216th Day, 0600 Local Time. Grand Arena, Shadowhaven.

You are roused from your bunks just after the sixth bell, and marched, without manacles, by a handful of guards to the Arena. Fifty yards behind you is another group, presumably the riggers, and in front of you in Magnus, stripped to the waist and shackled hand and foot walking between two hulking orcish soldiers. He looks pasty and rather pitiful, but when he looks over his shoulder at you he has that familiar glint in his eye.

Magnus was escorted into a holding chamber to await the beginning of the trial, but you are directed to the Arena floor. The Arena is already full when you arrive. Hawkers are selling skewered foodstuffs and flagons of beverages in the stands, and there is a general commotion. You are escorted to a row of canvas chairs in a long line, bisecting the Arena. Trade council soldiers stand in small groups of three or four near the many entrances to the arena floor, both to keep people from leaving and to keep the crowd from charging onto the sands. The judge’s podium is empty but has been erected near one end of the indoor amphitheatre, as is a small raised platform where the witnesses will give their testimony.

The sand beneath your feet is freshly raked. Waterpriests are pouring water into troughs around the raised platforms and chanting. As they finish their work, a series of other witnesses are arriving: riggers, some beaten and most looking malnourished, and a handful of merchants and ship captains. The Trade Council adjudicators are the next to arrive. Cogsworth looks to be his dashing, smug self in his neatly pressed dress uniform and shares a particularly winning glower with Tooly. Captain Finch looks tired, her hair a long graying braid over an orange and green long dress coat that has seen years of abuse. She looks bored by the proceedings, and yawns openly before she takes her seat. The last man is the Battlelord’s Admiral Pinochet. He is bald by choice, shaved clean with a razor without the barest hint of stubble. His uniform has been abandoned for warpriest’s vestments: a chain shirt with heavy plate steel shoulders, scale vambraces and steel greaves. His helm is tucked under his arm, and his chest shows scattered scars from years of battle in the service of his god. For a man a full decade older than Gardner, you still find him fearsome to behold.

After they are seated, the crowd quiets while a dirge of horns blare from high in the stands. Magnus is brought forth, half-naked and chains rattling, to stand on the raised platform. Once he is in the center of the arena, the boos and rancorous shouts begin, but are silenced just as quickly when the admiral stands. “Magnus Greenbottom,” his voice booms clearly, amplified by the enchanted water around their dias, “you stand accused of high crimes against the Trade Council, including incitement of violence leading to over 150 deaths, the destruction of the Great Shipyards, and the sinking of no less than 6 properly licensed commercial vessels. You may now begin your defense, if you have one, to these charges.” He returns to his seat, eyes never leaving Magnus.

Magnus raises his head, “I am but a humble merchant and while I have plenty of guilt to answer for in my life, I have committed none of these crimes. My accusers would have you believe I am capable of planning the most ridiculous of plots for some unverifiable gain, but I submit that it was your Trade Council that refused guild status to the Rigger’s, not I. It was my competitors who chose not to heed the clear warnings of a dangerous riot and leave their ships in port. It was the rigger’s who set the fires and sealed the fate of our glorious port. All of these actions are to blame, far more than my own.” He points defiantly at the dias in front of him, “I am being held to account for your choices, and the flames are being fanned by those who would have my wealth.” He gestures to the merchants and captains seated near you. “Half the men behind me owe me money, the other half are owed by me. Both would collect if I am found guilty. That is the true reason for this foul proceeding.

“If the city desires a villain, then I would humbly suggest they pick one who can be held to task for these crimes, for I have done them no wrong. I have always endeavored to ensure flow of trade to this island, and my men have suffered for their dutiful service not to me, but to the Shadowfolk.” He steps back, finished but not beaten. He is escorted away to the sound of more jeers and seated alone on a hard wooden beam that will serve as the headsman’s block if it comes to that.

Cogsworth calls a series of witnesses from the riggers, captains and merchants. Each gives a similar tale: Magnus had met with the rigger leadership, offered them a tidy sum to move their riot from the planned venue in the Nexus to the shipyards. Merchants were delayed in moving their goods off of their vessels because Magnus had paid the rigger’s to unload his first so they could leave port, or loaded them with his own men in violation of Shadowhaven city codes. Captains tell tales of their ships burning away beneath them as they fought to maintain control. Cogsworth displays the contract made in Timber for lumber and iceseal, as well as personal papers of Magnus’ detailing meetings with riggers, payment ledgers and shipping changes immediately preceding the strike. The crowd is howling by the end of it.

They quiet as Captain Finch comes alive with a raspy low voice. “Enough! I think we’ve heard all we need to from your witnesses, Commander. There are other witnesses to what has transpired – a group of sailors in Greenbottom’s employ who barely escaped with their lives! They saved 3 officers of the Council from certain doom in the riots, and returned here with needed goods only to be treated as if they were criminals. They are uncommon folk, good stock the kind which this Council used to support. They stand here with the unpleasant duty of reporting on their employer, after being held against the ‘Lord Admiral’s release order by you! I say we hear their words, for I tire of yours.” Admiral Pinochet snorts at the dressing down, but summons you all up to the stand. “Speak your piece.”

ooc: so, I will let you all pipe up at your leisure. This will be a bit more freeform than the previous one – that is, you won’t know values for people’s dispositions to your arguments. Feel free to roll whatever skills you think relevant. They will interrupt with questions, I imagine, but eventually they will tire of you, and then it’s over – we aren’t doing ‘rounds’ like last time. After you finish, Magnus will have a final opportunity to speak, and then they’ll pass judgment.