The Warlord had been promised blood. What the card said was: pick one player, and until the round ends everyone calls them champion. The Warlord read it out, flat as a stone, and sat through the silence afterwards.
Somebody picked their cousin, who stood and bowed. For ten minutes every sentence began with "Champion, could you pass the cards?" The champion, who had been losing all night, sat up very straight and became unbearable.
Each announcement came with a mutter from the corner. "Fine. Champion. Whatever." When the round ended and the title lapsed, the table gave a small round of applause, and the Warlord said, with great effort, "Don't thank me."
Nobody had. They did it anyway, to see what would happen.