Sickly, mediocre Goblets cower in the darkness, coughing wetly as they count and recount their meagre hoards. Here, a Goblet places his single trophy on the floor before quickly recapturing it, wiping sweat from his seat with a wan and trembling hand. In the corner, a Goblet has regressed to the anemic pleasures of "art" and has carved a selection of crude fertility goblets from dry dung.