It's the beginning of July, 1460AD. The Count of Nevel and Rethel has fled to France after being accused of practicing witchcraft to mess with the succession of the Burgundian Duke. His wife has fled with him and the only child he has is an illegitimate daughter, who stays behind wherever she's growing up.

The castle in the County of Rethel is given to Godfrey le Flamand, a young and minor noble who has taken this chance to prove himself and his abilities to manage an estate. Godfrey has recently been wed to Marie d' Hainaut and fortune seems to smile upon the couple as his wife is currently pregnant.

With them comes an entire court. Advisers, guards, cooks, gardeners and many other servants follow in their wake as they take residence in the Keep. In an attempt to make a good impression for the people in Rethel he has organized a festival on the Religious feast day of Thomas the Apostle, which is held on July the 3th.

Today is that day. The feast is in full swing, it is the evening and you get to sit at a table in the Manor, though not at the table of the Count himself. The food, in Burgundian fashion, is excellent and on the edge of decadent. The outfits are amazing, though not as wild as with the higher nobles of the Burgundian court. This feast is for the important people in this county. There are representatives of the villages, of the church and of local nobility.

Our knights are seated at a table reserved for the nobles while our trader is at a table only a slight bit farther from the castellan. This is normal as it reflects the hierarchy that the church teaches. She's at least better off than the other commoners here who do not eat, but are glad with the chance to witness it all. Chairs have been prepared for them. This is how things are done in this time. It is not abnormal.

The first course of local cheese, nuts and dried fruits has passed, and the Burgundy wine is flowing already. People are not really limited to their table but can walk around and grab a breath or a talk in the wings of the banquet hall (some of them don't have commoners watching).

The feast was truly a splendid thing, a cacophony of conversation, laughter, music, and a less than subtle argument between a wealthy middle aged couple nearby. The fine cloth on the ladies and men alike could be seen as little flashes of vivid color among the throng and the savory scents of the feast on display were enough to whet the appetite of even very picky eaters.

But for Gerhard de Colmar it was a bittersweet affair. The noise of the boisterous crowd set him on edge, and the barn like heat of so many people packed together in July had set beads of sweat upon his brow and a flush to his pale skin. The fact that he had already eaten two full plates, and had indulged in several cups of wine to try and cool himself did not help the situation.

His current state could well be called conspicuous, having arrived alone and now glossy eyed and a little sullen. He was also armed, which was technically his privilege, but given that most of his peers had forgone any sort of protection in the presence of so many armed guards, so they might dance and mingle more freely, it made Gerhard seem all the more set apart.

He was dressed in a doublet of dark blue with white hose and some low buckled shoes. While he had arrived in a modest hat, it now lay next to his plate as he had grown too warm to keep it on. The aforementioned weapon was polite enough, a narrow bladed arming sword with a simple leather grip and a plain scabbard, but it stuck out at an odd angle in the press and had already nearly tripped one reveler before he had adjusted it.

He had been watching the crowd silently, some greasy bones and cloves left on his plate, when somebody passing in the crowd jostled him firmly from behind. There was a murmured apology, Gerhard glanced over his shoulder and assured the stranger there was no harm done, but he took a long, slow exasperated breath after the stranger had gone.

He turned to his neighbor, a man with the glint of firesteel and the insignia of the Order of the Golden Fleece clasped about his neck, and shot him a knowing look. It was a look that was probably more familiar that could be justified given that they themselves were strangers, but they were also neighbors for the evening, and Gerhard was probably a little drunk by the look of things.

"I don't believe we've met." he seemed to realize, the glossy eyes glanced to the insignia, then back up to his neighbors face a half second too slowly. He had a subtle accent, German no doubt, and he dipped his head in courtesy. "Gerhard de Colmar, at your service."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:41, Sat 17 July 2021.

Helena of Ghent stifled the urge to sigh as she ran her eyes across the assembled great and good of the Castellan's court.

It wasn't that she particularly wanted to be up there, or indeed in the hall at all. Banquets had rarely held much enjoyment for her, the food being too rich, the meal being too long, and the company usually dull and leering at what little cleavage she was willing to display for the sake of keeping up appearances. This feast was little better, and she'd already had to change her seat to avoid the wandering hands of an iron merchant from Wallonia who claimed he was a good friend of her father's.

