Accept Tula's offer of a duel and try to reason with her there

You think quickly. There are several competing forces and interests at play. This is what you have been taught to manage - now you must do it well if you're to survive.

Tula wants your title, but she doesn't want you dead. Johari wants you dead and doesn't particularly care about the title. Cadh and Ross want Marzena dead, and to lay siege to the city. Marzena just wants to gratify her own momentary whims and to do whatever she'd find funny. That last one is important - it is critical that you keep her entertained or else she WILL turn on you. Being a sort of court jester to you, you sometimes find it easy to forget that at her tender age of 23, Marzena is a murderess several times over and has dealt personally with demons. Even though she never stops cracking jokes, you cannot EVER afford to assume she is only joking about anything she says. Suddenly, the mercenaries are the least of your concern.

So what you shall do is sacrifice your illusion of helplessness with the mercenaries and get into close quarters with Tula. Accept her challenge. And, well, let her inflict some pain on you, if that's what it takes for her to find satisfaction. But more importantly, she will be willing to offer the mercenaries a bargain. Let her face you - promising to give the Gaelicans all of the city's wealth and leave them in control of the town gates. Convince Tula to take a dive, somehow. Show the mercenaries that 'surrender preparations' are being made so they'll relax. Then turn the power of the Crooked Tower loose on their sleeping minds and beguile them with the city's less sorcerously gifted sex workers. Do the same to the other mercenaries camping out around the walls, if possible. Gain absolute power from a posture of total submission, as is your house's creed.

You walk over to Cadh and whisper in Marzena's ear: "No, listen - my dear friend... you simply HAVE to see what I have planned. It's going to be the stuff of theater."

"Ohhhhh," Marzena says after a moment, giving you a wink, "did you really believe I was going to... Hah! Oh Zoe, I might be a *touch* upset by the unfair way you treated my fellow witches last night but we're still the best of friends. I mean, nevermind mucking up your plans, if I were to put a spell on you, you'd never trust me again, right? There's not a lot you can punish me aside from ****, considering my lot in life - but that would make me sad, and that's no joke!"

Sighing, you shake your head and smile thinly. She's a good girlfriend after all. Then you turn back to Tula.

"Alright, let me give you my terms then...! Marzena, have your pet convince her friends that this is just going to be a good show - they will be following us inside the gates. They'll need to move quickly so that the rest of that mercenary scum out there doesn't pour in after them. I'll face you in the ring as you wish, Tula - but on the condition that Johari AND her hideous miscreations stay outside the gates, guarding them against anyone else who tries to make a rush for them."

"I don't think... AHHHH!" Johari begins disdainfully - but Tula rides over, draws her sword, and gives the haughty necromantrix a spank across her ample backside with the flat of the blade. "Very good, Lady Orban! The theater will be our arena, so all of MY new subjects can have a good laugh at what a weak little girl you are and revel in your humiliation!"

Aside from the mercenaries, scores, if not hundreds, of townsfolk leave their businesses idle and come swarming to watch. Commoners love to watch their betters fight at any time, and the rare spectacle of two women going at it seems to be irresistible to them. The Gaelican mercenaries ring the edges of the theatre to ensure that no militia try to ambush them in the distraction. Many of them look a bit nervous, but since they have left a contingent in control of the gatehouse, Cadh promises them that they are in a strong position.

You are still wearing your rather simplistic and revealing 'armor' that fits over your now turn and filthy white dress. The molded metal plates cover your breasts and abdomen, with small plates dangling down over your hips, but you are mostly unprotected. In fairness, Tula's armor is not particularly practical either - a steel bustier with exposed cleavage and a blouse and short skirt made of extremely light, fine maile commissioned by elven artisans, which was comfortable and easy to move in and could stop the edge of a blade from penetrating but gave no protection whatsoever against impact. Rather than swords, Tula had insisted, with no objection by you, that this be fought with maces, since as she said with a laugh to the crowd, "even if it's to be to the ****, I know there are a lot of squeamish men out there who don't want to see a woman's blood or guts being spilled".

Of course you don't have a chance in a real fight. Tula may not be the great warrior she imagines herself to be, but she doesn't have to be to thrash a 110 pound waif who's never done so much as a day of actual martial training.

"Before we begin, Baroness," you say, emphasizing her true title loudly, "you should consider your religious obligations. I know you've just come back from another tournament where you were, as always, volunteering as a practice lance target for the men. Are you certain that you aren't pregnant? You're looking a bit fatter. Imagine the opprobrium if the nearby bishop were to discover you'd miscarried after a foolish battle - that's just a step short of ****, isn't it? Or perhaps you've just been partaking in too much rich food."

Tula looks a bit concerned and purses her lips in worry for a moment, seemingly counting something off on her fingers, but then she focuses on you again and grits her teeth. "Oh, shut up! I've listened to your high-handed witticisms for the last time! Defend yourself!" she bellows a shrill cry and runs towards you.

Holding your own mace up awkwardly, you block her swing, though the momentum slams your own weapon into you, and her greater **** sends you stumbling back. She keeps pushing into you, trying to make you fall, and you barely keep your footing - but soon you are pushed up against one of the wooden barriers that have been put up around the edge of the ring.

And before you can recover, she sharply raises her knee and slams it right into your crotch! Sharp pain explodes throughout your lower body and you give a high, undignified shriek, eyes bugging out and losing your grip on your mace entirely. It was always funny when you saw that happen to a man when faced with an unchivalrous opponent. You may not have any dangling bits to crush but it seems that Tula had known, and you did not, that the female sex wasn't that much more resilient against such a scandalous tactic.

Laughing arrogantly, instead of striking you with her mace, Tula gives you a backhand with her armored gauntlet. The taste of blood fills your mouth immediately and you see stars. Sound becomes muted, and you feel on the verge of passing out. She puts a hand around your throat and holds you in place, seemingly taking her leisure to decide how painfully and injuriously she wants to put an end to this farce of a duel.

It is now or never, you need to convince her somehow. Forcing yourself through the pain, you slowly begin to laugh... And sure enough, as Tula was never the sharpest blade in the smithy, she hesitates to raise her mace again... Whatever you say next, it had better be good.