Current Quests
Justice For Courbefy: Find justice for the victims of the corrupt mayor of Courbefy. Use…
Chosen Of Knowledge: Escort Hugh on his journey to becoming a fully awakened iron…
Chosen Of Hero: Assist Johan as he competes in the Avril Reyer Birthday Tournament...
UnKill Streak 5: Complete a five day streak of not killing anybody!
Making A Magnate: Dominion wants you to hire at least two employees to expand your…
Potion of Prosperity Delivery: Deliver a potion of prosperity to the midwife in Houlbec.
Healer’s Materials: Gain Healer’s favour by donating alchemy ingredients to the church…
Liberate Captive Beast: Free an oppressed animal in the name of Liberty.
Abel’s Mace: Return Brother Abel’s missing mace to the church of Soldier. He was last…
Merchant's Goods Recovery: Recover stolen goods in Confolens from the bandits that...
Rescue the Lucas’s Daughter: Retrieve Charlotte Lucas, the warehouse owner’s…
Lost Treasure Map: Find and return an old treasure map stolen from, Marielle Lecuyer…
Wolf Menace: Hunt down a pack of mischievous foxes terrorising the livestock of Villars.
Haunted Mill: Investigate the abandoned mill outside Limony that's said to be haunted…
Embarrassing Request: Gather rare herbs from the dangerous swamp for Duerne's…
Merchant Escort: Safely escort a merchant caravan through bard-infested woods to…
Mine Monsters: Clear out the rat monsters that have infested The Old Mine, a popular…
Ancient Ruins Exploration: Explore and map out the ancient ruins that have recently…
Missing Scout: Locate and rescue a missing scout who was last seen investigating…
Bridge Repair: Collect and deliver materials needed to repair a bridge that connects two…
Johan woke up at the crack of dawn on tournament day. He woke up at the crack of dawn every day but this day he did it specifically. Then he woke Dave who had voiced opinions about the crack of dawn in the past. Dave groaned and reflected on how he’d read recently that the second moon, called Selene, seemed to affect the magic concentration of whatever it shone upon and thus, the time that magics lasted.
Dave rolled these ideas over in his head to avoid thinking about Johan’s enthusiasm for the coming tournament. Johan had been sent a participant’s itinerary which detailed where and when he should be. Broadly speaking, today would be the parade, tomorrow the weapons bouts and the overmorrow would be the duels but there was a bit more to each than that.
The parade was not only a march through the streets for everyone to get a good look at you but an opportunity for the competition to size each other up. A bit like a weigh in before the combat sports that Dave was familiar with. Under normal circumstances Dave would expect Johan’s enormous, muscular, ‘80s action-hero-build would intimidate his opponents but his opponents would be experienced duelists and essence users. Dave had been afraid that Johan would show exceptional deference to his opponent’s social status and basically kowtow his way to defeat. So, he’d had words with Hugh and Father Martel of Hero’s clergy who’d, in turn, had words with Johan. They’d assured Dave later that they’d impressed upon Johan that being entered ‘in lieu of divine will’ as he was, was basically a social equaliser for the purposes of the tournament. A temporary equaliser, so to speak.
The next day would be the weapons bouts. With that keyword in front of him he was able to use Tome and Epistemology to figure out that this was a no powers contest with pre-approved weapons only. Suppression collars would be worn by all contestants for the weapons bouts. Johan had said, in the words of sword master Greenwood, that a lot of contestants didn’t enter the weapons bouts for many reasons. Mostly because powersets were often fundamental to a person’s training and style but also because they might not want the competition to get a read on them. Johan had, of course, enthusiastically signed himself up for everything.
The duels were called that because that’s what they were; a series of duels. Apparently they followed the duelling etiquette that was the style in this part of the empire excepting, of course, the part about publicly challenging your opponent to the duel. The general rules were that each combatant would start with full stats and no boons or afflictions that they had not given themselves. ‘No external boons or consumables’ held as a rule throughout the duel unless they were made by your powerset or worn equipment during the duel. Time would begin and they would fight until unconsciousness overtook one, one gave up or, as with high magitech places like this arena, a magical system halted a winning blow.
Dave was personally very confident that Johan would place well in the bouts. Not only because of Greenwood’s serious statements about Johan being the most talented swordsman she’d ever trained but because he’d bashfully described training technique at Soldier’s cathedral with the bronze ranked instructor as ‘a good challenge’ and how they went out for drinks afterwards to discuss each other’s moves.
With powers on the table though, it was anyone’s guess. Johan’s power set was mostly complimentary to his swordsmanship and he was a fast learner but some of these contestants would have been training with their powers for months or years. Dave figured he’d do a whole bunch of fast research once he knew Johan’s opponents after the parade when they’d draw up the groups and get a better idea of their histories and how much of a chance Johan really had.
Dave, Hugh and Johan walked together through the already bustling streets of the early morning towards where the parade would start. Johan would meet a representative of Hero there who would carry Hero’s symbol before him. The nobles marching would have a standard bearer carry a house standard along with other attendants but Johan, not having a noble house, would march behind the symbol of the god who’d sponsored him. Hugh was coming along so that when Johan was accused of lying and attempted to be driven off by the toadies of nobles, Hugh could step in. Accusing a member of Knowledge’s clergy of lying in such a way was a matter beyond a commoner and a serious matter for a noble as well. Gods took their domain seriously. Dave was just there to collect names and get a good seat for the parade.
Johan was predictably challenged at the staging area by a guard with house colours who unknowingly came within a hair's breadth of picking a fight he couldn’t win with Hugh, let alone Johan, before all three of his brain cells lined up and he recognised the friar’s habit and the Knowledge pendant Hugh was displaying. Dave bid his friends luck and began walking along the street, perusing good vantage points from which to watch the parade, which was due to begin at the ninth hour and continue until the tenth.
“Geroff th’ road,” muttered a grouchy watchman who idly waved a truncheon at Dave.
In reply, Dave manifested Tzu and set five pens spinning around over his head but also took a lesser coin out of his pocket and flashed it at the watchman.
“Perhaps you can point me towards a cafe suited to an iron ranked adventurer like myself where I could watch my friend march in the parade?” said Dave. “That’d get me off the road, sir.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” said the watchman, his eyes on the coin and almost successfully ignoring the spinning pens. “Thought you were someone else. You’ll be wanting The Mystic Mug on Fontaine Street.”
Dave passed the coin to the watchman and used his map to navigate the most direct route to The Mystic Mug, having embraced a free running approach to physical training that was common among adventurers. Johan had heard it from a trainer at Hero’s temple. The idea was to run through the city using backstreets, alleys, fences, roofs and whatnot.
