The second day of performance...

Phileas adopted a slight change of story, to make sure it was a "crowd pleaser' with the Orcs, despite going into the crude and violent entertainment that Orcs seemed to enjoy.  He started the show early enough to allow for plenty of day left afterwards, and stretched out the show to allow for Orcs who might otherwise not be interested to gather after hearing about it.

Cambete, fortunately, is a very small town, and the venue was an open one- anyone could wander over and look.

And yes, the mere inclusion of Orc characters drew every Orc in Cambete.  Naturally, many of them came expecting to be insulted, ready to shout and throw things and if necessary, attack the performers to defend Orcish honor.  They react to the positive portrayal of Orcs with a range of emotions.  Some Orcs seem proud.  Some seem confused. ("Why would they do that?")  Some seem suspicious.

Midway through the show, after one particular Orc has arrived a little late (and went with "confused" as his reaction) whispers are passed among the performers, eventually reaching Alayna and Lindon by way of Celeste Argentos.

"That one.  That's Gnashrip.  Watch him, he's the one to follow."

Gnashrip doesn't have the grizzled veteran warrior look of Pugnant.  He does not wear battle-trophies and an assortment of weapons like the most important Orcs do even on the least dangerous occasions.  He has his armor, tough reinforced black leather covered in black metal scales.  But it doesn't show the beatings of many battles.

The Orc lifespan is a subject of much debate.  How long CAN they live is an entirely different question from how long DO they live.  Generally, given their love of fighting, their lives are short.  That gives the elder leaders great respect- they have been in many fights over their lives and obviously haven't died.  So in relation to the typical Orc, Gnashrip does not look young.  Most Orcs are young.  But he is definitely not in the "experienced leader" age, not by many years.

Still, a few other Orcs with him seem to act as if he was someone important.

Aria had practiced furiously, going over each line and enunciating each word carefully. Orcish was not an easy language to pronounce and even harder to sing. The very fact she was even proficient in it was a testament to her studious nature. Her origins had made her interested in the orcs as a people and learning their language had been an obvious step in understanding their unusual culture. Now, her hard work and dedication would be put to the test.

To say the young woman was nervous would have been an understatement. Dressed up in such a way to look like an orc and not be insulting had put the show's costumers to the test. Judging by the reactions of the gathered onlookers, orc and non-orc alike, it was at least a modest success. With the skill of a virtuoso performer, Aria sang and danced as the script proscribed. Pouring her heart and soul into the performance, she doubled her efforts when Gnarshrip finally made his appearance.

OOC
Singing and dancing perform checks.

14:30, Today: Aria rolled 27 using 1d20+14.  Perform Dance.
14:30, Today: Aria rolled 29 using 1d20+18.  Perform Sing.

Tahra plays her supporting acting and singing roles in a way that helps others shine.

Nwofia can't act as such.  If she tries to memories a script, it comes out in Mandinka, so, she has a non-speaking role where she plays the part of a servant.  She tries her best to stay in character while using her dancing skills to make a show of it, and to help others shine.  While she may have gone out of character in places, when she did so, it was funny.

20:18, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 9 using 1d20+7.  Disguise (remain in character) .
20:17, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 28 using 1d20+9.  Perform Showmanship.
20:17, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 18 using 1d20+9.  Perform Dance.

In the background, Lindon punctuated the action with drums, cymbals, and gong.  The orcs seemed to like it loud.

OOC: Lindon Laru rolled 21 using 1d20+8.  Percussion accompaniment.

Alayna performed a stepped down  version of her riding skills, leading to the big show for the orcs.  Once done, she changed, wearing a version of her black bodysuit with a slim dress over it, her long hair pulled back into a braid. Like Tahra, she backs up singing and dancing, often playing the nymph in being in the background and only adding to the story as needed.  Truly, her sweet soprano was hardly useful for singing orcish!

With the arrival of Gnashrip, she worked her way to the sides, acting more the spectator.  However, she kept her eye on the orc, waiting to see what he would do when he left.

Most of the eyes present were on Aria...

Some were on Ghashrip.

The Orc seems somewhat puzzled.  Out of his element.  Fights, challenges, dominance, those are easy things for an Orc to understand.  What were the performers trying to do?  They weren't insulting Orcs, but it...

Gnashrip gave an uncomfortable shiver, and looked down at the ground.  Something was happening, he knew, and he didn't understand.

When the show ended, he avoided the other Orcs, and headed for a narrow, tight alley behind the markets.  He wasn't lost, that was evident:  he moved quickly and purposely.


Back in the forum, Phileas understood what was going on.  He asked Aria and Marcos for a little encore performance, the better to help those who were following Gnashrip leave without drawing attention.

If there was one thing the performers could do, it was to draw attention when they needed to.

"I will give you a distraction," Aria whispered quietly to Phileas as she pulled out her lute and walked back on stage.

Nodding to one of the helpers in a pre-arranged fashion, Aria smiled as the young boy rushed out with a small stool. The young woman sat down and strummed thoughtfully for a few seconds, her slender hand quickly tuning the fine instrument. Taking a deep breath, she began to play a soft tune that reverberated among the gathered throng. Her lithe fingers danced across the strings as the sound crescendoed to a staccato pause, before once more giving voice to a melodious song. This time, however, she sung in the celestial tongue and the heavenly lyrics, coupled with the masterful plucking, captivated both heart and soul.

OOC
Sing and play the lute.

19:54, Today: Aria rolled 35 using 1d20+16 with rolls of 19.  Perform Lute.
19:54, Today: Aria rolled 26 using 1d20+18 with rolls of 8.  Perform Sing.

Perhaps unnoticed, a bat flitters hither and yon...but yon toward the way Gnashrip want.

Once he moved, Alayna ducked into the shadows, slipped her dress over her head, leaving herself fully in a black bodysuit (and nothing else). She pulled a black cap over her head from the dress, then tucked her braid in the back of the suit to hide the silvery hair. Once done, she slipped into other shadows, following as carefully and silently as possible.

Lindon listened intently to Aria's performance and wondered what the lyrics meant.

Aria's singing has a peculiar effect on Orcs.  They don't like it.  They don't understand the words, and it's not the quality of her voice or the music, they just... don't like it.

Sages have long pondered the way the Infernal and Celestial languages work on the mind.  Somehow, mere words carry things far beyond their meanings.  It's better understood with Infernal, because it is much the same with most languages that have Bad Words.  In all cases of Bad Words, it's never the pure meaning of the word that carries power, because every Bad Word has a sterile, clinical counterpart that describes the exact same thing or action, but isn't considered obscene.  There is something beyond the meaning that makes the word Bad.

The Infernal language is full of them.

The Celestial language has something harder to understand.  Words that have the exact opposite effect of obscenities.  Words that carry something higher and better than their mere definition would suggest.  Good Words.

And just as an upright and pious person might not stick around to listen to song filled with obscenity, so Orcs do not like to listen to Good Words.  They don't even have to understand them.  They don't like to listen to them.

But the reaction is certainly enough to cover Alayna's departure.  She tracks Gnashrip, and it's clear he's going out of the town!  He knows an old breach in the wall, created during one of the battles and never repaired, but hidden by a run down hut and some boards.  He moves the boards, and slips through.  He didn't stop to pick up any supplies, so the Orc is probably not going far.

Meanwhile, Lindon listens... and wonders if he wasn't supposed to be going along to "cover" Alayna.  Who is now alone.   Except for a bat.

Lindon wondered if the orc they were supposed to be shadowing had shown up yet.  His position with the other accompaniment instruments wasn't great for scanning the crowd.  In any case, he was sure Alayna would get his attention if she saw him first.

Alayna was many things... lithe, athletic, nimble, somewhat empathic and loving to her horse and friends.  And, she was very young, innocent and quite naive. So she continued on her path, only her small dagger at her hip (left side, parallel to her leg) for protection, secure that no one could see her, and that someone was likely following her.  To be honest, she had never met an infernal.  So following Gnashrip with the knowledge he was meeting one caused her far less worry than it should have.

As it was, confident in her abilities, the teenager worked her way silently from shadow to shadow, following the Orc.

Her work over, Tahra approaches Ssasha. Let's follow Alyna at a distance. If you can direct them, bring a couple of you pets.

[Assuming Ssasha can be portrayed.]

Nowfia follows the followers themselves at a safe distance, waiting to see whether she is needed and, if not, why then she returns to the circus all smiles and quick of breath.

Aria frowned at the orcs' discontent with her lovely song. It didn't occur to the innocent young girl that the language she was using would be anathema to their very nature. To her it spoke directly to one's soul, the angelic words carrying with them a promise of hope and the very divine itself. Somehow, it completed her and she had always wondered about her affinity for the rare tongue.

As the last, ephemeral notes faded beyond the threshold of silence, she lowered her lute and glanced surreptitiously about for her friend. When she didn't see the silver-haired girl, she smiled slightly. Aria had the utmost confidence in the young half-elf and part of her wished she was able to accompany Alayna on her clandestine mission. Unfortunately, her skills lied elsewhere and she could only pray that all would go as planned.

"Be safe my friend," Aria whispered softly to herself as she stood, curtsied gracefully, and left the stage.

Alayna came to the breach in the wall, and took a shuddering breath. Gathering her courage, she slipped the boards aside and silently slipped through, carefully letting the boards close behind her. What would she find? She let the shadows swallow her as she followed Gnashrip to his meeting with... whatever he was meeting.

