Pierre paced back and forth in his small dressing room. Now and then, he cartwheeled or somersaulted to help burn off some of his nerves, but the calming effects of [Clown Around] didn’t really last for long. Shaking out his arms, Pierre sat back down on the leather couch against the wall of the room and tried to relax with a series of deep breaths. Those didn’t help much either.

The door to the room opened, and Ira Revlis, his [Agent] walked – no, strutted – in. Though he wasn’t particularly tall, Ira was imposing. He was dressed in a snappy blue suit that was tailored to his body and a little on the tight side to emphasize his muscles. The [Agent] had a broad, tan face that he kept clean shaven and short brown hair. He wore a gaudy silver watch that sparkled with sapphires around the bezel and a glimmering ring on each finger of his hands. Even by the ostentatious standards of Colmere – where things that cost no more than a single bronze fleur back home, like a loaf of bread, were considered cheap at four silver fleurs – Ira was a man whose entire appearance screamed wealth.

Trailing behind Ira was his assistant, Doyle, a short and slightly overweight man with spiky black hair, light brown skin, and Zalumnian features. He gave Pierre a friendly wave as Ira clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

“Alright, alright, alright! Pierre, it’s three minutes to showtime. How are you feeling? Powerful? Funny?”

Pierre shrugged. “Uh, actually, I’m a little nervous about going out on stage in front of all those people.”

Ira smirked and pointed at Pierre – hey, look at you cracking jokes! – but the man’s good humor faded when Pierre’s face didn’t change.

“Holy hells, you’re not joking. You actually have stage fright? C’mon, Pierre!”

Ira affected great distress, holding his hands up in front of his face and shaking them. “You can’t do this to me! You know how many favors I had to call in and strings I had to pull to get you on this show? Lots! You’re not going to blow this now, are you?”

Pierre shook his head. “I’ll do my best, Ira, but I’ve never done anything like perform on a game show before. It’s scary. Are you sure I have to do this?”

Turning to his assistant, Ira held up an entreating hand. “Doyle, you went to a good school, right? Have you ever heard of a [Clown] who’s got stage fright?”

“Well, technically, Pierre isn’t a [Clown] so that wouldn’t really apply…” Doyle said but Ira groaned loudly and made a shooing motion. His expression hardened.

“I didn’t frickin’ think so. Watch yourself, Doyle. You keep talking like that and it’ll be another fourteen months before you can even start dreaming about getting your own desk, you hear me?”

The assistant fell quiet, and Ira turned back to Pierre with another smile. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with the honey-sweet tone of [Talk Up]. “Look, Pierre there’s nothing to be worried about. This is just a little game show. It’s like I told you before: making it as a celebrity adventurer requires that you play the game and get yourself out there. Make people talk about you. Get some publicity. You do a good job out there today and doors will start opening up. Mark my words. Besides, you’ll be fine out there. You’re a smart guy, you can answer a few simple trivia questions, can’t you? Just take a few deep breaths and relax, okay? You’re a [Rising Star], you’ve got this.”

Pierre shrugged once again and pointed down to the {Polka Dot Tie} hanging from his neck. It was a new – and thankfully temporary – addition to his ensemble of {Silly Shoes}, {Puffy Pants}, {Rainbow Wig}, and {Big Red Nose}. It was also the only article of clothing on his torso. Pierre didn’t like wearing it; it made him feel like one of those chipmunk dancers that he saw hanging out in front of some of the clubs around town.

“What’s wrong with it? Do you want a different pattern or something?” Ira asked. He reached up and started loosening his own silken tie, but Pierre held up his hand and the [Agent] stopped.

“I don’t want to wear a tie at all. It’s too many pieces of equipment, I can’t use my [Barbarian] skills with it on.”

Another psssh from Ira. “And what’s the problem with that? Do you think you’re going to need to chokeslam the host in the middle of the show or something? C’mon, Pierre, don’t look at me like that, I’m just busting your balls a little bit! The tie is funny, it’s memorable! It’s staying on. Actually, we should probably oil you up before you go on. Hurry up and take the tie off. But don’t get too hopeful, you’re going to be putting it right back on again afterwards.”

