Once everything's set up here Aniol swings by to pay his respects (and scope out the place to see if it's nicer than his inn). "Good afternoon, my lord. How are you finding Westcrown?"

"As hot as before, and more crowded than ever. But better than I remember it, even with the Tarrasque damage in the city center. Even that is less than one would expect, knowing what caused it."

"Quite, I had always imagined the beast a bit wider that its apparent path of destruction. The foreign investment in rebuilding seems to be closing the gap apace, though. Never have I ever seen so many excitable Abadarans."

"Let's hope their enthusiasm continues. We'll need them, if her majesty wishes to race towards a new currency."

"If only monsters had more of a gossip network, we could hope that news of the Tarrasque's fate would spread up to the mountains and nothing would suffer for our being down here and neglecting our hunting."

"Sons must become men at some point. But it does worry me. Bulettes may not know to attack while a large share of the region's best defenders are away, but I'm less sure about the orcs."

"Well, if they organize anything tremendous perhaps our archmage benefactors will call a recess for half a minute and take care of it. Something medium-sized, though..." Sigh. "I spoke to an abbess recently converted to Irorianism interested in being sponsored somewhere with more scope for her and her students' abilities, and was for a moment optimistic that they'd be a wonderful defensive asset, but I think she may have been disappointed that I'm not one of the new crop. Or old crop, depending how you look at it."

"Several crops thrown together, I think. Those returning from Axis are hardly the same set as those returning from Absalom. Which means everyone is looking for new allies now, and those who have been here for more than two years at least have some hope of finding them."

Speaking of the orcs.

"Archduke." He gives a bow, then turns to Aniol. "I don't believe we've met?"

"I believe I've seen you from a distance at some function or other, but I agree we've not spoken. Marquis Aniol Reixach de Juncosa."

"Baron Antonio Ramirez of Fangspire. Do Marquises get seats for the title or are you here some other way?" It's not that hard to get elected, if you're a Menador lord who does his job. It's also probably not that hard to get chosen by lot, if you know the guy doing the draws.

"Seat for the title. Congratulations on your election, though."

"It was nothing. Everyone as far as the Gap had heard about the thing with the dragon."

"Congratulations on the dragon too! I've never felled anything bigger than a tyrannosaur."

"Tyrannosaur? Ah, right, Juncosa is down by the Molthune, you mostly get forest beasts?"

"The mountains are covered in trees and the trees are full of things with beaks, yes."

"Dreadful, I'm sure. My lords, allow me to introduce my grandson, Pedro-Lluís. He's a very promising boy and I have high hopes for him, in a few more years."

"My lords." Bow.

"Hello there, Pedro-Lluís. You look about my nephew Xavi's age, I've brought him along to run errands as my sons are all too old for odd jobs like that."

"Yes, my lord. I am probably younger if I look the same age, because I am an orc. I am seven years old! Grandfather says that when I am ten I will be big enough to practice with a real sword instead of a child sword."

"Ah, Xavi's almost eleven. He brought his practice sword, though, if you'd like to meet at some point and have a spar with someone your own size."

"Yes, my lord, I would like that very much."

"We're all piled into an inn at the moment but if there's enough room here we might relocate. Better courtyard for swinging a blade around, though myself I'm more of an archer."

"There are targets in back, Marquis," calls Llei, from the balcony. He is also more of an archer. "The range is large enough for children, anyway. Still targets in a city make no real contest for adults, but it's tolerably interesting with moving ones. I doubt if any of us can beat the archduke, but we may play for second."

"My eyesight is weaker now, you may win. But there will be no contests until you can invite someone you don't already know to them. We have better than targets in Menador; we do not have such density of new friends."

"So far I've been disappointed, but as you instruct, my lord."

Speaking of someone they don't already know:

"Archduke Ignasi, gentlemen. A pleasure to meet my peers."

There are probably some new nobles in Cheliax who lazily group the new Archduchess Bainilus and himself together, as people who were technically both nobility under the old regime. There are probably some inattentive old ones who assume that the archduchess's position is more precarious than his, having been elevated from an extremely minor position quite recently.

Archduke Narikopolus is not laboring under either confusion. He hopes the new Archduchess at least remembers what it was like to be caught in the middle.

"Archduchess, welcome. You honor us with your presence."

Ah, 'Archduchess'. There's only one of those. Another bow, you can hardly be too careful.

"How fares Kintargo? The city was relatively untouched during the war, was it not?"

"Materially, quite well. Politically, very frustrating. Despite the vast improvement in our Queen, they are nearly as restive as ever."

"Do they have complaints, or are they just restive for the sake of restiveness?"