Nwofia's expertise was in attracting attention but it was surprising how well the human shadow could avoid attention, looking around for high places from which to watch as much of the street as possible with her sling ready should it be needed.

The Orc leaves the town, apparently unaware that it is being tailed.  Who follows Orcs, really?

The landscape north of Cambete tells a story:  half a millennium of civilization, and a century of war and collapse.  There was a time when no one thought city walls were necessary- behind the well protected border, and the Rhine river, there was safety.  So the built accordingly, scattering along the flat and fertile river plain.  Away from the nodes like  Cambete with its bridge were farms, hamlets, and holdings of the wealthy.

And vineyards.  Like the one the Orc is headed towards.  Overgrown, unkempt, abandoned, but recognizable.  Rows of grape vines, many overtaken by natural growth but a few still holding their own.  A central manor, and homes for the workers.

The central manor would have been a target for plundering mobs of Huns and anyone else.  Homes of the rich attracted that.  It didn't matter that they didn't really understand what a vineyard was, and that the true wealth of the place was in the fields of grape vines.  A rich home could be a place of treasure, and so it was plundered.  And just for good measure, burned.

The minor structures are in decent shape, but the central manor looks badly damaged.  That is where the Orc is going.

While the sneakier ones follow Gnasgrip to where he is going, Nwofia memorises the place and waits for the sounds of battle that may indicate that she is needed.  In the meantime, she examines not only the vines, but also the weeds that have overgrown it in places, trying to identify them and to attempt to judge from that just how long it is since this was a working vineyard.  She plans to find a winemaker later and lead him or her to the vines.

To the still nervous Alayna, it seemed they walked and walked forever! By the Goddess, did this Orc take trips to other lands for these visits? She supposed she should not be surprised.

Still, despite nervousness and the distance, she kept to her shadows, moving carefully. She paused as he came to the manor, then looked carefully to see if there was a hiding place inside where he might be going, or if she should stay outside.

Tahra appears beside Nwofia and whispers Will it be safe and same or "How much trouble can be gotten into?".

Nwofia looks up from the vines.  "I have not the slightest clue but my guess is, there's a lot of trouble in there and not so much out here... yet.  But what there is out here is wealth.  Not the kind you or I could use or spend but to a winemaker, this is wealth."

Tahra nods If there's peace; who knows?...these vines might be an element in a deal...if infernals are content to deal honestly...which I doubt.

Nwofia blinks.  "I know little or nothing about Demonkind", she says, "Are they dishonest as well as evil?"

The route up to the manor house offers lots of room for concealment.  The farm is overgrown with weeds and they are quite high in places.  After decades, you don't just have weeds, you have shrubs and trees.

Not everywhere.  There are weeds growing up through paving, but near the main entrance, no.  The large stone slabs were set close, and only small plants have infiltrated through the joints between the stones.  But everywhere else.  And its not just plants.  There are a short garden walls of stone, and a few ornamental statues in white marble.

The Orc carefully pushes open the front door.  It moves uneasily on old hinges.  In the deep undergrounds where Orcs first bred, old dungeon doors can go for many decades and remain as strong as they ever where.  Here, rust sets in and time takes its toll.  Unless, of course, the builders used bronze or brass. Which, here, they didn't.

But the Orc is too much in a hurry or otherwise preoccupied, and doesn't worry about closing the door.  It is left open.

Alayna is closest.  The others can't see anything more than shadow inside, but Alayna can see the old atrium, with polished stone walls and tiles, and... not much else.  But nothing moving, at least, except for the Orc that goes in.  She'll have to close to see anything else.



(Does Nwofia have any grape-associated skills?  If not... these are grapes.  The grapey kind.  But she can't tell anything beyond that.)

Demons and such will lie. Devils won't if promising something, but they will twist words. We're probably dealing with demon-like infernals who want to use Gruumish's ideas:

 Gather and breed, and your numbers shall flourish.
Rise up in hordes and seize that which is rightfully yours.
Raid. Kill. Conquer.

There is a problem. The orcs have no deity who offers anything resembling getting along with others.

Now moving slower, Alayna uses her best skills to move without a sound, to hug shadow where she can. She needs to stay close enough to keep him in sight, and close enough so she doesn't miss who he is meeting.

Despite her care and skill, she is still a bit shaky. And frightened. What will she see, she wonders?

Nwofia nods.  "Shame that.  Maybe they need to be taught."

As I understand it, orc children at a young age are all put in together in a sort of creche...except there's no nurturing. The idea is that the strongest and the craftiest survive...with emphasis on the strongest, most willing to take.

Now, if there were orc families who kept their children....

Nwofia grinned her famous drow-quelling grin and suggests, "Perhaps we should suggest this to Pugnant?  Orcs need to learn to look after their children, keeping them safe and teaching and nurturing them."

Other than the the Orc, Alayna, and the others following in support, there is no one in the vineyard area.  Nothing moving but the crows, who have learned to hang around when Humans and Orcs are wandering, because it often means food.

One or two screech to each other.  The Orc doesn't pay it any attention.

Alayna follows to the doorway and peeks in.


Many of these old homes of wealthy landowners are scattered over the landscape, in various states of deterioration.  Scavenging leftover wealth is a career for many people, but they have to work hard.  These homes, unprotected and abandoned, are the most obvious targets for looters, and it has been many years. Most don't have much of interest left.

This one, though...

Many vintners had shrines to Bacchus, God of Wine, in the hopes that their crops would be blessed.  Whoever designed this home put the shrine front and center, as the main feature in the atrium.  It would be the first thing any visitor would see- painted walls, and very large sculptures depicting Bacchus and his drunken attendants, the Bacchanae.

For some reason, someone seems to have added one statue, but a very different one.  It's completely out of place, and not up to the artistic standards of the others.  It's crude, and made of painted wood.  And it doesn't seem happy and drunk, like the others.  It seems ferocious, angry and drunk.

The Orc kneels down in front of it, and begins to speak!  It doesn't sound angry so much as frustrated and confused.

(Does Alayna understand any Orcish?)

Alayna stays close enough to listen. She is trying to keep from shaking, as the thing he is praying to is quite frightening! At this moment, she rather wished one of her friends was close. Maybe, just maybe, she would learn something and then be able to sneak out without getting hurt. Or worse.

Alayna does understand some Orcish.  Growing up in cities they control, she picked up a basic understanding.  Fortunately, most Orcish is basic.  There's not much room for elegance in Orcish.  Poets are frustrated.  Lots of insults, though.

He's talking to the wood painted statue.  Or maybe, whatever supernatural power it is supposed to be a representation of.  It's not answering back.

He's frustrated and hoping for guidance.  The strange human entertainers are undermining his message.  Orcs must be warriors and conquerors and masters or.. or there is nothing else.  There is no such thing as a silly, weak, compromise life with humans and worse, Elves.  One is master, one is slave, and that must be that.

He apparently is a cleric of some kind, or just really wants to be a cleric.  Either way, there is no response from the statue.

The Orc tells the statue about new Orcs arriving, explaining that the nonsense and shame of this town is spreading, and if unchecked will lead to, inevitably, Orcs fighting Orcs on behalf of Humans.

"I have a few loyal allies, but just a few," the Orc says.  "If I attack these newcomers, and drive them away.. is that right?  If I let them come in... do we drown in a river of weakness?  What is best to do?"

He stares at the wood blankly for a few moments.

"I know.  These humans... they make lies to tell a story.  I will make lies to tell a story.  But they will hear my story first.  I will go home, and make my lies and then go tell them.  Please help me.  Give me your aid, oh lord of disorder."

Alayna listened carefully, her brow furrowing with trying to figure out what to do. Clearly, there was no infernal, or perhaps there was, but only in Gnashrip's mind. But she understood the part about telling lies. They would have to get their message out, maybe individually. And if there was no infernal, then it was easier, wasn't it? Without it, the Orc had no other power.

She looked around, wondering if she could sneak behind the statue. If she could, then maybe she could talk for the statue herself...

The others in the vicinity are waiting, watching, and Tahra notices something:  there are the remnants of a battle here, some years ago, but not nearly so long as the battles that ended the Empire.  Maybe 4 or 5 years, judging by the weathering and the wear.  Nothing special, just the debris no one thought worth collecting:  some arrows, mostly broken.  Damaged armor and gear, mostly weathered beyond use now, though a scavenger might go over such things for brass buttons and buckles, and other small bits that don't weather or corrode quickly.

Alayna looks for opportunity.  There isn't much, but the Orc does seem rather absorbed in his own issues at the moment, and maybe she could slip past.  Very fortunately, she isn't wearing anything that clinks.

Tahra indicates the debris to Nwofia. What occurred her might be significant.

Alayna steadies herself, then sneaks around carefully to get behind the wooden idol. Fortunately, she's very small herself, so she can manage it. She listens, then waits for her chance.

Nwofia nods to Tahra.  "Possibly.  but it looks like just another battle to be honest."

It's a daring ploy...

But Alayna has one thing on her side.  Orcs know a lot about battle.  They are alert for the standard tactics and tricks of combat.  If she were to suddenly attack the Orc by surprise, it might be off its guard for a few moments.

This kind of thing, though, no, Orcs do not consider these things.  No one impersonates spirit powers.

Especially since even when the idols are mere statues, the spirits they represent are generally real, and do not take impersonate lightly.  It is insulting to immortal beings. It's possible that the being the Orc was addressing senses the deception, and maybe the sudden rush of all the crows from the fields outside towards the building, squawking and hooting loudly, was meant as a warning to Gnashrip.

