helplessly, then forces a hospitable smile to answer your question. "Oh, just Giuliano Mancini and his Ranaldites. They do this nonsense often enough out of their own idiot piety; mostly here over other temples because they know if they tried this business in Mymidia's temple, they'd be lucky to come out with enough fingers left to cross."

"Ranald's work?" Bella asks, as curious as you in this matter, "I fear I'm too provincial to know much of Ranald at all, sorella. Is he to be... feared?"

But the sister waves the idea away with one hand. "No, no... Scorned, perhaps; but not feared. Ranald is the lord of scoundrels, and sneakers, and the downtrodden who most need to appeal to fortune. Naturally, that is a wide swathe of humanity. There are gentleman pickpockets, and striving beggars, and professional crime lords, and merry travelling do-gooders who all give homage to Ranald; and having no real temples or episcopate, no one exists with authority to gainsay who is 'really' serving him. But most of my time dealing with Ranaldites has left me with the impression that they are generally good, if on the rougher side of good. They like to antagonize our temple like young boys pull the girls' hair out of idiot affection. Shallya, after all, is the reason Ranald is a god. Or so they say. The legends vary. There are two gods who have known mortal lives; three, if you are generous. If you are inclined to consider the moustache-men of the Empire, they have their God, Sigmar, who fought befriended the dwarves and fought a great war against orcs, and drove the Norscans into Norsca, and did many deeds, so they say; and as reward, his god, Ulric, raised him up to glory. Of course, you can go to Luccini and find they worship Lucan and Luccina; many tribes worship their ancestors as gods, but few have an Empire and a record of miracles to back it, like Sigmar does. But Sigmar was a man, who became a god by deeds. And Myrmidia was a goddess who became mortal by choice to gain wisdom, lived, and then died; and the tears of her sister Shallya falling on her face restored her to divinity. But Ranald's legends say he conducted some ruse to gain Shallya's attention, feigned a suffering death, and when she came to weep for his death, he drank up her tears and stole a morsel of godhood for himself. Other stories say he caught her in a trap where she raised him to godhood to avoid marrying him; and there's another where he wins godhood from Morr in a bet, by making the old man smile. But whatever tale it is, Ranald is also sliding into the pantheon of mankind on his rump before the curtain can fall; and usually, Shallya's kindness and generosity is exploited for it."

The sorella looks back at the statue, vexed. "...And now I have this; with Shallya's face, so I can hardly destroy it; but with Ranald's sign, so I can't honor it. Is this the joke? Hrmph..." She rubs her temples, and calls a favor from a couple of temple-goers to carry the statue to storage for her.

Bella looks to you, as the scene returns to its placid equilibrium. "I should like to see what temples there to the foreign gods, in the places we go. Sigmar, in the Empire; and Ulric too, though I understand his and Myrmidia's are rival priesthoods. Bretonnia has their Lady, too - though I am not sure which Lady she is, whether she be Shallya or some other. The elves have all their own gods, too; and the dwarves. I wonder if halflings have gods. And I wonder if their gods rely on the human gods, like the halflings themselves."

The dove in her hand coos. The seems to have forgotten it, until it does. "One more prayer, and then the Colosseum?"

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia snickered, shook her head and rolled her eyes when she learned more about this 'Ranald' fellow, and the plethora of his followers, from miscreant to loveable rogue. It seemed odd that such a deity would attract a base of worshipers that were so different in their philosophical or personal outlook on life. Myrmidia, Verena and Morr were rather self-contained and structured. You wouldn't find a crime lord worshiping Myrmidia with some weak excuse that his strategical dealings were the purview of a godess such as she. But yet, that'd what Ranald cleaved unto himself; a band of adherents who could be entertaining and likeable swashbucklers, to petty thieves to even more dark-hearted and sinister individuals that looked out only for themselves. When Taalia had earlier considered deities being an anthropomorphic reflection of the virtues that a society venerated, perhaps Ranald was in a similar avenue, only his mirror was on an individual rather than collective scale. That way, even the do-gooder wanderer and the callous thief could see themselves within him. Maybe this was a warning? Those who failed to gatekeep the virtues of a deity risked them becoming so diluted that anyone could claim membership with any weaselly rationality.

"I should like to see what temples there to the foreign gods, in the places we go. Sigmar, in the Empire; and Ulric too, though I understand his and Myrmidia's are rival priesthoods. Bretonnia has their Lady, too - though I am not sure which Lady she is, whether she be Shallya or some other. The elves have all their own gods, too; and the dwarves. I wonder if halflings have gods. And I wonder if their gods rely on the human gods, like the halflings themselves."

