He remembers what it was like the first time. 

Take the hall: they'd started out in the grand ballroom in the governor's palace, but the delegates couldn't fit. The cathedral was big enough, and survived the fighting admirably until Lamashan rains brought the rest of the roof down. It seemed like every other building of any size was taken, full of squatters or soldiers or refugees, and while they could have dispossessed the whole damp hungry miserable lot, it seemed like starting things on the wrong foot. Finally, someone hit on the Palais des Lumières – an ancient Shelynite temple pavillion where they'd held the great artistic exhibitions, the pride of Isarn – then grain storage – briefly a prison – now unspeakably drafty. It was beautiful. He adored the vaulted ceilings and the bitter wind and the truly godsawful acoustics that set one's voice echoing like a ghost with laryngitis whenever one got up to speak at the rostrum, which was half a foot too short and still had splinters. 

The very air glittered. He remembers it distinctly. It wasn't that it was snowing, because the snow came late that season. The city breathed with excitement. The nation exhaled. The devils were dead! The seige was lifted! There was food in the markets, brought from the south at ruinous expense, and dancing in the streets, and one day soon all the peoples in all the world would be free. They were going to pass a law about it. It was just over a year before the purges began. 

This hall is new. It has parquet floors and a gilt angel on every pilaster. He briefly fantasizes about burning it to the ground. 

The assembled crowd is deeply, unnaturally silent. No shouting. If anyone is whispering, it's lost amidst all the crushed velvet. Weird. He's never given a speech where he wasn't fighting to be heard. He clears his throat. 

"Honorable delegates – citizens of Cheliax – my respected colleagues – thank you. I know that many of you are unfamiliar with the work we are about to do here. I know that many of you are afraid. I know that some of you did not choose to be here. And I know that almost all of you would rather be anywhere else. 

I don't expect to change your mind on any of these points in the next few minutes. In respect for your time, then, I will be brief: your task is to devise the new supreme law of the Chelish nation. This law will establish how Cheliax shall be governed – how new laws are made, the function of the courts, the workings of all the organs of the state. More importantly, it will establish your rights against the depredations of that state. Even the Queen must abide by it, and her descendants, as long as they reign. 

You may or may not believe me – as you like. I could not fault you. All I ask is that you approach this work with the spirit in which it is meant: if you believe this is a game, the game is preserving the freedom, dignity, and happiness of your children and your children's children. Act accordingly. And take heart: I doubt you can make things very much worse." 

He remembers what it was like the first time. 

Take the hall: they'd started out in the grand ballroom in the governor's palace, but the delegates couldn't fit. The cathedral was big enough, and survived the fighting admirably until Lamashan rains brought the rest of the roof down. It seemed like every other building of any size was taken, full of squatters or soldiers or refugees, and while they could have dispossessed the whole damp hungry miserable lot, it seemed like starting things on the wrong foot. Finally, someone hit on the Palais des Lumières – an ancient Shelynite temple pavillion where they'd held the great artistic exhibitions, the pride of Isarn – then grain storage – briefly a prison – now unspeakably drafty. It was beautiful. He adored the vaulted ceilings and the bitter wind and the truly godsawful acoustics that set one's voice echoing like a ghost with laryngitis whenever one got up to speak at the rostrum, which was half a foot too short and still had splinters. 

The very air glittered. He remembers it distinctly. It wasn't that it was snowing, because the snow came late that season. The city breathed with excitement. The nation exhaled. The devils were dead! The seige was lifted! There was food in the markets, brought from the south at ruinous expense, and dancing in the streets, and one day soon all the peoples in all the world would be free. They were going to pass a law about it. It was just over a year before the purges began. 

This hall is new. It has parquet floors and a gilt angel on every pilaster. He briefly fantasizes about burning it to the ground. 

The assembled crowd is deeply, unnaturally silent. No shouting. If anyone is whispering, it's lost amidst all the crushed velvet. Weird. He's never given a speech where he wasn't fighting to be heard. He clears his throat. 

"Honorable delegates – citizens of Cheliax – my respected colleagues – thank you. I know that many of you are unfamiliar with the work we are about to do here. I know that many of you are afraid. I know that some of you did not choose to be here. And I know that almost all of you would rather be anywhere else. 

I don't expect to change your mind on any of these points in the next few minutes. In respect for your time, then, I will be brief: your task is to devise the new supreme law of the Chelish nation. This law will establish how Cheliax shall be governed – how new laws are made, the function of the courts, the workings of all the organs of the state. More importantly, it will establish your rights against the depredations of that state. Even the Queen must abide by it, and her descendants, as long as they reign. 

You may or may not believe me – as you like. I could not fault you. All I ask is that you approach this work with the spirit in which it is meant: if you believe this is a game, the game is preserving the freedom, dignity, and happiness of your children and your children's children. Act accordingly. And take heart: I doubt you can make things very much worse." 

He remembers what it was like the first time. 

Take the hall: they'd started out in the grand ballroom in the governor's palace, but the delegates couldn't fit. The cathedral was big enough, and survived the fighting admirably until Lamashan rains brought the rest of the roof down. It seemed like every other building of any size was taken, full of squatters or soldiers or refugees, and while they could have dispossessed the whole damp hungry miserable lot, it seemed like starting things on the wrong foot. Finally, someone hit on the Palais des Lumières – an ancient Shelynite temple pavillion where they'd held the great artistic exhibitions, the pride of Isarn – then grain storage – briefly a prison – now unspeakably drafty. It was beautiful. He adored the vaulted ceilings and the bitter wind and the truly godsawful acoustics that set one's voice echoing like a ghost with laryngitis whenever one got up to speak at the rostrum, which was half a foot too short and still had splinters. 

The very air glittered. He remembers it distinctly. It wasn't that it was snowing, because the snow came late that season. The city breathed with excitement. The nation exhaled. The devils were dead! The seige was lifted! There was food in the markets, brought from the south at ruinous expense, and dancing in the streets, and one day soon all the peoples in all the world would be free. They were going to pass a law about it. It was just over a year before the purges began. 

This hall is new. It has parquet floors and a gilt angel on every pilaster. He briefly fantasizes about burning it to the ground. 

The assembled crowd is deeply, unnaturally silent. No shouting. If anyone is whispering, it's lost amidst all the crushed velvet. Weird. He's never given a speech where he wasn't fighting to be heard. He clears his throat. 

"Honorable delegates – citizens of Cheliax – my respected colleagues – thank you. I know that many of you are unfamiliar with the work we are about to do here. I know that many of you are afraid. I know that some of you did not choose to be here. And I know that almost all of you would rather be anywhere else. 

I don't expect to change your mind on any of these points in the next few minutes. In respect for your time, then, I will be brief: your task is to devise the new supreme law of the Chelish nation. This law will establish how Cheliax shall be governed – how new laws are made, the function of the courts, the workings of all the organs of the state. More importantly, it will establish your rights against the depredations of that state. Even the Queen must abide by it, and her descendants, as long as they reign. 

You may or may not believe me – as you like. I could not fault you. All I ask is that you approach this work with the spirit in which it is meant: if you believe this is a game, the game is preserving the freedom, dignity, and happiness of your children and your children's children. Act accordingly. And take heart: I doubt you can make things very much worse."