But Gnashrip is too stunned by the fact that there is actually a voice.

For a few moments, the Orc stammers, not prepared to have his patron actually speak.  If anything, the feathered chatter outside only reinforces his belief.

"Speak to me!" the Orc grunts, overjoyed to have gotten such direct attention.  "What must I do?"

Outside, the others see two dozen crows gathered around the house, making a lot of noise.

Tahra grimaces. Alayna...she's part of the show, and the show must go on. Her chuckle almost is a cackle. Break a leg...but if a leg must be broken, let is not be ours.

Thara moves out toward the commotion.

Nwofia sighs. "Drunkards and battles" she mutters as Tahra moves out of hiding and she remains hidden with her sling ready should Gnashrip realise a ploy is happening... why then a slingshot could be a thunderbolt, praise be unto the Hidden Goddess.

The noise of the fluttering, squawking birds gives cover to Nwofia and Tahra as they move.

They can get close enough to peak inside.

They can see the Orc, and though they cannot see Alayna, who is hiding, they can hear her voice.

The Orc does not seem to notice them.

Alayna thought a long moment, then answered, still disguising her voice. Her voice is rough, and makes a very disgusting sound to begin with.

Nwofia remains hidden, watching, sling primed and ready should it be desirable or necessary to end Gnashrip's existence.

Tahra waits. She is looking in directions opposite to the way Nwofia is looking.

One of the things about speaking to idols...

Most people, Orcs included, are just a little skeptical when an idol suddenly speaks.  On the other hand, the kind of people who spend a lot of time speaking to them are generally the kind who are not skeptical when they speak back.  After all... it's what they were waiting for.

But on the third hand:  Most of those who talk to deities assume the deity shares their moral outlook.  People... including Orcs.. generally don't expect to have any real moral differences with their deity of choice.

The Orc is a little puzzled.  He reaches the logical conclusion:  whatever he has been doing hasn't been wrong, it merely hasn't been enough!

He gives the statue a look of earnest commitment (assuming one can tell the facial expression of an Orc, which is not easy) and raises a fist, and announces his intentions, in Orcish.


The Orc rises, looking quite eager and ready, and turns towards the door.

Tahra hears, and understands, Orc.

Nwofia hears but does not understand a word of orcish, nor does she have any real clue of orcish facial expressions but she knows the raised fist.  She whispers to Tahra, "Should we kill him?"

Alayna was frozen in shock, unsure what to do next. Could she stop him? Or would her being there... Oh! Of course, if he brought the others back and it was proven to be her, then he would be disgraced.

Of course, then she might get killed.

She watched him leave, her mind a whirl with the possibilities. It made her wish she had brought someone with her...

Tahra hears the Orc interpret the idol's "instructions"- find Pugnant and make him see the glorious truth of what must be done.  Or.. something like that.

"Unity" the Orc grunts.  "I understand."

He heads out the door, back the way he came.  He is not moving with the speed or desperation that he had before, but there is a sense of purpose and certainty- an Orc who knows what he's doing.

He just spoke to his deity, after all, and the deity answered.



The Orc is on his way back to Cambete.

Once he left, and she was sure he was out of sight, Alayna made her way out of the building. She was a bit shaky, being the youngster she was, and still getting over her fright. She stood in the doorway, swaying a bit, then began the slow walk back to the village.

She sees Tahra in Gnashrip's sight. [I think the posts don't conflict.I was on the slow side, thinking whether I wanted to post this. Free obvious advice, if all goes well, don't look like you came out of the building.]

Tahra gets a move on so, when Gnashrip comes out, he sees her with upright broom in hand, her red hair partially obsuring her face. She speaks in Orc. I have come, an answer also. You prayed. You heard an answer. Unity, yes. Pugnant, yes. ...glorious truth of what must be done. Yes, I am a human but best you take me to see Pugnant. I now speak in Latin, for many powers are at work.

Her voice rises. I am just one of three. I call on two others. I am red, blood of life; gray, color of the maybe futures. First I call on one who has the skin of night but can stand the harshest rays of sun. She fears not the darkest of deeds; she fears not the brightest of lights. And I call on one more a small half-elf. Gnashrip, are you strong enough to abide the presence of a half-elf, one who is no danger to you?  She is freedom and discipline personified.

Yes, you have seen us at the show, for we have to mingle in the world. And we have seen you and are willing to walk beside you.

What say you?

Nwofia returns her sling to its place and holds her staff at ease, as though having no intention of using it in a fight (which indeed she does not, for her hand is always close to the hidden hilt of the dagger).  She walks beside Tahra in utter silence.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:36, Mon 28 Jan 2019.

Alayna skidded to a stop as she saw her fellow performers ahead of her. What in the world were they doing here? As she walked closer, she saw Tahra was talking to... Gnashrip? She went even more pale, bit her lip, then walked closer.

One very puzzled Orc stops.  At first, he begins to draw his weapon.  Then pauses.  After all, he's on a divine mission and can't afford diversions.

"I must get Pugnant," he says.  "Orcs must be united"*

"Just one Human woman," he grunts after looking over Tahra**.  "You listen to me.  We go, if this is a trick you will die.  We go back to town, and I am watching for tricks."



*Orcish is a language in which words carry meanings that aren't always the same as their Human translations.  The Orcish word that comes closest to "united" means "fighting on the same side". 

**Orcs also have a tendency to assume human women don't fight and therefore, it brings no glory to attack them without reason.  Although, sport can be a reason.

Tahra holds up a hand, palm toward Gnashrip. She says in Orc Thank you for not killing me and for the warning. She switches to Latin. I hear you. Good that Orcs be united. Questions are, "United for what purposes? And, if united against, against what and why.

A bat flutters down to sit on her shoulder. In Latin Her name is Hyastenas. Mine is Tahra.

Alayna stays back. She understands the Orcish, not the Latin. So she stays in the shadows. No need for Gnashrip to know who she really is.

Nwofia understands the Latin but not the Orcish, but that's not why she doesn't speak.  She looks like a shadow or a Garamantean Drow, but doesn't have the accent of either.  Better to remain silent.

Orcs do not like questions, especially those involving "Why?"  Questions get tricky, and "Why" questions are the worst of them.  Some Orcs think the whole concept of "Why?" was invented by Elves, it is exactly their sort of thing.

"Together in one force, Orcs are stronger, better for winning," Gnashrip says, getting on his way again.

"Not my problem that Bat has name.  But okay.  This is most important day.  When we were beaten in battle I could not understand.  We had obeyed every command.  We had fought well.  I was the last survivor of a small group cut off, escaping.  But fleeing.. is not brave.  I hid here, and I promised to not eat, not drink, until our great overlord Furcas spoke to me from the Infernal Realm.  Since then, some times, Furcas has made little whispers in my head.  Today... today was special.  This is most important, and we must not be slow.  We must go find Pungent.  We will reclaim Cambete, and glory!"

Let us go then. Be wise, Gnashrip.

Alayna let them get ahead, then moved up next to Nwofia. "Okay, that was scary," she whispered. "Gnashrip thinks his Demon lord spoke to him, but it was me. Now he wants to bring the others to show how powerful he is. What if they are not so stupid? What if I'm caught?"

Despite herself, the part-Elf was shaking with fear.

Nwofia grins to Alayna.  "Don't worry", she whispers, "If he tries and fails..." There is something savage about Nwofia's grin.  Leopards cannot grin but if they could, their grins would look much like this.  "Why then, you are not the one in danger."

Gnashrip makes his way back to the town, hurrying.  Orcs have extraordinary endurance.  A human can run as fast as an Orc, and an Elf much faster, but neither can keep up exertion like an Orc can.

On the other hand, returning, he is much more direct.  Perhaps he feels that returning to Cambete, there are no secrets to protect, and obviously no one to follow him.

Returning, the Orc makes a bee line for the old bridge fortress used as Pugnant's home.  It's another "Orc thing"; Orcs don't have much regard for aesthetics.  Even given the choice, they would much rather live in a fortress than a manor or even a palace.  Strong stone block appeals to them.

But another thing Orcs are fond of is having guards.  This is probably one of the biggest reasons why Orcs on their own never built much in the way of civilization: when not fighting, at least a third of their labor supply is probably tied up guarding something.  Gnashrip comes to a stop, as two other Orcs order him to halt.  He goes into a frantic explanation, telling them that he must speak with Pugnant at once, in a matter of great importance.

When they press him, he says (In Orcish); "I have been right all along. What I have said to you before is true."

Alayna looked at Nwofia in confusion, then the bold of comprehension came to her young brow. "Oh! Oh, I see." she smiled. "Oh, how foolish I am!" She impulsively hugged the other woman. "Thank you! Thank you for showing me!"

Tahra manages to keep up though on the winded side. Even so, she stands there as if her presence were the most natural thing in the world.

Nwofia hugs Alayna and she follows, quiet as a shadow she follows, and hears and guesses what the orc says to the other orcs but knows not. It doesn't matter what he says.  She could kill him but does not.  That would not fit in to the show and besides, best that the orcs kill him, relying as he does on gods that are not gods.

It's hard for those who don't speak Orcish to follow what is happening, but some of the emotions bridge language gaps.  Gnashrip has the absolute certainty of someone who truly believes.