Executive Services had unanimously agreed to avoid roofs and other private property because falling through them was something they weren’t willing to laugh off. Even if you compensate them, wrecking the only roof a poor family has is still going to expose them to the elements for potentially days until it’s fixed and Executive Services came from backgrounds with either the experience or the education to know that the commoners would suffer through those days.
Dave’s lip curled with disgust as he heard other essence users clomp along the roofs over him. The things people in this reality accepted as normal disgusted him. The magic was cool, he had to admit, but the lower society was exactly what he’d expected from history books; stuck under a tyrannical boot and rife with a constant, desperate scrabble to keep up in the march of the mighty or be the next one ground underfoot. Dave swallowed his disgust and vaulted a wall between two alleys. He landed heavily in wet, cold mud but ignored it. Cleaning magic was a privilege he enjoyed.
About ten minutes later, Dave’s feet squelched under the eaves of The Mystic Mug. The doorwoman looked him up and down with raised eyebrows making no move to undo the velvet rope across the doorway. She was a tall human of medium height and had the look of an essence user about her. Dave raised a finger indicating he needed a moment which the doorwoman was indifferent to so long as he stayed outside. Dave collected himself and cleaned all the sweat and grime from himself over the next minute under the doorwoman’s watch and then used his inventory to switch into his ornate garb. At that, the doorwoman blinked, recognising Dave as an essence user of means. She unhooked the velvet rope from the stanchion which blocked the door and returned to ignoring him. Dave went inside.
The Mystic Mug had a calm, warm atmosphere. Its elegant decor stopped short of opulence but the soft-backed chairs and hardwood tables were of quality material and fine make. A large but reserved chandelier hung in the centre, casting a soft, inviting glow across the two floors. The cafe’s main floor was bustling with an unusual number of patrons enjoying an early morning tea and some pastries but it was that upper floor, level with the chandelier, which was normally a more secluded area of ambiance that already had tables of chatting patrons.
Dave ascended the polished wooden staircase and found a balcony table for two that provided an adequate view of the bustling street below. The Mystic Mug was a dozen metres down a street off the parade’s path but the low buildings of the closest intersection afforded a good view where the parade would be coming towards him. He settled in.
An elven youth approached Dave and offered him a menu that contained both mundane and iron rank food. He particularly recommended the iron ranked tartine with goat’s cheese and blackberry jam which Dave accepted along with ordering a ranked coffee. Dave relaxed, letting Tome manifest out of his brain and enjoyed the feelings from all of his senses. The air was filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods, mingling with the faint floral aroma of the potted plants strategically placed around the cafe. The balcony, with its wrought iron railing and comfortable seating, offered an ideal vantage point to people-watch the city goers and the workfolk who appeared to be using a variety of magical abilities as well as sawdust to dry the path of the parade route.
While his food and drink arrived, Dave opened Tome and went over a magic problem he’d been having recently. With Library Of The Mind and Eldritch Eyes it was theoretically possible for him to go over each strand of a spell and reverse-ensorcel it. He didn’t always have a good angle or an ideal distance from non-teammates but a few spells from Ross Geller he’d seen both close up and repeatedly more than he’d liked and that rune gate spell from Brisset he’d definitely taken note of from multiple angles.
The problem was modifying them. He could replicate the spells perfectly, he’d copied a few down into his spellbook but they all had the same problem which was that their default power source was a link through the caster’s soul directly to that ability. Which, for Dave’s copied spell, was his Transcribe Spell ability, which was at second-iron in power. He needed to find a way, with each spell, to use all of his spell power from his Vancian Spell Slots ability that was so characteristic of bookers. Currently, he could cast Lightning Teleport, Lightning Bolt and Rune Gate through a spell slot but only with the magical power and effects that any other essence user could achieve. Which was still useful for the Rune Gate but nothing else.
Dave tinkered around with the formula and runes for Lightning Bolt and made a simple change that seemed to flow just fine with tests using Magician’s Meagre Magics. He’d test tomorrow if this version would scale up correctly with the extra power. Thankfully, he knew what the problem was. The Charcoal Knights had been very helpful in explaining this to him. Essences didn’t just give magic powers, they also primed the soul. They gave talents and proclivities. Magic, knowledge, book and spellbook were his essences and magic related to those concepts would be the most easy to flow through his soul. It was why he took all day to understand the flows of a healing spell but he’d already had an idea, and he was pretty sure it’d work, for changing Lightning Teleport, a spell that teleported you to the location of where you threw a bolt of lightning, to Paper Teleport which would teleport him to the location of any piece of paper he’d summoned. He was pretty sure he could also get just a regular Teleport but he suspected his UI interacted differently with the spell than it normally functions for people without an outworlder’s helpful racials.
His breakfast arrived and he ate it while he worked. Having a living spellbook and telekinetic writing made study easy on freeing up the arms. He’d hand made a couple of hundred Molotov cocktails while studying the previous week. After breakfast finished, Dave let time pass, losing himself in the intricate flow of his spellwrighting.
“I say, good sir!” interrupted a voice that used the top of the mouth with gusto. “Are you sitting alone? If so, may I join you, my good man?”
Dave snapped back to reality, turning to see a - a man. Dave activated Stop And Think to really take in this individual. He was short but proportioned like a tall person. His face was long, his teeth were big and his jolly expression set atop a body that looked all sinew and bones. He had shocking, curly, red hair cut short with well trimmed sideburns that swept perfectly into a bushy, red moustache. Dave selected him and his UI labelled him simply as ‘Llundein Aristocrat’. Dave let time return.
“There is no further sitting room!” continued the Llundein man.
“Please do,” said Dave, gesturing at the spare seat. Coming out of his work, he could see that the cafe was getting full.
“Spiffing!” exclaimed the man and sat down.
Dave proffered his hand to the man.
“Dave Booker. I see you come from Llundein? Long way to travel.”
“Ha! Quality! It was, my sir, it was,” exclaimed the man in the same emotional gear he’d arrived in. “Lord Rupert Ainsworth at your service but if you want me to answer, you’d better call me Rupe.” He gave Dave a mischievous grin. “Or else I’ll assume you’re talking to my father!”
Ainsworth laughed at his own temerity and Dave couldn’t help but grin back at the over-the-top personality of this character.
“Well, Rupe,” said Dave. “You’d better call me Dave. May I guess that you’ve come all this way for the birthday tournament?”