Pierre did so and Ira slathered him with oil so that the [Balloonbarian]’s chest and arms glistened. Once Pierre put his abhorrent tie back on, Ira checked it, making sure that the knot looked good before peering down at his watch and gesturing towards the door.

“Alright, alright, alright! It’s show time, baby! Let’s get out there and introduce you to the world! And don’t worry, I made a deal with the [Director], so you’re going to get your chance to shine. At least one question will be coming your way.”

Doyle looked back at him and winked. Pierre assumed that the man meant it to be a comforting gesture, but he couldn’t help but feel like someone being led down a dark alley by someone they’d just met.

Thankful that he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, Pierre prayed silently as he followed his [Agent] down the long hallway towards the stage. Please don’t let me embarrass myself out there.

----------------------------------------

Pierre wasn’t terribly familiar with the bevy of game shows that existed, and so he’d never heard of Tick Down Trivia, but he wasn’t terribly worried about not knowing how to play. The name seemed pretty self-explanatory: answer a question before time ran out.

As if to emphasize this mechanic further, there was a giant clock-golem next to the stage. It was painted red and gold, with a single comically small arm that it used to hit the bell at its top now and then.

The [Director] gave them all a demonstration of what to expect when the time to answer a question ran out. He probably didn’t need to have bothered. It didn’t exactly take a genius to understand what “AND THAT’S TIME, LEMON-LIME!” meant. The reason the clock addressed someone called lemon-lime was a mystery. Maybe it was the host’s name or something.

Pierre winced at the rest of the clock-golem’s shrieks. Something in its tone reminded him of the wail of his grandmother’s old demonic tea kettle* back home.

He looked around at the rest of the [Rising Stars] in attendance. For the most part, they were what you might expect for something like this: [Actors], [Actresses], [Models], and [Comedians]. He was the only adventurer. And the only person not wearing a shirt. And…somehow…the only person besides the host wearing a tie.

Now, Pierre was no stranger to standing out for looking silly, but for the first time in his life, he found himself wondering if there was a such thing as too silly.

The [Director] took a step forward and raised his hands. Everyone got quiet.

“Alright folks, good to see you all. Here’s how this is going to work. When the show starts, I want you all to look at that big crystal I’ll be riding on, okay? Smile and wave and make it look like you’re having a great time. [Clown] guy, can you do a little magic trick or something when I give you the signal?”

Pierre cast a nervous glance over at Ira, but his [Agent] was busy jamming his finger into the face of somebody Pierre hadn’t ever seen before and wasn’t really paying attention. Doyle, on the other hand, gave him another big thumbs up.

“Uh, sure. What kind of trick would you like me to do? I can do a card trick or—”

“No card tricks,” the [Director] interrupted. “We compete against The Dealer’s Edge in this time slot.”

Pierre wasn’t sure what that was or why that meant he couldn’t do a card trick, but he just nodded. Reaching into his [Oversized Pockets] and pulled out a balloon. “Can I make a [Balloon Animal]?”

“That’s fine,” said the [Director]. “Keep it simple though. You’re only going to have a few seconds of crystal focus.”

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From there, time started passing faster. Maybe it was some sort of skill belonging to the clock-golem. Pierre was ushered to his seat – sandwiched between two gorgeous [Models] – and the rules of the game were explained. As expected, it was pretty simple. Contestants would come up on stage, and the host would ask them a series of increasingly difficult questions, which had to be answered before time ran out. Should a question prove too tough for the contestant to answer on their own, the host would convince them to ask one of the [Rising Stars] for help. Pierre thought about Ira’s promise that he’d get to answer one, and wondered how the host would manage to pull that off.

“Remember, the audience likes it when the contestant gets a tough question right,” the director said. “But, if that doesn’t work out, they like to laugh. If you get called on and you know the answer, be quick about giving it, but if you don’t, go ahead and say something that will lighten the mood. I’ll give you a signal if you’re taking too long. Please make sure you adhere to it. This isn’t an award show.”

Gawain, Piper, anyone else who might be listening ­­– there were over a dozen minor gods and goddesses, and Pierre didn’t think he had time to name them all just then – please let me know the answer to any question I might get asked. I don’t want to have to make banter! It’s not clownlike.

