Olympiad: Day 3
The third day of Olympiad is always the shortest. And although rumors of orcs being spotted swept constantly among the revellers, nothing of the sort actually happened. Informal contests of strength and liver sporadically arose while small mystery cults held meaningful but puzzling rituals, and hundreds of small events took place.
Wine Tasting
Wine tasting in Theralis was an art form, and an aesthete's measure as a person. The subtle variances from one valley to the next, and indeed, one vineyard to the next, were as familiar to the expert wine taster as the geography of the valleys themselves. To say that a wine taster could tell where you were from by your breath is only a small exaggeration.
Although Greppa had learned his lesson about participating two mornings before, he still went to watch. His family's vine was on the table, and he wanted to know what the judge's had to say about this year's crop, and about the most recent older wines his family had released.
Mostly, it was good. Despite a hard several years with reduced labor and war-taxed crops, the family had buckled down and produced a smaller line of excellent vintages. A few judges were heard to complain about the lack of variety this year, but no one had expected any different... and many were astonished with how much care had gone into this Olympiad's offerings compared to the prior one.
When war looms, little things become important.
Beer Tutoring
Bellos, meanwhile, had realized his secondary mission in life. He was a professional brewer in Aglaonis (well, more of an apprentice), which put him second only to the gods in comparison to every man, woman and child in the Theralis valleys. He'd brought several micro kegs with him, and he'd noticed how happy that made Greppa and Merideth, but it wasn't until he'd tasted the swilled water they served in Theralis that he'd realized why.
So today, while the effete aesthetes of Theralis were swirling tiny shots of lovingly crafted grapes, Bellos was giving out small samples of his richest art, and chatting with the small crowd of home brewers who came out of the woodwork to admire it.
If he had to follow Allas into Theralis, he was damned if he was going to do it without beer.
Front Lines
Merideth, meanwhile, was back on duty. She planned to see the grape stomping event at the end of the day, but otherwise she was more worried about the possibility of orcs than whether Greppa's rich family gained or lost a few ranking points in the wine tasting competitions.
Theralis Ridge was quiet, though, and so she spent much of the day crafting fantasies of herself as a mighty hero...
...until she realized, with something of a start, that she was. It was not some bronze-skinned spear thrower who had thrown herself over Athan's body and shredded half a dozen orcs, nor was it mighty Kyriotes who had fought a groundmouth from the inside. Her shame at helping the eye tyrants was misfounded - she was helping her friends survive, and making weighty decisions in doing so.
She was wearing the cloak of a long-lost order of Allas, she was a mighty healer and esper, and if she wasn't quite the warrior-healer of her youthful dreams, perhaps she was something better.
The rest of that afternoon was very good.
Grape Stomping
The opening ceremony of Olympiad restates and affirms the relationship the people of Theralis have with Amalan. The closing ceremony, far less formal, does the same for Dianas.
A series of ten foot long troughs, filled with grapes from the finest vineyards, are arrayed in a line. The competitors are the ones who could pull the most strings to get funded, or who had the cash on hand to pay for the honor - this is a contest, but one in which the players pay to enter.
Phitios, as always, has the center trough, as do most of the other generals. A fwe wealthy merchants, hoping for success, have bought their way in, and more than a few famous wine tasters and well beloved athletes have been sponsored by this or that personage in hopes of luck. The money goes towards, first, making a limited collection of wine for sale at outrageous prices, and then towards the temple of Dianas, but the money is less important than the act.
Greppa's sharp ellini eyes spot Agina first, in the far left. She waves, eyes bright with the grape, then gets back into position - someone must have sponsored her, and she obviously intends to win.
Winning is rarely a matter of finishing. The event is timed, for as far in the trough as you can make it before a small barrel of wine can be completely drained by pouring, usually about a minute, and most people rarely make it past the first six or seven feet of the trough. Phitios did, once, but the troughs had fewer grapes that year, and they are filled to bursting this year.
The wine casket turns. As the first splash of the libation to Dianas soaks the earth of the valley, the competitors begin stomping and mashing the grapes as quickly as they can. Agina, tunic hitched up over her thighs and the concentrated gaze of battle drawn across her face, begins a calculated, line-by-line drive through the grapes. She's visualizing rows of orc heads, and it seems to be working.
Furious moments pass. Agina, her lifestyle among marching grunts serving her better than a general's life, pulls ahead. The barrel begins to empty, signified by less glugging bubbles and more rapid pouring. Agina, within a foot left to the end of the trough, briefly considers dropping to her knees for better surface area, but sticks with her original plan.
More orc heads splash into droplets of potential wine.
The last drop hits the earth and is sopped up by the thirsty valley. Agina, two feet ahead of her nearest competitor, finished the line. A cheer goes up, the laurel is wrapped on her head, and the good Captain receives what is likely to be several year's supply of wine from vineyards who want a piece of the luck of Dianas she has earned for the valley.
After
The next morning, thunder greets Greppa's delicate ears as light pierces his bleary eyes. Someone, he realizes, is knocking on my tower door. After a brief flirt with ideas of fireball, he makes his way downstairs. It's Agina, eyes streaked red but face and demeanor as upright as always.
Theralis is planning war.
.
It's hilarious. And the drunk summoning was great, too.