“You guess rightly, Dave. Oh, yes you do. Ha-haa!” crowed Rupe. “Indeed, I’ve accompanied my nephew who was invited to compete. Pride of the family he is!”
“Oh?” inquired Dave. “Any expectations?”
“Ooh, yes there are, my friend. Yes, there are!” chortled Rupe who suddenly lowered his voice conspiratorially and waggled his bushy eyebrows. “He expects to win easily like he does in the frontier towns and I expect a nephew with a punctured ego!”
Rupe laughed for the world to hear and Dave chuckled along with him.
“What of yourself, sonny-me-lad?” said Rupe. “May I guess the tournament sits you here today? Hey?”
“A correct guess,” said Dave, sitting back in his chair. “I’m on the same team as Johan Schmidt. The one entered by divine will.”
Rupert threw his head back and chortled raucously.
“Spiffing! Hero’s divine will entry, hey?” said Rupe, wiping his eyes. “Oh, the stir you’ve caused, my friend. The stir you have caused! Ha-haa!” He raised a hand, noted that he wasn’t being actively waited on and turned to Dave. “Ooh, I don’t suppose you can spot a waiter?”
Dave held up a placating hand to Rupe to indicate that he would take care of it then manifested an letter-size piece of paper, used his pens to write ‘WAITER PLEASE’ on it, punctured two pens through the upper corners and hung it in the air over their heads.
“Spiffing!” said Rupe and once again began waggling his vast eyebrows. “So, divine will? I don’t suppose you’d be able to spill the tea on Hero’s motivations? Come on, chum! What’s it all about?”
“I didn’t know there was anything for it to be about, Rupe,” said Dave. “The god makes a request, Johan’s for it, the team’s for it, it’s dangerous to refuse gods anyway and here we are.”
“Ha-Haa!” crowed Rupe. “So, you know nothing of the prizes? The buzz around the armour, eh? Eh?”
The waiter came and took Rupe’s order of sausages, bread, gravy and eggs ‘like they do up north’ before once more raising a happy eyebrow to Dave.
“Only that it’s the top prize?” asked Dave, hesitantly. “That’s how tournaments work? Prizes for winning?”
Rupert’s delight at Dave’s simplistic answer couldn’t have been more evident.
“Ha! Spiffing!” said Rupe. “Let me tell you something. Word is, the whole tournament’s just a big setup for the Craftsmen’s League to make overtures to House Reyer by gifting their scion a suit of that ever-so-popular templar armour that only the Craftsmen’s League can make.”
Dave’s eyes went to Tome.
“Show me literature about the Craftsmen’s League.”
Rupe watched as Dave read several pages of information from different books in eye blinks.
“Oh!” said Dave, coming back to the world. “Massive trading conglomerate. Okay. What’s in it for them?”
“I say!” said Rupe. “They control most of the quintessence trade around the Byzas Strait. Especially silver rank.” Rupe gave a conspiratorial wink. “They’re taking an opportunity to expand into Albion and inner Iberia but Baron Franchet and Praetor Noguera prevent them from trading inland but Franchet, rumour has it, was just forced to appoint Everard Reyer to minister of trade who has been taking meetings with the Crafter’s League. Then the tournament is announced, the Crafter’s League generously donates some templar armour as the top prize and guess who is the best, little duelist in Francalbia?
Dave finally got it.
“Tome, the advertisement,” said Dave.
Tome displayed the tournament advertisement and up the top, ‘Avril Reyer Birthday Tournament’. A pen flew in and circled Avril’s name.
Rupe winked at Dave.
“Precisely,” said Rupe. “And, imagine the rumour mill that started up when young Alaire Travers drops out, good little elementalist he is, and before there’s even a scramble to replace him, Hero uses His divine right to fill the spot, what about that?”
Dave had looked up the divine right rule. In a formal contest that invoked a god, and most did, any church could invoke divine right to put their own competitor in but it was a relatively rare occurrence and always signalled to the people that the god either approved very much of the competition and wanted to be part of it or that the god was rather insulted at being invoked for such a poor showing. Johan’s inclusion was so far yet to be decided one way or another.
“Huh,” said Dave, his face thoughtful. “I wonder how much of this was orchestrated by the gods?”
“I say, counting them out is a fool’s choice,” said Rupe with a nod and wink.
“No, I mean,” began Dave, smiling. “We didn’t know Johan would be entering this tournament ourselves until we arrived in town and heard about it. We’ve only been preparing for it for about two weeks.”
“I say, what?” said Rupe, slapping the table.
“Oh, it gets better,” said Dave. “Johan has only had his essences for about two weeks.”
“Oh, come now, you’re just pulling the dragon’s tail,” laughed Rupe.
“Oh, I assure you, I’m not,” said Dave, getting the attention of the waitstaff and ordering a pot of tea. “I’ll go further and tell you that he’s almost certainly going to win the bouts and he’s a fair bet for the whole tournament.”
“Such cheek! Surely not!” cackled Rupe. “Oh, this is better than the rumours. A dark heidel who didn’t even know he was a dark heidel? Ha! Spiffing!”
“Rupe, you have got to tell me about these rumours now,” said Dave, conspiratorial himself.
Rupe’s breakfast arrived along with Dave’s tea. Dave poured a cup for himself as well as Rupert.
“Oh, I say, for the first time in my life they’re lesser than the god’s own truth, indeed they are,” said Rupe, slathering the bread with gravy and taking a bite of a sausage. “No, the rumours that the Reyer’s liked the best were that the gods were kind enough to swiftly provide a local monk-militant to make up the numbers, nothing to worry about.”
Rupe paused for a moment to take a hearty bite out of the bread and chew, blowing on his tea a while before taking a tentative sip of the hot drink. Likewise, Dave blew on and sipped at his tea.
“But the rumours going around,” continued Rupe. “Spiffing! You should have heard them. The divine entrant is the bastard scion of faraway nobility. Or, they’re a secret weapon that the church has been training in the mountains. Perhaps he’s a disgraced knight, seeking redemption through the tournament? Some say a dragon in human form, come to teach us mortals humility before the gods!”
“How about a farm boy with a destiny?” asked Dave.
“No, I didn’t hear that one,” said Rupe. “But wouldn’t that be something, hey? Spiffing!”
Dave kept the straightest face he could.
“Well,” said Dave, taking another sip of his tea while Rupe ate. “Say, if my fellow does win the tournament. How much of an upset is that going to be to the order of things?”
“I dare say that the Reyer family and the Craftsmen's League would be upset,” said Rupe. “But I’d also dare that you’d find plenty of support from the families of the other contestants,” continued Rupe with a wink. “Nobody likes a setup, do they me-lad?”