The rest of the explanation passed in a blur, but just before the show was supposed to start, Pierre was moved to a different seat. His {Silly Shoes} were too big, and they made the [Comedian] beneath him look as if he had giant red ears. At the advice of his [Agent], the little bald man objected, and Pierre was hurried to the bottom row. Once there, a pair of haggard looking assistants scurried over to tamp down his wig a little bit so that it didn’t look too wild.

“You’re going to have to be a bit livelier than you might have been planning,” the [Director] told him. “Every time the crystals focus on the [Rising Star] section now, you’re going to be right in the middle of the frame. Can you handle it?"

Pierre wasn’t sure that he could, but Ira caught his eye and pumped his fist in triumph. Perfect, the [Agent] mouthed. Pierre got the distinct feeling that the comedian’s objections hadn’t been completely spontaneous.

The [Director] looked at his watch. He walked over to his display crystal and knelt down atop it. “Alright people, it’s almost show time. Get your game faces on!”

A few seconds later, bright and cheery music started coming out of the walls and the lights dimmed ever so slightly. An [Announcer] sitting somewhere Pierre couldn’t see started talking.

“Friends all around the continent, it’s tiiiiiiime for TICK DOWN TRIVIIAAAAA.”

A chorus of voices joined the announcers for each word of the show’s name, and at the director’s signal, Pierre waved and clapped and cheered with the rest of [Rising Stars]. His nerves were still there, but they weren’t so bad anymore, and when the [Director] pointed at him, he twisted a balloon into the shape of a butterfly and let it flap a few times in front of his face before popping it and making a funny face as if he hadn’t expected such a thing to happen. The [Director]’s [Laugh Track] skill sent an echo of laughter throughout the room, and Pierre heard the announcer say his name.

“Pierre St. Drod, a promising young adventurer alllllll the way from Oar’s Crest!”

He waved.

[Silliness +1]

[Charisma +1]

The rest of the show sped by, and Pierre was exhausted when the [Director]’s crystal dimmed and sank back to the ground.

“And that’s a wrap,” the [Director] said. As if by magic, everything stopped. The music fell silent, the lights came back up to full strength, the host – a tiny man wearing a pink pinstripe suit and shining sunglasses – stopped smiling, and all the [Rising Stars] grew still. The [Balloonbarian] breathed a sigh of relief. It’d gone well, all things considered. He’d been called on not just once, but twice. Thankfully, he’d known the correct answer to the questions both times, and had even managed to crack a couple jokes along the way. Keeping up the energy to goof off between breaks been tougher than he’d expected, but Ira’s grin told him that he’d done a good job.

[Congratulations, you are now a Rising Star, Level 3!]

The [Agent] pulled Pierre into a one-armed hug once most of the [Rising Stars] dispersed. “Look at you! All those nerves before the show and you blew it out of the water. It’s just like I told you when we first met, kiddo. You’re destined for big things. My [Killer Taste] hasn’t ever let me down. Let’s go grab a bite to eat. My treat. Just…put on a shirt before we go.”

Down the street from the studio was a big, fancy steakhouse. The salamander [Chefs] scurried back and forth around a large flame, and Pierre ate a steak that was the size of his head. It was seasoned perfectly, and charred just enough to have a lovely crust. His dinner came with garlic mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus that were drenched with honey. Everything was delicious.

He leaned back in his chair once he finished and smiled up at the ceiling. I could get used to this.

*Which hadn’t been much use as a kettle unless one was desperate for a way to make water spicy.

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A few weeks passed, and Pierre focused on his now daily routine: training with Sylrok. The big man was a [Personal Adventuring Trainer] who worked exclusively with Ira’s clients. There were many benefits of being represented by Ira, but so far, Pierre felt that having access to Sylrok was by far the biggest.

Sylrok – or Syl, as everyone called him – was a mountain of a man. He’d been a continental gold-circuit adventurer in his youth, destined for greatness, but had been forced to retire following irreparable damage to his left knee, courtesy of some monstrous archer out in the Terralid flats. After a stint as a Colmere [City Guard], Syl turned to training adventurers, and quickly gained a reputation for delivering incredible results.

Pierre panted and mopped a bit of sweat from his brow. He adjusted his {Rainbow Wig} and made sure that his {Big Red Nose} was securely in place. Having to work out in his full equipment was unpleasant, but it was necessary to be able to use his skills.

