Template:The Wording

The Grand Knight-Convenor of ISDA’ s crack CDS drafting squad surveys the scene. Exhausted ninjas — bruised, battered, soiled, scarred and punctured during the savage thrust and counterthrust that goes on within those august cloisters when The Wording is upon them — this is all speculation, for the proceedings of this society are mortally secret, but surely this phrasing is wrought by martial combat, isn’t it? No-one could perpetrate such syntax with a sound mind and from a state of peaceable reflection — but at last, the hall falls silent. Echoed scuffles, bootfall and clankèd chainmail sublimate into the musty vaulted beams — perhaps a saucepan lid lazily circles. A curl of incense wafts up, the chimney smokes white and before the exhausted combatants there lies, upon a table, this careful calligraphic parchment.

The Grand Knight-Convenor surveys the wreckage.

Grand Knight-Convenor: “Are we — are we done, then? My brother, sister knights: are we done?”

The rambunctious Ser Jaramey Slizzard, a young knight from the court of Milbank, stirs. He gets unsteadily to his feet. His countenance is dark. He reaches for the conch.

Ser Jaramey: “As the case may, for the time being, be deemèd —”

Before he can take the conch, the Grand Knight-Convenor cuts him off.

Grand Knight-Convenor: “No. This must stop now. The time for pedantry is over, Ser.”

But the young knight is hot blooded, wild. We can hear him mutter the Swappist Oath,

Ser Jaramey: “What is dull is never done.”

The young knight draws from his scabbard — but the Aïessdiyé have seen all this before. They are faster. They anticipate his stroke and Ser Jaramey is cut down with a blow to the back of the knees. He buckles and they escort him away to the Protocolia where he will serve a period of nettance.