Even the Orc guards sense this.  They might not believe what he believes, but they sense that he does, and if that is the case... then there is the chance that it is all true.  And if that is the case... they'd best.. at least... notify Pugnant.

One turns to check with the Boss.  The other stays.

The guard returns with Pugnant.  The characters remember him from the show.  Large, for an Orc, especially around the middle, but surprisingly healthy looking.  A little cleaner, more polished than the average Orc.  Or even the exceptional Orc, as if somewhere along the way he learned some trick of washing that eludes most of his kind.

Pugnant looks unimpressed as Gnashrip goes into a dramatic retelling of events.

Tahra holds her Broom and waits.

Alayna followed Nwofia for a short distance, then stopped. If Gnashrip was going back to town to bring the other orcs, then she should ready herself to receive them. She turned, then giggled. She would return to the mansion, make a place for herself, hide herself, then just wait. One thing a girl of the streets knew, was how to hide and wait. And she would.

And when those Orcs came back, she would be ready...

Nwofia too holds a smile on her face and a sling in her hands and waits and waits and waits.  So long she waits that in a random moment, she kisses eternity hard upon the lips.

"What makes this time different?" Pugnant asks.  "You have been bothering us about this for a long time."

"I heard the voice," Gnashrip says.

"So you have said.  Many times."

It's the kind of thing that makes even a serious Orc think "ummmm...": the difficulty of explaining how this was different from all the prior times without seeming like a moron.  For a moment, Gnashrip contemplates the "come with me and I will show you" strategy but dismisses it.  Gods, even Orc gods, do not like being called upon to prove themselves.  It's a divine ego thing.

"Orcs must all join together," Gnashrip says, further bending the message he heard into the message he wants to have heard.  "It is important.  Unity.  As the Humans and Elves say, Alliance."

Pugnant nods.  That much probably isn't a bad idea.  It's just when it's followed by the "now onward to battle and glory!"  That hasn't worked out too well.

"What did you think of the show?" Pugnant asks, changing the subject.

Gnashrip knows exactly what he thought of the show.  It promoted an idea he detests- living with Humans as something less than conquering masters.  "The show?  Ahh... umm... what makes you ask me this?"

Pugnant snorts.  "This is not luck, that the Humans have a show that is very much made for us... they were not so subtle... and now you are... more you than you usually are.  Not chance.  Not just happens-no reason.*  I think it is interesting that this god of yours reacted so strong.  I think show has had affect on you, or your god.  Maybe on both.  Show is strong, it is like Human wine-drink.  I think we see more.  You, me, other Orcs.  I tell Humans.  They bring show, just for Orcs tomorrow evening.  We see if show is so strong, what it does."

Pugnant orders another Orc to carry the message to the Humans:  the Travelling Show has been "invited" to make a special performance for the Orcs, so that Pugnant can "study the magic of it."



*the Orcish equivalent term to "happenstance" or "coincidence"

Tahra is an interested auditor.

Nwofia thinks about this.  "Njẹ a ti ṣe aṣiṣe buburu gidi ni akoko yii?" she asks aloud but no gods answer her and so she asks her fellow players.  "Have we ****** up really badly this time?  What would we want this Orcs only play to say?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:17, Thu 07 Mar 2019.

Alayna sat at the mansion for what seemed like forever. She had followed Gnashrip here, had sat a long time, gone to run into Nwofia and Tahra, then gone back. And Gnashrip had not returned.

And to be honest, the teenager was cold, tired and still a little scared. So she checked to make sure nobody was around, then started back to the camp, watching to make sure she did not run into any Orcs.

By the time she arrived at the show camp, she was shivering, tired and hungry. And ready for bed. Following Orcs was scary. Being a demigod was scarier.

The group reconvenes back at their camp, after the news is delivered.

Everything went exactly as not expected.

"That happens more often than I'd like it to," Phileas said.  "The more I see of this world, the less I understand of it.  What in the world is Pugnant getting at here?  Magic of our show?  Not... I don't think he means that literally.  I don't think he means he wants to see spells cast.  Orcs... their cursed language... sometimes you have to figure out what they mean even when you understand all the words!"

He paces around, with a look of concentration.

"No, we won't take the easy way out," he says, partly to himself.  "No simple production of a classic Orc tale.  Most of those are brutal and ugly things anyway.  We have to play this wisely and carefully."

Lindon was glad everything went all right.  Meaning, no one got hurt.  He was a little disappointed that no one followed the plan or included him in the new plan, but he was still happy it all went wrong without him.

"So," he summarized, "it's worse now.  Are we really the right people to try and fix this?"

Nwofia grinned a leopard's grin.  "No.  We're definitely not the people to fix this but we're the people who are here and if nobody does this show, then it will be worse (unless of course we can take out Pugnant and Gnashrip) or alternatively unless Pugnant means one or other of us to use actual magic on Gnashrip?"

Tahra has been pondering. "I'm wondering about our goals. We want the infernals defeated, so we want the Orcs to be against them. That means finding something the Orcs can b believe in. We want individual Orcs, as with anybody, to have choices. Maybe those who wish to conquer, besides being military could be loggers, miners, quarriers, road builders, smiths, and so on.

"But right now, we want Gnashrip to be satisfied with seeing a better way. We could make brutal and ugly boring, have an audience e4ager for a change.

"We could ask Gnashrip to help, to have a big role in, the show... including activities he'd like to have included."

Alayna shook her head. "I better not say anything, no matter what. I am the voice of the Gods. That won't help here, I don't think."

She sank to her knees burying her face in her hands. What had she done? Had she doomed them all?

Nwofia smiles.  "I don't speak Orc", she said, "and Alayna SHOULD not.  So who does that leave.  Somebody should ask Gnashrip because his help, or rather his belief that he has helped and the troupe is helping him, looks like our only chance of getting out of here without having to start a war." Her smile grows wider, lambent eyes like leopards' glowing in their own personal darkness, "I hate wars.  They're the wrong kind of chaos if that makes any sense to anyone?"

Tahra, who has learned what Alayna did, says You moved things along, Alayna. I agree with Nwofia. No speaking by you. You meet Gnashrip, be scared into muteness. We can say that's a personality quirk...you lose your voice when your scared. But for the show, can you simulate crying or actually cry at will?

Alayna raise her head showing her tears, then nodded.  "Oh yeah, I can. I used it as a girl when I lived on the streets. it was a handy skill."

She wiped her eyes, composed herself. Then, she looked at Tahra. Then, her eyes widened, as if the other woman had hit her, and the tears began to fall. She made no noise for a moment, then her lower lip quivered. Then, she took and shuddering breath, and then she began to sob.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:21, Mon 18 Mar 2019.

"Is there a way we can discredit Gnapstrip?" Lindon asked.  "Show his people how gullible he is?  I mean," he shrugged and waved at Alayna, "if he believes his orc god sounds like a little girl, his people would have to think his judgement is questionable.

"Couldn't we have his god have him bring some lieutenants along to hear his word.  Then maybe they'll realize how they're headed down the wrong path once they hear how preposterous this is?

"We just have to find a way for us, and the rest of the town, to NOT be blamed for this deception.  Blame it on pixies or something?"

I'd rather the show avoided discrediting any Orc. If Gnashrip's ideas are discredited, good. Let him do it himself, but then we should take steps to restore his pride. We want a Gnashrip who is a contributing member of society.

Stopping her tears, almost magically, Alayna looked up. "Why not make Gnashrip look bad? He says he speaks for the gods, and I became his god. Why not have me speak up? Hidden? Doing the thing I did to fool him? And call him out as a phony?"  She rubbed her eyes.

"I don't care if Orcs fight Orcs. I'm a part blood bastard. And not Orc. So if they kill each other and not us, so what? As long as it's not my blood."

Nwofia sighs.  "I'd prefer not to see orcs killing orcs even, at least at this stage.  If you kill someone, he becomes useless to you in future and the orcs are useful in protecting this Empire of yours against the seething masses I am told wait in the East.  That said, even if orcs kill orcs, simple internecine violence is not the same as war.  War is unhealthy for small children and animals and anyone else who gets caught in the crossfire."

Alayna, do you want a race war, a genocide? Pugnant is leading a faction that wants the Orcs to live what we'd consider normal lives. Do youwant him dead? Besides, we're in Burgundy. King Gundobad would be most displeased, like stick our heads on poles for crow food.

To her credit, Alayna hung her head. "Forgive me. I... I didn't think. I truly do not like Orcs, and I let that mess with me. I'm sorry."

At that moment, she clearly looked like the teenager she was, and was truly sorry she had spoken.

I believe you were, and are, thinking. Hey, we're in this together, and we'll plan better—I hope—with all thoughts out on the table. And what is said here stays here.

Nwofia smiled and even went so far as to hug Alayna.  "Don't worry, Nwa kyakkyawa, of course you are forgiven.  When we are angry, it is better to express our anger and let it float away for the crocodiles to feed upon it.  There is no need to hold an uncomfortable silence when there is nobody here but us conspirators."

Alayna nodded at Tahra's comment, then was clearly surprised by Nwofia's hug. She hugged her back, not at all shy.

"Thank you. I... I'll do whatever is needed. With all the skills I have."

"So it seems we have three ideas," Lindon summarized, ticking them off on one hand.

"Discredit Gnupspit.  Kill him.  Invite him to be part of the show.

"Any other ideas?"

I suspect Pugnant has thought of killing him. Trouble is, one dead Gnashrip probably means two to a dozen new Gnashrips.