"They want independence. Without Jackdaw's rabble-rousing I think I could discourage them, but she's even more locally popular than me, and has her head stuck in the Civil War. Never mind that we're entirely economically dependent on the rest of the nation."

"From that I'd imagine she doesn't have much of a plan for Nidal either."

"Likely not, but Nidal hasn't tried expansion in draconic memory, as I recall. I'd be more worried if there's something from the sea; there are some more friendly people near shore, but the deeps could hide just about anything."

"Expansion or no, we've had no shortage of trouble out of Nidal in the mountains. Does Ravounel get fewer problems crossing the border? I'd expect you to get more if anything, down in the plains."

"At least in the plains, they've kept a tight hold on them. I have had to negotiate with them on occasion to resolve problems, but it was more likely to be their horsemen chasing their escapees than anything else. Perhaps I've been luckier than I realized."

"May that luck continue to hold, if so."

"If it doesn't, I know where to look for second sons and unlanded cousins to take the laggard baronies."

Cansellarion is not entirely sure why Archduke Narikopolus is still Archduke Narikopolus and not in a final blade or fled to Canorate or at the very least demoted. The best of the old Chelish archdukes, sure, he's ready to believe that. He's just not quite ready to believe that's enough. Whatever the reason, he's still in power and that makes him probably one of the most influential delegates to the Convention, or at least one of the most connected. So when Cansellarion gets the invitation to stay for the duration of the convention at what was once the Charthagnion house in the city... he has a thousand other things to do, most of which he'd rather be doing than this. But he's a delegate to the convention; schmoozing with old Chelish nobility is part of one of his jobs now, too.

"Archduke. I thank you for your invitation," he says, after being announced and led in by a footman.

Archduke Narikopolus did not gain his position by being incredibly good at talking to people. He gained it by surviving fights his brothers didn't, and by being passable enough at talking to people that none of the other Chelish nobles who had the means decided to murder him about it. All of the current danger is the talking kind, and he hates that, but courage is hardly courage if it only manifests in arenas where your victory is a foregone conclusion.

"You honor us by accepting it." He introduces his other guests, at least the ones who matter. Introduces the Iomedans who he has traveling with him, in the hopes that they matter to the count.

The Iomedaeans travelling with him have certainly heard of Alexaera Cansellarion, though there's nearly no chance he's heard of them, and are very very honored, but they're Iomedaeans about it so they just express it with a brief grateful smile. He is presumably the busiest of men.

The Archduke probably imagines that they are informing on the Archduke to Lord Cansellarion but they're actually not doing that! It's one of those confusions the archduke still has about how Good works.

He is pleased to meet them all. (And especially pleased to see that there are other Iomedans here. He will not have to add "singlehandedly rehabilitate all the notables of the archduchy of Menador" to the tasks he's responsible for.) Alex shakes hands and notes names, faces, titles, and if there's a moment of surprise or discomfort on noticing the helltouched and orcish nobility it doesn't show on his face.

"Now, before your staff are too troubled on my account, I should clarify that while I am grateful for the chance to spend time here with you all, and to meet your guests and perhaps even impose to entertain some of my own - I will likely not be requiring food or lodging while I'm here. I do not need to eat or sleep and prefer to spend the midnight hours back in my county, managing its concerns and those of my Order. I may impose upon you for an overnight private space, if ever some unexpected event requires me to deplete my teleportation boots mid-day, but I won't need a bed."

What the fuck. What kind of man doesn't eat or sleep and spends his nights not with a beautiful woman but on paperwork?

"Well, you are welcome to a space to store whatever things you need here, then," says the Archduke, who looks tired just contemplating that schedule. "We will set aside a room, should you ever have need of it."

"Not even two hours? How is that accomplished, might I ask?"

"There's a Paladin spell for it. Doesn't do you any good if you spend those hours fighting or doing hard labor, but it can make a night of reading or clerical work or keeping an uneventful watch nearly as restful as a night of sleep." You are not supposed to use it every night for months on end, but he really needs the extra hours right now.

(That is Not Recommended On A Long Term Basis. But presumably if you are Alexaera Cansellarion, the most powerful paladin since Iomedae Herself, rumored to have smote three Spawn of Rovagug, the rules are different.)

Damn, Llei wishes he could go back to his county at night. He would not spend this ability on paperwork. Well, not mostly.

     "As some of us do eat, perhaps we should proceed with pre-dinner necessities. Do you shoot, Count?"

"I do." Not as much lately; he's been neglecting his duty to enjoy himself. He puts the pang of guilt aside - here's an option to have some of the required fun and make connections among the other convention delegates at the same time. The Goddess prizes efficiency. "Not usually against still targets, and I don't recall any woods or forests in the city limits, but needs must."

