Category: Houses of the Blooded

200 Years Ago: The Betrayer War
Two centuries past, the ven were ruled by an Emperor. His name was Jayman Steele, Earl of Blayloch, Blooded of the Elk, primarch of the Steele family. His rule was hard, but not harsh. Crime was punished severely, but justice was a slow process, giving the accused opportunities to defend themselves. His mercy was rare, but predictable. He was, by all accounts, a good Emperor. He was also the last.

As his Solace approached, Steele began to seek ways to delay the great sleep, or prevent it entirely. This single occupation eventually turned into a passion, then an obsession. An obsession that drove him willingly into the arms of madness.

The Betrayer War brought together the combined forces of all Houses against the Emperor. So great was his power, even those in his own House turned against him, and even that great strength was barely enough to defeat Steele. Decades of sorcerous research empowered him beyond imagination. When he was defeated, a council of nobles gathered to determine the course of the future. It was determined that no ven should ever again be declared Emperor. Moreso, that no member of the House of the Elk should ever hold any title greater than that of Baron. Sorcery was outlawed, except for the Blooded of the Serpent who were allowed to study the forbidden art for the purposes of never allowing any future abuse of power.

The Betrayer War forever changed the face of Shanri. Steele’s researches unlocked old doors that should have never been opened. The land was filled with ancient horrors, terrible and unspeakable. The Blooded of the Falcon gave up their own lands to serve as rangers and sheriffs, protecting the common people against the horrors unleashed by Steele’s ambition. The House of the Bear, most deeply wounded by the war, retreated to the mountains to heal.

150 Year Ago: The Quiet Poison
Over the next century, the Blooded of the Wolf moved quickly to consolidate their power and fill the vacuum left behind by an empty throne. The House of the Fox did the same, but met with quick resistance from the Adrente wolves. A second war erupted, but it did not find its end on the battlefield. Instead, the war was ended on the floor of the newly created Senate.

The Senate passed what would come to be known as the War Amendment forbidding any noble from gathering armies. The nobility was permitted to keep “a small personal guard for the purposes of security and protection,” but otherwise, no soldiers, no garrisons, and no armies. Needless to say, the ven reacted to the amendment in their own way. They started gathering armies.

Because a noble was allowed a “small personal guard,” the ven began acquiring soldiers for that very purpose. The definition of “small” varied from noble to noble, from twenty armed men to as many as two hundred. After all, according to the law, nobles were also required to protect their vassals. Because vassals are property, they are—legally—an extension of the noble’s person. And so, in a moment of pure irony, “personal protection” became the key phrase that allowed the nobility to raise armies.

But waging war was still illegal. And in reaction to that clause, espionage and assassination became the primary cause of death among nobles in Shanri. For seventy-five years, the death toll became almost epidemic. The primary method of assassination was poison, providing an anonymous method of doing away with powerful enemies.

Thanks to another amendment passed by the Senate, dueling transformed from a messy and bloody exercise into pure ritual. The Dueling Act forbid casual swordplay, requiring proper procedure for the ven’s most deadly art.

From all this bloodshed, the Wolf and Fox developed the rules for duels, refining them as they murdered each other. Warfare occurred in the courts, civilized and ritualized, but still just as bloody. Finally, the Senate passed even more amendments restricting duels. Just in time for the Fox and Wolf to grab up the land left behind by the Falcon and Elk.

100 Years Ago: The Anguish
“This storm knows us,” Uvand Philo wrote. “It knows our names.”

The Storm, dubbed “the Anquish” by those who lived through it, ravaged all of Shanri. It first appeared a century ago, seemingly willful, seemingly knowing, all too deadly. A murderous Storm. It did indeed seem to know their names.

Ever since that day, the Storm returns, seeking the blood of the ven. At first, they were unprepared, their homes and villages and crops wrecked. With no foreknowledge or understanding of what they were dealing with, the ven suffered. Their only warning a distant howling wind like the cry of a wounded animal and the slowly darkening sky.

Many ven moved into the ancient ruins of the sorcerer-kings for shelter. For generations, those buildings remained empty out of fear of what may lay within, but the ven moved in out of necessity, cleaning out the vast hallways and rooms seeking shelter from the Storm.
But one ven sought truth rather than shelter. “The Storm knows our names,” he wrote. “We shall return the favor.” His name was Uvand Philo. Blooded of the Serpent, Duke of Ychara, Philo spent all his waking days searching for the origin of the Storm and all his nights communing with the suaven, seeking their wisdom. It took him fifty years, right up to the edge of Solace, but in the end, he found what he was looking for. He went to a particular aelven danna ruin with three others. Of the four, only one returned. Danaria Del, Blooded of the Falcon. She knew the Storm’s name and she brought it back… but only for those of her Blood.

