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Ophelia is a Fatebinder of Tunon, tasked with delivering Kyros's Edict - 'surrender or die'. This doesn't produce straightforward compliance.
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"The gangs have gotten antsy with not having much to do, I think they need a good induction fight to calm them down for another fist. But we could take a look at them and let you make your case."

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"You wanna give 'em something to do, you set 'em up some brawls and duels all organized-like.  Gets the energy out of 'em, keeps 'em sharp, and it means nobody starts breaking Kyros's Law in their private vendettas, which otherwise demonstrably happens."

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"Oh, most of that is according to plan. How else will the worthy rise up out of the shit, except by taking initiative? But the rhythm of war works better when we have some actual war. So some spectacle and opportunity must be created when we are stalled, without changing the basic song of the camp."

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"You know, I can't tell if you just agreed with me?  Well done, I don't often meet people this confusing.  I wasn't saying to order them into the pits.  Rather seems it'd defeat the point of your barely-controlled kratostracy, to be ordering people.  Just that you'd waste less of Kyros's lives on petty and rather evidently illegal bullshit if the pits were there.  Official supervision is the difference between gladiator fights and murder, after all."

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He giggles slightly. "And of course we have some, in Cacophony. But not too many! Spontaneous contests produce some of our best gangs, and almost all our new Scarlet Furies. As Verse could tell you. All enhancing our strength for the war, in accordance with the Voices' design. And like the magician's folly, all is in accordance with the will of Kyros if it serves the war."

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"Not wrong. When I got sick of Ass Gang and sliced Fine Ass open, that was when I got noticed and Death Knell started training me. Much the same for my sisters."

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Barik justs shakes his head in disbelief.

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"That is one very load-bearing if.  But at this point no further benefit will be had by going on about it.

"Is the Sage up there for the same reason?"

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"He claimed 'ex-Sage' when captured, but he was a hired quill for the Oathbreakers, caught sending birds. We might make him fight for his right to live, or send him to join the Voices if we think he knows something worth learning. Right now I think he does not."

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"I see.  Well, if you don't want him, I might."

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"You are welcome to question the old geezer, if you think he'll last long enough to say anything intelligible."

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She might just.

"Well.  Hello there."

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"Hmm?"

Even aside from being strapped to a post, the old man looks kind of out of it. Eyes not focused, limbs slack where they can be.

On the other hand, he's well-preserved for his age, and there are lots of tattoos - script written in blue and red and green - across his arms and shoulders. So he's not just a geezer.

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"You want some water?  Gotta be tough to be strung up here.  Figure you need it."

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"Oh, I'll take it, certainly. But it hasn't been so bad. Yet, at least; I'll be sober by morning and then who knows?"

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"Sober? Who's sharing the fun stuff with prisoners?"

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Ophelia shrugs, as she carefully gives the prisoner some water.  She doesn't want him choking, now.

"Bet somebody thought it'd be funny.

"Heard they caught you doing quill-work for the Vendrien Guard."

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"No, no, nobody shared. But when we were captured I drank all my ink reagents. I haven't been properly home in my skull for, oh, probably a full fist if the vials were full. Practically overdosed.

I did. Got drafted along some eager young idiots. We hadn't heard they rebelled, but they were all for it. Never mind old Lantry warning them Kyros never loses."

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"Under duress?"

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"They didn't want me running off telling you their strategy, so it was a cell or some harmless translation work. Better meals for the latter, so I went along with it." 

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"As if their strategy's anything but bleedin' obvious.  I think I could call that extorted compliance; you don't look like a cell suits you much.

"What's this I heard about birds, though?"

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"Oh, someone needs to catch the birds coming in with missives and let them go again. I've been good with them since I was an apprentice. Besides, I was bored."

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"And clearly you were hoping to inveigle your way to enough trust that they'd let you run the fuck away," she prompts.  "Since it's not like they let you near anything sensitive."

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"Don't I look harmless? And I suppose I did run away in the end, after a fashion. Not my best work."

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"I think this one knows more than he lets on."

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