“Personally, I’m hoping that it’s the gods who don’t like the setup,” said Dave dryly. “After all, they’re the ones being invoked to bless the competition, aren’t they? Perhaps one of them took offence to being asked to bless under false pretences and figured they’d throw Johan in?”
“Ha! Be careful calling the wrath of the gods like that, lest they fall upon you instead,” said Rupe in a way that sounded like an adage.
“Bugger that,” muttered Dave. “If I’m going to hope for allies, I’m hoping for the biggest ones I can get!”
“Ha! Spiffing!”
----------------------------------------
Dave traded backstories with Rupe, giving his teleportation accident story which Rupe thought was just spiffing and he accepted that Dave didn’t want to share any specific details.
“Say no more, me-sir, say no more!” he’d said.
Himself, Rupe was the lord of a large estate in northwestern Albia called Notham in Shuckletonshire that was, apparently, a famously good place to go hunting. The Ainsworths were famous for their hunts and, in fact, made most of the family’s income from hunting. Whether that be actually hunting specific monsters, like Rupe’s brother, Peter, did, or just organised social hunts, like Rupe himself.
“Of course,” Rupe had said, “my brother is perfectly capable of hosting a hunt himself and I’m no slouch with a bow or spear myself but our talents and abilities fall where they may, don’t-ya-know?”
“Of course,” Dave had said, pouring tea into Rupe’s cup.
Rupe had been given the vast, potent and hunt essences for an onslaught confluence which, he said, was an expense courtesy of Peter, that older brother whom he greatly admired. According to Rupe, Peter had been gifted the spear, hunt and trap essences for the predatory confluence with the last of some inheritance and, with them, rebuilt the family house, honour, prestige and damn well walked on water from what Dave was hearing about him. Although, Dave realised, he had to re-think that metaphor for this reality. Walking on water was relatively common here.
“I tried, Dave, gods know I really tried, but what-ho?” Rupe was conveying to Dave as the cafe filled up around them. “To my father’s disappointment an expensive essence set, makes the legendary hunter not. Ha-haa! But Peter, gods bless his heart, told father in no uncertain terms that the gods’ plans go beyond our philosophies and opportunity comes where the adventurer roams and that, my spiffing new friend, is how I found myself a huntmaster leading iron rank scions throughout the land. How’s about that for chance?”
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“It’s pretty good,” said Dave. “But, what are your abilities?”
“What?” exclaimed Rupe and slapping his forehead. “I never explained? Ha! Such patience, such patience. Tally-ho, I’ll give you a run dow-”
Rupe was interrupted by the roar of a happy crowd and a marching band. The parade had begun. A crier with a high level voice ability led the procession on top of a long wagon that was practically dripping with expensive cloth, tassels and surrounded by an honour guard with several figures sitting on expensive chairs atop of it, waving robotically to the crowd.
“Hear ye, hear ye!” boomed the crier’s voice, cutting through the almost physical din of the crowd. “Presenting Baron Claude Franchet of Francalbia, protector of the domain, lord of the city and patron of the arts!” The crowd erupted in cheers as Baron Franchet, a man with stately bearing, in formal robes nodded and waved at people he didn’t recognise.
“See also, the esteemed Lord Everard Reyer, Oullins minister of trade, master of the rivers and defender of the city!” continued the crier. Lord Reyer, a tall and stern figure, offered a regal wave, his countenance somehow commanding.
As the crier continued to announce the dignitaries and VIPs, the float moved steadily down the street, the honour guard maintaining a crisp formation. Other figures of importance, advisors, and minor nobility filled the remaining seats on the float, each acknowledging the crowd with practised smiles.
Dave let the words flow over him, not really paying attention while some minor dignitaries were introduced. He made notes of their names and titles in Tome and clicked over each one in his interface but forgot each of them as soon as he’d written them down. He could always play the memory back if the crier said something that turned out to be important. However, he did pay attention to Reyer’s daughter.
“Hear ye, hear ye! Behold the radiant Lady Avril Reyer, our beloved and formidable daughter of Lord Reyer, whose birthday we celebrate with this grand tournament! Skilled in both grace and combat, she shall honour us with her participation, a beacon of courage and nobility, inspiring all who witness her prowess!”
Avril Reyer stood straight and poised. She couldn’t have been a day over seventeen. Her athletic figure was adorned in a finely crafted suit of armour that would have been ceremonial had it not been for the magic coming off it for those to see. It shimmered in the sunlight. Her raven-black hair cascaded in loose waves, framing a face marked by striking green eyes and an excited expression as she waved at the crowd. Even though she was excited and enjoying the moment, the way she moved suggested confident balance and strength, perhaps a testament to a rigorous training schedule suitable for one of her reputation.
People from all walks of life lined the parade route and cheered over the upbeat sound of the marching band, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of every notable figure. It was, Dave couldn’t help but think, undignified. People who were lucky to have a pot to piss in, cheering for the people who’d tax them for owning a second pot. Still, the fanaticism fell short of those old recordings of Beetlemania.
Dave was very, very grateful he’d heard that the staff were planning on moving the tables to let more people onto the balcony early. He’d told them that if they kept everyone downstairs and brought in a big, reflective surface, he’d be able to cast The Stationary Eye Of Farseeing and everyone would be able to see just fine.
He’d actually had to arrange two mirrors because of how the spell worked with the patrons looking up but the best view from the stationary eye being down but it’d all been fine in the end.
“What do you think of the competition?” asked Dave, selecting Avril Reyer and seeing how much information his interface could get out of her. Not much. She was tagged as an iron rank duelist, aristocrat and as a human native to Oullins.
“She has the classic swordmaster combo; sword, swift and adept into master,” replied Rupe while clapping softly. “Not much information on her awakening stones and abilities, though. Not that I’ve heard, anyway. All I know is that she has an ability that always hits, a short-term speed and strength buff and that she favours the use of a living cape with her rapier.”
The parade continued with a spectacular array of cultural displays, performance troupes, thematic floats and community groups. Dave ignored them mostly, spending his time collecting information from each continent among the milieu as they passed by waving.
He looked up as Rupe loudly cheered on the announcement of Harry Ainsworth, his nephew. Rupe admitted that he had the adept, bow and hunt essences for a skirmish confluence but refused to give away anything more.
“I do say, my dear nephew is going to need all the help he can get after today.”
Dave couldn’t help but agree. The clean faced young man with shockingly red hair stood arrogantly on the float looking bored with the crowd, only waving at all when prodded into action by a servant at his elbow.