Since then, the Blooded of the Falcon alone know the Storm’s name. They call upon the Storm and send it back, although sometimes its fury is too great for even those who know its secret.

The First Game
A Romance begins with a flirtation, a test of wits to see if a potential lover has the required skill. This is called “the First Game.” The flirtatious banter begins and continues in a kind of sing-song, with each trying to keep up with the beat of the conversation. The loser is the first to miss a beat. The winner sets the level of the tasks for the Romance.

Now, for our example, let’s watch Lady Shara as she sees a potential lover and approaches…

Shara knows his name, this man standing close to the fire. The man with eyes like the fire, with black hair spilling over his shoulders. His wide, wide shoulders. His name is Valin, and he is the prize of the court. She approaches him, touching his hand. Her fingers close over his, and she squeezes. She meets his eyes and smiles. The game has begun.

If you have read the rules for inflicting Insult, the Romance rules will be very familiar.

Initiating the Romance
To initiate the First Game, Shara must make a Beauty + Romance risk. The risk is 10.

If her roll is successful, she has initiated a request for romance successfully. He may choose to reciprocate, or not. If he does not, he politely declines with the proper compliment. That’s the end of that.

Raising the Stakes
If he chooses to reciprocate, he makes a Beauty + Romance risk, except with one wager. If the roll fails, his response is out of time, or not equal to her flirtation.

“I see you carry a sword,” Valin says to Shara. “Can you use it?”

“As well as any man,” she replies. Then, her gaze lowers to his hips where his own sword rests. ”Can you use yours?”

“As well as any woman,” he says.

This continues with each character raising the stakes. Each retort increases the wager. At each opportunity, either participant may concede or up the wager.

The tests continue, with both Shara and Valin testing each other’s verbal skills until one of them fails. In this case, its Shara who misses the roll…

“I’ve heard many women have trained with that blade,” she says, reaching forward, touching the pommel. “I hope it hasn’t gone dull from over use.”

“Quite the opposite,” he says, looking down at her. “And the quality of the blade is only one factor.” He touches her fingers resting on his pommel. “The fingers are the true test of a swordsman.”

His fingers touch hers and a little gasp escapes her lips. She misses a single beat, and the first round of the game is over. She breaks away, withdrawing her hand quickly. “Perhaps you are not ready for my training,” he tells her.

“Perhaps,” she whispers.

“Perhaps I need to see your skills first.”

She looks up. “A test?” she asks.

He smiles. “A test.”

Determining the Winner
If a character misses his roll, his wit has failed him, he has spoken out of time, fumbled his response, or has failed in some other way. This establishes the winner of the exchange. The implied premise is that the loser must prove their worth to the winner.

This exchange is important because it determines a crucial factor. The number of wagers made sets the potential of the romance. The number of wagers made in the exchange determine the potential rank of the romance on the two character’s sheets. If three wagers were made, the romance can grow to a rank 3 Romance. If only 2 wagers were made, it can grow to a rank 2 Romance.

The Spoils of Victory
Because Shara lost the First Game, Valin gets to set the first task, thus setting the level and pace of the Romance. If she accomplishes the task, the game continues, this time with roles reversed. Since she has proven her own worth, it’s time for him to prove his.

Beginning tasks are simple favors. A woman may drop a fan, look at the prospective lover and ask him to retrieve it for her. Likewise, most men ask for a drink from the cask or misplace a glove. Shara and Valin have different ideas about starting tasks…

“That man,” he says, pointing across the room. Shara looks. A bloated beast of a man from a minor house.

“I see him.”

“He carries a sword.”

Shara nods, understanding. “I see.” She bows slightly and retreats, crossing the room, her hand resting on the sword at her side. The noble sees her at the very last minute, just before her hand slaps his face and she takes her defensive stance. He draws his own blade and the duel begins.

A few thrusts and parries pass, everyone holds their breath, and when it’s done, there’s blood on the floor. He’s holding his wrist, looking at her, his sword on the marble with his blood.

She walks back across the floor, her heels clicking on the marble. The blood on her blade drips behind her. She steps up to him, holds the sword out before her… and with a dramatic pause, drops it. It clatters loud on the marble floor.

“I dropped my blade,” she says. “Would you mind picking it up?”

