The Book of the Courtier

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?

Magic sounds like a fun option, I vote for that.

You are slippery and agile. You can scale a flat smooth wall by simply walking on it. They think you are standing in front of them. You're actually 5 feet to the left.

A diplomat, some say. A fast-talker, say others. They can talk all they want; it's your words they all march to, one way or another.

I give you no such assurances, milord. For that is the truth! I have none of these things in exceeding measure. My meager strength limits me to this pitiable rapier, rather than the weapon of a true soldier. My aim is quick, to be sure, but poor at range; I'd a rifle otherwise. My silver tongue, well... I speak to you the truth, though it give me no advantage. That should tell you all you need know of my wit. Of magic, I know but tricks. Slight of hand, learned whilst practicing swordplay. Naught against anything a true wizard might accomplish.

No, I have none of these things of which you speak. To hire me as your man-at-arms would be to disgrace yourself. The lord with no heirs to his name and the man-at-arms who qualifies not even as a jack-of-one! You'd the fool and laughingstock of the kingdoms.

And yet, milord, I believe you will take me on yet. For, though I have no proper courtly skills to ply...

(Pause for dramatic effect)

...I remember everything.

Your quickness, both of tongue and of blade. Always making sure and reasoned responses to whatever you face...some have remarked of you that it's almost like you are having an entire conversation in your head in the span of moments preceding every action you take.

I once knocked down a wall by simply intending to knock it down. It just knew it had no chance beforehand, and dismantled itself to get it over with.

"I am as swift, milord, as the breeze itself! Why, I am not standing before you at all! I am five feet away! Did I fool you? Such is my preternatural agility!"



You whip out your pistol and flourish it for emphasis.

"My draw is quicksilver and my tongue all the more! I have talked walls into unknitting the lime between their cracks and falling to pieces before me! I fast-talk the pants off a picaroon faster than you can say please get that halberd out of my face."



Viscia takes in a great inhalation to knock his heart from his throat back into the vault of his ribs.
"You're certainly fast on the draw, boy, and your heart seems to be generally in the right place, so let me offer you some advice: Maybe don't go waving a gun around in someone's reception hall."



"Sorry, milord! The lax manners of the country haven't exactly prepared me for court."

"Indeed? Well." Viscia sits gingerly back down.



"Your display, as impressive and ill-conceived as it was, is not quite the proof I desire before your fealty is sworn. Is there some more impressive proof of this rapidity in disposition you can give me?"

"Such as, milord?"

"There's always some sort of malevolent beasty or bandit afoot in the countryside to prove your martial worth against." Viscia shrugs. "Or perhaps you could duel some fiery squarer you find in town. Or something of that sort. If you want to show me that quick wit of yours I have a daughter you could marry. No? Just checking." He sighs. "Would that someone would take the wench off my hands."

> Offer to set his daughter up with someone, perhaps a malevolent beasty or fiery squarer.

> Offer to take said wench on an adventure, let her appreciate what privileges being a Marquis' daughter grant that aren't worth jack on the open road.

Does Wench even want to be in a serious relationship right now? Maybe you can take her out and see if you can either teach her to be an independent woman or help her find someone to be with or a place to stay on her own or whatever as per her dispositions. Unless she's a major daddy's girl, there's no reason she should be "on your hands" at a marriable age anyway.

Martial arts you're not superb at. Marital arts, on the other hand...perhaps it's time to talk to Wench :3

Ask for an audience with the Marshal, that he can inform you what he knows about the three most dangerous men in the realm.

Challenge the guy who waved a halberd in your face to a duel.

"I shall challenge that man who pointed his partizan at me!"



"Oooh, me?" The guard looks up. "May I bisect this villain, milord?"

"No! No, Ser Artegall. No fighting in the reception hall, Iachimo. And not with my guard captain."

"Sorry, milord!"

"He's too valuable."

"Right!"

"And he could probably also squash you like an insect."

"Perhaps I should go on some great adventure, milord, and bring your daughter along!"

"Oh?" Viscia raises an eyebrow.

"Some fresh air and exercise would do her all sorts of good, I imagine! Give her some perspective on life outside the crenelations of court!"

"Hmm. Well, it couldn't hurt. Perhaps you could match her with some sort of Lumpkin or Trog."

"Is she somehow misshapen, milord?"

"Oh, no, no. She is estimated one of the fairest ladies at court. My good looks are preserved in her."

"I am sure!"

"She's just a little, uh..."

Crash



"DAD, I'M TIRED OF FRIGGIN EMBROIDERING"



"A little firebreathing.

Good morning, Esme."



"Hi!"



Esme Viscia stands in the doorway. She is quite lovely.

"Who's this bumpkin-looking fellow, dad? Another one of your blockbrained suitors? What's that, like, 5? This week?"

Be all "hey I can be way cooler than those douchebags!"

"I don't really want to marry you, sorry! Want to go, I dunno, hunt down some bandits or something?"

"I'm way cooler than those chumps!" I announce.

"Oh yeah? Prove it."

"Well, er, I'm not actually here to try and marry you or anything. No offense. Do you want to go, I don't know, fight something or hunt some bandits down or something?"

"Uhh, hell motherfuck yeah!"



She claps her hands together excitedly.
"Stay here! I'll go get my broadsword. Bye, dad!"
She rushes out of the room.

"Goodbye, uh- Hmmm." Viscia rubs his chin.

"Well, that's never happened before.

Wherrre exactly are you taking her, not that I'm ungrateful? There's some ruins a few miles out a Giant Spider was seen nesting in, a few bounties I suppose I could look up for you, and Miller Clayton told me the other day he was having problems with a Trogg near the windmill. Uhh, I confess my days of sallying forth are behind me, but I suppose those might suffice."

Giant spider giant spider!
Ancient ruins are the BEST there's usually like treasure and junk there

We're going to go "collect taxes" from some useless serfs!

Any old fool can kill a giant spider.

But you shall TAME IT.

"How can I turn down a spooky, treasure-filled ruin with a giant spider inside?" you say, gallantly. "Fear not, milord, I'll get it out of your hair!"

"Yes, well," Viscia sniffs. "Don't die. And do try to keep Esme relatively safe. She is my only child, after all."

"She shall be safer than a playpen made of pillows! Probably!"




"Okay! Okay, let's motor." Esme returns with a whopping great whacker in her mitts. "I call this one The Destructisector."


"Have fun, you two, I suppose." Viscia says, uncertainly. "Kids these days, I don't know."


"So! Where are we going?" asks your new traveling companion. It's a lovely day out today.




"The ruins! We're going to face down that great big spider of your father's."

"Ha! You're going to get eaten and I am going to see it. Are you gonna try and kill it?"

"Anyone can kill a spider. I am going to tame it!"

"You are most definitely going to get eaten. Awesome."



Outside of the Castle Rookery is Rookery Town, a hamlet of around ten score people. Lying a mile or so out of its borders is the Tower of Viscia's Wizard, where he presumably studies unspeakable tomes and such.

And beyond that, carved into a great cliff face, lies the Rook's Ruin.

You should get taming stuff from the village before you depart. Like, a saddle or something.

And lots and lots of bugs.

HIT UP THE WIZARD FOR MAGICAL ARTIFACTS IN EXCHANGE FOR KEEPING AN EYE OUT FOR MAGICAL REAGENTS???

You know how wolves are always tamed in the movies by being handed meat? You should go get some meat for that spider