Rupe also loudly cheered for Johan when he came by. Predictably, Johan caused quite a stir. While all the other contestants had put on their best airs and flaunted everything valuable that they could, Johan appeared to be represented by the humblest followers of Hero. Monks, nuns and friars marched on foot, most of them without an essence to their name, keeping their place in the procession as a whole but many ran back and forth with the crowd to clasp hands with someone or other whom they knew for a heartfelt greeting.
Amidst this display, Johan himself walked like a king. His blond hair was perfect, constantly blowing this way and that in a stylish manner. While most of the befloated personages affected a smile that was a mere upturn on the lips and gave perfunctory waves at best, Johan smiled like he was the light of the world and waved constantly like he intended to take every member of the crowd that he could into his grasp, introduce himself and become personal friends in that instant. It was electric. People loved him and not with the mania from earlier of the crowd wanting to catch a glimpse of famous nobles. This was a desire to draw close to a fire on a chill evening and Johan was the welcoming radiance of the coals.
“That’s your fellow, hey?” said Rupe, impressed. “Spiffing!”
“That’s him,” confirmed Dave. “Sword, shield and farm into a heroic essence.”
“And, that’s all you’re going to tell me,” said Rupe with a wink.
Dave silently handed over the cheatsheet to Johan’s abilities.
“What’s this? Oh! Spiffing!” said Rupe. “I mean, of course, I don’t-”
Dave held up his hand to forestall the protests.
“Just look over the abilities later,” said Dave. “The man fights like he’s a mill on a windy hill and you’ll agree that your nephew will need the help if they’re matched up.”
Rupe had already glanced at the sheet.
“Sword Of The People? Never heard of it,” said Rupe. “Oh, spiffing! A smite set. Oh, and a strength ability, they’ll interact well. How does he - Oh, he’s got quite a few. Monsters and mayhem, how good did you say he is with the sword? Tally-ho! He’ll be smiting every other moment if he’s half as good as you say he is.”
“He’s probably a bit better than what I’m saying,” said Dave. “His mother raised a good, modest boy. He’s almost certainly not told me everything.”
“And, he spars with the bronze rankers for a challenge, did you say?” asked Rupe tentatively.
“When he said that he was very clear that he meant it only in terms of technique,” said Dave.
“The modest country kid?” said Rupe, looking up from the paper at the blonde spectacle walking past. He was bedecked in some borrowed platemail and looked so much like everything a knight should appear to be.
“Yep,” said Dave.
“Dave, my new friend,” said Rupe very carefully. “You and I need to find a bookmaker.”
Dave opened his mouth to say that he was way ahead on that front but something new occurred to him at that moment.
“Hold up,” said Dave. “Do you think the odds will go up or down after the parade social and everyone hears his country accent?”
“Ha! I like the way you speak your spell,” said Rupe, taking a moment to understand the idea and waggling his bushy eyebrows in approval. “Spiffing! We’ll wait.”
Dave wasn’t normally a gambling man. The way he saw it, gambling was just a special tax for people who couldn’t do maths but it wasn’t gambling when you knew the outcome.
The parade kept rolling by and Dave kept making notes, aided by Rupe the whole time, and by the end, had several pages of notes on not just the contenders but everyone on the floats that Rupe recognised and his personal thoughts, judgements and speculations about them. By the end, he had something of a rough draft file on many noble individuals which would be useful in his prospective detective career.
At the end of the parade during a speech that he wasn’t listening to, Dave was using Tome to look up any writings that he could find on the top contenders that had gone past and was summarising notes on each of them. There were six that were known to be particularly troublesome opponents with Avril being the clear forerunner among them. Dave ignored the second speech as he finalised his summary note.
Avril Reyer
Sword swift adept → master. Unmissable hit. Teleport hit. Dodge ability. Whirlwind attack. Stylistically a classic rapier duelist with emphasis on footwork and decisive thrusts.
Emeline Paternoster
Cloud fire trap → cataclysm. Magic traps on ground and fire-based DoTs. Abilities = control and burn. One good single target nova ability. Avoid traps to beat. Fights defensively with a halberd.
Baudouin Fosse
Iron, cat, claw → avatar. Agile, well armoured and scratchy. Human form can cast spells, avatar form most powerful attacks. Switches in and out of avatar form often. Basically an armoured lion. Human form = unorthodox attacks with two, curved shortswords.
Clovis Garcon
Goat, moon, flute → faun. Will literally make you quit. Enchantment ability, shield ability, flute familiar. Illusions of plants. Real plants switcheroo. Another classic duelist with a rapier.
Georgette Brodeur
Omen, sand, flesh → doom. Defensive duelist. Affliction specialist. Makes you vulnerable. Opponents become lethargic and despondent far too quick. Fights as a counter striker with a long sabre.
Abelard Perrot
Sword, shield, vast → arsenal. Specifics unknown. Mostly AoE abilities. Forward pressure fighter with powerful defensive abilities.
Most of what he’d gotten was from promotional material and a couple of exclusive bits of reading materials that was clearly someone else’s cheat sheet on the competition but had been left out on a table somewhere that Dave’s Epistemology ability considered ‘public’. He very much approved of how much of a rules lawyer his ability was with acquiring access to articles that weren’t meant for him.
Still, it was hardly a complete list and the availability of information was very much based on how long they’d been on the iron rank competitive duelling circuit. There was absolutely nothing on Johan other than where he was known to train. To get a better abilities list, Dave would make sure to watch them all fight and use his combat log to identify their abilities as they used them.
Let’s get to our fighters before the rush, wrote Dave on a scrap piece of paper, stabbed it on a pen and floated it across Rupe’s vision at the same time as the special guest of the Craftsmen’s League began what would inevitably be another speech that somehow stretched ten minutes into an hour with no discernable use of magic.
Rupe seemed entertained by the cheek of walking off midspeech and went with Dave. As they walked past the staff at the exit, Rupe waved Dave off vivaciously and insisted on paying which he did in the local way by glancing at the amount on the bill and dropping stacks of ten iron rank coins until the amount was covered. Whatever was left over was considered a tip.
They used the adventurer’s paths of the city with no rush, other essence users occasionally flitting by, and idly speculated how his nephew, Harry, could overcome any of the top six or, indeed, Johan.