His eyes never leave hers. “Of course,” he says, kneeling down, his hand on the pommel of the blade. “Most women would have dropped a handkerchief,” he says.

She almost laughs. “’Most women.’”

Assigning Tasks
A lover must take care when assigning a task. If her task is too simple, she’s implying she doesn’t have much confidence in her lover’s ability to perform. If the task is too difficult, she’s setting him up for failure, implying she isn’t interested in playing anymore.

A beginning task should be simple, but relative to the skill of the lover. If uncertain, keep the task to something that can be accomplished quickly, to test the lover’s skill.

As the affair continues, the tests become more demanding. They also test the lovers by putting them in situations requiring each other to acknowledge the other in a public way. Each lover continues to trade challenges, the romance becoming more serious with each test. Gifts become touches, touches become kisses, kisses become caresses. Most romances end here, with both parties unwilling to take the next step. It’s a threshold that turns the romance from a flirtatious game into a treasonous crime.

If a lover is successful in his task, he’s awarded merca. Merca depends on many factors, including the lovers involved, the court where the game takes place, and the degree of difficulty of the task. At the beginning of an affair, merca can be a small gift (“Oh, no. You can keep the handkerchief.”) or the right to use a kiss as a greeting. A kiss on the hand, of course. As the tasks become more difficult, the merca also becomes more rewarding.

Rewards
There is another reward for all this nonsense: aspects on your character sheet.

Lovers gain a rank 1 Romance aspect. At the end of each Season, the aspect gains one rank. Romance aspects continue growing until they reach their potential, then they lose one rank until the Romance runs its course.

Naturally, lovers can invoke their Romance aspects for bonus dice: one die per rank of the Romance. But Romance aspects can also be tagged by other characters… if they know about the Romance, that is.

Ending the Affair
Sooner or later, a Romance must end. That’s the way of things. A Romance begins with the heat and intensity of spring; moves into the long, lazy warmth of summer; but then slides into the chilly days and nights of autumn; and finally succumbs to the bitter cold of winter. There are many ways for an affair to end. Some Romances end sadly, some happily, some end in tragedy. There are also honorable ways to bring an affair to an end and less-than-honorable ways to do it.

The most honorable way to end an affair is to accomplish a task and not ask for merca. This informs your lover the affair has run its course and cannot continue. By refusing merca, you have accomplished her request and graciously bow out of gaining the fruits of your labor.

The second honorable way of ending the affair is by not assigning a task. Once again, you feel the affair has gone far enough and any merca granted by a further task would be inappropriate for the romance.

Finally, you can end the affair poorly. There are many ways to do this, but here are two examples.

First, there’s ending the affair by refusing to grant merca. This earns the lover a new aspect: sauginue (saw-gee-new; “savage”). equal to the score of the Romance’s potential. A sauginue is one not to be trusted: an animal driven solely by desires. Of course, that title attracts as many lovers as it does drive them away.

And the most abrupt (and rude) way to end the affair is a public display of scorn or choosing the favor of another over your lover’s favor. Not only does this end the affair and gain you the sauginue aspect, but it may bring bloodshed to your household.

Most husbands or wives try to ignore a spouse’s romance, but no one ever takes kindly to a lover who so shames their marriage by ending a romance poorly. Such behavior is just (and legal) cause for a duel.

Dangerous Liaisons
By the strictest definition, adultery is engaging in activity that could cause an illegitimate heir. Until that line is crossed, all of this romantic talk is relatively harmless—as far as most nobles are concerned. But once that line is crossed, it ceases being a romance and becomes a liaison. The romance has become a danger to the marriage. Most ven understand this and end a romance before it gets that far. Others, however, are so caught up in the passion of the affair, the lovers are willing to risk anything—even their lives—to continue to the passionate conclusion.

Lovers discovered in such a compromising position risk much. They risk loss of reputation, loss of status and—depending on the severity of the court—loss of life.

A liaison may begin as soon as the Romance reaches its potential—reaches its romantic peak. There is only so much satisfaction to be gained from flirting and games until someone finally has to cross the line. So, the Romance reaches its potential, but instead of decreasing next Season, it continues to increase. Except now, it is no longer a Romance, but a Liaison.

Being discovered in a liaison is dangerous. It gives your character the aspect yvaltae (ee-val-tay; dangerous). The aspect is equal to the potential of the Romance. This damages your opportunities to begin new Romances and effects your interactions with anyone with the Romance skill. A liaison is also grounds for divorce in many courts (but not all). The adulterer loses any titles gained from the marriage as well as land and moneys. Finally, most courts punish adulterers in some fashion. Some are branded on the back or legs. A few courts are more sympathetic to the rights of lovers and punish them with banishment. The challenge of a duel most surely will follow any such discovery, from either the wife or the husband; this is high fantasy, after all.

