Fantasy Drums of War [IC][Closed]

[Infab]

"Titles are not something we carry as we have sworn them off in order to serve the realm in our way."

"Ah, well..." responded Titus, glancing between the two as his helmet shifted back and forth. "...You may call me Titus, then. Titles can be a bit stuffy anyway, though they have their uses."

"How can we help you, ser?"

"I had intended to discuss it with the Highlord on behalf of Lord Froste, but as he's currently busy with imperial business, I sought you out. We have an ample stock of bandits and poachers that we're willing to hand over for service at the Wall." he explained, letting his shoulders relax and placing his hand lazily on the pommel of the sword hanging beneath his arm. "It seems that people seek out the Stormlands and Tarth when they wish to flee from the authority of the lower territories. They've recently become a problem that we're having to deal with militarily."

"Best we can do with them is, barring execution, hard labor in the fields, the mines, or at the Wall. And most of them seem best suited for the Wall."

--- --- ---
​

"I couldn't help but look at these flowers. Out of many things here from across the Empire, none had entranced me quite so like these. So unassuming and yet...and yet, their colours attracted me so. They are from Tarth, are they not? Your home?" she then asked, "I have never been... well, I have not been anywhere outside of the North until of late. What is it like there?"​

Oliver smiled as well, looking to the flowers before them. "Yes, they're from Tarth. Black hellebore flowers. They were grown and planted here personally by my mother, from what I'm told."

He tilted his head slightly as he gazed upon them. "There's vast fields of these near our castle. I guess my mother was fond of them, and decided to grow her own personal batch to be planted here. To remind my father of her and of home."

He looked back to Enya after a few moments. "Tarth is, well, much like the rest of the Stormlands. Evergreen forests, rolling hills. Clear, flowing rivers. Farms and mills here and there, with their crops and cattle. Its a beautiful place, honestly. Peaceful, especially in the mornings... though we have bandits that tend to make their presence known in places near the borders."

"...The waterfront north of the castle is a sight to behold, especially from one of the towers. I go up and watch the ships go in and out at times." he added at the end.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

The knightly-sellsword nuzzled an armoured knuckle under his chin. Attention solely devoted to the nobleman's description of his clandestine acts, even the avian-ally, Coen, seemed to be enamoured with this man's retelling. Though his attention had been piqued, Siert's thoughts were not prey to surprise. Indeed, he had expected at least this much from his employer. Subterfuge, brown-nosing, and cunning remarks are tools of the trade for them; just like the sword, the spear, the shield are to him. His first-hand experience in these machinations still sorrowed the tip of his tongue. Despite the promise of coin or connections, Siert Bruinsma does not trust this man at all. However, unlike his previous Lord, Siert believes that, if nothing else, this one will keep his word.

His hand came to rest across the table as Jomier continued. Smiling at the dramatics displayed.

"—If you knew even half the things some of these Lords get up to..."

"Tis true, I seldom assay to even speculate what goes in ye circles, my Lord. How you, or anyone for that matter, remains sane and not committed to an asylum is a miracle itself already." Siert appended his thoughts. Coen had bent down on Siert's shoulder then expanded into a small hop on the table, pecking at the mercenary's mug. "In a moment." He tells the bird, and it replying with a nod. "I do not envy your predicaments, Lord. I feel you'd have better favour scrying the weather than guess a human's action. Anything can happen." The man chuckled lowly. "Speaking of actions, it seems I need to get ready for the tourney, as Coen so helpfully pointed out, but if you feel the need to instruct me via envoys or letters then my room is in the local Inn," His eyes dart to the left corners of his sockets as he remembered the details. "Second floor, the third door from the right."

He pats his shoulder. "Come on, Coen, back up here." He then looks to Jomier. "Is this agreeable, Lord?"

joshuadim

 

[joshuadim]

The Imperial Council, The Spire
Breadman [Vigot], GrieveWriter [Adelaide]​

The colour visibly drained from the Emperor's face while his advisors, save for the Exarch of Whispers, looked on with shock of their own towards this report. A silence stilled the room as the words lingered in the air, leaving everyone to collect their thoughts from such a revelation in the moment. The first to speak up would be the Emperor himself as he slowly opened his mouth: "...a hundred... thousand?" he spoke as a whisper, repeating the figure as if to try to parse any potentiality of this being wrong. General Vildrith shook his head in the meanwhile. His visage was strained as he muttered under his breath for a few moments.