“Yeah, Harry’s skills are too specialised for hunting, for sure,” opined Dave after Rupe had laid his abilities out verbally. “He’s got high base damage output and, yeah, Swift Draw, Predator’s Mark, and Enhanced Arrows make a nasty burst damage combo but against decent armour and an intelligent target? I’m not seeing it. He’ll never lose track of his targets, sure, but he’s got one trick and by the way you describe it, he over-uses it. Am I right?
“Dash it all but yes!” confessed Rupe, striding along with Dave. Despite his stiff bearing, Rupe had a knack for springing over the toughest obstacles without slowing down or, indeed, bending his spine. “It’s as I thought, he’s had it too easy on the frontiers with adventurers who panic as soon as he takes their sight. He’ll have to adapt to real duelists who know to just weather his ace ability, hey? Capital!”
Harry’s ace ability was aptly described. Harry had never had it looked at by an identification ability but Rupe described it well enough. From the hunt essence, it was some kind of forced sharing of a single sense where you could see out of your marked enemy’s eyes or hear out of their ears. Good for casting on elusive hunting prey. Harry’s great trick was to cast it so that his opponent was forced to see out of his own eyes and then shut his eyes so neither of them could see. Harry’s ability set gave him other senses that were sharp enough to be completely sure footed as well as know the location of his opponent even without sight.
The ability was delivered by arrow, he usually used a Piercing Shot ability to land it for sure, and it lasted until the caster got the urge to have their own senses back. So, usually either when Harry took damage or fell over because he’d gotten overconfident. It genuinely was a good ability and he’d used it to run rings around the adventurers who did some casual duelling on the frontiers but Rupe confessed that he thought that the big city duelists would do his cousin in.
“Ahh, I think you’re right,” said Dave when Rupe asked if Dave saw a way out. “With no cleanse ability, anybody who can put a DOT on him, damage over time, will bring him out of it.”
“If he’d occasionally trained to keep it going under trying conditions I’d like his chances more but alas,” said Rupe with a moustache swirling grin. “Youth thinks it already knows everything.”
“Yeah, he definitely needs to use it as an escape, not as spam-to-win finisher,” said Dave. “It might work against Johan if Johan didn’t have more health than an ogre.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Rupe. “Spiffing! And what are Johan’s strengths, do you say?”
“Well,” said Dave dryly. “His sword’s really sharp and his shield’s really durable.”
“Good golly!” said Rupe. “He got the sharp and the durable enchantments? Spiffing! I thought you said his sword and shield were summoned!?”
“They… are?” said Dave, his tone and expression indicating he wanted more explanation from Rupe.
“What, ho?!” said Rupe, his moustache twitching from side to side as he talked. “‘Sharp’ and ‘durable’ are usually enchantments. Very expensive ones too, come to think of it, never seen them below silver rank, myself. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I wouldn’t have thought they do exist below silver rank. Yes! Indeed! Very good enchantments.”
“Cutting through stuff properly and staying in the original shape?” asked Dave sceptically. “Good enchantments?”
Johan’s sword had the ‘sharp’ tag, which had a curiously long description that, Dave thought, meant that it could cut through things that normally wouldn’t be cuttable but only within rank boundaries. He’d figured that this meant things like rocks or ghosts.
“Spiffing! No, no, no, my friend,” said Rupe jovially after Dave had imparted some of Johan’s statistics. “Sharp items are magical sharp. They’ll cut magic as well. Within rank, of course, of course,” Rupe looked conspiratorial. “And that magical reinforcement is often something that crafters rely on at higher ranks. And, especially with unusual materials. Which is why sharpness is considered such a good enchantment for duelists.”
“And durable,” said Dave, skimming the expanded description in Tome. “That’s the same thing the opposite way?”
“Tally ho!” said Rupe. “Just like that it is, me-sir. That it is! In fact, that the shield won’t buckle or dent means that blocking heavy hits with it is even better because the force that would have otherwise buckled the shield goes back and makes their weapon bounce. Also, it tends to absorb the very magic of magical attacks that hit it.”
Rupe was practically dancing with anticipation of seeing it in action.
“Okay,” said Dave, puzzling it out. “So, that sharpness trait, that’ll mix well with his strength ability, yeah?”
“Hit it for six, yes!” confirmed Rupe. “With good edge alignment, that he undoubtedly has, he’ll be able to take armoured limbs off his opponents.”
“It’d be interesting to see how Harry’s mobility and control abilities go against Johan's power set,” said Dave, almost wistfully.
Rupe agreed, albeit with a note of concern in his voice. “Spiffing, that it would but I’d rather see that played out in a mirage chamber for my nephew’s sake.”
As they continued their conversation, they approached the stadium where tournament fighters had been assigned rooms for changing into some more formal robes. Rupe and Dave waved to each other as they each went to see their charge. Dave used his map to find the room and hovered in the background as the Hero’s clergy helped him into the more formal wear that Executive Services had collectively decided was worth purchasing.
The clothes were a plain affair with only the simplest cleaning and repairing enchantments, as required by local laws, but even so, Dave hated it. It was that narrow-shoe, tight legging with fluffed up coat-skirt type of fashion. As far as Dave was concerned it made anybody who wore it look like a spinning top that middle aged men would imagine should be marketed to little girls. Blues and reds were, apparently, ‘in’ which was fortunate because Hero’s colours were blue and red with a gold trim and naturally, Johan’s broad-shouldered, muscled frame with his golden hair and fair complexion contrived to look amazing in the ridiculous affair. It was only when the clergy had stopped playing inexpert manservants to him that Dave came forward.
Dave inventory-switched into his own formal wear and stepped up to Johan, adjusting his own, non-fluffy coat-skirt with a grimace. “Alright, Johan, let’s go over the list.”
Johan looked at Dave with wide eyes, brimming with eagerness to show he’d remembered the list of things to avoid doing and wouldn’t let anybody down!
“Point one?” asked Dave, holding up a finger.
“Don’t mention exactly where I’m from,” said Johan. “They’d not heard of it anyway, Greenwood values her privacy and I don’t want anybody harassing my family after I beat them,” said Johan promptly.
Dave held up a second finger as they walked out of the dressing room with Johan towards the arena’s ballroom. He had to constantly stop himself from calling it a conference room.
“Don’t talk about or confirm any of my team members,” said Johan, “Talk about myself and the church. The fewer details I give about my team, the better. It would be best if I’m not connected with your Lady Geller scandal and it would be best if I pretend that Sam doesn’t exist.”
“And if they ask?” said Dave.
“Deflect,” Johan said firmly. “Like Heather trying to get out of doing her chores.” Johan smiled thinking about his cheeky little sister. “I’ll just say that I haven’t decided, like she does when mum asks her what time she’ll feed the chickens.”