On this occasion, however, it wasn't the company which crinkled her brow as she looked up at the riches on show. Instead, it was the fact that she had a sneaking suspicion that she'd paid for quite a lot of it.

It was, she reflected, the great trial of being one of the few people in the hall who didn't rely on the harvest to furnish them with wares - her family's trade in textiles and wool gave a regular income, and much of the excess was available to be lent to sympathetic parties who were, perchance, a little short for the year.

Such leases did not, of course, provide interest - she had no desire to be labelled a heretic, or indeed to suffer the predations of the mobs which regularly blamed the Hebrews for their lot in life - but they did provide favours and promises of suppoirt which allowed her family's prosperity to continue.

Unfortunately for her, most the nobility tended to be forgetful of all their talk of sound investment in workmen to repair bridges, or the purchase of new livestock, or the hiring of farmers to better exploit their lands when banqueting season came around, and the distraction of baubles, jewels, silks and fine hounds tended to make her attempts to call in said loans anywhere from challenging to impossible.

Given how splended most of the court had turned out, she couldn't help but wonder exactly how much of the wealth that was being thrown about was, in fact, hers, and indeed how much of it she'd ever see again.

Keeping her sighs to herself, she dragged her eyes away from the knights and back to her own table, nodding and giving her most charming smile to her neighbour to her left, who was bitching about the prices in Rouen, and smoothed the dark blue material of her dress down across her lap, hoping to keep it from creasing too badly, and making sure her the golden pattern of her kirtle remained visible above the neckline of the dress.

Resisting the temptation to ruin the braid by running her fingers through her hair, she gestured to a page to top up her glass. As a stream of crimson wine (bought from loans to the castellan) from an shining engraved silver jug (gifted by the Abbot of Crespin, who swore blind that his monks were down to a single meal a day and a tallow candle on Sundays) pooled in the polished bowl of the cup (part of Marie's dowry, paid for by Hanault subjects who had come to her to keep them in feed until the winter), she bitterly reflected that, if nothing else, she knew how to put on a decent feast.

"Why, pregnancy makes thee only fairer, my dear Marie. Thou looketh just like the Madonna of master van Eyck."

Anne d’Arras (‘de Valois-Bourgogne’, as she styled herself) kept the courtly smile plastered to her face as her eyes went from her friend and mistress to the other side of the crowded great hall, filled with chatter and the heavy scent of food and gathered humanity.

Rethel.

A Burgundian outpost like an island surrounded by land, and French land at that, closer to Reims than to the Ducal court, wherever it was these days, Ghent, perhaps, or Antwerp? Not exactly the first choice of residence for a fashionable court lady – but certainly Anne’s only choice. It had been her one way to escape that accursed nunnery; even if it meant a de facto exile in the remote Ardennes, even if it meant having to play lady-in-waiting to a nobody like Marie d’Hainaut.

Her eyes went back to her mistress, sliding towards her growing belly. Anne was a natural daughter of a great Duke; Marie, just the new wife of some Flemish parvenu. A mere jumped-up lieutenant! Nought but a fill-in for the absentee Count! The fact he had immediately married was bad news; the fact she was already pregnant was worse news. Godfrey le Flamand must have thought he was being subtler than a Doctor of the Church, but to Anne it was obvious: the castellan was trying to start his own dynasty, to appropriate Rethel for himself and his descendants while Charles of Nevers was in hiding. The filthy arriviste!

It took one to know one.

Anne half-closed her eyes, pretending to listen to Marie. In her mind she saw herself wearing Marie’s dress, sitting at Marie’s place, dining in Marie’s silver plate. A triumphant return to court, as Countess of Rethel, a great lady in her own right. And then, Father willing, a majestic marriage, perhaps to the dauphin of France or a great prince of the Holy Roman Empire.

Naught but vain dreams, for the moment. But if nothing else, her mother had taught her how to make fortune; and wasn't Father's motto non Aliud? Aye, indeed, she would settle for no less.

"Pray excuse me for a moment, dear Marie, I must away," she said, gently interrupting the Castellan’s wife, and with a decorous smile that meant 'the privy', she got up and walked to the edge of the room, and then around it. She wasn't in any particular hurry to reach the door, and she used the time to eyeball the knight's table. This was as great a social occasion as there ever was going to be in Rethel; a prime chance to appraise the local stock, and find it uses. Her eyes caught the glint of a gold chain; the Golden Fleece? Hmmm.