"What you're describing is a calamity." the seasoned general then spoke, leaving his thoughts out into the open.

"Which is why we ought to answer this immediately, otherwise then-" Count Viselic managed to speak, but was quickly interrupted by Count Touvelle.

"Answer how? We are on the verge of war with the Isles, the Glyrrans are on the verge of another revolt, the Houses are ready to tear one another apart, AND we owe considerable debts to the South! Our more pressing matters are here. Right in front of us." he said, barely containing his own anxiety-induced anger before turning to the Highlord. "The Wall will take the savages. It's been defended before and you will do so again."

"How would they defend it, you daft fool?" Viselic snapped back, "The Wall, for years now, has been in disarray. It no longer is as reinforced as it has been, with not enough men to man its major points!"

"We cannot spare the any legions, not while we are on the risk of open conflict!" Genderl Vildrith then shouted, causing both counts and the soldier to start arguing over one another. Their words harried across, preventing any useful dialogue from coming across as the most powerful legal institution in the Empire devolved into chaos. Ser Eren pinched the bridge of his nose out of frustration towards this infighting, but remained silent as he refused to get involved in this quarrel. But all three soon quickly silenced themselves as the Emperor raised but a hand, signalling their deference to the words of the Imperial head himself as he gathered his thoughts.

"Highlord, what you describe is grave... but I cannot in good conscience send any Imperial legions at this time." Verus spoke with a solemn look, "We must trust in the strength of the wall, and the resolve of the people upon it. However," he then said as he leaned forward on the table, "However, you have full reign to recruit from the keep's stockades, the cities' stockades, and to recruit amongst the common folk in the Gutters, the Bayside Wharf, and Stonewall. Perhaps there will be a decent amount of people eager to escape their circumstances to join you on your return journey North." The Emperor the shifted in his seat and gave a sigh: "And I will divert what we can from our forge productions for additional weapons. And maintain grain and food shipments, but aside from that I can not do more at this time."

But then the Emperor fixed his gaze upon Vigot's face and with a stoic expression he asked a straightforward question: "Will the wall hold if those beyond attack?"

---

The Imperial Garden
Infab [Oliver]​

Enya listened to Oliver with a soft smile, drinking in the description of his home region and gave slow nods whenever he described something new. In her mind's eye she visualized everything to the best of her ability, using her memories from the Northern regions as a frame of reference. "It sounds beautiful the way you speak of it." she commented, "The North is more rugged in most places. We have our farms, of course, but we have the pine woods and darker groves. Our rivers are more fierce in their speeds, travelled by the salmon and trout while hunted by the bears. Mountains with their snow capped tops, allowing a cool wind to travel across the lands beneath. The old runestones that dot the landscape as well, carved with the wisdom of a thousand years into the rock."

When Olivier spoke of watching the ships along the coast, it was something of wonderment - as Viken held no ports or any major body of water - but also a vessel of understanding as she found something they both shared. "I also like to watch on my lonesome. Atop Dragonpeak Keep, in the early hours of the morn I watch a fair green and wooded country be draped upon a swift sunrise. Art itself couldn't capture the beauty that the eyes behold in that moment."

Upon her recounting, Enya has kept her eyes towards the flowers on display before turning her gaze to Olivier. "Do you find any beauty in this city?" she then asked, "...outside of the Garden and the Palace here, I am hesitant to call such crowding and dirtiness as such."

---

The Golden Talon Tavern
Worthlessplebian [Siert]​

Jomier gave a nod to Siert as he stated his intent to prepare for tomorrow's events; "I shan't tarry you any longer then." Jomier said, "It's a big day, after all. Many eyes will be on the matches. I look forward to seeing you on the field, and I look forward to the two of us benefiting from this... relationship." The Kalfas lordling then took another sip from his mug and nodded towards Siert's messaging details were it required. "I'll keep it in mind, should it be needed. But I doubt any prying eyes will prevent any additional meetings in the future."

The man then stood up from his seat and set a few gold coins on the table as recompense to whomever would have to clean up after him. "I'll be heading out too. We won't speak again until the morn, I believe."