Syl’s workouts were harder than anything else he’d ever done, but there was no denying that they were making a huge difference. It hadn’t been that long since he’d left Oar’s Crest, but he was already far stronger than he’d been when he arrived in Colmere. His muscles were bigger and better defined too, and his skills were substantially more powerful.

He was easily strong enough to make it as a bronze-circuit adventurer. It was just a matter of proving himself capable over and over until the group that made the lists noticed him and invited him to join.

“One more set, Pierre. Just give me one more set,” Syl said. “Make sure you jump nice and high now. We want your [Piercing Rain] to have that nice narrow angle, okay? If it’s too wide it won’t be much use for single target damage.”

Leaning forwards, Syl clapped his hands together. “You can do this, you’re a beast! Lemme see some of that [Balloonbarian] energy! Let’s go!”

Taking a deep breath, Pierre activated [Piercing Rain] and leapt into the air. Tucking his knees up to his chest, he rapidly inflated three pierce balloons and popped them, sending rubber shrapnel at the targets a half dozen feet away. They hit and sank in.

Landing softly on the ground, Pierre bounced up and down on the balls of his feet three times and then used [Piercing Rain] again. He repeated this process until he’d done ten repetitions in all, and the [Personal Adventuring Trainer] clapped him on the back. His lungs felt like they were on fire.

[Acrobatics +1]

“Let’s go ahead and call it there for today. Good work, Pierre. Good work. Make sure you stretch well before you leave. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll just be doing a normal strength day, so you can come in regular clothes, alright?”

Pierre nodded and sank down to the floor. After such a hard workout, sitting down and leaning into a stretch felt almost divine. He closed his eyes and counted to ten for each position.

Before he could finish, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Pierre! Pierre, my boy! Take a look at this.”

Dressed in a gray suit with a striped tie, Ira strutted towards him with huge swings of his arms and percussive steps, like a [Showbiz Mogul] or something. He was grinning wide and in his hand was a folded sheet of golden paper.

“Didn’t I tell you that game show appearance would pay off?” Ira said as he held up the paper. “The snowball is starting to roll, my friend. Look what was delivered to my office today.”

He handed Pierre the letter and the [Balloonbarian] eagerly opened it.

The font was impeccably written, and Pierre’s heart started racing as he read what it said.

Mr. Revlis,

It is our great honor to invite your client, Pierre St. Drod, to participate in the upcoming Colmere dungeon sport season as a probationary member of the bronze-circuit. His name has been added to our lists, and we look forward to seeing him compete against the rest of the field.

Gawain’s blessings upon you both.

Beneath the body of the letter were the signatures of the members of the adventurer’s circuit leadership who’d approved his invitation.

His [Agent] was beaming. “What’d I tell you kid? [Killer Taste] never steers me wrong. Season starts in three months, so you better work extra hard to prepare.”

“I will. But what does probationary member mean?”

“Most adventurers in the circuit are in the mid-twenties for their primary class. You’re still pretty far away from that, but the powers that be are willing to give you a chance because you’ve got a buzz and a good [Agent] who’s been talking you up at every opportunity by telling them that when it comes to dungeon sports levels don’t always indicate success and the audience loves an underdog story.”

Ira might have been stretching the truth of his involvement a little bit, but Pierre knew the underlying sentiment was correct. Without an agent, getting noticed by the circuit-makers would have taken years, if it ever happened at all. He certainly wouldn’t have been given a shot until he was a much higher level.

Three months, huh?

Though he’d just finished a workout, Pierre nodded his head and resolved to go for a long run later that afternoon. He’d run through his [Balloon Mace] drills too.

He wasn’t going to squander this opportunity. Ira had given him a big leg up, but he'd climb the rest of the way on his own.

Pierre's Character Sheet:

Pierre St. Drod

Primary Class: Balloonbarian (Self), Level 14

Secondary Class: Rising Star (Ira Revlis), Level 3 (+1)

Tertiary Class: Cook (Montblanc St. Drod), Level 1

Might: 22

Wit: 14

Faith: 4

Adventurousness: 11

Guts: 15

Silliness: 9 (+1)

Charisma: 11 (+1)

Stealth: 1

Deceptiveness: 4

Acrobatics: 13 (+1)