Taalia smiled at her friend, "we'll offer prayer and tokens at a shrine for each!" she pledged collaboration with Bella's quasi-pilgrimage.

"One more prayer, and then the Colosseum?"

The Shepardess nodded, hooking her arm with Bella's in agreement with her plan.

"I'll shout you a tender shank for the stadium!"

[MrAbdiel]

The Colosseum

A tremendous work of stonecraft and engineering insight, the Colosseum is another of those works that must have taken more than the lifetime of its inceptors to build. Indeed, if the stories are true, then it escapes builders even today how it was constructed in the first place; only the legendary Leonardo di Miragliano able to compose and execute a plan to restore it. The great arena is surrounded by stadium seating under huge canopies of shading canvas that ripple and flap in the wind. You walked through great stone archways and a long tunnel painted with frescoes of gladiators in combat, before you and Bella and a number of other violence-seeking pilgrims emerged into the interior to find seats. It is not packed to the gills, you are glad to see; the seating moderately full. The lamb shank vendor explains why, as he hands over the steaming fare to you and Bella.

"Well, the big exhibitions - when they bring out the Carnosaur, or a giant scorpion or such - those fill the place, no trouble. Or when it's a matter of honor between competing aristocrats, or a bunch of ogres who are told not to hold back. Really the more lethal it is, the more people want to see it. But this is a 'friendly'; though I wouldn't be fooled. These companies go at each other pretty fiercely, when they're inter-state bouts. They're just not.. deliberately lethal."

A cheerful fat man with a marvelous quaff of hair begins hollering from the arena floor; his impressive lungs piercing through the riot of conversation and drawing attention to him.

"Signores and Signoras, welcome! Welcome to the mighty Colosseum! To those first visiting - prepare your eyes for spectacle and brutality! For those returning - welcome back, ye bloodthirsty savages! And to the Maiden of Battles - may our games please you!"

The crowd gives an affirmative cheer; not raucous, but responsive indeed.

"Today - Today, and this hour, a much forecast deciding match for two grudge-bound gangs; with each team taking one of the preceding games, it is the victor of today's match up that will carry the right to face the Miraglianan Menace in the Supreme Final of the season's league!"

The Remanese boo heartily at the mention of the 'Miragleanan Menace'; but the boo dissolves into general affirmative hooting and clapping as a dozen arena attendants spill out of doors onto the sand floor and start seizing hidden levers, chains and ropes, and go about operating some series of hidden mechanisms within the floor and walls. As they do so, the announcer introduces the combatants.

"Respendant in Red and White, returning champions of last season's league and - dare I say - hometown heroes, I give you - from the Company 'Ricco's Republican Guard', the Ravagers of Randovalio!"

Eight strong, tall, lean mercenaries wander into the arena; each a man of violence without question. Dressed in uniform leather armor with red and white tabards and ornamental tassels, they do indeed have the crowd's affection - the whooping and cheering for them is enthusiastic and sustained; and the leader of the gang - Randovalio, perhaps - raises a big hand in salute to the crowd's adoration even as he leads his group to the weapon racks crowded under one wooden shelter at the end of the arena.

"...And returning after last week's shock upset to tie up the present series, in the golden yellow tabards, my Remanese friends, please honor our republican cousins, from the Verezzan company 'The Golden Gallants', it's Luigiano's Lancers!"

Jogging out opposite the Remanese combat team are eight hardy and broad shouldered men in golden yellow tabards and leather armor; though of the eight, the coloration of their trim and ornamentation varies from red, yellow, blue and green. Like their counterparts, they head to the weapon racks; six of their number start preparing to enter the fray; two get about stretching and waiting on a wooden bench - presumably to substitute for injuries.

The Verezzan team receives less honor from the crowd. The Remanese boo and jeer - unflattering suggestions about the habits of inland shepherds are among the calls from those around you. But even with that distraction, you realise with amazement that you know one of them.

Daniele da Floriglio was at the Pigly with a number of the Golden Gallants on your first night there, on your way to the city. You remember mixing with the crowd and buying drinks in exchange for gossip - the middle aged, middle sized, middlingly handsome sergeant was an above average conversationalist, and unlike many other drunken patrons, had no secondary expectations of your buying them a drink. Somehow, he has found his way here, representing his mercenary company in this bloodsport; though he sits on the bench as one of the reserves, and the team is led by a massive, bronze skinned young man who must be Luigiano.