With a quick, courteous nod he then made his way from the table, covered his head with his cloak's hood, and exited the establishment.

---

The Imperial Library
Vexumin [Kyraug]
​

"A knight..." Prince Lodric mused aloud, "A noble and just goal. Though, perhaps not a knight of the realm... I doubt anyone would take kindly to a Vadyeen reaching the position of a Man. But, what of a knight of principle? Ser is, after all, but a title. There have been many knights who besmirch their honour, or forsake their oaths. What makes a knight is a person's beliefs." He sounded almost idealistic, as if casting aside tradition to the side so callously for his own ideas. "You needn't any lord to tell you what you can or can't be. It doesn't take a title to defend the weak, or to defend a lady's honour."

The young prince's demeanour had now visibly shifted from his previous nervousness to that of an energetic young man, seemingly liberated from shackles of convention and duty that had been placed upon him by his own. As if speaking to another had allowed him to, for but this moment, escape the shackles of his current fate.

---

The Lord's Lounge
Uchtred and Riseig Kragh
​

Exclusive to the nobility of the land, the Lord's Lounge of the Imperial Palace provided a space for those in the greatest positions of power in the realm to mingle and speak to one another. In a lounge of wealth decorated by the finest couches, chairs and other furniture, the Heads of the Great Houses made their presences known while lesser houses sought to improve their station through diplomacy or to curry favours and connections with others when possible. It was the the epicentre of courtly intruige and, on arriving, both Uchtred and Riseig looked upon the current situation from a fair distance away. Uchtred held back most of his disdain under a stoic appearance, but he could not help but keep it laced within his tone.

"A den of vipers." the old bear commented, "I had hoped to never come across this again in my life."

"We'll get through it, Grandfather. But you said we had to secure our position." Riseig said as he darted his eyes across the room towards the many faces.

"I said we had to ensure our neutrality in the coming family feud." Uchtred corrected his grandson, "I will not have our family, nor the North, involved in any of this mess. I intend to make this clear to the Princes." He then turned to the young man and let out a soft smile from under his grayed whiskers: "But I also want you here to learn. To understand politics, and what it means to be in a position of power."

But before Riseig could answer, the approach of Lord Kalfas made him drop his words and remain in the background. The head of House Kalfas looked up and down Uchtred before sniffing. "House Kragh, down so far south. I haven't seen you since the rebellion."

"Why are you here?" Uchtred asked curtly, cutting through the pleasantries and demanding an immediate answer to Leon's intentions.

"Come now, we can't exchange a few words of the years that have passed?" Leon asked, probing the old bear some more before realizing that the effort was futile. "As you know, my grandson holds a claim to the throne."

"And this is my concern, how?"

Lord Kalfas rolled his eyes from the hostility from Uchtred before speaking agian, "I demand your neutrality."

Both Kraghs were taken aback by what Lord Kalfas had demanded of House Kragh, with Riseig showing it more as his eyes widened while Uchtred opened his mouth slightly as if to speak, but was silenced by Leon as he continued. "I could never garner your support. You would never support me out of principle. But you would also never support the infighting caused by the Emperor's sons either. As an ardent servant of the realm, you will keep the North out of this conflict."

 

[Breadman]

Will the wall hold if those beyond attack?

Vigot was silent for a few moments. The emperor deserved to know the truth in order for the to act accordingly. The Highlord through about what they faced, the scenarios he and his officers had discussed behind closed doors in the Ice tower. The best and worst estimates with what they had.

"A month." He finally spoke with a curt answer "Three at best. That assumes its only wild men storming our gates and they don't bring anything else to bear." He looked to Count Touvelle "Do you know how many requests for building materials we send every year, lord? Hundreds. Crows fly every day. And how many of them are answered." Vigot raised his arm, the thumb folded in its palm "Four if we're are fortunate." He once again faced the emperor, not neglecting to show the man the respect he's owed "I understand why your legions are tied up, your grace, but the stockades will not offer what we need. I will ask you to consider a proposition. We will need the strength of the legions and the factions that threaten the realm. They must understand that once the Wall falls, their lands will be targeted next. Could a truce not be in order to unite against a common foe?"
---
"My my." Goldert scratched his chin. "This might be our most successful recruitment drive in years, dear Pila." He clapped once enthusiastically "Titus, we would gladly take the prisoners off your hands. If they are so eager for a fight, then there will be no shortage up north, especially in the coming months." Pila perked up and shoved an elbow towards his arm to make him stop.

