E6 Mamut Round 4 Event: The Duel of the Playwrights

[Miltonian]

Twelve years has seen many things happen in the Towerhome. No longer is it merely a single tower jutting up above the land. Now, many stone buildings dot its hill, girded about by a wall that is high merely for the Ko but still an impediment to the larger races. The Tower itself has been restored, its walls returned to their former glory and crested with a carved statue of Tangle the Liberator. It is, in short, a place of wealth and plenty.

Yet not all is well. Whispers pass from house to house of a challenger to Thicket's reign. Theris, already calling herself 'the Great', had directly attacked Thicket's primacy in one of the areas he most prided himself: his artistic talent.

Thicket had long been considered the premier composer of songs and epic poems among the Ko, even though his work takes on a more somber tone than most would prefer. At every meeting, some work of his or the other is always dusted off and performed. However, at the last Wine Festival (a literal, but accurate, name), she had stepped forward and innovated. She and a few other Ko took on the personas of the characters and spoke as if they were indeed those ancient heroes interacting with and talking to each other. It was loud, irreverent, and showed no respect for tradition or heritage.

...So naturally, it was a smash hit. This practice took off like wildfire, much to Thickets dismay. The Ko leader has frantically tried to compose a 'play' of his own, but his dour and serious mind has failed to create a play that can draw in the same crowds. Enraged, he denounced Theris' work as lacking artistic merit and appealing only to base emotions. And so, he challenged her to prove the merit of her plays before a wider, more serious audience: the rest of Mamut.

Invitations have been sent out to all the races who attended the first Party at the Towerhome. They shall be the judges, and Thicket is determined to be the winner.

The streets are decked in festival decorations, the gates are thrown wide, and the crowds cheer as the delegates return once more. Thicket paces in front of his throne, nerves and simmering rage fighting to see which will drive him to distraction first. However, he smiles as the delegates appear. "Welcome, welcome!"

[Silent_Interim]

Once, the Scrim travelled confidently, alone and unafraid. Mamut, they knew, was safe for them. The children of Life could pose no possible threat. It was, as far as the Scrim cared, safe to let them squabble among themselves. Stone is above the concerns of Life's children, or so the thinking went.
Now, the Scrim do not feel so safe. And when the Thunspeaker arrives, it is with an armed escort. If they are afraid or paranoid, they do not show it, but the escort speaks to a broader nervousness in Thun.
In deference to convention, and to make clearer to others their status, the Thunspeaker has had the top of their head carved into a crown of sorts, with an inlay of emeralds around it at regular intervals. Their body is draped with furs, the finest available in Thun, stitched into something resembling a crude vest.
Walking with them are seven other Scrim, all armed to the teeth, wearing simple sashes and bandoliers meant to hold their array of weapons, in addition to those they carry in their hands. One walks alongside the Thunspeaker, while the other half dozen walk in a half-circle behind them.

They come to a stop before the Towermaster. The Thunspeaker bows slightly. "It is my pleasure to return here, esteemed Towermaster. You have met my associate, Warspeaker Tior. It is my wish that you need not deal with them, today or on any other day. I apologize that we have come in such force, but the Warspeaker insisted that it would not be safe for Thun to walk unaccompanied, even if the wars of the South have yet to make their way to our lands here in the North."
Ulun pauses for a moment. "But this is not an occasion for such grim thoughts. I look forward to the festivities... especially the promised entertainments." They bow again, and move aside, trailed by their honour guard and shadowed by the Warspeaker.

[mystic1110]

Ank’Anske Rocnab would rather not be here.

With the rise of Ank’Anske to the status of Goliath aristocracy she would much rather be enjoying the spoils by relaxing on her father’s estate and drinking some fine wine. However, wine was exactly why she was here. She was the daughter of Ank’Anske Nihc, the head Vintner of the great vineyards of the Targiz and well . . . the Ko were extremely important clients. They purchased a substantial amount of flower wine and they were even part owners of some of important producers. And well, her father liked the little bastards. She knew that he was often seated with some of the richer Ko in the Crown Stands while they watched and gambled wineries over Battle Toad Races and talked about wine. Wine, wine, wine; listen, she loved drinking the stuff but talking about it was exceedingly boring. However, as the eldest daughter of Ank’Anske Nihc she was something of an expert (not by choice!) and was also expected to know everything about wine; from the production, the varietals, to the distribution chain, and the demand.