One hundred years ago, a book like the one you’re holding wouldn’t be called a “fantasy,” it’d be called a “romance.” A work of romantic notions like heroes, heroines, acts of daring-do, swashbuckling and something called “true love.” Romantic notions. The novels of Alexandre Dumas were romances, the Arthurian myths were romances, and yes, the War of the Ring was called a “romance” in the time the Professor wrote them. Not a fantasy, but a romance.

(Technically, he called it a “history,” but we’re willing to allow the Professor a mistake or two now and then.)

And with that in mind, look through the pages of that fantasy novel of yours. Look at the passion of the characters, willing to throw their lives in the way of danger for romantic ideals. Romance can be silly, but it can also be dramatic, subtle, and even tragic. Romance can be an adventure in itself, or it can be the springboard for adventures, giving your character a reason to act as he does. Greed only carries a man so far; what happens when he collects his 100,000 gold pieces? He retires from the dangerous profession of adventuring, gets married and has a few kids, opens a blacksmithy and spends the rest of his life in relaxed luxury. But a man in love will do just about anything, even don that armor one more time, kiss his wife and children goodbye and go out into the wild world to protect everything he’s built. Love is the greatest motivator in the world, and it can provide a hero with powers he never knew he had. As we’ll see later in this chapter…

The Very First Romantics
In the minds of the ven, “love” is a dangerous thing. It makes you act against your own best interests, against your family, against your friends. It is a kind of loyalty that your superiors cannot control. Remember: the word the ven use for “love” is the same word they use for “revenge.” ˆDangerous obsession.

Likewise, romance is deadly. It’s only asking for trouble. You know how things will go when you get involved in a romance. The heat of passion makes you stupid. Makes you ill. You feel sick when your lover isn’t around and when she is around, you feel giddy. How can this be anything but dangerous?

Ven scholars denounce romance and love for these reasons. Of course, that doesn’t stop love and romance. In fact, making it forbidden just fans the flames.

Athreda and Ylvayne
Romantic notions started nearly three hundred years ago, inspired by the tales of a particular Baron and Baroness. Athreda, Baron of Tyme and Ylvayne, Baroness of Dren were drawn to each other the moment their eyes met. She was older, wife of a man falling into the deep sleep of Solace. He was a composer, looking for inspiration. They spent a winter together in the Duchy of Pathrena, and while there, they fell deeply in love.

Athreda composed his first great opera that winter, dedicating it to “My Winter Rose.” The veiled romance between the two was obvious to any who sat in attendance and it scandalized both of them. They denied any wrong-doing, the Baroness swearing everlasting loyalty to her husband, but few believed her. The way she looked at him. The way she wrote about his music. It was obvious she was deeply and passionately in love. A crime of adultery by any account.

When brought to court, she admitted her love for the young composer, but refused to admit consummating the affair. A clever move on her part, knowing that the actual crime she was accused of was adultery. The court’s judgment: “Adultery is a crime; love is not.”
Ylvayne was acquitted and half the Senate cheered. A new idea had taken root in the ven consciousness: a separation of the ideas of love and marriage.

That year, nearly three hundred volumes were published, plays were written, and operas performed, all advocating the virtues of love. Husbands were drawn as grim and dour monsters, old men marrying young women, trapping them in gilded cages. Then, along comes The Lover: young, robust, creative, and ready to save the poor, suffering wife from the trap of marriage. Of course, none of these books, plays or operas was there any sex. The law was clear: romance is legal; sex is not. But that would also change.

Return of the Winter Rose
Ten years after his first Winter Rose opera was performed, Athreda composed a sequel. The hero and heroine, both much older, reunited after many years of separation. The affair, once thought dead and forgotten, awakened once again. And this time, the lovers consummated their affair.

Once again, Athreda’s opera scandalized Shanri, but this time, it was he, not the Baroness, who was brought to trial. The crime was subverting public morals and encouraging illegal activity. The lords set to charge the case presented the opera’s libretto as evidence and the courts waited to see what defense Athreda would take. The Baron’s defense surprised the world.

He announced that he was guilty as charged. Guilty of subverting the public’s idea of marriage, guilty of encouraging love, and guilty of being helplessly in love with Ylvayne. But he refused to admit the play had anything to do with reality. “We have never consumed our love,” he confessed. “And I shall die with that shame.”