"If they already know how to use any weapons, then half my job is done." She took the reigns of the conversation away from the other watchman "Are there many of them polluting your stockades?"

 

[Vexumin]

Kyraug offers a smile to the young prince. It's not an expression that he usually displays freely. As a servant, he is expected to be stoic at his masters side. Express nothing that may clue in another as to what was going through his or his masters head. So Kyraug had to admit that smiling without worry was a very pleasant experience. The Vadyeen chuckles lightly and swings one leg over a knee, relaxing in his chair.

"Perhaps after the tournament I'll announce my oaths, eh? You're right. Who needs a lord or lady to swear themselves to? However, having someone willing to do so would be a blessing on its own."

Kyraug takes a moment to think about the possibilities. A Vadyeen as a knight? Although he wouldn't be a knight of the realm, just a roaming knight of sorts, questing in the countryside or the rest of the world. It'd make for a neat change. Definitely an entertaining one.

"What about yourself, Prince Lodric? You are quite bound to your books. Perhaps you may consider looking into a scholarly pursuit? However, I understand if your path is set in your current... situation. Perhaps you'll need a knight to champion your name and cause in the future?"

The last words were a bit of teasing from Kyraug, but a lighthearted teasing. The Prince seemed so calm and comfortable now. Good time to engage in a bit of idle chatting with a prince.

 

[Infab]

"Do you find any beauty in this city?" she then asked, "...outside of the Garden and the Palace here, I am hesitant to call such crowding and dirtiness as such."

"I agree, honestly." he responded, glancing towards Enya for a moment before looking back to the flowers himself. "Though I found the Wharf and Stonewall a bit better to experience than the Plaza and Golden District. There's just... I just don't like how those of a higher standing can rub their wealth in people's faces."

He sighed faintly afterwards. "A lesson my father taught me, when I was younger, was to look for beauty in a land's people. Their ways and traits, history and experiences. He said it was something my mother taught him a long time ago. It helped him adapt to serving as the Emperor's Hand, having to deal with the different regions of the Empire as well as the foreign nations."

He smiled slightly, as he continued. "It's also helped Tarth and the Stormlands maintain itself as a mostly peaceful realm. We don't even have problems out the Elves, as few and far between as they are."

--- --- ---
​

"If they already know how to use any weapons, then half my job is done." She took the reigns of the conversation away from the other watchman "Are there many of them polluting your stockades?"​

"There are quite a lot. Its as though the bandits of the lower realms simply began to migrate northward to harass more peaceful realms." responded Titus, "Honestly I'd say it part of some sort of plot, given the timing and the details of the former Lord Froste's death, but I have no proof." The knight shifted his stance, lowering his head. "...Anyway, I can arrange for a transport of all of the bandits we've got locked away. Most of them are in the stockades in the lower half of the realm, but there are still several dungeons that have some idiots locked away near the capital. I shall consult with the other houses of Tarth to see if they may have others that could be sent as well."

 

[joshuadim]

The Imperial Council, The Spire
Breadman [Vigot], GrieveWriter [Adelaide]​

The Highlord's estimation did not give any additional confidence to the Council, nor the Emperor, as they all shifted uncomfortably in their seats. However, it was Vigot's next statement that made Verus sigh with resignation. "Be it that this were by its lonesome, I am certain more than a few of the Great Houses would have dedicated t their levies up north. But my sons have directed their attentions and resources elsewhere in their squabble." the Emperor spoke, his voice laced with regret towards the end. "I can only hope that I can stop it from erupting. Or else I will be the last sovereign of the Empire."

Count Viselic himself looked disappointed, but deferred to the Emperor's decision overall as he looked towards the Highlord. "I will have some speakers announce recruitment in the city. Give you some fresh bodies at the very least."

General Vildrith then spoke up, giving a resigned nod towards the Highlord: "Rainor's Wall is at a strong, defensible position. Regardless of the disarray, it is still great enough to prevent an army from flooding into the North and beyond - with proper tactics and planning."

