At the fairground desk, Bobinko Kozlov slides the race papers forward while his stallion stamps the wet dirt beside him. The official’s quill pauses over the form as rain ticks the awning and nearby hands go still.
Lazlo
He means to make this public. Good. Let them hear it.
A murmur runs through the queue. The Barmaid lingers near a keg, pretending not to listen. Bobinko’s wager catches several heads at once.
The Official
You intend to enter the stallion, then? Speak plain. And this talk of land, is it a jest, or a claim?
Bobinko Kozlov
I enter him. If he wins, the Tryars stop pressing my boundary stones. My land stands on the race.
Lazlo
Then it is no private grievance. It is a challenge they can hear.
The official lowers the quill, then reaches for the seal box. Across the track rail, a cloaked watcher straightens at Bobinko’s words and keeps looking.
The Official
A bold wager. Place your mark, and I will record it before witnesses.
✓ Quest Accepted
Register the stallion's wager
“Bobinko presses his mark confidently. For he knows the quality of his Stallion. He also knows that's a big reason the Tryars press his land. King Tryar prides himself as an excellent horse trainer, but doesn't possess the quality Stallions as the Kozlov ranch”
SUCCESS (Superb Animal Handling, rolled +0)
Bobinko presses his mark hard into the waxed line. The seal takes it cleanly, and the official’s ledger shuts with a soft thump.
The Official
Recorded. Bobinko Kozlov, stallion entered under wager, with witnesses present.
Lazlo’s shoulders ease a fraction. The Barmaid still watches from the keg, eyes fixed on the desk as if she wants to catch every word.
The Cloaked Watcher
So it is public now.
The official dips the seal into red wax and presses it over the mark. Rain hisses louder on the awning, and the track rail creaks under the weight of staring spectators.
The Official
This wager stands. If there is protest, it comes now, before the bell.
Quest Complete
Register the stallion's wager