Oh good, he doesn't hate this specific thing about them!

"A poor substitute for hunting, certainly, but we cannot go entirely without. Else the children will think that status comes only from inheriting land, and not defending it."

The game is this: Three still targets are set against the estate wall, one large and two small. Everyone who can shoot may participate - man or woman, adult or child, noble or attendant. The top quarter, or those with three center shots - whichever group is larger - advance to the second round, where three small targets are thrown in succession. The top half, or those who hit all three, advance to a round where targets are thrown two at a time. Most gatherings do not require a round where targets are thrown three at a time, but in theory the game progresses with more targets at a time until no one can hit every target.

The third round is usually all adult men, usually all titled, but usually not neatly ordered by title. Seats at the table are assigned by score today. Good blood rises; weak blood perishes. But since this may have the unfortunate effect of excluding the archduchess from the best dinner conversation - no one knows yet whether she can shoot - the archduke announces that the second seat at the table will be decided by the winner. Politics after all. It is, in the end, what they're here for. 

Llei will make it near the end, though he has no hope of winning. The unmarried daughter he brought with him will narrowly fail to pass to the second round; not so bad for a young woman, even if it disappoints her.

The archduchess is about as good as the young lady and knows it, and will just as soon sit out.

Aniol's a good archer. He secured his seat at the head of Juncosa with his sale, but he was in the running in the first place because he can put an arrow where he wants it to go.

The Iomedaeans would probably have gone to the Worldwound after officer training if things hadn't changed, but they haven't actually done so yet and so have only respectable archery skills. That's all right because the most powerful paladin since Iomedae Herself is obviously going to make everyone else here look like a small child.

The archduke would win this contest in most other company. He has forty years of experience with targets, and thirty against monsters. If his raw strength is less than it was twenty years ago, his aim has only gotten better. He can usually hit two targets thrown at the same time, through he knows from prior practice that he can only very rarely hit three.

Ramirez was not raised in Menador, and has not been practicing archery since he was six years old, and is accordingly a much worse archer than the other Menadorian nobles. He prefers the axe or sword anyways. He'll participate anyways, as a matter of pride, but he kind of wishes they'd occasionally do close-up sport fighting instead of archery competition after archery competition. Maybe now that Iomedae's legal and they can get some more damn healers up in the Archduchy.

Alex' aim is not that much better than the best of them - he is not an archer himself, and the targets aren't Evil - but he's faster and can reliably hit three targets before they hit the ground. He graciously offers the second seat to the Archduchess as is expected, and takes a very small portion of food so as to not have an empty plate and to be able to compliment his host if appropriate.

Jilia knows enough to give informed compliments, if not much more, and to thank Count Cansellarion very much for the honor.

"I wish I had time to keep up my archery practice, but I've had to protect my city by other means too much to ever train; thank you for permitting me at your high table all the same."

There is great enthusiasm and applause for Cancellarion's performance. If there is jealousy, it does not overpower admiration, at least in the group as a whole.

Llei is feeling more comfortable now that he's earned a seat near the head of the table fairly. He's secure in the Archduke's respect for him, but many other nobles are more sensitive about rank, and about the wrong people dominating or participating in conversation, especially when some of those people are technically not even titled. In this company... he decides that the worse handicap is his face, and that he is usually easier to hate when he remains silent.

"The game is only approximate, in the end. Rebels and Thrunes bite much worse than targets. But more to the point, we are selfish, and thank Lord Cansellarion for indulging it. You have been in the city longer, and I expect that both of you know more about the landscape of this convention than the rest of us. Are there real decisions before us? Or is it another game, in which one strives to guess correct answers already decided on?"

"Real decisions, I think, judging from my acquaintance with the Archmage Cotonnet. He's a sincere republican, and doesn't toy with people like that. If there were answers already decided upon, he would not be making us guess, and he likely would not have picked delegates by lot."

"I was incapacitated during his personal visit to my city, but that is what I would expect as well. Games of loyalty and punishment aren't nearly so popular outside Cheliax."

"I see. I'm not immediately sure if that's better or worse. On the one hand, I don't have to play one of my least favorite games. On the other, it's not obvious to me whether there are any limits to the damage the convention can do, if we are really about to do what they did in Galt."

"I am sure the archmages will not allow it to get out of hand, but that should only reassure you insofar as what counts as 'in hand' to Élie Cotonnet is an acceptable outcome to you. I think he was displeased with the way the Galtan assembly went, towards the end, and may have moderated with age and experience, for what it's worth."