---

The Imperial Garden
Infab [Oliver]
​

"Beauty in a lands people. Wise words from your father." Enya commented with a nod, "Though outwardly most of the Iron Folk are anything but. We often are cragged as the mountain rocks, and as harsh as the bark of the great pines of the forests. But, as you said, beauty can be found elsewhere. We celebrate our ancestors every year with festivals dedicated to both harvest and hearth, bringing out great dances in the public squares and flying colored fabrics that sail through the air like wisps in the wind." She then stifled a laugh as she hesitated for a moment to continue: "But also the pastries are good. Filled with cheese and wild strawberries as a paste... why, I can practically taste it right now."

"I always found it interesting that the Empire tolerated the Old Ways in the North, but did not turn a blind eye to the rest of the realm. But I'm glad they never snuffed us out. Then those pastries would have been lost to time, perhaps." Enya said, musing on the Imperial position towards its northernmost holdings. Olivier knew that the North itself was hard to control, and that it was simply a measure of appeasement to maintain order. To prevent a dog from biting it's owner's hand.

Then the subject turned to the elves, which made Enya frown as she was reminded as to where exactly she was. "I wish the same could be said for the rest of the realm. Especially here... the elves and other non-humans are crowded into the Ghetto. In conditions not befit even that of pigs... it's sad to even think about."

---

The Imperial Library
Vexumin [Kyraug]
​

"You flatter me, truly." Prince Lodric spoke, looking away slightly out of a ting of embarrassment. "Had I been not the grandson of the Lord Kalfas, I would have been an erudite scrawling through pages and dusty old tomes at the Porcelain Tower." What seemed to be an almost hair-pulling, tedious job seemed to be the thing of dreams for the young lad. But amidst the optimism there was also the undertones of sadness in his tune. A songbird locked in a gilded cage, singing great ballads of the world he could never escape to. "What I wouldn't give to simply sail off south and visit the gilded Library of Ashkan, or venture east to the distant Jade Empire... or perhaps journey west into lands uncharted. Like Emperor Verus the First did with his grand fleet."

A dry laugh escaped him: "But... I can't bring myself to say no to both my mother and my grandfather. Bound by familial duty... a curse which chains these legs that yearn to walk on their own. If you pledged to me you would be serving my grandfather, I'm sorry to say. I wish t'were different, but fate deemed otherwise."

---

The Lord's Lounge
Uchtred and Riseig Kragh
​

Uchtred was taken aback by this demand and remained silent as he glared straight into Lord Kalfas' cold eyes. It was hard for the old bear to discern whether or not the Lion of the South was being truthful in being this upfront. But Riseig quickly broke the silence, much to his grandfather's surprise, to confront the Lord's intentions: "Why are you even seeking our non-commitment in the first place? Afraid we'll pick a side?" Riseig asked in an almost mocking manner, but also as a front to exude confidence against a much older and more experienced member of the Imperial political body.

"Not afraid, boy. Inconvenienced. We already have enough on our plate to deal with the Emperor's idiot sons and their pledged loyalties. The North will not interfere in these matters. Not only is it far from your borders, which I doubt many of your peers would like to get involved with, but also it has nothing to do with you."

Uchtred opened his mouth to speak, but Leon had anticipated his next line of though. "As I would expect, you would want something from this. When House Kalfas prevails and the rightful claimant installed onto the Imperial Throne, I will ensure the North is removed from commerce taxes and is exempt from any and all Imperial levies."

Rather than answer, Uchtred quickly turned about and practically dragged Riseig with him out of the hall. Much to the young man's surprise, he looked back and forth between both Lords before being led out firmly by his grandfather. Leon, however, shouted from behind him: "I will await your answer soon enough!"

Now in the Palace halls, Uchtred fumed in silence while Riseig followed behind him as they went back to their assigned quarters. Riseig dared not ask his grandfather about what had just transpired, for fear of stoking his bitter anger further. The Old Bear rarely ever let loose any such rage, not like in the days of his youth. But he did seethe in his own thoughts: The smug bastard thinks he can fool me. So brazenly he makes demands after his inaction made my family suffer. Damn him and his insufferable position. Why did my son have to be taken and not his?

