As Tydeus swaggers forward, unconcerned with the bronze spearpoints of your elite guard drifting in his direction, there is a moment of strange doubling – you half-remember a nightmare from several weeks ago. In the dream, a pale shade claiming to be your grandfather Laius had berated you for laziness, for doing nothing while Polynices’ wagging tongue set Argos to work. The apparition had warned you of your brother’s tricks, advised you to steel yourself, to hold Thebes – and that Olympus itself supports your claim to the throne.
You inwardly smile, now supremely confident in your position – there is no need for fear here, not when Zeus Ὑπσιστος himself has decided that you will succeed in holding your kingdom!
>Eteocles’ WILL challenge is an astounding success, and as a result, he remembers the vision of Laius!>Eteocles' will now always AUTO-SUCCEED any WILL challenge if it pertains to surrendering the throne of Thebes! Zeus’ support is a heady thing, indeed.Tydeus begins to speak – and you immediately see that this “diplomatic envoy” is nothing of the sort. The man seeks to provoke you on behalf of your brother, not to find common cause:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHwJFRPFG-8<span class="mu-r">“If you had an ounce of plain honesty left and cared at
all for your sworn oath, when your year was up, you’d have made damn
sure envoys went out from here to your brother, and you – on time!
smiling! – would have stripped off your robes and climbed down from your
throne
so that he, long at loose ends and exposed to dangers in strange
cities, should nonetheless succeed to the realm as agreed.
But, given your sweet love of kingship and flattery’s power,
<span class="mu-i">we</span> come to <span class="mu-i">you</span>: the swift cycle has already twirled
the starry globe round, and bare hills grow shady once more
since your brother, a penniless exile, began his sad life
in strange towns. Now it’s time for you to pass your days
under the open sky, to stretch out your limbs on the cold,
hard ground, to bow and scrape before foreign Hearth Gods.
The party’s over! Flashy in purple and gaudy with gold,
you’ve sneered long enough at your brother the pauper’s lean
year. My advice is, forget kingly fun and games!
Grin and bear it – that’s what brings the exile back home.”*</span>
By the end of the screed, a poisonous silence has stolen over the throne room - the Theban nobility are no doubt paralyzed in terror at your potential response. Rage boils deep in your gut - the audacity of this pauper prince, to come HERE. Where is Polynices now? Cowering under the bedsheets in the Argive Royal Palace? You bite back the urge to simply have this man killed on the spot - tampering with a sacred envoy in such dramatic fashion would only hasten Zeus' retribution...
* This dialogue taken straight from Jane Wilson Joyce's translation of Thebaid Book II---