Nwofia scratched her scalp as she considered, eventually shrugging her shoulders and suggesting, "Well just for the sake of completeness, we could run away?"

"All right, then," Lindon summarized their options.  "If we don't want to kill him, that leaves discredit, run away, or invite him to be part of the show.

"Anyone like any of these?" he asked, looking around for some small consensus.

"I'm still liking the discredit."

Invite him to help script it. I'm guessing attempts to discredit...unless he does it to himself...will do us harm and his ideas good.

Nwofia smiles. "I like that idea.  Ask him to help with the script... or better yet, tell us what he wants us to put in the script.  Plays are not scripts after all, are they?" Her smile grows wider and more pantheresque.

Alayna looked at the two. "You think he'll want to have anything to do with that? I mean, he's a typical Orc, and typical Orcs don't spend much time working on things like scripts. If you ask for what he wants, he's liable to say what he wants is us gone or dead."

"That is a problem," Lindon agreed with Alayna.  "Gupsnot probably doesn't want to have anything to do with us, but he did seem to like the show.

"How would we approach him to contribute to a script?"

Tahra comes up with some ideas. Have him fight monsters, wild animals...not real ones...ones made up from cloth and sticks...figure out what we can use for blood spurting. Maybe have him dong it saving people. Then have him get help when he needs it somehow....maybe when he's caught in a magic spell. Have him somewhere along the line be served with food and drink. And maybe have him do a kind of dance with one or more others.

"Here's what we'll do," Lindon said, standing up to take charge.  "I'm going to find Gnutstup and ask his advice on what he'd think his folks would like to see if they came to a performance.

"I'll encourage him to participate and become invested in the show and how the audience enjoys it.

"After that, we'll see where we're at.  If we're lucky, he realizes it's fun working alongside humans.  If we're unlucky, he'll recognize Alayna and things will go off the rails."

Nwofia shrugs... she's very good at shrugging is Nwofia.  In fact, a shrug from her obsidian shoulders is like the dancing of the lithest snake that was ever hatched.

Alone, or should we go with you?

"I don't think this needs to be a big deal," Lindon replied to Tahra.  "I'll just go and ask."

The part breed girl shook her head. "He won't recognize me from nobody. He only heard me, and it wasn't my usual voice. And I'll stay quiet around him. As part Elf, he'll be ignoring me, I bet, so that unlucky part won't happen.

"Do what you gotta. I'll be ready to help when needed."

The discussion was making her antsy. She played with her hair, wanting to go practice tumbling and get something to eat. Maybe at the restaurant she liked.

Tahra nods and goes to her palm-reading tent. She "opens" for business.

Lindon nodded to the others and headed out to find Gupsnot.

Nwofia takes to practicing on ropes, climbing them, tying them while off the ground, tightening and walking, nay dancing the tightrope.

For now, Alayna got up to go spend quality time with Angel. Over the last couple days, it was clear that Angel was Alayna's family and dearest friend. It was why she slept with the horse at night.

Once she has exercised her horse, she will stretch, work a few tricks, then go into town to visit the restaurant, letting others know she is going, of course. Rash the teenager might be, but she does understand that she must behave.

After a very quiet meal, Alayna wandered a bit, looking for something to keep her occupied. She knew that Lindon would handle things, but she was still nosy. And a nosy teenager was a dangerous thing, especially in a town full of Orcs.

Since there was no "late show" today it's not as late as it was after the show yesterday evening.  More shops are open, more people are about, and there is more to see here.

Cambete has the good fortune to be at an important river crossing site... and the bad fortune of being at an important river crossing site.  It's seen more than its share of war in the last century.  Waves of people left, seeking safer places, and waves of people came.  It's a town without history now, no families here for generations.  Just people cluttered into buildings that never housed their ancestors.  Life here has a lack of rhythm.  It feels like people are making things up as they go along.

They are.

To begin with, there's no set "closing time" for the shops.  Shopkeepers close the shutters and latch the doors when they feel like it, which is usually when traffic slows down.  But Alayna sees that even at a closed shop, banging on the door and calling for the shopkeeper will usually bring someone around to open up again.  Of course, someone doing this had better be looking to actually buy something.

Yesterday, a lot of shops were closed when the show was over because people were watching instead of shopping and the audience included the shopkeepers.  Now, business as normal has returned.  In addition to the few taverns open, like the Red Court, Agenner Alehouse and All Night Grill,  Big Barrel Tavern and Guest House, and of course  Dog and Bunny.

But there is lots more activity.  The smithy is open now. It's a big mess of a place close to the wall near the bridge, where it's hard to tell where one actual shop ends and the next begins- the smiths seem to share equipment and even apprentices, and cooperate as much as they compete.  The "industrial" side also includes a shop where wagon wheels are made.

The smithy actually has a few Orcs.  Making weapons and armor is one of the rare trades that Orcs don't see as beneath them.

There is a herbalist's shop advertising rare and potent things "Made By Elves", tailors and dressmakers, and a furrier.  The smoked meat shop is closed, and so are the shoe makers, but the leather shop is open.

Alayna has seen more artistic work elsewhere.  Many of these people work in the more practical traditions of the Germanics, without the heritage and training of the Roman artisans.  They tend to make simple, tough things people need.  Especially people around here, and travelers.

Nwofia explores the town as dusk approaches.  Most people would explore a town at ground level but Nwofia has done that already.  This evening instead, she explores at roof level, looking for places she can sling a rope across alleyways and walk or failing that, places she can jump or tumble.  If there are thieves working the night, she will watch and try to follow them home but without confronting them or interfering.

Alayna gravitated towards the dressmakers. She was seeking another tight little dress that would be more silvery green and shorter than her current one. That way, she could do more tricks with the clothing not getting in the way. She also wanted a green one that could look like it had wings on the back. A girl couldn't have too many costumes, could she?

Nwofia Barandi explores roof tops, Alayna explores dress shops...

Cambete, like many small towns, is very compact, the better to protect it behind walls.  Over the past century the walls actually contracted, being torn down and rebuilt (shoddily, not like the good old days when the best Dwarven engineers were hired to design and build fortifications.)  But they were rebuilt because protecting a smaller area was easier.  The whole town can be easily observed from the walls, and only a few roofs poke higher.  Up on the roofs, Nwofia realizes, is actually more exposed, instead of less, from the point of view of the guards on the walls.

The town also has a state of the art security alarm system, one that has served through generations, far more sensitive and alert than any Human, Orcish, or even Elven guards could be.  Dogs.  Many people have them, and noises on rooftops that might go unnoticed by Humans set them barking.

Nwofia quickly discovers that in a small place like Cambete the roofs are not the place to be.  To make it even worse, some of the recent roof repairs are very questionable.  So if she wants shadows, she must use the little alleys and passages between buildings.

With the dogs barking in the background at the phantom roof crosser, Alayna talks to dress makers.

The sort of thing she is asking for is a very unusual request, here.  They don't have many people who want to look "exotic" or can afford it.  Those who do will take their business either to one of the big cities like Vesontio to the west, or to the Black Forest Elves to the east.  Exotic things only come into town with traders.

(Alayna might recall that the black forest elves are the next stop)

But traders pass often, this is the link between the Rhine and all of Burgundy, and the dress makers here do have some things they've picked up over time, waiting for the right customers.

They can make what Alayna wants- nothing like that is hanging on a rack!  But, they admit, probably others elsewhere can make it better.  But they can make a decent green dress with wings.

Just to be clear, one old woman warns, "Not real wings of course.  They won't flap.  But we can do a trim of real feathers.  Nothing magic.  We're not Elves."

Nwofia soon gathers that Cambete is not the sort of place to explore from above, so she moves down to ground level and walks around the town as she had before, but this time she checks out all of the short cuts, the alleyways, the hidey holes the middens (although she doesn't actually enter a midden, she doesn't want to smell like one).  She hadn't realised there were so many dogs.  She makes a note to ask Alayna about dogs some time.  She's never been that good with dogs, except if the dogs are properly cooked of course.

Alayna smiled. "I know they won't be real wings, they don't hafta be. Its all for show. Besides, what girl wouldn't want real ones? 'Sides, when I backflip off my horse, people will think I flew anyway!"

She knows it could be better made elsewhere, but she wants it now. And it gets her mind of the whole pretending to be a god think that had been freaking her out.

(look, a montage scene!)

Lindon had a difficult discussion with Gnashrip, but found that he really couldn't get the Orc to commit to actually helping.  After all, Gnashrip is fully aware that he would look better if the performers don't impress his chieftain.  Orcs may be crude, rude, and violent, but generations of power struggles, often lethal power struggles, have made them quite cunning when the issue was political.

Lindon has gained little.  But he has learned a few things about what Orcs like to see in shows- they like to be impressed.  Not with magic, though.  "Elven trickery" is not the way to get on their good side.

**** *****

Alayna has begun the process of making her custom outfit.  Things like this do not just hang on racks waiting for someone to want to buy one (not many things do, and nothing fancy!).  It must be made.  Materials and accessories must be picked out.  Fortunately, as a town through which traders pass going to and fro distant destinations, odds and ends tend to accumulate here.  Traders will often pay with a bit of some exotic commodity in lieu of coin.  There is some silvery green meshy fabric, and goose feathers, and there are sticks cut from antlers that can be shaped into supports for the wings.  And after all this is picked out, there is the measuring.  And then the work begins.   This will take all the next day.  Cutting, sewing, fitting, checking, redoing.