Having confessed to his crimes, he was publicly castrated, then hanged, then burned at the stake. The public was surprised that Ylvayne never attended the trial nor his execution. The day after his execution, her husband found her dead by her own hand. Poison. Legend says she left behind a letter, but that he destroyed it after reading it.

Athreda confessed his own honesty at the trial would help liberate Shanri from the prison of marriage. To a certain extend, it did. Romance has become an undeniable part of ven culture, despite those who would see it castrated, hanged, and burned as its champion was. But there is no definitive vision of love or romance. Instead, plays, books and operas continue to debate its meaning and purpose in ven life. And, of course, the ven call any such work that explores the meaning of love a vrentada. A romance.

The Courts of Love
Many of the early vrentada were expressions of romantic theories. What is love? What is the proper procedure for lovers? When has a man gone too far in expressing his love?

Almost all romances take place “once upon a time,” in a semi-fictional, semi-historical Shanri with veiled names and circumstances. Most of the time, only slightly veiled. Okay, maybe not veiled at all. Either way, these stories tell of knights wooing ladies’ hearts, their successes and failures. Some end well, but most end in tragedy—reflecting the view of this new idea. In the courts (and in the Senate) the ven openly discussed the stories, debating the nature of love and its place in the world. All the discussions were theoretical, of course—these stories were never about real people, but only fictional lords and ladies and their fictional adventures. Never did poets or playwrights use real people as models for their adventures. No, nay, never.

Every court had its own opinions, its own rules. With this attitude, romance evolved into a kind of game, with lovers finding ways of openly declaring their love in complicated codes. The courts were completely distracted by the elaborate games, trying to identify couples by their riddles.

In the beginning, these affairs were completely chaste—a kiss was a daring gift, and if discovered, could lead to banishment, or even death. Then, as the concept of courtly romance became more popular, the lady’s rewards became more… rewarding.

Eventually, romantic sentiments overcame the power of tradition, and we have the beginnings of what we have now: flirting and courtship as tests to finding your one true love. But in the world of the ven, love is still a dangerous philosophy, practiced at risk, in secret, away from the eyes of those who would ruin the greatest game ever created.

Question: “Isn’t this all adultery?”
As long as no sex is involved, the answer to that question is a definite “No.”
Well, maybe. Ah, actually, yes. Perhaps.

Years ago, the Senate passed a law that they thought would put an end to romance once and for all. It explicitly forbid any endangerment of dynastic lineage. If dynastic lineage is not endangered—in other words, as long as there’s no chance of a bastard child—most consider courtly love a harmless pastime.

There are others, however, who view such activities as spurious at least, and in extreme cases, dangerous. In the romantic ballads, the husband is often referred to as “the jealous one,” and he’s depicted as the villain, standing in the way of true love.

Romance causes men and women to doubt the authenticity and authority of their marriages, putting a dangerous strain on this all-important social contract. Defenders of romance argue love is jus as important as marriage, a vital relationship marriage can not provide. Love is choice. Marriage is force. It is a debate that continues even to this day.

The Rules of Love
In Shanri, every court views romance differently, approving of some, disapproving of others. A romance is born out of impulse, lives through the energy of immediacy, and fades when the fires burn too low. Let’s take a look at how a romance is born, lives, and eventually dies.

Beginning the Affair
It begins with a glance, a single look. If the glance lingers for more than a breath, something has happened. A chance for romance.
It is the man’s role to initiate contact, approaching with hints and signals. The woman, then, must either encourage his flirtations or discourage them, letting him know her intentions. All signs of romance must be subtle, a gesture of respect for the institution of marriage. Those who do not show such respect, flaunting their affairs, show contempt for the institution, and thus, show contempt for all married persons, as well as Manna Renay (the suaven [patron saint] of marriage).

If a woman accepts a man’s offer of romance, she determines how far the affair will go and to what degree she tests her lover’s devotion. After all, she must know his affection is true, and not just some randy brute looking for a roll between the sheets. Each test has a reward, called “merca” (pronounced “meer-sah”).

(A rough translation comes to “thank you,” although it is more delicate, more respectful. Think of someone doing you a favor that you did not ask for. Think of the way you would say the words. That’s the context.)

The degree of merca depends on the test, the lovers and the court. For some courts, an appropriate reward is a piece of clothing, a lock of hair or even a kiss on the back of the hand.

