+FOOOOOOOOOD. Serve It forth, you once again pushed me to the point of food collapse. “I can’t eat more… THERE’S EMBER DAY TART? ONWAAARD!”. The various things people made and brought, especially the adorable and delicious teabags from Virtue. I kept ripping the beads off and hanging them on my belt buckle because what sort of unprosperous maniac wastes shiny things on a disposable teabag? .
+Turned up late, timed in, and was immediately ambushed by a Monastic Fanclub made up of the Marcher equivalents of Father Dougal. “OH WOW are you Pete Keeper! You know you’re a Paragon of Loyalty right?” “Wait, what?!”. Stating to Thomas that “these monks theological opinions have nothing to do with me”, Rebecca distracting them with Highguard and asking one of them if he got his ordainment by sending in turnip tops or something. A++ would be theologically trolled again.
+Realising I’d forgotten the porn, blaming it on the press being full of hedgehogs, and then Ros Hunter saving the day (FVGO “Saved”) by providing a copy for a Dramatic Reading.
+Singing the King’s Stoke Tower song while flashing the Heraldric Pants of Pride. Again.
+Everything Briar. Tilly’s pamphlets, responses to Talbots Being Dicks, and being a sweary blur of chatter and healing. Trying to persuade Smith that his natural talent for puns fit precisely into the Upwold ritual tradition. Irrah Harah Herald and finally doing that diplomancy. Iulian solving an unstoppable enemy by turning them into a steaming pile of mushrooms.
+Bronn being a good buddy to his Marcher friends and a Scary Fucking Bastard to anyone who looked malicious. As ever, creeping around in the dark as a pair of suspicious wizards with massive knives is not paranoid, it’s Vigilant.
+Working out just how many of the guests for one reason or another have extensive knowledge of the best way to use poison to murder people and get away with it. Yeaaah. Vigilance.
+Ynez’s persistence in trying to persuade people to become Leaguers, Prosperity Dedicates, Priests, or all of the above. Many discussions about the bewildering nature of Leaguer marriages and the fact that “I’m marrying two of my children next summit” if a thing that makes sense in context.
+Briar Sock Soup, the perfect food for trolling the Talbots. Accidentally invented during a failed attempt by Tilly to dry her socks. In a pot of water.
+The Tulpa of the Oak that was part eldritch and bewildering astronomantic phenomenon and part Stuff Your Gran Says. Having a proverb-off with it.
+Appearing behind people at least twice, the moment after they started making smutty jokes, grinning. Claiming this just summons Pete.
+Turning the assault on the fort into a personal game of Whack-A-Jotun by standing below the parapet taking swings over it at the archer and his mates whenever they stepped up.
+“We don’t do raiding. Our Customs Officials merely inspect boats for things that aren’t allowed. Such as Grendel.”. “What about dead Grendel?” “Those are contraband”.
+Bagging us a Sorcerer. Covering up my Mage Armour for the original plan of “Talk the bastard down and/or shiv him” and then realising there’s a horde of Feni between him and us and that’s not going to work. Helping drop him, legging it away due to wounds, then trying to get someone to stabilise and capture the Sorcerer. Realising this was never going to happen as he was now missing his head. Thanks Watcher. Thatcher. Having Speak to the Dead cast on the sorcerer mostly so we could torment him with a fake Excommunication to try and get information. Counting the mana we found on him, working out what needed 8 mana and a Winter Regio, and having an OHSHIT moment.
+“Well yeah, there was a despair aura, but when you’ve got a Holy Beermug that makes you want to use your skills to increase Prosperity, a sorcerer’s threatening your Prosperity, and your skills include “I have this big stick”… You run up and kneecap him.”. Cups solve everything. The Cardinal told Pete so.
+The pinpoint and cunning use of DREAD CURSES by many magicians of the Empire.
+Singing “And Earth Recieve Our Soul” near the end of the Wassail service. Isolated farmers singing a religiously slightly dubious dirge in the dark, around the fire. Proper Wicker Man Moment.
+Having enough enthusiastic crew and good briefs for them that the event felt so much bigger than last year with regards to plot and combat.