Interesting.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:27, Sun 18 July 2021.

Before the Knight of the Golden Fleece could answer Gerhard, he got interrupted. An older man, walking with a cane, gently laid his hand on your shoulder. His face was wrinkled with age and his gray hair showed his age. His livery shows the crowned red lion on the silver field of the Duchy of Limburg. Seeing your own coat of arms displayed on yours (I assume), he addresses you in German. "Would you help an old knight catch some fresh air? My old war wound is acting up.", he says while patting his leg.

While thinking about profits and the reputations of the Hebrews, Helena, you notice an odd sight. Dining at the same table as the Castellan is what seems to be a Sephardic Jew. One of the ones from Spain and Portugal. He seems to be declining any meat and eating only the vegetables and politely makes conversation with his neighbors, one of which seems to be a priest of some sort. This is a very strange sight in these times. The Castellan might be more progressive than first assumed!

Anne notices people seeing her and whispering to each other. Clearly people are recognizing you, at least that's what it seems. The gossip brigade will love this. Perhaps you can use this. Some of the knights are giving you glances of interest. As the feast goes on, you are certain many will ask you to dance.

Meals keep coming, as does the wine, and dancing happens as well. Suddenly there is an audible gasp in the wings as some of the commoners see a dish being brought out. It's a roast boar that is "ridden" side-saddle by a chicken. The chicken is holding a steamed carrot. Some older folk in the wings start getting upset and have to be escorted out, but afterwards the evening continues. There are some trouvère singing knightly songs and popular dancing music.

Sir Roland de Sergius quietly enjoyed his wine as the feast continued. While he had never been known to be one to enjoy too much drink during feasts, he did enjoy drink every now and then. Dressed simply in a surcoat of red and solver, with his family's sigil sewn into the front of the jacket.

Roland nodded at the slightly older knight. "Good to meet you, Gerhard. I am Sir Roland de Sergius." But before long, an old knight approached the two, and Gerhard helped the old knight. As more food was brought out, he would gladly enjoy more, though he would not overindulge himself - images were important here, after all.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:54, Tue 20 July 2021.

Gerhard glanced up, a momentary expression agitation building upon his face as he believed himself to be accosted for the second time. But as he saw the older gentleman his expression softened into one of respect and reverence. Apparently even through several cups of wine Gerhard retained some sort of innate respect, and even perhaps a degree of reverence, for the elderly.

His own livery, that of von Rappoltstein, nearly matched the gentleman's own colors. His own was three red shields, two side by side and a third below forming a sort of triangle, on a field of silver. It was very simple heraldry compared to the chequered backgrounds, mythical animals, and complex symbols more common among the newer or more powerful Houses, but it was old, it was his own, and he took a great deal of pride in it.

"At once mein Herr. I am at your service" Gerhard replied in his native speech, uttered a polite enough excuse to his neighbors, and then stood before he offered his arm to the aged gentleman from Limburg.

Although not as leaned, toned or as handsome as some of the Knights his age seated about him, Gerhard was quite a large man, and he stood out among the crowd of revelers as he protectively guided and sheltered the older gentleman from the sometimes oblivious or simply drunk attendee, sometime with a nudge, as they gradually proceeded towards the great door of the hall.

Anne notices the gossips noticing her, and stops to get some wine from a page.

That gives her an excuse to stay on stage and be seen from a flattering angle. The cultured tones in her voice. The elegance of her hand as she takes the goblet. The flight and swish of silk as she shakes her head minutely to make the veil at the tip of her henin float around. The glimpse of an exposed, pale throat as she takes a sip.

She eyes her audience. Anne spies a couple of young knights which might fit the bill; but one is presently escorting an old gentleman out, and the other one, sporting the prized Golden Fleece, seems to be focused on the bottom of his glass. Oh well.

Her eyes switch to the gathered noblemen, giving each a little look in the eye. Nothing as scandalous as a wink, naturally. As she does this, she tries to size them up. Does she recognise any coats of arms, or does anyone look familiar from her times in court? Does anyone look particularly wealthy or mismatched? That brings her to the ladies. Who looks particularly young and naïve? Who looks, well, dangerous? Know thy enemy.

She is clearly lingering by the edge of the room, obviously signalling an availability for a dance.