So, Alayna has the rest of her evening pretty blocked out, and will be back later that evening, with the dress having started production.

*** ***

Nofia does a patrol through the little town.  It is much as one might expect it to be.  Small town, close and cluttered, alongside a bridge.  Only the presence of the Orcs marks it as different, and they stay in their own areas at night- mostly along the wall, and the fortification at the bridge that is the home of Pugnant.  As the rest of the town turns in for the night, activity slows down and stops, except for the night watch, which is half Orc.  The only unusual thing this evening is Nofia herself.


**** ***** *****

And back at the camp, Phileas paces, going over things with Hylensia.

"Still nothing set for the show tomorrow?" Hylensia asked.

Phileas shook his head.  "And Lindon has gone off to talk to that Orc.  What would they talk about?  What kind of horrid barbaric trash does an Orc want to see?  You know what Orc stories are like.  Violent, angry, all focused on strength and power.  Are we going to perform one of those?  Seriously, do they expect us to do My Axe is Bigger than Your Axe?"

"That one was a traditional Ogres performance, not Orcs, dear." Hylensia replied.

"Yes, the only comedy which is entirely ad libbed and yet entirely predictable at the same time," Phileas grumbled.  "Orcish theater is better only barely.  No.  It's a bad idea.  We shall not stoop them, we must elevate them to us."


***** ***** *****

In the morning, as everyone slowly and with varying degrees of grogginess gets up for breakfast, Phileas has an announcement.

"The more I have thought about it the more clear it is," he says.  "If we are going to impress Orcs, it cannot be through their stories and their ways.  We, trying to be them, will only look silly.  It will come off as cheap parody at best.  We must be us.  We must do our things, and we must do them well enough to pierce even Orcish hearts.  They must like us being us.  When we are done, we must leave them astonished and applauding things they have never imagined, not things of their own culture we are trying to copy for them."

A heavy wizard book thuds onto the table behind them. "That is very good to hear, Phileas. For try as I might, I cannot be not me." Og grins at his old friends.

"I apologize for my unexplained absence. There will be plenty of excuses to come, but for now we have a show to prepare for and very little time. How may I make it up to you?" He says to all and bows graciously.

Nwofia thinks about the show to come and nods... "So what impresses an orc?" she asks and quickly answers her own question, "No stories no pretty dances but the martial arts.  What can each of us do to seem like a killing machine on legs?"

She lets an imaginary tap drip but jumps in to answer her own question before that single drip is followed by its sister drop. "In my case," she says, "I dress as close to apparently naked as possible and still be able to hide knives about my person.  I begin by climbing up to a narrow ledge, just above orc-height, performing a fairly simple tumbling act on the ledge followed by walking a tightrope and as I move along the rope, I seem to fall but while catching my breath, the knives appear as if by magic (it's not magic, I promise) and I throw them at an elf-shaped target, before jumping down next to my quarterstaff, which I pick up and then walk over to the target and reclaim the knives. How about that?"

Alayna sighed. She had shown to the meeting in a black bodysuit, not even trying to be ladylike today. The suit hugged what very few curves she had, showing what a skinny teenager she was. Her hair hung unbraided around her shoulders and the slight persperation from her morning working walkout showing on her forehead. She listened to her employers, smiled a bit with Og's comments, then bit her lip with Nwofia's suggestions.

"I... I really don't know what I can do. Unless..." She tapped her finger on her leg. "What if I'm the target?"
This message was last edited by the player at 03:17, Mon 13 May 2019.

Tahra attempt to make her contribution. I could do playacting magic attempts, spells that go comically wrong. Not me alone on stage, at least sometimes, but spells that have you guys involved in the effects.

Nwofia considers for a moment then asks Tahra, "Does your magic include illusions?  Apparent fountains of blood perhaps, or fire?  The sort of things that impresses or better yet secretly scares orcs?"  Then to Alayna she says, "Hmm, how do orcs feel about people returning from the dead?"

Tahra purses her lips. I can animate rope and quote try unquote to have it do something but is winds up wrapping around me and I roll on the stage squawking ans squeaking. Other than that...some of what I can do...you wouldn't want to be done to you.

By the way, do we have a chicken or mouse costume?

Og kept quiet, waiting for Phileas to acknowledge him, forgive him, or tell him to get out. He had not told the others why he left, but Phileas knew. Though Og decided to be the better man and come back after their disagreement, he wasn't happy that they were still attempting to appeal to orc.

Alyana looked at Nwofia. "I am thinking, not so much?" she said doubtfully. "Now if the elf girl died, and and then turn into an orc to kill her, that might be cool, but I'm not that kind of illusionist. I think if I attack you, then you force me back to 'kill' me, that might be the fighter beating the magical elf. All better?"

“Mister Worman,” Phileas says, “You are more important than you think.  Orcs value strength.  It is the one of the few things they do value.  They respect it and value it, even when it does not come from an Orc.  You can reach them on a level most others can’t.  But, you can also use that to take them beyond their usual limits.  You are a doorway between their thinking and ours, you might say.  Hook them, and make them follow you.”


“If we fail, then at least we failed as ourselves, staying true to ourselves.  Grace, skill, wonder- let us show these to our audience.”

Hylensia had gone to see Pugnant in the morning, making final arrangements.  The show would not be performed in Pugnant’s hall.  That was impossible, she explained.  It was simply too small.  The stage was needed, and the stage was set up in the market forum and could not be moved.

With slight reluctance, the Orcs agreed.  Hylensia understood.  Orcs were always more comfortable indoors than out.  They preferred close in, crowded places.  A relic of their subterranean ancestry, perhaps.  The bright sky and the sun was uncomfortable for them.  To make them feel more at ease Hylensia directed the construction of a makeshift canopy over the area from which the Orcs would watch the show- front and center.  Yes, it obscured the view from behind it… but the people of Cambete were very adaptable, and very quickly, wagons and carts, some with tables and benches mounted on them, appeared behind the covered “Orc seats”.

Tahra examines the chests of “stock costumes” they have on hand, looking for chickens and mice.

The stock includes a range of things that are useful in typical stories, including children’s stories, and very fortunately, chickens and mice appear in children’s stories.  On the other hand, they must travel, and they can’t bring everything everyone might need.  So the Argentos’s rely on the fact that children have imaginative, inventive minds.  The chicken and mouse costumes are partial- mass and tails and big feet to wear, enough to give children (and, when necessary, adults) the impression that “I am a Mouse.”

"Sure. And how did that strength show play out last night? No, I have a better idea. Let's call out their biggest and best and play some games. Bed of nails. Flaming coals. Breaking ice. Fire."

Fire was his favorite game. If things went right, the fire would behave itself and stay put and they'd have a fun show. If anything went wrong maybe he could burn the village down.

"Orcs are always eager to replace their alphas. A little bit of ridicule and trickery and flame will help it along. Plus! I see that this will definitely lead to an encore, when they try to challenge me again, but then we save that for tomorrow's show and have an even bigger audience."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:23, Tue 14 May 2019.

Celeste Argentos, eldest daughter of the Argentoses and often the troupe's Voice of Reason... not a popular thing to be among most performers... places a hand on Og's shoulder.  She is tall enough to do it without too much difficulty.

"It is not the leader we want to see disrespected," she says.  "I believe we do not wish to disrespect any of them.  Pugnant wishes to cooperate with Humankind.  Gnashrip finds his Orcish honor challenged by this.  We must impress Pugnant but without.. what is the phrase... laying it on "too thick".  That could turn on us.  He must honestly see that he is welcome and his Orcs have a home in cooperation.  Gnashrip, on the other hand... that's more difficult.  If he can be reached in the same way that is excellent.  If not, we do not want him antagonized to the point where he turns violent.  Not by us, at least.  I don't think it would be helpful if Orcs see us antagonize or disrespect other Orcs.  Even Orcs with whom they disagree."

She gives an optimistic smile- it seems forced, her eyes don't carry the same light.  "Did you think the career of an entertainer involved Orcish politics?  It involves all sorts of crazy things.  This is easier than many."

Og gazes out from behind his mask at Celeste's manicured finger nails and follows them down her hand, wrist and arm to her shoulder, neck, and finally soft smile. He recognizes that she is not smiling at him, but accepts it for what it is.

"Oh I had no doubt we would soon be using our reputation to influence politics. It is in our nature. I suppose I just had to hear from you, Masters, as to what our company's political affiliations are. I must have missed the meeting about 'helping' the orcs to fit in. I will help you how I can, but I'm afraid you'll have to tell me what that looks like...my ideas...you would never find me offering any intellect to aid an orc."

Tahra speaks up. What do you want, Og? Before you speak, you might as well know that I plan to repeat what you say except with your name in place of any person you refer to.

Nwofia smiles, "In this respect, Orcs are exactly like the Garamantes:  violence comes naturally to them but they can cooperate because they have much in common with humans.  More than either side would be ready to admit."  Her smile widens and brightens, the happy smile of a happy leopard.

Og sighed and looked momentarily into Tahra's eyes, allowing her to read his soul.

What he wanted, was to fit in. What he needed, was a family again, to move on from the past, to forgive: orcs, and himself. This was not his first traveling show, not the first time a woman tried to get past the mask, but that always ended horribly for him. He turned away and feigned a laugh.

