Master Ignatius Earwax hovers near the front of the stage, a number of older dwarves, also at the front, signal for silence.
Eventually a hush settles over the Great Hall.
“Friends, Bottom Workers, fellow Dwarves... And so we the Council have concluded the lottery for places on the glorious expedition to the Lost Halls of the Tannheim. We have checked and re-checked the numbers drawn, furthermore we have consulted with the heads of the various Guilds and Unions that have been selected to participate in this...”
“Ger on wi it!” A young upstart from the Lumpers cries, and receives a fist in the mush for his efforts, “Mmm... sowy.”
“Ahem!” Ignatius tries again, “and so the following Dwarves, heroes one and all, have been selected- may the Lord Moradin watch over them and protect them.”
Silence...
More silence...
Ignatius looks a little flustered.
Eventually the ancient Dwarf looks behind him, “I've not got the paper... you must have...”
There's nobody behind Ignatius.
The audience continues to stare, open-mouthed, waiting, desperately waiting.
“Right then, and so...”
Master Ignatius turns to face the audience again, he seems to be patting down his pockets, rummaging for something, he quickly removes his hand from a pocket, then wipes it down his robe while pulling a face.
Then he realises what he has done. He fishes in the pocket again, brings out a sodden mess- the crowd are watching, waiting. He's suddenly very conscious that the list, such as it is, is now a ball of snotty paper- what's worse a ball of snotty paper in his hand.
He coughs heartily, brings his hand up to his mouth, and pops the paper in.
Then chews.
All the time small fiery explosions of panic are resounding in his brain, Ignatius chews some more, and contemplates life.
The crowd... are rapt.
“Without further... Err...” Master Ignatius stares out in to the crowd, shields his eyes against the glare... he spots a female Dwarf in a Chainmail bikini, he likes the look of her- great big... an idea, slowly, forms in Ignatius' head.
He looks a little to the left of the chainmail bikini wearing Dwarf.
And then smiles- it's a thin smile, but right now it feels like an enormous weight has been lifted.
“Yes, well- first called is Leonard D Apricot, if you'd like to come up on to the stage young Dwarf...”
A smattering of applause, more nervous than warranted.
Ignatius scans the crowd, still with his thin smile.
“Second... is... Cinara Wastewater, yes you my dear- if you'd, that's it... careful on the steps.”
Again half-hearted applause, the majority of the crowd seem to be engaged in some mass whispered act of prayer. Certainly many of the assembled have their eyes closed.
“Third is...” Ignatius stands on tip-toes shields his eyes some more- ducks right and... spots someone else who's name he can remember.
“Third is, Krogan. Krogan Thundergut.”
The old Dwarf chuckles a little to himself, makes a wafting motion before his nose, and grins- impishly.
“Fourth is...” Ignatius is no-longer hiding it, he stalks the stage staring wild-eye in to the crowd- grinning all the while, a myriad Dwarves attempt to shrink behind their companions, or else frantically look elsewhere- a dozen or so take to whistling in order to allay suspicion.
“Fourth is, you there, behind- whassisname, Kassagin, yes that's it- I remember your father...”
Ignatius frantically circles his arm- indicating Kassagin should come and join the other shuffling Dwarves up on the stage.
“And last... who don't I... I mean, the final Dwarf selected to represent the Bottom Workers in our moment of glory is- you there. Yes, you- Wildaxe, I haven't forgot what you said about my beard at last years Stone's Throw Bar-B-Q, it's about time you learned some respect young Dwarf. Thorgrim Wildaxe I'm talking to you- there's no use trying to look away, I can see you. Now get up here- and stop shilly-shallying.”
Ignatius looks incredibly contented, folds his arms- takes a look behind him at the assembled would-be-adventurers, and grins some more.
“And so these brave souls will venture forth on the morrow, to vanquish innumerable foes, to rescue unimagined treasures, to fearlessly go... Nay, boldly go.”
An old Dwarf, a Council member, suddenly starts towards Ignatius, who looks flustered for a moment and then bends to listen, the old Dwarf whispers in Ignatius' ear- and then points toward one of the exits for the Great Hall.
Where Perry Tonne picks his at teeth with a very small ornate dagger.
Ignatius shakes his head.
The old Dwarf whispers some more- then holds up five fingers.
“How much... “ Ignatius whistles.
Then saunters back to his position.
“Sixth chosen is Margaret... What? Sorry about that- Mardred, whoever he is- never heard of him, what guild is he...”
And the rest is lost to the wave of applause, scratch wave, make that tsunami- the relief in the Hall is palpable, a hundred-or-so other Dwarves have suddenly become aware that they have not been chosen- they'll go back to the stink, and the stone, and their dull shallow lives- and they are over-joyed.
Mardred, in a daze, shuffles towards the stage- Dwarves press in on him patting his back, shaking his hand and mouthing words of encouragement, he's never... never, been this popular, or indeed popular at all before.
Mardred's black heart skips a beat, and the bastard thief finds himself smiling back.
“Speech!”
The shouts and hollers become frantic, and yet the applause rolls on- wave after wave...
Ignatius looks back at the six heroes-to-be, smiles at each in turn, and then indicates that the floor is theirs, that they must each say a few words...
“Remember”, Ignatius shouts across, “these could be your last words, we may never see you again- make them something to remember you by.”
OOC:
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Each Dwarf selected for the mission is expected to come on stage, in any order after the names are drawn, and make a little speech- think of this as a Miss World competition, your speech should contain the following-
1) Your name,
2) the guild or union you represent (if you're not in a Guild or Union- Marded (perhaps) then you need to make one up),
3) why you think that you have been selected for this mission,
4) what you hope to achieve,
5) and finally, a rousing last line to stir up the Dwarven masses and fill them full of cheer.
Obviously you can dress it up a bit- make it sound glorious or funny, or... whatever really.
The best speech will receive a free Action Point- voted for by yourselves.
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OOC:
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Pinotage the message about some Attack Font... that's not from me, I don'yt even know what an Attack Font is. I know it says it's from me but... and once more, I don't know what an Attack Font is and I certainly didn't send the message. I built the map in maptools by the way. More, and better, to come.
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