And so, when the Ko announced that they were holding an important event Nihc rushed at the chance to send a representative before Ogra, that hag, was sent by the Church and the other priests and witches to attend. There was something unsettling about having her continue to represent the Targiz when she was from the Ells commune and the power was now exclusively Ank’Anske’s. Not that Rocnab agreed – she would rather that the older woman attend and spare her the tedium. Also there was the additional command, whispered by her father, to find out everything she could about the Ko’s amaryllis wine. The Goddess of pride was surely beautiful but the rare times a winery tried to make flower wine using her it always came out rancid and bitter. The Ko though found some amaryllis that made absolutely wonderful wine. Rocnab could even say she was addicted. In fact she was positively itching to get more. Might be the only thing she was looking forward to on this journey.

Anyway, she now arrives to Towerhome – which may have impressed Ogra twelve years ago, but having grown up with Kursaal the Ko city merely looked claustrophobic to Rocnab – with a delegation of eight Goliaths each carrying two clay pots from her private vineyard. She knew how much the Ko liked to drink and how was a Vintner going to arrive without goods to hawk?

She stands before Thicket as she signals for the clay pots to be placed down. She is wearing a traditional Goliath Flower crown of peaceful greetings, but hers is also interlaced with Jasmin, Yellow Poppy and Wheat – showing her wealth, prestige and also her recent acquisition of wheat fields in Nal Dryb. She extends her hands to her sides palms up in the traditional Goliath greeting and says:

Greetings Towermaster, I am Ank’Anske Rocnab, and my father, Ank’Anske Nihc, master of the Vineyards, and the other esteemed Vintners of Targiz warmly wish you well. Please, I know that you are a connoisseur of flower wine so let me say that these clay pots are some of the best wine in Targiz. The pots are lined with Living Wood from the Deru which enchances the flavor and makes them more full-bodied compared to any wine you’ve tried before.

[Aventine]

Dọ̀pyǐj Ṭhùtšrũ trugged his way overland to the Towerhome once more. But this time it was his choice and not a favor to his cousin. He still had his bear skin cloak, but pulled the bear’s head back off of his own when he arrived, revealing it to be bald and heavily tattooed. A couple dozen of his raiders accompanied him, not so much because he expected trouble from the Ko or their other guests but because he had made enough enemies among the northern Sọ́kǎu tribes that one of them might very well decide to take the opportunity to attack him while his whereabouts would be known. Getting himself killed in an ambush while so many of the powers in Mamut were present to watch would be beyond humiliating.

He brought a translator too, a fellow southerner who’d spent some time in the Blessed Vale and learned the language well enough. Actually being able to talk without needing to rely on the witches would be nice. The man was timid and unpleasant, but at least he was honest.

The old warrior seeks out Thicket with two younger companions, leaving the rest of his party to mill about and entertain themselves. When they find their host, Ṭhùtšrũ pushes one of the others forward. "Ah, hmm, yes, um...Greetings, great lord, may the winds favor you. I am Gọ̀uhrài Tšhríjšì; these are the great warlord and raider Dọ̀pyǐj Ṭhùtšrũ and his nephew Zbõdìj Sọ̀lọ̀p. We thank you for inviting us here and look forward to the performance."

He turns back hesitantly to glance at Ṭhùtšrũ, who grunts and says "Yúkró"

"Ah, oh, yes. The great Sọ́gẹ Yúkró, who you once met...I think...is busy with pressing matters in the south and sends his regrets."

[Miltonian]

Thicket manages to put a genuine smile on his face. "Well, regardless of how or why, welcome, welcome," he says, "Please, do enjoy yourselves."

To the Thunspeaker, he says, "Times are dangerous, yes. It is wise to surround yourself with loyal warriors." He nods to himself. "Yes. Loyalty, that is the key..."

Rocnab earns a strange reaction from Thicket. He is outwardly gracious, but there is a faint tremble in his hands as he gestures for four servants to carry the large urns into his personal storehouse. His eyes follow the pots with a longing look. He grips his staff tightly and composes himself. A stunning thought occurs to the Goliaths. The little Ko is suffering from withdrawals.

To the Sọ́kǎu, he nods in greeting and smiles. "Welcome. While it is nice to meet old friends, new ones are always welcome too."