You and Bella watch as the attendant's labors start to produce fruit; the cranking, pulling and hauling they are doing is changing the landscape of the arena, activating what must be mechanical platforms that slide away in panels and are replaced by others our of the walls or floor that add new texture and hazard to the arena. Now, in the middle of the circle, there is a yard drop to a tar filled circular basin which is rapidly filling with water. Either side of it, at the 'halfway' mark of the arena, is a pillar of wood with four long wooden arms that rotates lazilly in place around chin height on a normal man. And a final twist is added to the combat when a brawny dwarf with a shining bald head, a long grey beard, and undoubtedly multiple human lifetimes of combat experience wanders into the pit, tosses a leather ball into the water, and then turns to shake his fists to the crowd. The announcer offers this non-clarifier:

"And of course, as with all decider matches... it's another Spud round!"

Everyone except you and Bella seem to know what this means.

"Spud! Spud! Spud! Spud! Spud!"

Your shank vendor has wandered off to other clients, now; Bella can only look at you with bewildered excitement at all the happening as the combatants prepare for war with each other. And Spud, apparently.

"Taking bets! Taking bets, here - one scellini gets you one and 'arf, on the Remanese - one gets you three, on the away team! Taking bets, taking bets; match's more fun when there's something on the table, signores; taking bets!"

Bella frowns a little; her soft nature immediately causing her to feel for the Verezzans, even if she were not inclined to in the first place. "They certainly don't think much of the Gallants. Didn't they say they won the last match? It must have been very close, and the first of the three very one sided..."

The bookie - a halfling with a good shouting voice, a tray of vellum slips, a lockbox on his belt and an excellent eye for faces - hunts around the stand nearby, taking bets large and small from the Reman crowd about you.

It's not like betting on them will improve their chances of winning. And as best you can tell, the odds are calculated so that no matter who wins, the real winner is the bookie themselves.

But on the other hand, you might never be here again...

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

The Colosseum

Taalia's eyes widened and her grip around her friends hand drew tighter still as the pair of Verezza girls emerged into the vast cavern of the Reman Colesseum. Already the crowd, half full as they were, had a wave-like echo from their voices that rolled around the breadth of the arena that gave the scene a life and spirit of its own that had already drawn its mantle about Taalia's heart and threatened to whisk her away into the fantasy of its grandeur.

"Ohh Bella, look!" Taalia would gesture to one particular architectural spot of brilliance, before another caught her attention and drew a pointed, gloved finger with another "and there!" Next to her shorter and seemingly calmer friend, Taalia looked like an over-grown child with eyes wide and nerves alight with excitement as the two took their seats in the bleachers. With marinated lamb shank in one hand and a purchased flagon of lager in the other, the shepardess fit in as an enthusiastic spectator, having removed her steel helmet and placed it at her feet so that the sun would not glint off of its polish nor over-heat its precious, human contents within. As such, the girls braided and styled white hair was on display and her scars were visible as she excitedly gobbled up the delicious, tender and flavoured meat and guzzled down her honeyed ale.

"Look!" she gently nudged Bella when the first and apparently local team emerged onto the field, their handsome and smart uniforms speaking of their discipline their violent trade required. Following them came those from Verezza, their team!, and among their number was a familiar face that Taalia had to squint at for several seconds before recognition clicked in her brain and her eyes widened. For a brief second her mind was propelled back to that initial trip she had made to Verezza, the very first little adventure she had undertaken solo, and the fun time she had had at The Pigly in the dispensation of drinks and sharing of gossip. The very recollection of this event conjured recent memories of both their departure from Bella Collina as well as the stop-over after her release from prison. Very warm memories indeed, fond motes in her mindseye that transformed Taalia's expression from one of shock to a simple, sincerely happy smile.

"La vittoria dei Golden Gallant!" Taalia shouted happily with that infectious beam across her face, her spirit clearly seized in the grip of the nature of this arena and the endless competition within its heart. If she received a few dirty or surprised stares as a supporter of a foreign team and outing herself as a Verezzan, she didn't care. The guns on her hips and blunderbuss by her side would be deterrent enough for anyone but the most drunkenly thin-skinned idiot.

Such was Taalia's apparent surge of adrenaline and joy at her current station, when the cheery halfling wandered down the stairs with shouts to advertise his clans booking, the shepardess set her ale down and drew her gloved hand up to grab his attention. She didn't click or whistle at him. Even if she were in an advanced state of inebriation the girl would not be so rude to a people she had an affection for, but when she had seized his notice, Taalia reached into her purse and withdrew three duro, hiding the coins in her palm as to not advertise to anyone around her how much she had on her person, as she surreptitiously 'shook hands' with the halfling.

"On the Golden Gallants!" she beamed.

