#odyssey

Seamus has brought Thistle back to the same gathering area as before. There is a larger crowd this time - it seems that word has gotten around, and folk are curious about the next stage in this challenge.

Omario has a small group around him - he seems fully recovered now from his earlier wounding, and confident.

Thistle lifts her chin and squares her pointy little shoulders. Around the sleek and athletic selkie, or Art's sidhe grace, or Gwen's towering presence, the nocker is a small and scrappy figure - she feels glaringly out of place, and probably looks it, too.

Chime! Citrine flits around, animated and flighty, and also unlike the others. They're a mismatched pair!

Citrine does win a flicker of a smile. The Nevers are good at that.

Art notices Thistle and excuses himself from Gwen for a moment, hurrying over. Gwen is waylaid along the way by another of the Selkie warriors that wants to talk to her about her battle!

"There you are. Oh, um." He can't help but grin. "Red, huh?" Noticing her hands are well dyed.

"Oh! I met the pugmill! His name is Grog, and yeah - we figured out how to make colors!"

Art had looked a little worried, but Thistle's enthusiasm seems to help him relax. "Here, hold still..." He leans in and carefully runs fingers through her hair, picking off the more egregious bits of clay.

"I know what I'm going to do for skill, I think. Oh, dregs, didn't realize - thanks! I probably look like a crazy person. Clay's a bitch. Worse than glitter."

"It's a good look for you." He says, finishing, his face very close to Thistle's for just a moment there.

"The clay! Not the crazy." He says, grinning.

"...What would happen if you fed the Pugmill glitter?"

A grin! "Sparkle clay!" Oh, she's blushing. Pinky-orange spirals.

He grins, and mushes the bits of clay together into a little ball in his hand. "I'll hold onto this. For luck."

"You're smart. You got this. I believe in you."

"Do you know who I'm up against?"

She shakes her head. "Omario has a right to pick a champion, but I don't care. I trust this." She taps Art's forehead.

"Are you sure? It's not to late to change your mind. I mean, I'm willing, don't get me wrong, but I've been told there are a few different interpretations of this trial. It could be a maze, like, a labyrinth, I think? Or a hunt - but I'm not sure if that means hunting, a scavenger hunt, or being HUNTED..."

"Probably a question of form? Listen, I'll do it if you don't want to. Just... three of us, three challenges, it felt... right?"

"No, I do!" He insists. "It sounds fantastic. But... this isn't just a contest, or a game, right? So I want to do whatever you feel is best."

"And to answer your last question, a little like jerk chicken" from the distance

"Well, Saoirse has been explaining them, so... let's see? I'll decide."

Art nods, as Gwen joins them. "I'm ready, then."

"Chicken, is it?" Art looks amused.

"Ah well in action" A smirk

"Chicken of the sea? Dolphin safe?" He says, but QUIETLY.

Hiding his grin.

A snerk

Once the trio has gathered, they are asked if they are ready, then lead forward, as the day before, to the same raised stage, where Omario already waits alongside Chieftess Saoirse.

Thistle takes point.

Saoirse repeats the address from yesterday, it seems to be a matter of form, of ritual.

"Mainlander Thistlethwaite has come to challenge for the right to return the Leanbh-cailín, of our blood and hers, to her coldwater Barony of Apples. Redfin Omario, protector of our island and our ways, warrior of our clan, and claiming blood tied with hers, defends the babe's right to stay with her clan and the sea.

Today we witness the the Challenge of Wit. Have your Champions step forward."

Art looks up at Omario, then over to Thistle, and takes a step forward. "I will fight the challenge of Wit as Champion of Thistle, and her sister." Taking hints from Gladiola's address yesterday.

Gladiola looks a bit flattered that he did

Omario looks Art over, clearly analyzing, then gestures slightly. The crowd parts as a figure approaches - and then needs to be given a bit of a boost up onto the stage.

"I have been requested to ask as Challenger." Niamh says, her young voice carrying with the weight of an old soul. "As Maithir and memory-keeper, Witch and wisewoman, I serve my clan, and accept this role."

Thistle frowns a little.

Saoirse looks to Thistle. "Do you accept this Champion?"

Niamh has a solemn look about her, but serious.

Citrine chimes, curiously.

"I accept my Champion, yes."

The Chieftess nods. "You must agree on nature of this battle of Wit. Fledge Arthur, as Challenger, you may have first choice, or deed this to your opponent."

Art looks a little uncertain, now that he sees he is not facing Omario. He glances to Gwen and to Thistle, but then straightens up once more. "I choose a battle of Riddles, Chieftess."

Niamh's solemnity is broken by a small smile. "I like riddles."

Gwen whispers to Thistle "It maybe that some of the stories we heard last night might come back again. It was a kind of summary of a lot of their culture. If he paid attention, he may surprise them by getting context"

"The rules to the Riddle contest are simple. If one asks, and it cannot be answered, their opponent has lost. If a riddle is challenged, it must be defended, and proven to have an answer." Saoirse steps down from the stage, leaving Art facing off against Niamh.

"But it's not a hunt, and not on, like, Selkie History."

A delay, as the two both seem uncertain of who will start. Finally, Art bows to Niamh, and to the crowd for good measure, and speaks.

"I weaken all men for hours each day. I show you strange visions while you are away. I take you by night, by day take you back, None suffer to have me, but do from my lack. What am I?"

The crowd murmurs, guessing amongst themselves. Up on the stage, the attention of the two 'combatants' is on each other. A Selkie steps forward at a murmur from Saoirse, and gestures... glamour ripples, and a faint veil shimmers between the stage and the crowd. Aoife has approached, and taps Gwen on the arm. "You may speak, they will not hear."

Citrine sparkles and bells, waving at the stage, but she is muted to the contestants. A POUT.

"Thanks, Aoife" SHe smiles

It takes Niamh only a moment to smile. "I have heard that one as 'how may you fall unconscious for hours without being hurt? It is Sleep!"

Art nods, knowing that it was an easy one.

Niamh speaks next.

"Lovely and round,
I shine with pale light,
Grown in the darkness,
A lady's delight.
Once my mother's pain,
with my brothers I'm chained."