[mystic1110]

Rocnab notes the Ko leader's faint tremble - he was an alcoholic, she thought derisively (as she scratched her palm with her index finger, subconsciously hiding her own tremors). She, herself, was not an addict, of course, she was a noblewoman, newly minted but wealth overshadows history so it didn't matter too much. Regardless she moves back towards her retinue watching the Scrim and Sọ́kǎu.

The Scrim in Kursaal were primarily, at least for the last four or something years, carved like Goliaths but, she noted, apparently they were recently trying out new forms for which she was grateful. The moving statues were creepy when they were moving statues of yourself. She was sure there was one love-struck scrim who carved himself to match her looks and was constantly trying to shadow her on the Crown Stands. Creepy. Good thing she hired those Uzii bouncers to rough him up in a Kursaal alley. The Sọ́kǎu on the other hand elicited no thought in her mind. She wasn't a big Whirlpool fan, cheering exclusively for the Dream Team (always bet on a winner!), and did not give much thought to humans otherwise.

[TheDarkDM]

As the delegation of Targiz moved on from Worldmaster Thicket, another Ko approached Ank’Anske Rocnab. Clad in a vest positively dripping with copper bangles, and with an emerald prominently displayed hanging from a chain around her neck, she was clearly among the emerging upper crust of Towerhome. Behind her, a pair of less exalted Ko carried a small earthenware jug, and all three bowed at the goliath's attention.

"Pardon me, Mistress of Ank’Anske. I am Far-Strider, chief vintner of the heavenly amaryllis here in Towerhome. I bring a gift, in the spirit of Kursaal."

[mystic1110]

Rocnab was impressed by the Ko, clearly a wealthy man, but she scoffed at the idea of a Ko vintner. The Goliaths had been making wine for centuries, these Ko, at most a decade and a half. You cannot compare the two. And yet . . . there was something about this flower. The Goddess of Pride seems to have cruel joy in knocking the Goliaths off their high rock by allowing Ko to discover this incredible wine. Rocnab didn't particularly remember her lessons with the Uko priests, maybe something about the Goddess of Pride not being prideful herself and instead being vigilant about the pride in others? It didn't matter to her really, religion was for the Ells - let them understand the finer theological truths, her throat was parched and she didn't know if she could get through this evening sober. And this was the wine that she was craving; her eyes large with anticipation.

Rocnab extended her hands outwards palms up in the Goliath greeting and said: Far-Strider, well met! You surely know the ways of the city more than your leader. The wine we brought was for all the festivities and not for a private collection. Wine must be shared eh? Heavenly Amaryllis you said? We've heard much about this wine, and of course we tasted it. It is exquisite. The heavy body and the subtle taste of cloud and blackberry. The aroma of . . . I want to say longing. I know you know it is hard to even describe in words. Ah, why don't we have a taste of it! She motions to the other Goliaths to come with her and Far-Strider to the side wherever there was a table and they could sit and she has them take out enough clay bowls for all the parties and pours the wine for each of them, Far-Strider included. While she's doing all this she is talking to Far-Strider about Toad Racing, assuming the wealthy Ko had journeyed to the Crown Stands to watch them. She knew that with Ko wealth they were fast becoming one of the powerhouses of the sport along with the Targiz and the Uzii. Shame that Traps Traps Traps retired eh, that old Toad did put up a good last show. - she wasn't a habitual watcher, preferring the physicality of Ko-Ball, but knew enough to make small talk - Racing was where all the money was, which was where her father was, which was where she was by default.

She finishes pouring the wine into the clay bowls and raises hers up to Far-Strider "I would love to see the flower fields and the fermentation pots where you make this vintage. I beleive there could be good business between us" she says as she takes the first and long sip.

[Miltonian]

Eventually, the greetings are finished and Thicket seems to relax a little. "Well, thank you all for coming, once again," he says, a sly smile creeping over his face, "I am sure you will enjoy...half of the plays you will see during this festival. What half those are I leave up to your--"

He casually pulls out a carved gem and begins fiddling with it, pretending to be doing so absently. "--Discretion."

"Already trying to cheat your way out of your inevitable, humiliating defeat?" a female voice calls from the crowd.

Thick leaps to his feet. "Who said that?" he demands.

One of the attendants throws off her long cloak and leaps up onto a nearby pedestal. "Your guards are slacking, Towermaster," she declares, "I, the great and mighty Theris, was able to slip right in among them and none were the wiser."

Thicket grinds his teeth. "Of course it is you. You upstart." He grins again, but this time it is downright malicious. "Oh, I can already savor the sweet taste of your despair once you lose."