[MrAbdiel]

Three duro is a non-trivial bet! It gains whistles of amusement from the folk around you who notice, along with some mutters of contempt for your choice of team to back. Still, it would be wrong, perhaps even superstitiously bad, to refuse to back one's home 'team', even if the nature of the team play has yet to be revealed. This is a combat match, after all. Surely, it's more about beating each other to submission than about a game? Yet the Remanese have found a way to have both.

The first thing you notice when the brawl begins is how fundamentally different the way these men fight. These are small squads who have relentlessly trained with each other in small unit tactics and drilled all their fundamental combat disciplines to the bedrock. Your battles - against the troll, against the mutants, against the goblins, against the pirates - have always been alongside scrappy individuals, or militia volunteers - people who know how to fight, but are not professional fighters. The same is true even of the enemies you fought - the goblins, troll, and mutants weren't organized by any stretch of the imagination. And the pirates were all more accomplished fighters than the Bella Collinans - but not warriors, exactly. Less competent fighters would make for a short match that was over quickly. Their skill at defending themselves and each other, combined with limited, low-lethality weapon choices of short birch cudgels, crook-topped staves, lengths of rope with knotted ends they swing to trip each other, and the normal compliment of fists, feet, elbows and foreheads, sums to extend the match to a longer, more dynamic brawl where occasionally one member of a team will be laid out and dazed, and they will be hauled off by attendants as a substitute runs in to take his place.

Soon, the nature of the combat is revealed. A panel of five judges are watching the whole thing from the front row of seats, presumably tallying up approval of the teams martial performances. Some things seem to be 'illegal' in such a match. You see both teams seem to be observing some limitations - they don't attack each other from behind, or strike for the neck, or attack a man who is down. They also dive into the pool and wade through, fighting vigorously for possession of the ball - the grasp of which doesn't seem immediately meaningful, until Spud the barrel chested dwarven veteran with thick leather gloves comes into play. Spud's whole purpose appears to be to support the fighter who is holding the ball. When it changes hands, Spud changes sides; immediately tackling, punching, disarming and in two cases suplexing those who threaten the ball carrier. The fighters try to ward him off, but he both seems to be a superior combatant in a higher order entirely (fighting without a weapon, for starters), and not 'points effective' as an expenditure of energy - especially since he could be on anyone's side with a turnover.

In the first 'segment' of the game, things progress quite evenly. The teams swap over their players to their reserves swiftly and often to let their members recover and to become steadily more battered and bruised in roughly equal proportion. One of the members of the Remanese team takes a cudgel to the forehead so square he is knocked right now and is carried off the field to recover, leaving the Remans with only one reserve and a tighter rotation. With this, they seem to lose the edge in the second round; the Remanese team growing agitated, spending less time in control of Spud, and failing to legitimately take any of the opposing players out of the game until right before the ringing of a brass bell to register the end of that round. At that moment, a big, red faced Reman collides with one of the Verezzan lads so hard the audible separation of his shoulder bones reaches you in the sands and he collapses to the ground, howling and broken. The crowd convulses with mixed feeling - a good 'break' for their team, but not the most honorable one. An attendant calls this strike foul, as it came from a charge connecting just behind the victim's shoulder; and dismisses the red faced Reman from the field. The Reman disagrees and, in a fit of peak both monsterous and childish, turns his cudgel on two of the Verezzans who are crowding around their injured team mate and not at all ready to defend themselves, outside of the timing of the match. The brawl that follows involves the entirity of both teams in a disgraceful whirl of limbs and weapons, but when broken up, the outcome is that the Reman team has lost one man to injury and one to disqualification, so their fielding team for the third and final segment is the six bedraggled men remaining. But the Gallants have lost one man to injury and two to unconciousness - being tended to by able medics off the field - and their team rounds out to five... one less than they need, to legally field a team.

The crowd boos, as the attendants argue with the Gallants. They want to win; but they don't want their day at the games truncated by a technical loss of this kind. They want to see more heads kicked, and more teeth fly. They want more Spud. You can't hear the conversation ongoing below between the remaining Gallants and the attendants, but it is headed and desperate; accompanied by many wild gesticulations. Tilean gesticulation is something you well understand by now - they feel cheated, as if the surrounding city is in come way culpable, and they are demanding the attendants see what they consider reason rather that adhering to their rulings.

"Ah, pity, pity!", says an only slightly drunk older Remanese gent who is, for the second time now, mistaking Bella for the granddaughter sitting on the other side of him as he rambles, "Lost three fighters to a string of fouls - entitled to a reserve substitute, but 'course all the Gallants are lined up in the villages on the Pavonan border, not hanging out in a Reman alley waiting for their miracle debut, har har! Pity, pity; if it'd happened the other way 'round, they could've annointed any bloody Reman they liked; but fighting Verezzans are in low supply, alas..."

