Play@YSDC

The challenger smirks at the assembled adventurers. "Feel free to confer amongst yourselves," he says. "Since you have chosen a battle of wits, it is only fair that you make use of all of yours against mine."

The party may note that the challenger's servant rolls his eyes and suppresses a sigh at these words.

Henry confers with his friends. "The only answer I can think of is water," says Henry. "A river flows to the end of the land and out into the sea. River is a masculine noun, and the ocean is a feminine one. However, I wouldn't exactly call a river tiny or little, though an individual drop of water is. And rivers tend to curve, not just go straight ahead. The answer doesn't seem quite right to me."

"A river is my only guess, too," Lila replies. "Perhaps a river can be said to be tiny when compared to the sea?"

The challenger, overhearing this conversation, chuckles to himself.

"Your first shot has gone far off the mark, I am afraid. Since I am magnanimous to my inferiors, I will allow you to fire again. I suggest that you think of something made by human hands, and of a much smaller size than the sublime creations of nature."

Elizabeth frowns, showing both concentration and frustration. Stepping close to Henry she whispers in an attempt to foil the villains hearing, "Perhaps he refers to a canal or road?"

"What secrets are being shared, I wonder," the challenger says. "Perhaps the young lady speaks to you of her admiration for my wit and charming manner?"

Henry ignores the smirking challenger and whispers back to Ellzabeth: "I do not think that is the answer. They are not small enough. Perhaps the hour hand of a watch? It could become female at the point when day turns to night, based on anthropomorphic representations of the sun and moon. It marches in a circle, though not a straight line."

The challenger, having overheard this remark, shakes his head in mock sorrow. "A bit closer, but still far off the mark, I'm afraid. I shall allow you one more shot. If it strikes home, I shall acknowledge the superiority of your wit. If it misses, you shall have to admit that you have been bettered by Phineas Larkmoor, Esquire. Larky, to my friends," he says with a wink to Miss Carrow, "but Mister Larkmoor to you."

"I shall offer you one more hint," he continues. "Do you enjoy games?"

At Larkmoor's remark about 'games' Elizabeth claps her hands with delight, a broad smile crosses a face that is suddenly full of confidence, "Thank you sir, in your arrogance you have handed me the answer I think" she turns to Henry, "It is a pawn from the game of chess, it can only move forward and if it should reach the opposite end of the board it is exchanged for a Queen".

She turns back to Larksmoor triumphantly, "A pawn sir the answer is a pawn".

Larksmoor clutches his chest. "Pierced to the heart! And by the arrow of Artemis, no less. Though if truth be told, to share the fate of Actaeon would seem most worthy, if one were also to receive a glimpse of the divine one in the same state as fable relates the doomed hunter did."

With that suggestive remark he makes a low bow, and turns to his servant. "Come, my good fellow, we have casks to empty and maidens to debauch." As they retire the servant shrugs at the adventurers.

The contest having taken a good portion of the morning, it is time to depart. There is some discussion with the coachmen as to this evening's intended destination. Given the fine weather, it will be possible to reach either Birmingham or, a bit further, Stratford-upon-Avon. The former is a busy town, much known for its industry; the latter, a sleepy village, is of course associated with its famous Bard.

"Well done, Elizabeth!" says Henry. "That went much better than it could have, and I'm glad it ended so pleasantly. Would you like to visit Stratford-upon-Avon? I've never been to Shakespeare's home village."

There being no particular objection, the party proceeds to Stratford-upon-Avon. Along the way, an unfamiliar person signals the coaches to stop. Magda recognizes the woman as a Gypsy of another blood than her own. Although she is somewhat suspicious of her, there would seem to be no reason not to listen to what she has to say.

The traveller is an olive-skinned girl with a mass of black curls, and wearing a loose red dress. While Magda identified her a Gypsy, Mr North and Miss Carrow at least would be able to discern some element of the Spaniard in her features as well. She carries a bag.

The dark girl directs most of her gaze to Mssrs North and Witherley, though after recent travails, few in the party would not be so alert as to see she looks everyone over. "Good sirs, would you be kind enough to assist a tired traveller?"

OOC:   If I've been walking by the roadside since the last city, I'll assume I'm Fatigued until Victoria says I've had a chance to recover my strength.

Edited to add: Whoa, how do I make the image smaller?

Disembarking from the coach, Mister Witherly approaches the stranger boldly. Bowing slightly, he says "Permit me to leap over the inconvenient barriers which strict propriety erects between strangers. I am George Witherly. It is evident that you are also one of those who wander this dark and melancholy world in search of some small trace of light. How might I offer my poor services to another lost soul?"

"My own name is Ines, Sir. I am bound for Stratford upon Avon,* but the road is long and few places of rest are willing to accept one like me."

OOC:   Charisma= 9 - 3 for Fatigued, +3 for Beautiful if you judge that relevant to this case. SunlessNick rolled 1D20: 13

Ines is clearly trying to create a sense of vulnerability, but Mr Witherly sees through it. Though the facts of what she says may well be so.


* Figured I'd make it convenient.

(I'll try to find a smaller image than that monster)

"I, too, have known what it is to be thrown out into cruel and friendless lands," Mister Witherly replies, "although I suspect that you are not so much without resources as would first appear. None the less, I would not abandon you. However, I am not alone, for once, and I cannot speak for my companions." He addresses the rest of the party. "What say you all?"

As another stranger in a strange land, Mister Rachman has no objection. Mister Harcourt, as lighthearted as ever, does not care one way or the other.

"I not like her," Magda says darkly. Mary and Davros seem to be lost in each other's eyes, and are paying little attention.

The other adventurers are free to offer their opinions.

"We simply cannot leave her here to walk," says Henry. "We are bound for Stratford upon Avon ourselves. It is the least we can do to offer the young woman a ride."