"If you're already tasting despair," she snaps, "That would speak volumes about how highly you rate your chances of winning." She smirks and crosses her arms. "Am I right, or am I right?"

[Silent_Interim]

The Warspeaker leans in to whisper to the Thunspeaker. "I regret that I cannot yawn, but do you think if I were to raise my hand to my face and make a sound like an exhaling human they would understand the gesture?"

The Thunspeaker raises a hand to hush them. "I realize that the posturing is obnoxious and tiresome, but it is all part of the ritual. You would do well to exhibit a little more patience, Tior. Perhaps you should spend a little time traveling, learning the ways of Life's children."

"Like Lurn, you mean?"

"...just wait patiently, and allow me to watch the entertainments in peace. I am here to relax, among other things. You would do well to do a little relaxation yourself."

Tior fumes, but says nothing. And do you think Lurn was relaxed when they died, lost and alone in the frozen lands? Do you think that the savage children of life spared a thought for what would be lost with them? My vigilance will keep us both alive. Maybe you would do well to listen when I tell you these things.

Such thoughts were unbecoming of a Scrimspeaker, even if Tior's status as such was technically in limbo now that they were Warspeaker. Tior thinks them anyway. Being improper wasn't the same as being wrong.

For now, though, they both settle back to watch events unfold.

[TheDarkDM]

As the attendant Ko poured from their clay jug into the waiting bowls, Rocnab could see the fruits of Far-Strider's experimentation with the heavenly amaryllis. The flower wine was near crystal-clear, its sparkling surface interrupted only by ribbons indigo syrup distilled from the flowers' sap and twinkling golden seeds that floated like stars at the bottom of her bowl. The scent of the wine was like the first gust of wind through the flower fields of Targiz in the spring, and was enough to set her fingers to tingling. The galaxy of the heavenly amaryllis hung suspended as she savored the anticipation, only for her patience to be repaid a thousand fold when the liquid washed over her tongue. The tingling in her fingers became a euphoric charge that rippled through every muscle, and at once she felt all her senses heightened in the revelrous moment. Before she knew what had happened, Rocnab had drained her bowl, only to meet the eager eyes of Far-Strider.

"The heavenly flower, triple distilled and infused with its own candied seeds and purified sap. We have limited supplies at the moment, but would gladly offer all we have to the cellars of your great city."

[Aventine]

Eventually, the greetings are finished and Thicket seems to relax a little. "Well, thank you all for coming, once again," he says, a sly smile creeping over his face, "I am sure you will enjoy...half of the plays you will see during this festival. What half those are I leave up to your--"

He casually pulls out a carved gem and begins fiddling with it, pretending to be doing so absently. "--Discretion."

"Already trying to cheat your way out of your inevitable, humiliating defeat?" a female voice calls from the crowd.

Thick leaps to his feet. "Who said that?" he demands.

One of the attendants throws off her long cloak and leaps up onto a nearby pedestal. "Your guards are slacking, Towermaster," she declares, "I, the great and mighty Theris, was able to slip right in among them and none were the wiser."

Thicket grinds his teeth. "Of course it is you. You upstart." He grins again, but this time it is downright malicious. "Oh, I can already savor the sweet taste of your despair once you lose."

"If you're already tasting despair," she snaps, "That would speak volumes about how highly you rate your chances of winning." She smirks and crosses her arms. "Am I right, or am I right?"

Tšhríjšì awkwardly translated for his companions. Sọ̀lọ̀p was still too deep in confusion at the overall strangeness of the Ko, but Ṭhùtšrũ nodded in approval. The proper way to resolve things would be a fight, of course, but if he was going to be called on to judge some sort of other competition at least the combatants knew how to trade insults. This was promising so far. Inspired, he yells out in heavily accented Arrakhi, "Talk much talk. Fight! Fight!"

The cry is taken up by the other Sọ́kǎu spread out around the crowd, though in their own language.

[mystic1110]

As she drank the wine Rocnab and felt the liquid pour down her throat - it tasted like honeyed fire. She felt herself flush as the heat expanded from her belly and felt the sudden surge of energy racing like lightning up her veins. She greedily drank more as her eyes widened and the surge within her took the reigns of control and sundered them into indulgence. Her every fiber felt as if it was signing a song of joy - she could not recall when she was last this happy. . . .