You see Daniele da Floriglio pacing in a circle, rubbing his bruised face with his palms, gazing up in settling despair at the booing crowd; seeing no option in his future but to forfeit.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia was drawn up in the spectacle, the spirit of sport and competition seeping into her mind and animating her in ways she would have otherwise thought of as undignified and silly. After all it was just a silly game. A bunch of men in uniforms hit each other with sticks while a mad dwarf changed allegiances in accordance with possession of a 'spud', and to this end they could become grievously injured, even killed.

But it wasn't just a game! It was a competition! It was tribal warfare at it's most friendly, where lines were drawn, flags were waved and allegiances were solidified as our guys beat the hell out of their guys, thus proving we are better! And this rampant affiliation drew its influence across the whole crowd as Taalia cheered and boo'ed, covered her eyes, buried them against Bella's shoulder at times and even drew both arms up when cheering during a particularly extravagant display.

But then - disaster. Taalia's eyes were wide and her gloved hands covering her open, gasping mouth as the seemingly youngest lad of the team took a body-charge from one particularly dishonourable and goonish member of the Reman team, the Crack! heard from even where she sat in the bleachers and her mind immediately returning to poor Ernesto and his back injury that might leave him a cripple for life. Seeing this clear violation of good sportsmanship, Taalia cupped her mouth with her hands and "Boo!!" loudly with others, before the rest of the scrap unfolded and revealed the terrible price for ill-discipline.

Disaster. Again!

Both teams were badly mauled, with the Remans almost coming off worse. But then the rules factored into it, and a quick head count revealed the shocking truth: the Verezzans were down one. They would have to forfeit.

"Ah, pity, pity! Lost three fighters to a string of fouls - entitled to a reserve substitute, but 'course all the Gallants are lined up in the villages on the Pavonan border, not hanging out in a Reman alley waiting for their miracle debut, har har! Pity, pity; if it'd happened the other way 'round, they could've annointed any bloody Reman they liked; but fighting Verezzans are in low supply, alas..."

Taalia turned her head to take in what the rambling old drunk was blabbering, the sight of his own grand-daughter peering in irritation with narrowed eyes in her grandfathers direction a doubtless source of comedy for another time. But if what he said was true...

There were times when people were faced with the choice of playing it safe, or doing something incredibly stupid, brave, rash, opportunistic or a mix of all four. When she had thrown that poison wind globe back in Rashabangs workshop was one time. When she had charged the troll had been another. Blowing a hole open in the wall of The Tower and then waving down to the people was likely the most recent.

And this was another.

Taalia didn't think, she just acted.

"Hold my ale!" she said to Bella, gesturing the mug out for her friend to seize before she stood upright and strode to the railing where she leaned over it and bellowed down to the beleaguered man.

"Daniele!"

[MrAbdiel]

"W-wha..?" Bella dutifully takes your ale as you storm off to as close to the field as you can get. Daniele holds his face in his hands for a moment, lost in his thoughts - but eventually your voice penetrates the din of the crowd and the middle-aged gallant's eyes flash with recognition - you are a hard figure to forget. He jogs over.

"Taalia? Taalia, right? We met at the Pigly - but you were caught up in that mess of a trial, after, weren't you?"

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia wore her bright and infectious smile. It was nice to be recognised! He even remembered her situation following her departure from The Pigly! How sweet.

"I'm back from the dead, wooo!" she rose her hands up and twiddled her fingers.

But she quickly corrected herself. Now wasn't the time for humor. Now was the time for action.

"Do you need another?"

[MrAbdiel]

Well... he had tried to recruit you once before. And here you are, in your panoply, looking competent to fight. His eyes blink, then flash, and he offers you a hand to clamber down into the dust of the arena, then races over to the ongoing conversation between the chief attendant and Luigiano, leader of the Lancers.

"Hey! Hey, we've got a reserve sub! She just needs a minute to get into uniform, but she'll brawl!" Daniele presents you to his leader, who looks surprised and a little skeptical - but he does have to look up to you, so that helps.

The hard-working, exhausted chief attendant rubs his face. "Come on, Daniele; the league's had rules against crowd-pulls for years now. Favours home teams too strongly, ironically enough, but they are what they are. You can't just anoint someone from the crowd a formal member of the Gallants and dive right it. She's got to be a tax-paying Verezzan with atleast three..." He raises three fingers on his hand, to emphasise, "...remunerated lethal engagements. If she ain't done merc-work, she ain't doing merc-play."