“And lastly?” asked Dave.
“I am not to helpfully explain my own abilities, physical or magical to anybody,” said Johan. “These people are not above lying or pretending to be someone else.” Johan’s face fell slightly, “Dave, I’m not comfortable treating everyone I meet with such distrust.”
Dave placed a reassuring hand on Johan’s shoulder, “I know, but you know how back home there were certain things you just wouldn’t tell certain people? Not because they were dishonest or cruel but because they couldn’t resist? Or you knew they’d do something foolish?”
Johan looked troubled and thoughtful for a second. “I guess…” he said, struggling through the thought and brightened up. “Oh, like how we’d never tell Marco Schneider if there was a pie on a windowsill because he’d always steal it when nobody was looking.”
“Exactly!” said Dave, finally glad to have found something about the situation Johan could accurately relate to. “Marco couldn’t resist pie and would use underhanded means to get it. Many of these people can’t resist winning, like Marco they just can’t help themselves, and will use underhanded means to learn about you and beat you unfairly, understand?”
Johan looked down at Dave, his height didn’t have a choice, and gave Dave a confident, winning smile designed by the gods themselves. “I’ll do my best, Dave. Thank you for helping me understand.” He nodded to himself. “Some of them are just like Marco and they’re just trying to get me to tell them who’s made a pie.”
“Good man,” Dave said with a nod towards the ballroom door. “Now, go show them that you’re not afraid of any of them.”
Johan and Dave parted ways as they entered the ballroom. Johan walked straight into the heart of the gathering, where the master of ceremonies announced him as he walked through the door. Johan just beamed in response, touching his forelock to the master of ceremonies and began mingling with the nobles who eyed him with a mix of curiosity, amusement and various levels of disdain ranging from veiled to overt. His broad smile and genuine enthusiasm made him stand out among the stiff formality of the aristocrats. Meanwhile, Dave made his way to the servants' ball, an affair held in an adjoining, lower dais of the same giant room where the contestant’s support staff and non-noble guests congregated.
Dave navigated the informal, bustling space of the servants’ ball to find a good spot to place The Stationary Eye Of Farseeing. He selected just below the largest, magical light in the chandelier where the other magical interference of the magical light as well as the formation keeping the chandelier hovering in the air would camouflage the sensor.
“Through farseeing eye to distant space, I will scry my desired place,” muttered Dave and glanced at the small pocket mirror that the spell worked correctly. It had.
“Fixing your pretty face?” mocked a fat leonid, looking at Dave.
“Yes, I look atrocious,” said Dave dismissively and turned to walk off.
“Hey, I’m talking to you,” said the leonid, grabbing Dave by the shoulder.
“Watch out, I have explosive diarrhoea!” said Dave, looking the leonid in the eye.
The Leonid let Dave go, with further comments he didn’t bother listening to. After all, a brain that easily manipulated had nothing useful to say. Dave quickly used Stop And Think to check and confirmed that the leonid’s cape was clasped with the symbol of the Fosse family, one of the big six, and was probably feeling invincible tonight in vicarious power. Himself, Dave was glad that the opposition was so unprofessional. He smirked as he went to the tables where drinks were arranged in delicate towers and took a glass of wine.
Dave glanced down at his mirror and from that vantage point, he could see Johan interacting with the nobles and it was obvious that the worlds he and they inhabited were further apart than the space a ballroom could allow. Johan seemed completely oblivious to the polite but patronising remarks, treating each noble with respect and raising his glass in toasts to the upcoming honourable bouts with a genuine pride that the nobles around him couldn’t fake. Dave, observing from afar, couldn’t help but feel a pang of concern and pride for the country boy thrust into this high society where all of his boyish assumptions about nobles doing noble things because of their nobility were wrong.
One eye still on Johan in the mirror, Dave finally had the chance to really sit back and look around. The ballroom, though modestly adorned, exuded a sense of craftsmanship and elegance. The gentle hum of conversation mingled with the soft strains of a string quartet, creating a refined atmosphere while people mingled. On a raised dais, the master of ceremonies was still announcing each entrant with practised formality. Dave remembered from the programme, and double-checked using his abilities, that the order of things would be that the master of ceremonies would also be the one to announce the drawing of the groups once all the contestants had arrived.
Back in his mirror, Dave could see that Johan was feeling out of place among the nobility. When he’d been announced he’d received at least some polite but slightly amused applause but the more he attempted to mingle, he felt their scrutiny and sensed he was seen more as an oddity than a serious contender. Johan had followed a server over to some hors d'oeuvres he clearly liked the look of near the divide of the nobles’ and servants’ levels. Dave rushed over to eavesdrop.
“Lord Gareth, I heard you being introduced earlier. I say, have you had ample time to train? The duels are sure to be quite demanding,” Johan ventured, with no hint of a lack of social confidence despite his treatment thus far.
Gareth smiled thinly, barely concealing his condescension.
“Indeed, Johan. I hope I am able to test my skills against yours.”
It was clearly a carefully calculated insult meant to suggest that Johan would be an easy win. Dave couldn’t tell if Johan genuinely ignored it or if the insult had gone over his head.
“Cor, wouldn’t that be something!” said Johan, giving one of his patented smiles. “Best of luck to you on the morrow, hey?”
“I must speak with the barron,” replied Lord Gareth, smiling like he’d bitten a lemon and moving away from Johan.
Once again, Johan just smiled and exuded a sense of just being happy to be there and gently took some appetisers from a tray that went past him and wandered off away from Dave’s eavesdropping.
He moved his mirror to see over the rest of the ball and chuckled to himself as Baron Franchet and Lord Reyer dismissed Lord Gareth and continued talking to each other. The entire room was a den of polished facades masking a silent battlefield of manoeuvres who all looked upon Johan’s entire being improper. The fact that he didn’t seem to notice or care about that but remained the most polite and comfortable person in the room was clearly getting to some of the noble guests.
Despite the subtle slights and condescending smiles, Johan remained unfazed, treating everyone with genuine respect and enthusiasm. As Dave watched, a nobleman intentionally bumped into Johan, spilt a bit of drink on himself and tried to make a scene. From the gestures between them, Dave had a feeling that the noble had tried to provoke Johan by slighting his honour and Johan had responded with genuine concern for the state of the man’s fabric. The noble soon huffed and flounced away from Johan who seemed to have earned a few sincere smiles amidst the patronising ones from the presumably amusing situation.
