38

Your voice rings out, as fine and strong as you can make it:

"'True Brenton I, with foreign foes to slay;

Why make love when I could make others dead?'"

Your bitter words are startling, drawing gasps from the more sensitive souls in the crowd. Of course, the greater outrage is that a room of fatted nobles could congratulate themselves thus for successfully killing more of a neighboring nation's peasant-soldiers than Brenton's commoners sacrificed in native blood.

You know that you're simply saying what needs to be said, let the consequences fall where they will. This is what fooling means to you tonight.

As the poem goes on, you can tell that your technical skills are increasingly appreciated. [+Renown]

Concluding the Gauntlet…