"You can send an accountant to Verezzo to confirm her taxes with the clerk's guild after the bout - if we're lying, we'll give back the winnings. As for the engagements, err..." Daniele looks at you helplessly at that one. He remembers scoping you for mercenary work... but definately can't say if you've been in three lethal fights and been in some way financially compensated for them. That much, he is hoping against hope, you'll supply for yourself.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


What Taalia was doing was nuts. It was legitimately insane. To think that the careful but ambitious industrial-scale farmer girl from a year ago would simply hurl herself into an arena to fight a potentially lethal game at the behest of the intoxicating spirit of competition and the arena, was verifiably crazy.

Yet here she was.

When Taalia's towering figure was drawn onto the arena floor, the wave of reactions rippled across the crowd. As she was huddled to the others, the shepardess undid her holster buckle to remove the pistols from her hip, and set her blunderbuss down with the Galants equipment also. Under her arm she had her steel helmet, her braided, white hair and youthful features visible as she couldn't help but look around in awe at being on the floor before a crowd of thousands. Her heart pounded against her rib cage and every good modicum of sense she possessed implored her to withdraw back up the wall and return her rear to the bleachers...yet here she stayed.

Then the topic came to the fights she had been in. Lethal ones.

Without thinking, Taalia reached to her collar and underneath it, her fingers gripping something and withdrawing...the tooth of the troll they had killed.

"A troll. Mutants on the road. The Skaven that attacked The Tower in Verezza and twice against the pirates that attacked Bella Collina. That's where I got those!" she gestured to the brace of pistols resting next to her blunderbuss.

Her shield was still on her back, her beautiful sword on her hip.

[MrAbdiel]

The chief attendant considers your explanation while Daniele looks on, eyes wide, open hands raised in supplication to the man.

"...Don't make me regret it, Daniele. If this turns out to be less than legit, there'll be repercussions."

Daniele doesn't wait for further warnings of what those repercussions are; he just flags you to follow him over to the Gallants' bench; and fishes out a set of the same style of light leathers and uniform the other Gallants are wearing from a heavy sack. It looks about the right side; though somewhat rumpled from being at the bottom of the bag without a wearer.

"Grab this - I'll show you the change room, and tell you how it's all going to go down from outside the stall while you get changed. Oh, Lady of Battles, you appeared at the right time - either to save the day or to allow us to fail good and proper, anyway!"

Suiting up in the unfamiliar uniform in a small wooden cubical, you listen to Daniele's forecast of the events to come.

"Okay, okay; well, you probably already figured it out from watching, but we pair up out there to look out for each other. So you'll be sticking with me. I guess you're a shielder by preference, so I'll get you a shield and cudgel. We're up on points, especially after that foul maneuver; so all we need to do is hang on, or drop one of their goons fair and square and they'll be down to five and unable to continue. Luigiano will be rushing for the Spud; if we can get it, then we can just run down the clock while the Spudletter gets his licks in. It's all sporting, so no swings intentionally to the head and neck, though incidental connections are fine. You're free to use cudgel, fists, feet, elbows and knees out there. You can bash with your shield too - but I wouldn't recommend it, since the flimsy things bust apart with a good hit and that'll leave you with an empty hand out there. Hoo, boy... Ah... Any questions?"

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

With her exploits unlocking enough street cred to at least pass the bar of entry, Taalia was swiftly whisked away to a change room where a set of old leather armor and a tabard was shoved into her grasp. Already the girl scrunched her nose at the scent - pwah! Gross! she hissed inside her head, while the scrappy, slept-on-a-floor specter of her past glared at her current state from a hidden part of her mind.

"Stick with you..." Taalia responded, her mouth forming an O-shape in surprise as she pulled the leather armor over the padding that had formed the undergarment of her mail - this set clearly made for a, ahem, male occupant.

"Ride out the clock..." she pulled the tabard over her new leather cuirass.

"And whack any bastardo that gets too close..." she emerged from the change room, her armournot the greatest fit, but the short-comings obscured behind the team tabard, while her braided, white hair was drawn behind her angular, pleasing features that offered that grin, her scar running down the side of her face.

[MrAbdiel]

"Great. Great. Well, I don't know how this is going to go - but I'm glad you showed up when you did. You're a Gallant now, one way or the other!"

* * * * *

Spoiler: OOC: Arena Combat

Show

Some notes on this exhibition combat!

1. The cudgel is an improvised weapon (SB -4 Damage). The shield is an unrimmed shield, so it can bash for (SB -2 Damage), but does so at a risk of breaking. Wielding them together gives you a free parry. Both of these efforts are 'non-lethal', by which I mean they are recognized by onlookers as sportsmanly and restrained, as is attacking with the 'normal' Unarmed attacks (Also SB-4, but the enemy counts their armor double).

