Yato hasta stato drishti.

Yato drishti stato manah.

Yato manah stato bhava.

Yato bhava stato rasaha.



With the death of your father his lands and title are yours.
You are Iachimo Grizalto, and you have left your idyllic country estate to make a name for yourself in the courts of the Gilded city!
With your rapier by your side, your pistol fully loaded, and a sensible head on your shoulders, you will become a great Duke one day, second perhaps only to the Body Politick himself!



"Well, that's very nice for you," drones Marquis Viscia. "Why should I care?"

"Because, Milord!" you announce, with practiced gusto, "The first step on the Illustrious path I have laid out for myself lies in aiding you and becoming your sponsored man!"

"Why would I do that?"

"You have no sons, yes?"

"Correct. Only Esme, and she is unlikely to produce an heir any time soon." Viscia snorts. "Lord knows."

"Bestow your grace upon me, then, milord! I shall represent you in court as your man-at-arms until I have a space in the peerage of my own!"

"And what makes you think you can represent the patron of Rookery Manor in the Camarilla?"

Viscia closes your letter of introduction and drums his fingers against his seat.

"I suppose you'll tell me about how strong you are, and well practiced with fence and that bodkin of yours.

Or perhaps how swift your aim is with bow and firearm.

Or how silver your tongue is, how you can pour honey and poison into the ear in equal measure.

Or how studied you are in the scholarly and sorcerous arts. Perhaps you will show me some illusion or prestidigitation of some kind, hmm?"

Well, you certainly have to tell him something. Which virtue is your strongest, of what he has named? Which courtly talent to extoll?