'...well, you know my father! He's always been a lucky one, but I'm sure he didn't mean to put you out. I'll be sure to mention it to him when I see him next - he'll be mortified, I'm sure... If you'd just excuse me...'

She gave her best smile and patted the wrist of her latest conversation partner, before slipping deftly out of his presence and away from the table. As she turned away, the smile, which hadn't quite reached her eyes, quickly ran away from her face, which returned to an all too common scowl.

Oh, we absolutely did mean to put you out, and you damn well know why, you cheating bastard...

As with most of the deals taken by the family those days, it had been hers to make, and in this particular case, had been carefully crafted to be as inconvenient as possible to her rival, costing him an entire season's worth of trade with the Pyrenees and beyond.

She didn't tend to let her feelings dictate the family's actions, but in this case he'd crossed the line, ratting in one of her... associates to the Dover watch for owling in exchange for a blind eye to his own mirky dealings.

They'd taken their blood price for it, and she'd been forced to pay the family recompense, even as her own cut had suffered the same fate as Philippe's hand. Part retribution, part retaliation, she didn't like it, but nor did she shy away from doing what was needed, while the convenient fiction that her father's uncertain absence permitted should give her enough deniability to keep things from frothing over.

Moving to the side of the chamber and out of immediate sight, she crossed her arms and began to count out the seconds until she could feasibly make a return. As she did so, she flicked her eyes across to the main dais, seeing if anything noteworthy was occuring.

A Spanish Jew, and at the high table, no less? That'll set tongues wagging, and I suspect we'll be hearing about it on Sunday. What's Godfrey playing at? He can't be planning to declare for the Reconquista, not with a child on the way and his current array of debt...

Her frown deepened. She'd need to keep an eye on the castellan, and not just because crusaders had a bad habit of either dying abroad or conflating forgiveness of earthly sins with earthly debts, neither of which boded well for her investments.

Supping with a Sephadic Jew, especially one being placed above some of the Duchy's foremost knights, was politically risky, and there was more than one rival in the Burgundian court who would look at it as a great opportunity for mischief.

Dragging her gaze away from the high table and stepping aside to allow a page to totter past with yet more plates of delicacies, she caught sight of another woman, lurking around the edges of the dance floor and watching, just as she was, albeit from a visible angle.

Now who's that? She's a looker, no doubt, and there's some good money tied up in that silk... someone's hoping to be seen...

She watched for a few seconds more, trying to see who else might be enjoying the view.

Hmmm, quite the topic of the wags... well, aren't you popular? Now who would that... Ah, of course....

She shook her head, and resisted the temptation to smirk at the audacity.

The nymph... that's right, the old Duke's dirty little secret. Mmm, you've got the servants in a right whirl, I've never heard so many shocked whispers! And yet here you are, looking for someone new to sink your claws into...

She was, perhaps, being somewhat unfair, but given the way her night was going, she wasn't feeling particularly charitable to anyone in the chamber at that moment. Especially if they ended up spending more of their borrowed money on some floozy from Arras...

Hmmm. It seems Godrey's court is more interesting than I'd thought...

Sir Roland doesn't really have a dull moment. As a knight of the Golden Fleece every knight wants to swap stories and every lady wants to dance. If he's not betrothed yet, he might find suitable ladies here, but will they be prestigious enough. At a point in the evening the Castellan will undoubtedly come over and chat. Is there a specific thing you want to do, attempt or be on the lookout for?



As you make out of the hall, he guides you to a bench where he asks you to sit with him. Then he just quietly sits with his eyes closed, taking in a deep breath in the warm evening air. The sounds of music and revel are muted, coming both from the hall you just were in as from the city, where food and distraction has been arranged. He remains silent until right the moment where you would speak up. "For me it was the battle of Agincourt.", he said. "That's the one that scarred me ... in more ways than one.", he tells you while tapping his leg. "Ever since then feasts like these have become hard. It looks like you've also had a bad one.", he says. "You don't have to talk if you don't want," he says. "But know I understand, if you ever want. Or if you just need to sit in silence for a moment."



The rules seem to indicate that rolls should only be made in a conflict, but it has been said that love is a battleground, right? We can cover the "being available" as a dice roll. The intrigue part also seems to be part of a conflict, as in that you're taking positions in the game of intrigue. So let's roll for that as well.