Importantly, non-lethal blows don't do Ulric's Fury as normal. Instead, if you confirm a roll of a 10 on the damage dice, you do your maximum damage plus a 1d5 roll on the critical location for that hit.

On the other hand, unleashing your TRUE POWERS and striking with your "Natural Weapons" talent for SB+0 damage, you'll be much more effective - but you run the risk of the crowd, and more importantly the attendants, spotting you launching obviously vicious, lethal, frankly savage attacks.

We'll abstract this into a few sets of rolls to flash through the round.... mostly because I haven't made an effort to 'balance' this non-lethal combat at all!

The other Gallants, or Luigiano's Lancers in the context of the team, give you nods and appreciative recognition... if some doubt, at your unproven nature. And then out you go on to the field, sticking with Daniele as the hostile audience crows for your demise. It is probably best that they drown each other out - the chance that any of the braying shouters from the stands have constructive commentary is very low.

Round 1:

You line up, and the dwarf - the Spudletter - tosses the ball into the pool.

"Luigiani and his partner will contest the ball - we're just blocking our opposite numbers, on the east side here."

You brace for the attendant to call the game to action...

Spoiler: On a Successful Perception Test...:

Show

...You notice that, despite both sides lining up as three opposite pairs, the larger of the two Remans in the middle pair has his eye on your pair. He's a hulk of a man who would be frightening to fight in lethal combat; only a little less so here.
But as you catch his eye, he gives you a wink.

Is it a lascivious wink? Maybe. Maybe he feels bad for you, as a rookie, and is warning you of something about to happen.

Then the attendant blows on a wooden whistle, and everyone rushes forward. You can barely spare focus away from the pair of Remans bearing down on you and Daniele - and you prepare to defend yourself!

Spoiler: Sports!

Show

https://youtu.be/f1C6b2Wd8HM

Give me three rounds of combat against your opposing goon. If you beat a (1d10+4)[14] Initiative, your first blows go first. Your opponent, like you, is bat-n-boarding it.

1. Vs40 - (1d100)[1] for (1d10+1)[3]
Vs40 - (1d100)[6] for (1d10+1)[4]
(if he goes first, this is a charge, and gets +10. If he goes second, it's a swift attack, and he makes that second swing.)

2. Vs40 - (1d100)[56] for (1d10+1)[2]
Vs40 - (1d100)[94] for (1d10+1)[7]

3. Vs40 - (1d100)[95] for (1d10+1)[9]
Vs40 - (1d100)[24] for (1d10+1)[8]

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


By now, Taalia had become desensitised to the prospect of violence and bodily harm. She had personally been in hundreds of scraps and plenty of proper, life-or-death engagements, from her first use of the poison windglobe half a decade ago, to fleeing assassins, to the half a dozen combats she had participated in since dwelling on the surface. Being exposed to such quantities of bloodshed from a tender age had a way of numbing one to the visceral horror of its spectacle. Whether this brutalization was of benefit or not was up debate, but in the situation the girl now found herself in - it was most definitely a benefit.

Her shoulders a bit closer together, leaning forward, her shield prepped to defend both herself and Daniele next to her, Taalia let the sounds and sights of the crowd melt away out of her periphery as she focused on the enemy combatants. The dwarf, the Spudmeister, was of secondary concern, only to elevate in threat should their man fail to acquire the prop that secured his temporary allegiance.

Her nerves calming, focus gained, a breath exhaling from her lips - the whistle blew!

Taalia surged forward next to her group-mate, the enemy combatants swelling in her vision as they drew closer to meet them, cudgels swinging and shields blocking. It was now that Taalia attempted to use her, 'weapon', such as it was, its weight, gait and dimensions very different from the tools of death she had learned to use. It lacked the grace and response of a sword, the quickness and reach of a spear, the speed of a knife through the ribs. It was basically just a club, as primitive a weapon as could be, and it showed.

Taalia swung out with it, trying to improvise her normal skill with the weapon she had, her initial blow poking through some defenses, but the rest frustratingly clattering against shields and pushed away by shielding. However, her own defenses fared much better. She was used to the application of a shield, she knew how they worked and felt. She turned her own this way and that; causing incoming blows to glance off her protection harmlessly rather than absorb the blow by a direct block like an amateur might try.

[MrAbdiel]

You clash with your opposite, trading blows off each other's shields. A combat that would be over in a few seconds with lethal violence is doomed to protraction. You manage to sneak one blow around the shield with enough force to cause a wheeze and perhaps a bruise, and fend off all your enemy's responses. But it's not until the field shifts that you feel some returned pain - the big man from the central pair on the enemy side did not rush for the spud, but came charging around one of the contraptions into you blind rear angle.