"I confess, I am still confused about the purpose of the delegates by lot. I understand the impulse to include the common people, but elections do that. I understand the impulse to let the gods decide, but the religious seats do that. Cheliax had the finest system of public schools in the world before last year - in the realms of literacy and mathematics, if not history or faith - but I don't believe they covered much of the workings of government."

"Not to gainsay you, Archduke, but note that we have among us, by that standard, a representative of the common people: Baron Ramirez. I can see how a Galtan radical might predict this to be a common result and consider it inadequate, despite the Baron being entirely worthy and all your objections being entirely true."

"I suspect the Archduchess has identified the meat of the Archmage's reasoning. Those who win the election represent - not so much the commons, but the most charming and persuasive people who cared to try. Nobles, lawyers, businessmen. But not farmers or laborers."

"But the Baron was born common. He is here on merit three times over. First that he won his freedom, second that he won his lands by killing a dragon that threatened them, and third that he was selected by the people of his county as their representative. Had we selected swords this afternoon, he would sit where I do. It is one thing to scoff at status granted by birth. It seems another to scoff at any process which might risk allowing a man to earn due respect. Election may be a poor process for it, but not worse than no process at all."

" ...but I suppose this argument is not intended for anyone present. Or for anyone at all, given circumstances."

"Radicals can be very strange in what they consider important, though I imagine that would convince a good many of them. I would like to hear that story some time, Baron, if you haven't grown tired of telling it."

"Which one, my lady? There are three tales there, though the last one is not very exciting."

"The dragon does grab the attention, though if the first victory makes a good tale I would like to hear it, too."

"At another time, perhaps, unless the lords Cansellarion and Narikopolus will indulge my boasting."

"I would have no complaint."

"Go ahead."

He tells the tale, then. Starting with the backstory, which he readily admits he was not there for, how the old baron of Barthol's Peak was a greedy man, who became very rich but hoarded his wealth in the form of gold rather than spending it on swords and bows; How the dragon Kaarlis the Emberscale came out of the mountains and took the castle on Barthol's Peak for her lair. How the people who lived beneath the mountain fled, or were forced to pay tribute in beasts, and then in men, for they had no gold to give. Enter the young and foolish Baronet Antonio Ramirez, wandering adventurer whose manor-house in the heartlands did not get attacked by enough monsters for his taste. He had some adventuring companions -  a slip called Softfoot who made a horrible pickpocket but a half-decent burglar, (And you just must have a burglar, for this sort of work) a wizard who got maimed and discharged from the army for reasons he kept as secret as his name (a real prodigy, of sorts, could cast all his spells silently and using only two fingers, which was a good thing too because that's all he had) and half a dozen men-at-arms. And an insane barber-surgeon because of course you couldn't find a cleric that could heal worth a damn in those days, and the clerics you could find you didn't want. And then, eventually, the grandson of the old incinerated baron of Barthol's Peak, who hired the lot of them to reclaim his birthright. He was also such an entitled prick. Have 2-3 anecdotes illustrating his prickishness.

There were the usual trials and tribulations on the way to the dragon's lair. Horrible snowstorms, mountainsides to scale, chasms to o'erleap. Orc raiders and goblin goblins. And then the fight with the wyrm itself! Now, he's heard it said that she wasn't a very big dragon, as dragons go. Only about half-again as long as this table. Not counting the tail. They snuck their way in hoping to come upon her in the great hall of the castle, hopefully at rest. They went in with enchanted blades and arrows, warded against flames, all of that, but Kaarlis was clever. She must've heard them coming or something because when they got to the great hall there she was, awake and ready and waiting. She did some magic of her own, stripped away their fire ward, and set to roasting them alive. The heir, useless commoner that he was, died instantly. Softfoot found his way into a giant-ass urn from somewhere across the crown of the world and waited out the fight there. But for the rest of them - heroics all around. It was a rough fight, most of the men-at-arms died valiantly, the wizard lost his last two fingers, Ramirez got chewed on a bit, but eventually and after many blow-by-blow accounts they triumphed. The wizard had a healing wand in his pack, and Softfoot managed to get it at least kind of working so they didn't need the barber-surgeon. And then they all retired to slightly less dangerous lives. The archduke - Ignasi's father - granted Ramirez the barony, the old family being both extinguished and clearly not up to the task of holding it. Softfoot's still there, helps run the castle and keep the books, hasn't stolen everything yet. The wizard got an escort to the border with Druma, where he was able to buy a regenerate spell with his share of the loot, then disappeared to do mysterious wizard things somewhere else. The barber-surgeon stayed on and got himself killed picking a fight with a giant mountain turtle a few years later.

And there! That's the story, 100% true and 30% embellished.

A good story well-told deserves applause.

Indeed it does. Also grins at the better twists and tricks, since appreciative gasps seem unsuited to this audience.