A memory stirs of her as a young girl, her father, not yet ascended to the rank of master vintner for that position did not yet exist. Her Commune, not aristocrats yet, important but equal. She was very young at this point. Her mother, one of many, but the one to whom she was closest too had died a year ago and Rocnab being a very young girl took to it poorly and had taken to sitting on the cliff sides. The other mothers told each other that it was Savlo's calling and there would be nothing they could do. She could make her own choices; and she often looked down the cliff to stare at the red stones below - stained with blood and clay and broken things. Broken like her. And yet, on the day that she finally made up her mind - to join her favorite mother in the stars or nowhere or whichever of the faiths was right - her father sat besides her. She did not really have memories of her father before this point. He was an unremarkable man, but she remembers this. He sat with her in complete silence on the cliff for what seemed like hours. Finally her took her in his arms and told her that he missed her mother terribly but that he would miss her more if she was to disappear, that she was important, special, and that he loved her. She hugged him back and cried on his shoulders and they sat there for a long time until he took her hand and they got up and walked back and away from the cliff. She was so happy . . .

The heat from the wine suffused her - the electricity and energy was in her hair. It was almost as if her blood was replaced with Kaffe juice, it buzzed as if was made of the many bees that flitted between the flowers in the Targiz. She looked at Far-Strider:

My word, Far-Strider! This is exquisite. The color is otherworldly, the aroma incomparable, the taste simply indescribable.

Her merchant's ear heard the words 'limited supply', and certainly she could sell this wine for a killing as its distributor, but that would mean selling this wine. As in giving away this wine. She was sure that until now maybe she wasn't all that happy, but this wine definitely made her happy. Her eyes suddenly develop a sharp and steely cunning, glazing over as if a sudden frost. It would take a fool to pry this wine away from her. Sure it could come to a wine-cellar in Kursaal, but it would be her cellar and she alone would have the key.

I would be glad to purchase any that you are willing to part with my dear Far-Strider.

She imperceptibly moves, but perhaps the Ko realizes that he would be willing one way or another. For despite her mannerisms, despite her people's mannerisms, Goliaths seem to occasionally remind one that they are giants.

[Miltonian]

Thicket and Theris spit insults at each other with such ferocity that it almost seems like they intend to murder each other with words alone. At last, however, Thicket slams his staff into the ground repeatedly. "Enough of this!" he hisses with murderous venom, "Your position as the rival playwright does not give you the right to do this. Begone or I shall have you flogged and thrown into the woods!"

"We have only what power we can keep," she replies with a smirk, "And you are losing your grip."

She turns to leave regardless, having made her point, and nods to the surrounding delegations. "I look forward to seeing you from the victor's stage," she says with a coy smile.

[Silent_Interim]

"Weak," Tior opines. "I give him a few years at most. He cannot control his people."

The Thunspeaker reaches out a hand without turning around. "Give me your arm, please." Tior put their arm in the Thunspeaker's grasp, then grunts with surprise as, without even looking, Ulun's free hand comes down and breaks off Tior's fingers.

Ulun lets go of the arm before turning to face Tior. "You forget yourself, Warspeaker. I am perfectly capable of judging the strength or weakness of my fellow rulers myself. I already instructed you to be quiet. Do not think I missed your implication. You are not as clever as you think. I know you think I am weak simply because I choose to talk before I choose to fight. This is a reminder that Thun is never, ever weak. Are we clear?"

"...yes, Thunspeaker."

"You may attach new ones after we return to Thun." With that, Ulun turns back to face the Towermaster, calling out. "I apologize for the impertinence, but my cohorts grow impatient. Could we perhaps speed matters up?"

[mystic1110]

The sun certainly had moved in its path across the sky and the plays had not started. Time was slowing down for Rocnab as the wonderful wine had run out. Far-Strider had left, telling her that he would be preparing more for her journey home, but really she just wanted what was in his vault now. She was anxious for no real reason and sweatier than she ever remembered being. Her leather stuck to her skin and she was mortified that anyone could smell her as she was sure she was suddenly rank - it helped that the other Goliaths and Ko that were drinking the wine were also refusing to meet her gaze, seemingly battling their own demons. She was exhausted out of nowhere and wanted to drink enough water to drown herself - but more than that she wanted the wine. She needed the wine. Her body ached and was sore, something she did not regularly experience being a Goliath in the prime of her life - but it seeming was falling apart without another sip. She needed this night to be over . . .