"Lookout!" Daniele calls at the last minute, and you juke away from a shield bash that might have sent you sprawling; as a result, it merely clips your shoulder and sends you spinning and wincing. The big assailant gives you a look that seems suspended between sadistic glee and apology, but behind him the crowd roars - the skinny little whippet of a Reman has beaten both Gallants to the spud, and the dwarf launches himself into the pool with an elbow drop onto Luigiano's back. Suddenly, it's a game of 6 vs 7 instead of even odds; and the Remans rally back to the spud to mount a defence.

"Damn!" Daniele grunts, "No easy win, then. Alright - it's all about teasing them away from the spud now to make a steal possible. Come with me!"

* * * * *

Some tiring back and forth has left you not much the worse for wear, but the spud has remained resolutely in the enemy's possession, much to the crowd's delight. The Gallants have done their best to pry of members of the Ravagers to expose the spud carrier; and the opportunity comes for you and Daniel as the enemy team is pressed by your allies, and you and your partner circle around behind. The spud carrier is fending against Lancers from the front, and is exposed from behind. There are only two obstacles.

One: The Spudletter watches your flanking movie with a wry grin. He is required to fight to protect the spudcarrier, not to warn him of anything. He will certainly oppose your efforts.

Two: The enemy formation is facing as it is because it has its back to one of the columns with the hinged, spinning flails! First, you'll have to pass the mechanical obstacle before you can contend with the dwarven one.

"This is it! Let's go! Keep the dwarf off me!", Daniele commands, and then runs forth. With admirable agility, leaping high with legs straining almost to an aeriel front-split, the wooden flail swings under him and misses him by a whisker, leaving him to resume his charge for the ball.

He almost makes it look easy!

Spoiler: Second Round!

Show

First: Give me an Agility roll to avoid the flail, or else be slapped! And after that, advise me how you plan to keep the Spudletter occupied - do you want to try to goad him into chasing you, or full defense and bunker down, or something more clever?

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia remained focused on her opponent, the heart-rate throbbing in her skull as she parried here and deflected there. Her footwork had improved out of sight since her first ever true combat against the goblins all those years ago, as she was now more measured and deliberate, talking forward, slipping back, sure-footed each time as she kept her left shoulder near Daniele and providing cover for this 180 degree side of him. She even managed to poke her cudgel over the shield of her opponent, knicking him on the forehead and drawing a ripe bead of blood that mixed with the sweat of his forehead as a small thrill of standing her own against professional arena fighters cheered her confidence from the back of her mind.

"Lookout!" Daniele calls at the last minute, Taalia's reflexes pulling her out of the way at the last second as a cudgel intended for her head instead clipped her shoulder, a bright spark of pain running down through that half of her body. Drawing back, her defenses still safe, the girl glared through the eye-sockets of her leather helm at the larger combatant and the look in his eyes that she was all too familiar with. It was the same glare that would fall upon her from the Skaven foremen or fellow ratling slaves that saw in her just a weak, furless ape for them to trample across and propel their egos higher up the social order.

But, Taalia wasn't a slave any more. That skinny girl had grown and developed, and now she glared back with a venom in her eyes and steel in her jaw.

* * * * *

The Gallants seemed to be herding the enemy team towards a column, a slow, boxing maneuver that could, if it continued, neutralise their newly acquired numerical superiority. The dwarf, though clearly of no opinion one way or another, seemed to relish his position as some mercenary-for-hire whose allegiances were won and services greatly desired. Were the spud not in anyones hands, he would do nothing. If it were possessed by one of the team, he would attack their enemies - all while facing no such assaults himself. Who would attack him? No one. There was no point. His services were the point of the spud. And as Daniele and Taalia approached their flank of the column, the older veteran told her the plan, before his nimble proceeds carried him over a low-swinging flail that would have taken his feet out from under him.

Keep the dwarf off of him. Right. She could do that - couldn't she?

Watching the flail swing in and out of that mechanical groove in the column, Taalia took half a step forward, timed her jump and tumbled forward - sailing like a fish leaping out of the water and landeding on half her shoulder, rolled forward down her back and rose onto her feet in one, semi-graceful movement. Blinking, clearly not having expected to make it, Taalia dashed forward, keeping her body close to Daniele's and placing herself between him and the dwarf, ready to head the stunty fellow off and temporarily sacrifice herself so the team could make a stab at getting the spud and gaining control over this four foot, meaty menace.