"I want a good show, and of course to make lots of money." He grinned to his "family" but then turned to his employer with a puzzled look. "And just how much money do you expect them to part with on our behalf?" He asked Phileas, concerned that this show could be a waste of time.

Alayna watched, with all the attention that a teen could muster. She didn't know about politics, except where it touched the poor. "Maybe what we do is to show how working with the humans is good, but it does not mean weakness? So maybe a show where orcs are strong while humans support them? So Pugnant is shown to be strong, but so are all orcs? And humans are shown, while weaker, have better skills to help orcs be stronger?"

She is really not sure what Og Worman means, but she understands, maybe more than others, the question of 'so what does it mean for me?'
This message was last edited by the player at 19:37, Mon 20 May 2019.

"Og has a point", suggested Nwofia.  "I do wonder how much profit there may be in this venture."

Tahra observes Og and holds her tongue. She does follow up on Alayna's comments. I'd hope no type stronger or weaker but alike in some ways different in others...mortals all, trying to do the best we can.

Phileas smiles at Og.

"Money?  This has already been paid for.. the lords of Burgundy have paid us to do three shows, on their behalf, here in the town of Cambete.  To demonstrate to the locals the grandeur and generosity of Burgundian rule, which, I might point out, is only recently and apparently quite delicately extended to Cambete.

"Entertain the residents of Cambete," we agreed.  "I think the Orcs are legitimate residents, yes?  And so, if this serves two purposes, the fulfillment of our terms with Burgundy, and the resolution of this business with Pugnant and Gnashrip, so much the better.  We have already been paid.  Indeed, it is our next stop which will be more challenging, from that perspective.  The Elves of the Black Forest.  It's not that the Schwarzwald Elves are stingy, it's just that economically, they are not very advanced, and barter is more common among them is coin.  I am curious as to what we can obtain from them in return for entertainment. But that is another day."

"Alayna and Tahra's ideas are where we should be taking this.  Respect Orcish strength, but respect more the strength of unity with the Human population here.   And of course, bedazzle them.  Make them actually enjoy this.  So much so that they want us back, performing again, with Orcs and Humans in the audience.  We need this to be... wondrous.  To pierce even Orc hearts."

Nwofia nods, lowering her head in a formal bow.  "In that case, Tahra and Alayna, perhaps you could suggest how we might entertain orcs.  I'm afraid that I do not speak even one word of orcish and thus find it difficult to understand, and so to entertain them.  Perhaps some acrobatics mixed with rope walking and sleight of hand?  I'll leave out the weapons."

Alayna thought. "So, can one of us be an orc? And another a horrible beast? And then a human steps in, and distracts the beast, but only the orc can overcome it? And then the human heals the orc?" She frowned. "Its like my idea, where we show that we can be stronger together than apart, but with our abilities? Or maybe the orc is attacking, but the human, being me, is so fast and delicate that she distracts the beast, letting the orc win?"

She frowned, the teenager being frustrated. "See, I can almost imagine it, but I want to have a good idea. Someone help me."

Phileas brightens.

"Well, a display of physical skill and daring would be the thing, I'd bet, Nwofia.  It would have the effect of letting them see that skill need not be related to violence.  And it is in keeping with who we are.    And that being said, it is probably better that none of us appear to be an Orc.  It is a noble thought, I see the thinking behind it, but a mistake could be dangerous.  Unless we have among us an expert in Orc culture, we might accidentally insult them.  They seem to find a lot insulting.. and I have been among other peoples where tiny things we might ignore... how you offer food and drink to another... are critical social skills."

"I think we should also keep it fast, and present a variety of short acts.  I have a feeling they are not the type to stay attentive to anything long.  Let's lead strong but have a stronger finish.  I think... animals to start with."

Celeste, the Argentos's daughter, chimes in.  She hadn't been expected to contribute anything the Orcs might especially like, because her style is dignified and conservative.  She holds up the "high brow" end of the Traveling Show's repertoire.

"Well I am glad we will not pander to Orcs, and not try to be Orcs, in any way," she says.  "They are awful creatures.  I suppose there isn't anything to do for me, because I would just bore them, yes?"

Hylensia Argentos looks to her husband, who does more of the show planning.

He thinks.

"No, I am afraid, this time you are a musician.  But be a good musician. We must be more... physical.. this time through.  Impressive feats.  Just not impressive feats that Orcs will feel challenged by.  OUR impressive feats."

Og looks at Celeste with new perspective. He thought he was alone in his thoughts towards the orc. “Well met, Celeste.”

Og was fine with Phileas telling him what to do, and he would do it well, but he was done talking about how to please the Orcs. It made him thirsty. He considered asking if Celeste would like to join him for a drink.

"I have new tricks, including my flying backflip dismount," Alayna said. "And other tumbling tricks on the ground. And I'm still willing to have someone throw knives at me. As long as, ya know, they don't hit me."

She sat on the ground, doing splits, then stretching her thighs. Typical of the girl, she didn't have a clue that anyone might find that interesting.

With a plan - more or less - the performers set themselves up.

Alayna, of course, will start things off, with Tahra's introductory song.  Her routines are the easiest to adapt to what Phileas is looking for.  After all, no Orc would even think of doing tricks on the back of a horse.  Or any other animals.  It's just not Orcish... and yet, it is also physically challenging enough to impress any of them.

Celeste watches from the side lines, joining the musicians.

"Avoid purely magical tricks," Phileas whispers to everyone, though the Orcs are not yet in ear shot.  "That might not do it.  Just magic, I would think if I were an Orc.  But dazzle them with what we can do."

The musicians start their opening music as the audience moves in, the Orcs taking their appointed places up front.

Alayna did her part, as it seemed to be her lot to start. She started simple, with her usual tumbles and such on her horse's back. Then, she had one of the handlers lead a horse around in a circle, then got her horse to mimic on the outside. Then, she stood, then did a dismount to the other horse.

Once there, she stood, the other horse not as steady, then remounted her own horse. It was rough, but she made it. She rode her horse a bit outside, then did some handstands and such. Finally, she timed it so she was in front of the Orcs, and did her backflip off of the horse to the ground. It was a bit rough, and she touched her hands, but then turned it into a series of cartwheels and backflips untils she turned a circle to launch herself high and do splits in front of them.

Her breast heaving, she bowed, then made her way offstage, her body aching... and happy.

There is a difference in reaction between the Human and Orcish members of the audience.  It's not absolute, it's not perfectly black and white, but it's noticeable.

The Orcs seem to expect that Alayna will hurt herself.  They don't seem concerned, they just seem contemptuous.  Certain that such a frail looking person will obviously come to grief, any moment.

But that's at first.

Moments go by, and go by. Alayna is not hurt.

Orcs grunt and whisper among themselves.  One of them produces a small stick with runes scribed on it, and looks at it curiously before Gnashrip snatches it away and hurls it to the ground.

That almost provokes the Orcs to fighting among themselves.  Only Pugnant and his top warriors keep the peace.

Watching, Hylensia whispers; "Orcs are paranoid about the magic of Elves.  That's a simple magic trinket made to detect magic. It's not detecting any, of course.  They have a hard time accepting that Alayna can do what she does by herself.  Especially since no Orc could do it."

The Human audience has no such issues.  They merely enjoy it.  Especially the young girls, who at this moment want to be Alayna, and the boys, who want to be with Alayna.

After Alayna's performance there is applause and cheers, and Pugnant walks towards the group of performers.  There is more to see, but he does not wish to wait.

Alayna paused as Pugnant walked towards the troupe. She turned, just in case he wanted her, and stood, still catching her breath, shaking a bit from the exertion, but happy nonetheless. After all, she landed the back-flip. And the splits. It was so gratifying to the young teen to have done all that, and the applause that came with it was just as sweet.

Og applauded furiously for Alayna. He was truly impressed.

He quickly blocked Pugnant from going further, “How May I be of service?” He asked politely, but it was clear that the question needed to be answered before Pugnant could proceed.

Tahra stepped forward, a woman alone, her copper-red hair overlaying her gown of satiny black. Her face, a pale oval in which eyes glinted green. She began to sing....

[The Highwayman
By Alfred Noyes
PART ONE]

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
         Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He’d a black cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
         His dagger grips a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
         Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter,
         The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
         Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
         (O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

[PART TWO]

He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a rivery ribbon, looping the purple moor,
Bounty men came marching—
         Marching—marching—
Nidhogg's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with crossbows at their side!
There was death at every window;
         And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a crossbow before her, with the bolt beneath her breast!
“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
         Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
         Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, with the bolt beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
         Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding—
         Riding—riding—
The Nidhoggs looked to their triggers! She stood up, straight and still.

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
         Her crossbow twanged the moonlight,
Pierced her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the crossbow, drenched with her own blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
         The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
         Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

.       .       .

And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly trireme tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
         Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
         Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And if you've read this far...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DhT3HzCDX5k
n/a
Source: Collected Poems (1947)

Nwofia waits outside the spotlight for Tahra's poem and for the applause to build.  Only when the applause is beginning to die down does she step into the light in her tight, diaphonous costume, beckoning the light to follow her before she climbed the walls to the nearest roof and began to scale it.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
14:38, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 9 using 1d20+8.  Scaling the wall (Climb).

---

She had barely climbed a foot before slipping down once to the ground.  She glared at the wall as if it was the wall's fault she was having a bad day.  She shrugged and looked around for another route.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
14:42, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 16 using 1d20+12.  If climbing doesn't work, perhaps we jump.
14:43, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 15 using 1d20+8.  Climbing that last few feet.