1) Let's say that finding or recognizing someone really important is gonna be rather difficult in a local feast. I'm only going to give you 1 die for that.
2) Finding a naïve and impressionable young lady on the other hand is going to be easy. I'm tempted to just give you that. No roll needed. Looking for the dangerous ones is going to be harder, but not overly so for you I don't think. I'll give you two dice fort this roll.
3) Signaling for dancing is easy. Getting a dance from those you want to dance with is harder. I don't even know if couple dancing was really a thing, but for this scene let's pretend it is or that the group dance will open opportunities for a talk with an interesting person afterward. With many people present this seems to be easy, depending on what you want to get out of it. I think you want to find someone you can catch in your web of intrigue or use as a "puppet lover" of some sort. I'm going to give you two dice for that one.

So that's times rolling for you.

As to the impressionable young lady, do you want to make her up or do you want me to do it? Both are valid.



It sure is. Is there any specific course of action you would like to take or would you want me to introduce a new thing?

If there's nothing specific you want to undertake I think that you might recognize a face in the crowd. I'll give you two dice to add to a roll to see if it's a good contact or a bad one. If you roll a one you recognize a friend or ally, if not, it's someone who you at least would not define as a friend. You do the recognizing. Wether or not they see you (yet) is still up to you. But that's only if there's not something else you want to be doing at the feast.

Anne kept up her performance as she considered her options. She had a lot of work ahead, and she better start by making sure she was reasonably safe. So before she started any scheme, she turned her gaze to the ladies. Let the shiny fish admire her a bit longer, she needs to know if there are sharks in the water, before she dives in to net a good catch.

---

Meaning: of all the rolls you kindly offered, I'm going to start with #2, identifying possible threats. Once Anne has assessed them (or failed to spot a super obvious enemy), she'll check out the males on offer, then make a move.


So that's 2, +2 for Adept at Courtly Intrigue, perhaps also +1 for Raised at Burgundy Court, since this is courtly conflict? With no Pool dice for now, I'm keeping them for later. Is this correct? Shall I roll?
This message was last edited by the player at 11:01, Wed 21 July 2021.

The rules are unclear about it, but I think you normally only add one trait, if applicable. It's not obviously stated though. Let's try it with only one trait for the first session and then review wether it's too hard or not.

Anne's eyes darted around the assembly, looking for the telltale signs of a snake in the grass.

Not that long ago, a miscalculation in one of her little games had earned her the wrong enemies at court. She had underestimated the wrath of a certain Countess, and that had led to her being sent to Le Tart. She was in no mood to endure something like that again, so she was making sure she didn't repeat the mistake...

---

Then I'll use my pool of 4, +2, +2 for Adept at Courtly intrigue. 8 dice in total.

Anne de Arras rolled 19 using 8d6 ((3,3,1,1,1,2,2,6

That looks like a success? Shall I let you narrate it and take +1 for my pool then?

I think at the moment I'm perfectly happy to be pottering around the outskirts and reacting to the other players, at least for a round of posts longer - I usually use my first few posts to get a bit more into my character's voice, and get an idea about what her aims (if anything) are going to be at this little shindig. I may take you up on the roll in a bit though.

Gerhard recognized the truth of the man's words at once, and his eyes betrayed a grim recognition in at least the basics of what had happened at Agincourt, as nearly every fighting man would.

But the younger Knight had been caught somewhat off guard. He had assumed perhaps that this had something to do with a favor, like squiring a family member or a message from a friend of his father.

But no, this openness from the older soldier had blindsided him and it took Gerhard a few long moments through the haze of the wine to process it.

Was he so transparent? Did he wear his troubles so openly? Or was this man in all his experience more perceptive of these things?

Gerhard took a breath and opened his mouth as if he was about to answer, paused, closed his mouth again and was silent as his eyes gradually fell to the ground in front of him. Eyes that gradually became wet with tears, although they did not run down his cheek and they were easily missed in his current state and the failing light.

"I..." He began, but his voice failed him.

He took a moment and mastered himself once more, his voice more confident now. "I was at Ghent, eight years ago now." He affirmed, then gave a sad sort of chuckle and shook his head. "I was seventeen." He sighed. "Still a squire."

He thought about trying to explain any number of the things that weighed on his mind, every day, and the things that sometimes invaded his dreams.

