All's Fair -- Part III
Personally, I say we have Luther attack a camp. Nets are thrown atop the gargantuan man, to hold him down, and we charge in and lance him for the killing blow.
I agree that some combination of well-run drill and theatrics is the best route. A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B. Maybe even a small aside on the valor of the troops in holding their lines, then a mention of how a giant requires the heroics of a Knight of the realm.
Practice picks up again with refreshed eagerness and urgency. There is much to learn in less than two months, since you ambitiously choose to highlight both your own role and the discipline of your boys.
Luther's drills and their parents' encouragements begin to form an amazingly well-ordered band from the children, and the resulting clockwork manoeuvres are as incongruous as if cats had been trained to stand at attention. The adorable sight is sure to elicit a few fond sighs from the crowd. Satisfied with this handiwork, Luther finally concedes to teach you a little more about lancing, although it becomes clear that Luther's martial renown is firmly rooted in foot combat, perhaps because most horses balk at his weight. In the end, you can usually point your fake lance true and retain your saddle when the plaster-coated wicker prop shatters dramatically on impact.
Symeon returns from Feroshire, where he oversaw the construction of larger props, and counsels you on projecting your voice and memorising the lines that he has written. The work makes your brain ache, which rounds out the collection of other sore bodyparts from sitting a pony for hours, holding a lance straight the same duration, and absorbing the impacts. Simultaneously, Luther trains the Knights of the Keep to cast nets to entangle him. All are exhausted.
Thus on a cool autumn evening toward the beginning of the Folesden Fair, your Knights of the Keep are all stretched out upon a large heap of fresh-mown straw near the training field, groaning at their pains and fatigue. The last day of practice. They celebrate by eating green apples from a small grove in the lower bailey and pass around a great leather jug of mulled cider that Hamden Cook's father had slipped them earlier. "A man's reward for a man's hard work. You earned it, lads!" the cook exclaimed approvingly. Most children taste the fermented beverage for the first time, and it has a disproportionate effect on their merriment. Hamden and Rick Scullion are soon arm-in-arm, tripping a wobbly country dance to the laughter of other boys.
Cadmon suddenly stands up and sniffs his nose dramatically, then slurs out, "I shmell a musty old rotter, and ish not one of these apples we picked. It shmells like... rotting old books. Gervaise! Blasted worm! Wiggled out of tha books, hash tha?"
You do detect a stale musty smell, and look up to see Gervaise watching the group with a stack of books under one arms. Gervaise was an exceptionally bright boy, by most measures, but careless of bathing and grooming habits--whereas most other children washed themselves on Sunday, whether they needed it or not. Still, he was so sedentary that his odour never quite amounted to a stench, merely a weird staleness. Now he fragrantly approaches you, casting nervous glances at your pack of Keepers.
Throwing himself to his knees, he implores you. "Take me with you to the Fair, Milord, I beg of you!"
In the form of a dialogue. Did you partake of the refreshment? If so, let it be shown!
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Topic: Heirship: A Suggestion Game (Read 30487 times)