Dave busied himself making profiles on the nobles who came within sight of the servants’ area until the drawing of the groups. A couple of fellow, rowdy attendees attempted to shame Dave into engaging with them by insulting bravery, parentage and his sexual preferences. He ignored them until one got the courage to come and stand in Dave’s face whereupon Dave merely manifested Tzu who, under Dave’s instruction, blared like a fire alarm for a few seconds and then, in a silent room, told the runic woman that Hero was watching her. She slunk off.
This had, apparently, earned Dave some friends amongst those who served a family that disliked the family of whom the runic served. Dave found the tribalism worthy of nothing more than an eye roll but the elegant elves who served house Valdespina were friendly and happy to tell Dave all the gossip about many a noble that they spied in Dave’s hand mirror.
When the drawing of the groups was ready, word had gotten around and Dave was requested to cast the scrying spell again on a larger mirror that some staff brought in so that everyone could watch. He requested another mirror, which was also brought in just as quickly, so that the viewing mirror could be placed in the air and the whole reception could watch.
With that set up, the servant’s reception settled in to watch. Normally, the groups drawn would be groups of various sizes who would all fight each other once before a predetermined number who scored the highest moved on to the next round until a round of sixty-four was available to be made. Since this tournament was an invitational, there were only sixty-four competitors and not everyone was competing in the bouts. This drawing of the ‘groups’ was really just setting up the brackets and determining who would fight who first.
There was oohing and ahhing as this person was matched with that other person and speculation about who would be upset about what. Apparently, a Lord Montclare was going to be furious with his son for not even winning a single bout. Word was he’d spent a lot on fencing tutors but his son Francois had the bad luck to be matched against Emeline Paternoster, one of the top six, who’d definitely beat him.
Dave quietly noted that Harry Ainsworth was matched against someone else as relatively obscure as he was and wouldn’t meet a sixer until two fights into the bracket so, he had a chance to do well.
Johan was unlucky in his group and bracket. Or, rather, Dave reflected, Johan would be absolutely fine and continue having simply the best time of his life. His opponents were unlucky. It was just unlucky for Johan that he was immediately matched up against a serious up-and-comer of the tournament circuit with a sixer immediately in the next round so, his opponents would have more time than they would otherwise to take him seriously and study him. Unlucky for Dave too. Less time to place bets.
As the groups were finalised, conversation filled both the ballroom and the reception, buzzing with the palpable anticipation of the morrow. Dave chatted politely with the Valdespina elves but left as soon as it was polite to do so and drifted out with the other attendees. The information gathering had been successful. Looking around outside and making good use of his UI, Dave spotted Rupe and waved. Rupe waved back and trotted over.
“Dave! Spiffing!”
“I saw you get the message to Johan,” said Dave in greeting next to Rupe’s ear. He handed over a piece of paper. “Here’s everything about Harry’s opponents until he hits Brodeur. If he manages to beat her, I’ll do the rest of his opponents.”
“Ha-haa! Fair enough, me-sir, fair enough!” chortled Rupe. “It’s off to bed for a good sleep for Harry there.” Rupe gestured over his shoulder at a red haired man of average build with long legs and rosy cheeks who was currently preening in front of a couple of celestials he didn’t have a chance with. “So! See you bright and early at the bookies, eh? Now go rescue your fighter. Tally-ho!”
“Indeed so,” said Dave with a genuine smile. “Until then.”
Johan was being held up by a gorgeous bronze rank woman who’d manoeuvred Johan into a social situation he couldn’t extract himself from without being impolite and was angling to get him to have a cup of coffee with her and her friends to keep chatting the night away. She was clearly intending to keep Johan from sleeping before the tournament. Dave walked smartly up to the scene.
“Mister Schmidt?” asked Dave in a sharp, loud voice. Everyone in the conversation turned to glare at him. He felt an aura spike from the bronze ranked woman bounce off his camouflage and his HUD confirmed the ability was on cooldown. He ignored it. “You are needed at the temple. Come at once!”
Johan looked relieved to see Dave and immediately excused himself from the group, offering a polite bow to the woman.
“I’m sorry, Lady Danae, duty calls. Perhaps another time.”
The bronze-ranked woman’s smile tightened, but she nodded graciously. “Of course. Good luck in the tournament, Mister Schmidt.”
“Ulterior motives, Johan. Remember?” whispered Dave as they walked away. “She was trying to stop you from sleeping.”
Johan gave a sheepish grin.
“I know but she was being friendly.”
“Friendly so long as you’re her lapdog, I bet. Trapping you with politeness is just as rude as using chains. Just more socially acceptable. Now, let’s get you some rest. You’ve got a tournament tomorrow.”
“I don’t like not trusting people,” complained Johan.
“Don’t worry, mate,” said Dave with a wry smile. “We’ll just win this tournament and get back to spending time with normal, trustworthy folk as soon as this tournament’s over, okay?”
“Cor, that sure sounds swell,” said Johan, looking wistful.
They made their way through the winding streets back to their lodgings. The night was cool, and the city was beginning to quiet down as the excitement of the evening subsided. Dave manifested Tzu to keep an eye out for any potential threats, but the streets remained mostly empty, save for a few late-night revellers.
Back at his quarters at Hero’s cathedral, Dave ensured Johan was settled in and ready for bed.
“Remember, don’t let anyone distract you tomorrow. Focus on the matches and just do everything Greenwood trained you to do.”
Johan nodded, his earnest eyes shining out of his face.
“I will, Dave. Thanks for looking out for me. The big city sure is a strange place full of strange people.”
Dave smiled, patting Johan on the shoulder.
“Get some sleep, champ. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
Dave retreated to his own room next to Johan’s, nodding at the clergymen who were subtly patrolling the hall as he passed them. He reflected on the evening's events. The tournament was shaping up to be exactly what it appeared to be, which was a warning sign in and of itself. He suspected that would change tomorrow when they found out that Johan wasn’t just a country bumpkin.
Still, he felt a glimmer of hope. The churches were on his side. Once the nobles knew Johan was a genuine threat, they’d almost certainly try to get him disqualified for something on the basis that he was a peasant and they’d be embarrassed losing to him. But, they’d need grounds and Johan had drilled the tournament rules every day for the last two weeks. It was also a good bet that they didn’t know about the collection of historical tournament results and commentaries in Knowledge’s library which Dave had access to and with Stop And Think, he’d definitely be able to cite examples in the last fifty years of similar events that didn’t result in disqualifications to counter the noble’s puffed up accusations.
Slipping into bed, Dave allowed himself relaxation and felt himself untense from the rigours of the last few hours. Tomorrow would come, but he’d prepared.