Sidebar: Seven Kisses
There are many kinds of kisses, each more intimate than the last. The courts of love determine what kisses are appropriate and which are considered “too romantic.” The first kiss is to the hand, on the fingertips. The second kiss is to the wrist; kissing the inside of the wrist is considered a more intimate reward. The third kiss is to the inside of the hand. The fourth is to the chest, just at the breast bone. The fifth kiss is to the neck, just under the chin. The sixth kiss is to the nape of the neck, just under the hairline. Finally, the last kiss is to the lips.
The delivery of each kiss is also important, and a matter for debate. Some courts insist the kiss be what is called a “quiet kiss,” delivered with closed lips. The “willing kiss” involves lips and tongue. Finally, the “cruel kiss” employs the teeth.

____

And you’ll get more later.
I’m dancing as fast as I can. A little “thank you” would be appreciated. 😉

Insult always begins with insinuation, never with outright accusation. A sideways compliment or a bit of sarcasm. The uncouth beast who steps up to a Baron or Duke and blabbers, “You’re fat!” does not understand nuance or style. Any ven so assaulted with such a vulgar misunderstanding of the proper manner these things is carried out is obliged to ignore it. Such an insult is considered vulgar (the ven say, vaga) and leaves a stain on the reputation of the one who uttered it.

However, if the insult is fair (the ven say, altrua), the challenged party is obliged to accept or deny the insult. Now, this is tricky. For the ven, accepting the insult means you want to fight about it. Denying the insult, on the other hand, means that you deny the opportunity to dispute it. It’s a little confusing, but that’s the way the ven language works sometimes: saying the exact opposite of what they mean.

Casting an insult (the same word the ven use for “casting a fishing line”) uses Beauty + Manners. The risk is 10. You cannot wager at this time. It’s a straight roll: did you cast the insult in such a subtle way that you captured the attention of your target and the audience around you.  If you make the roll, your target is obliged to either accept or deny it. If you did not make the roll, you gain a rank 1 Insult on your sheet. We’ll talk about how that works in a moment, but first, denying and accepting Insults.

Denying the Insult
This is easier, so we’ll do it first.

If you have been insulted and you deny the opportunity to defend yourself, it means the insult sticks. You don’t want to fight about it and you’re willing to let it fall on your head. You gain a rank 1 Insult on your sheet with a short description of the insult. Again, we’ll talk about how that works in a second.

Accepting the Insult
If you accept the insult, it’s time to throw down. The duel uses Beauty + Manners. Each contestant in the duel begins a battle of cruel witticisms, the banter going back and forth until someone either falters or concedes.

Let’s start with you. You were just insulted and you’ve accepted it. You must throw back an insult of your own. This time, it does not have to be so subtle. With each progressive insult, the stakes increase. The insults become less subtle and more forthright. Roll your Beauty + Manners, except you must make one wager. The risk is still 10.

If you succeed your risk, the contest continues and your opponent must make another Beauty + Manners roll, making two wagers. Then, back to you, and you have to make the risk… with three wagers.

This goes back and forth until one of two things happens. First thing: one of the contestants concedes. He receives an Insult equal to the last wager made. If the last wager he made was three dice, he receives a rank 3 Insult. Second thing: one of the contestants fails the roll. If this happens, he blunders, makes a fool of himself, and loses the contest. He gains an Insult equal to the last wager made plus one. If the last wager made was three dice, he receives a rank 4 Insult.

Tagging Insults
As you may have suspected, Insults on your sheet can be tagged like aspects. (In fact, they’re just a very specific kind of aspect.) You can tag an Insult to gain a number of dice equal to the Insult. If you’re fighting an enemy in a duel, tag his Insult to remind him of his shame. You get dice equal to the Insult on your next risk.

Getting Rid of Insult
Shame is a hard thing to live with… it’s even harder to get rid of.

The only way to get rid of Insult is to take actions–public actions–that directly contradict the nature of the Insult. If you’ve got a Cuckold Insult (look it up, kids), you’ve got to find ways to prove the Insult wrong. Of course, that will probably involve your wife in some way, which means you’ll have to depend on her good will and generosity.

Oh, damn. You have to socially interact with NPCs to get a penalty off your sheet. Don’t you hate it when that happens?

If a Season passes and the vendetta has not been fulfilled, both participants receive a rank 1 Injury, “Vendetta Pains.” They begin as a low ache near the heart, a constant reminder that the vow has not been fulfilled. If another Season passes, the aspect gains another rank. Now, the pains are sharp, piercing the heart. This continues until the vendetta has been fulfilled.