He could dredge up one of dozens of memories, some vivid, some so terrible that he tried to banish them the moment that they arrived on the periphery of his thoughts. Which ones? Was this the place to discuss them? Would his own demons even compare to what this old veteran had endured at Agincourt? Gerhard was still more or less whole of body. Who was he to complain when this man had obviously  been maimed?

He realized that the older Knight was patiently waiting. How long has Gerhard been lost in his own thoughts? He had no idea.

He managed to meet the man's gaze once more, the pain in his eyes mixed with a strange sort of gratitude. "I squired for Gaspar de Durtain in that campaign, and he was always honest with me about what it was to go to war. But even he was shocked, I think, at what we found there." He licked his dry lips. "I should have attended more closely...but how? How can you prepare a man, a boy, for such things with mere words? I wonder if it can be done at all, or if it can only be..." He searched for the word. "Endured."

He let out a deep sigh. "Please, tell me sir if you will. How did you manage all these long years?"

It struck him now that this man before him  was likely gutting people on the battlefield and watching his own friends die before Gerhard's own father had grown his first whiskers.

In reply to Anne de Arras (msg # 13):

Yes! Success. If you let me narrate I can put my own twist on it (basically a moderate success) but you gain a die to your pool. Otherwise you can seize full control over your success but not get a dice added to your pool. Good roll! I'll narrate your success later!

I'll let you narrate, my pool is so small I can hardly wash my feet in it.

Anne d’ Arras, you notice that one of the younger ladies (Marie) in the conversations you have to take part in is only ever talking about her needlesork, and the horses, and taking care of her husband after a hard day of work around the manor. She is also showing early signs of pregnancy. She seems innocent as a dove. This is unlike the lady Catherina who you notice asking very pointed questions about topics that most ladies are not interested in. Through manipulation she’s able to reveal information about holdings and their weaknesses from the slightly intoxicated nobles. It is quite impressive, and she can keep her motivations mostly hidden.

Gerhard, the old knight looks at you with sympathy in his eyes. “Times are changing.”, he sais ruefully, “too quick often to follow. We knights are being written out of history by a pen dipped in gunpowder.” He stays silent for a bit, collecting his thoughts. “How to keep going? How do I hold on? I pray to the heavenly father who never changes and trust in the knightly vows I have taken.” His eyes are wet with emotion. “If the knights are to become history, let’s not let them be forgotten by it, but let us show them what courage is, and honour. These two never change.”

At this point he’s shaking a bit, visibly exhausted by emotion and age. “And talk about it,” he says as he calms down. “Don’t keep it to yourself. Even if it is only in confession, you need to talk about what troubles you, or you will be a prisoner of the war in your own head.”

Anne smiles slily to herself, glad to confirm her initial assessment of Marie d'Hainaut. She had sized her up at Le Tart, where the poor girl didn't understand one single thing of what was going on. Not even that time the daughter of the Duchesse was seen sneaking out of the Abbess' chambers half-naked, sweet little Marie had thought it had been some sort of special penance. Sure it is, dear friend, let us pray for her soul; by the way, I hear you are betrothed to a certain nobleman? My word, nothing would make me happier than to accompany you into that new stage of your life... Oh, I would absolutely renounce my vows and abandon this holy place at once for you; aren't you my best friend, Mariette, after all?

Her smile fades slowly as she notices the lady Catherina doing her rounds, asking her questions, sinking her claws into the tipsier knights. Now that was a subtle wench if she ever saw one. One to watch out for. Competitor, potential ally; in the end, there could be only one. She made a mental note to keep tabs on Catherina.

Her assesment of the ladies complete, Anne turned her attention to the menfolk on display. Her eyes surveyed the coats of arms, the insignia, the faces; looking for famous lineages, recognisable traits, signs of wealth and influence. Who here was a power to be reckoned with... and/or a tasty piece of prey?

---

The Powers That Be:

1) Let's say that finding or recognizing someone really important is gonna be rather difficult in a local feast. I'm only going to give you 1 die for that.

So, I think this will be 1 + 1 (Raised in Burgundy court) + 5 =  7 dice.

15:05, Today: Anne de Arras rolled 30 using 7d6 with rolls of 3,5,4,5,2,6,5.  Spotting interesting gentlemen.

...And that was an unmitigated disaster.

This message was last edited by the player at 14:09, Fri 23 July 2021.