---

She jumped as best she could and, sighing heavily and visibly, a breast-heaving sigh that might in itself be entertaining, she caught the parapet and with little of her expected grace, she pulled herself up onto the roof.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
14:47, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 30 using 1d20+13.  Sleight of Hand.

---

Standing unsteadily on the roof, still in the unforgiving glare of the spotlight, she produced fifty feet of rope.  There were no magical handwavings or other signs but nobody in the audience seemed to have any idea where she had been hiding the rope.  Surely the crevices and hidden places of human women were not that deep were they? She smiled and tied the rope at the top of the roof, holding the other end in her hand.  With the other hand, she blew a kiss to the audience.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
14:51, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 20 using 1d20+5.  Tie the rope.

---

Then she launched herself from the roof, holding onto one end of the rope as she crossed the square in a series of somersaults, almost dancing from roof to roof.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
14:56, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 16 using 1d20+15.  Tumbling.
14:57, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 34 using 1d20+15.  Trying to survive the fall.

---

At the highest point though, she missed her footing and began to plummet toward the ground, only to twist herself on the rope and land lightly on her feet.  She looked at the rope as a leopard might looks at a python at feeding time.  She paused and wrapped the rope around her waist before climbing up a different wall to that where she began, an easier wall this time.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
15:05, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 11 using 1d20+8.  climb.

---

Now she tied the other end of the rope, making sure it was tight and smiling down at her audience below.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
15:08, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 22 using 1d20+5.  tie the other end of the rope.

---

She stepped out onto the rope and began the act she had planned, walking and dancing across the rope from one side of the square to the other over the heads of the audience.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
15:11, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 25 using 1d20+9.  Perform dance.
15:11, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 33 using 1d20+15.  Balance.

---

As the dance came to an end, she untied the rope from the first roof where she tied it. And swang on the rope, climbing hand over hand as she flew across the square until she reached the other roof.  There she bowed and as the spotlight went out, leaving her in darkness, she made her way down to join her fellows during the next act.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
15:18, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 30 using 1d20+15.  Climbing the swinging rope tumbling.
15:17, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 17 using 1d20+5.  Climbing the swinging rope rope use.
15:17, Today: Nwofia Barandi rolled 19 using 1d20+8.  climbing the swinging rope climb.

---

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
[Yep, I wrote that live]

---

Pugnant, the chief Orc of Cambete, comes to a stop in front of Og.  He doesn't seem angry about being blocked, or surprised.  After all, this is how things would normally go... if he was walking to greet another important Orc.  In fact he almost smiles, as if possibly thinking that Og is deliberately trying to treat him in normal Orcish manner.

"There are things here I not understand," he says.  "The importance of oman's song... what does it do?  But there are things... real things here.  Gnashrip cannot win here.  He is alone.  He calls on the gods that made us but there are other things here.  These powers... our gods knew nothing of.  Gnashrip has become lost.  You have won here, and you have won for me as well, because... in one thing Gnashrip is right.  Life has become soft, and I like it.

"But also I must warn you.   He does not call to fight me, and I not go to fight him.  He must go free, or others see, I am Orc who has turned against Orc, to favor Human.  He will not stay, he is too much full of... full of the Want-To-Fight, there is not word in Human language.  Maybe he will come to fight you, follow in your trail.

"I know you go to cross bridge and go to east next.  I not let Gnashrip to cross after you.  But maybe he find a way.  You watch for him.  Take care of girl who dance on horses, girl who dance on ropes.  These things very rare, very valuable."

Pugnant can see half a smile under Og's mask. "Thank you very much for the appreciation." Og's demeanor shifts from defensive to respectful. A compliment goes a long way.

A sparkle flashes through his eyes, Og welcomed the chance to fight Gnashrip...to kill any orc...Og understood the "Want-to-fight," he had it himself. "My tribe called it bloodlust, rage; I get it too. I'm sure he has it worse."

But he had his family to worry about. "When he comes, how many orc will be with him?" He did not ask "if."

Alayna could not help but smile. She used her fractured Orc to respond. "I... keep safe. And thank... you much. You... are good... to me."

She switched to common tongue. "I have good friends. We all stay safe. Remember, peace kills no one, makes no village empty. It is a good thing."

Nwofia nods in response to Alayna  She makes a mental note to learn Orcish at the next available opportunity.

Orcish faces don't carry most emotions as well as others, but it is possible to detect the surprise from Pugnant after hearing that the little Human girl can speak some Orcish.

"He has been made to look foolish," Pugnant says.  "It is said, a fool leads fools.  So, I do not think he can call the loyalty of warriors here.  They do not want to share in foolishness.  I think he will go somewhere, and he will preach like he has, and tell them stories about me.  Maybe some will choose to follow him, I cannot say.

"But I can do nothing about him here.  I speak only of what he might do.  I know nothing of what he will do.  There is a difference.  I spoke yesterday, I told him my decision.  If he does not challenge my authority here, I will not do anything.  I do not fear him.  But my advice to you... you do not know who would follow him.  Or what, or why.  Get distance between Gnashrip and you.  Go fast and far, and soon."

The show was not yet over when Pugnant walked over.

Phileas herds his cast back to the stage as needed; even though the goal was accomplished, the show must go on, he must see it to the end.

The Orcs also watch to the end.  To do anything less would be rude, and although Orcs are only slowly coming around to this concept of rudeness, some of them have learned what it is, and have no reason to antagonize the humans (and others) performing.

Besides... it is interesting.  Magic, without using actual magic.  That's a powerful idea, to Orcs.  Deep down inside they have bitter feelings towards Elves.  They can't help it, it is part of what they are, and in fact, how they were made.  That bitterness is tinged with jealousy, and that jealousy is often over the fact that while Elves seem absolutely over-endowed with magic, Orcs have very, very little.  But here is evidence that humans can do wondrous things even without magic.  Such things hint to the Orcish heart that maybe the universe does have some basic fairness to it.

It is also fascinating to them because the traditional Orcish answer to magical skill has been brute force, as much of it as can be brought to bear.  And here is yet another side to things, neither magic nor brute strength.  A third element Orcs hadn't really considered.  It is strange and fascinating.  They don't applaud when it is finally over (Orcs haven't adopted that custom yet) but they do howl a lot.  They seem happy.

Mostly.  Gnashrip scurries off again, but without looking sneaky about it, this time.

Phileas is met by the Important People of the town, who come around to the stage area after the show.  They congratulate everyone, and thank you...

"The last time Cambete has seen such a thing... it must have been in the old days of the Empire."

"It's good to see... this is what civilization is about.  Not enough of that here, for so long."

"We will be hoping for your return.   Cambete is close to your wintering home, I understand, I am sure you can find the time to squeeze us in again?"

But Phileas is already thinking about the next move.  He weighs Pugnant's warnings.  The Traveling Show has acquired an enemy. This is not something he is accustomed to.  But acrobats and musicians are not expected to be heroes.  There is no point to waiting around to face Gnashrip, and even less point to seeking him out again.  It will be enough to stay vigilant as they travel, and maybe they will stay ahead of any vengeance minded Orcs.

"Orcs sleep late," Phileas advises his crew.  "We must not.  Let us cross the bridge in the early morning, and be far away by mid day.  I believe we can all relax some when we are among the Black Forest Elves.  Though, not professionally.  Elves expect a lot."

"I can stay awake and watch through the night. I have been neglecting my studies anyhow...was already planning a late night. It's all the same to me."

Though Og figured he would be disappointed, for surely Gnashrip was not foolish enough to attack immediately.

Tahra shakes her head. I suggest not early morning. Let us pack and leave now. Let here be dawn when we camp where there are lines of sight. As we journey, let Klimmin, my pet bat, flit at the rear...or, with his permission, rest on Og's shoulder.

Og chuckles, “Ah! I welcome Klimmin. But first we must begin to tear down.”

Alayna knows she can pick up her wings on the way out, and finish trimming them herself. But she is sad to leave. She actually made friends here, as well as grew to like the cast and crew. As a half-breed orphan, she had few if any friends. Here, it felt like family.

So she threw herself into helping tear down. And to pack. Her horse would carry her, and she was still enough of a loner to appreciate that. But she was still curious to see what the road ahead held.

In her mind, she wondered... could she backflip off her horse, tumble under, then vault back on? It would be good to work on it...

Nwofia has been cutting down on sleep so she makes sure she has packed everything she needs before she sleeps.  That way all she'll need to do is eat breakfast and be on the way.  Well that's the idea anyway but who knows what happens to the best laid plans of mice and men (after all, no poet has yet said what happens to them and the words 'gang aft aglay' don't exist in Amazight or in tribal common.

"A night move, Tahra?"  Phileas looks at her, but she can see he is already weighing the pros and cons in his head.

"It would get out ahead of any... complications," Hylensia agrees.  "And the animals are rested.. all except Alayna's horse have had a very restful time."

"It's unusual, though," Phileas says.  "People like us don't travel at night... I mean, no one travels at night if they don't have to."

"Elves do, dear."

"Elves see in the dark.  We'd seem very suspicious.  I don't want to have the kind of reputation, people who sneak out in the dark aren't trusted.  We'd have to have a good reason.  A fine excuse, for a night move."

Trade Tahra says. We're demonstrating that trade can occur between Cambrete and the Black Forest...and that the roads are safe. And we don't sneak.