Instant Music

[Brian]

There's a lot of men in the courtyard, apparently getting ready for the battle.  The ramparts are lined with archers, and you can see lorekeepers on top of the towers around the area.

Directly in front of you, you recognize Lammermore, with about eighty soldiers in front of him, and Bjorn directly behind him.  The rest of the men are standing about in loose formations behind their leaders, in groups of twenty.

[Huitzil]

Paul walks quickly to Lammermore. "Sir, with yourpermission, I would like to address the men before they go out, try to keep their spirits up. I feel it's the least I can do."

[Brian]

Lammermore grunts.  "Don't take too long," he says.

[Huitzil]

"I'll make it as quick as I can."

Paul walks around the courtyard to a place where he can be seen by most, if not all, of the soldiers, and begins to speak -- not shouting, but projecting his voice as loudly as he can.

"They are here. Everything we have been building toward, everything we have been preparing for and hoping against and praying for safety from is now upon our doorstep. And yes, it is bad. Yes, it is to be feared. Were I to climb the ramparts and look outward, it is quite possible that I may need to be carried back down. And yet.

"And yet, here we are, myself standing before all of you. Their number is limitless, and yet you will fight them. Their power is unspeakable, and yet, you will combat it. One who was not here, one hearing news of this from afar, would say that it was utter and absurd folly to remain here and attempt to fight. And yet, that is what you shall do this day.

"Why do you -- do we all -- stay and fight? Because we know that we are higher than they. They fight out of fear of their dark masters, they fight merely to destroy. They fight on behalf of chaos and discord. We fight on behalf of something thousands of times greater, and for this, we will triumph. We fight on behalf of those who cannot defend themselves. We fight on behalf of not only the people of this Keep but of their children and grandchildren and grandchildren's children to come. We fight to preserve what is good. We fight on behalf of life.

"When you pull back your bowstrings, the rush of air shall be the breeze through the tulips on every cold spring day yet to come. When you draw steel, it shall be the sound of every mother shushing a babe to sleep in the cradle of her arms.  The clanging of your shields shall be the sound of every silver church bell rung for weddings or births or simply to express joy.

"Yea, their number is limitless, and yet, our number is greater! For you are no ordinary troop of men, not in hundreds or thousands or tens of thousands. All that is good, all that is just, all that is simply right shall fight with you, shall amplify you, shall empower you! Children laughing as they chase each other through the fields, kisses stolen by firelight with a secret love, brothers helping each other in times of hardship, all these things and countless others shall swirl about you and become as a shield of hope, for you fight to preserve these simple and yet priceless things.

"Go forth, and fight them! Let them come stacked three high, let the flurry of their arrows blot out the sun, for you will cleave them all the same! For while each of them is but a soldier, is but a minion, each of you is a vessel for a hundred-thousand hopes and prayers and joys and loves! May your blades and arrowheads cleave their ranks like paper, emboldened you are with the power of all those who cannot fight here! Go forth, and serve not only your lord, but serve ALL free men who ever are or ever may be! Go forth, you warriors of light!"

[Brian]

Lammermore raises an eyebrow at that, just a few seconds before a flurry of spinning lights flicker into being around him, spinning around and weaving (and it really looks like the strands of light are being woven) into a guize that leaves Lammermore looking exactly like the Archon who fled a few days ago.

The men all turn to look in awe at the now three meter tall Lammermore.  "It worked?" the Archon asks, in its low, breathy voice.  "Well, you heard the bard!  Let's get ready to give them hell!"

[Huitzil]

Paul backs out of the way, but stays in the courtyard for a bit longer yet to watch the soldiers move out.

[Brian]

The doorways to the keep are ponderously swinging open -- they're huge, well crafted, solid doors made of thick wood and reinforced multiple times with metal.

[Brian]

The men begin to march through the doorway, and onto the battlefield.

[Huitzil]

Paul returns indoors, not wanting to get in the way of the soldiers or be struck by fire, friendly or otherwise.

[Brian]

No one stops you, and you reach the main hall without any trouble.  The party is still going full swing, too.

[Huitzil]

Paul asks one of the castle servants aside, the first chance he gets to see one, and requests a favor. "I need you to help me out. Could you round up a couple of guys and put them near the doors out of the hall? I don't want anyone wandering out there and getting lost during a battle, so I'd like it if anyone who left the hall could have an escort -- for the time being, anyway."

[Brian]

The servant nods, and this is set up pretty quickly.  Kind of convenient to have a little pull around here....

[Huitzil]

With that done, Paul partakes in drinking and revelry for a little while, before he goes up and continues his story proper.

[Brian]

This time, everyone quiets down when (after you've had something to eat, and something to drink) you approach the stage.

[Huitzil]

"When I left off the story, we had traveled from the household of master Fonda to observe astrange predicament befall master Bronson on his travel home. Let us change location again, and ride the thermals as a bird does, taking us to the Kingdom of Bamboo-Grasses. We shall fly over it but let us not linger long; for as strange as its houses of paper and its honor-bound clans are to us, so are we to them, and they have little love for interlopers such as we.

"What we desire to see is outside of the cities in any case. Away from red stone castles and away from busy marketplaces, away from the thousands of men in their thousands of houses. We travel over this, and then across acre after acre of green paddies filled with water and plant life, over rocky and cold heaths where many travel and none stay, all the way to its distant shorelines. And then, across the many islands that dot its coast, we focus on one in particular. Small, circular, with a house large enough for one man and a garden large enough to feed one house. There is no bridge, but a small skiff thrashed together of long bamboo-poles lying on its side shows that the house's occupant can travel to mainland when he finds need.

"The denizen steps out of the house, and he leaves the door open behind him. He is garbed in the loose, colorful robes favored by men of this land, and carries on him a pouch. In it are two swords, a loose pile of copper coins, salted fish, and other sundries. He leans over, turns the boat over, and pushes it onto the sand with his foot. After one last look at his house, he steps in the boat, takes the small wooden oar in it, and pushes himself off of the coast, then starts to row toward the body of mist he knows to be the mainland. His face shows nothing but granite determination. His name is Cardinale. Tonight we will hear his story."