 

[Vexumin]

Kyraug nods his head. He could understand the sentiment held towards family, despite the rather hardcore dedication that the young prince holds for them. Although it is far from just rumors that his relatives take advantage of his status and his claim to the throne. Nonetheless, when family comes first and all, there is not stopping those feelings from being strongest. However, Kyraug couldn't relate all that much. He usually imagined how he would feel if he ever potentially met his own family. A remotely improbable chance of course, but who knows? Life is strange that way.

If he were to meet his parents though, he might not be as moved by their presence. He cannot lie to himself and say that he doesn't have a modicum of disappointment in those who were meant to care for him. Let him wander off to pick flowers of all things. Their lack of caution led to their own son being taken by humans. Such is the way of things though. Much time has passed that he does not think about the past much anymore.

"Well, if you are certain, my prince."

Kyraug closes the book in hand after a moment. He honestly did not have much time to read, which is a disappointment. However, he did manage to engage in a conversation with the young prince. It was a valuable chat. He would use it to make informed opinions about the prince to the young lord. Ultimately, his opinion would be that if Prince Lodric claims the throne, then it would not be he that rules, but those bound to him through familial ties. He would be a gilded pawn. A shame, truly, as Prince Lodric seems like such a bright and passionate young lad. Knowledgeable even. But what is knowledge if it is subdued by the interests of those holding the reins?

"Forgive me for offering some passing words. However, though family is important, you bear remarkable potential as a leader with your mind alone."

Kyraug stands and offers a swift, elegant bow towards the prince, "I fear that I must be on my way, Your Royal Highness. It has been an absolute pleasure speaking with you. I pray we may do so again sometime, if I may be so bold."

 

[Breadman]

The Highlord pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back the urge to shout Vildrith down. This false optimism was insulting. The emperor had the decency to decline and offer an explanation. Viselic in turn offered some aid. A pity it would be snowflake against an avalanche.

"The speech rang true 5 Highlords ago, general." Vigot allowed one bitter statement for himself. "The archives must be bristling with reports of how well the wall is holding together. I doubt all those ravens got lost or got eaten." The Highlord looked towards the emperor and bowed his head once again. "Rest assured that I am prepared to lead the defense and will drag every wildling down into the pits that I can, but I am but a windmill struggling against a storm in that regard." His gaze shifted briefly to Adelaide, noting the outsider's record keeping. "I will accept any and all men and women fit to serve. Who knows, maybe one of them will rise to the occasion and surprise us."
---
"Watchmen make their rounds around Tarth. Part of our recruiting strategy is to have some presence in the territories in order to make sure prisoners aren't 'handed' to the wrong person and subsequently you see them prowling the forests or marshes getting excited about their newfound freedom." Goldbert explained. "Chances are that your stockades and prisons are being raided right now for those precious idiots."

 

[Infab]

Oliver smiled as she spoke of the North and their festivals and pastries. Tarth had their own festivals and such, but he was sure that the North's versions were probably more lively. He'd have to visit at some point in the future, to see for himself. As she mentioned the ghettos, however, he nodded. "People should be treated with dignity, regardless as to if they're human or not." he responded. "No one should be forced to live in places like that, feeding on scraps and refuse. Its no wonder as to why the Elves and Glyrrans still here continue to despise us."

As he finished, he noticed Maria approaching out of the corner of his eye. The tall woman stopped next to where they were sitting, looking between the two. "Nice to see you socializing, Lord Froste." she soon said, her eye eventually settling on Enya.

 

[joshuadim]

The Imperial Library
Vexumin [Kyraug]​

Prince Lodric returned a melancholic nod towards Kyraug as the Vadyeen commented on his aptitude and ability, before standing and returning the bow once he had gone to take his leave. "I hope so as well! Though, the tournament and all will likely make that difficult. I have my own duties to attend to... being presentable alongside my cousins and family." he spoke, rather hesitant towards the prospect of being out in the open. "Truth be told, I would rather have stayed here my entire visit. There are some readings I have been meaning to explore, but perhaps another time."

He then looked towards the old scribe working away in his corner and smiled. "Or perhaps the honourable archiver will let me take some for the journey home." He bowed once again, before walking towards his pair of guards - bringing them quickly to attention - and followed him out of the Library, with Kyraug going his own separate way afterwards.

---

The Imperial Council, The Spire
Breadman [Vigot]​

"If there is nothing else to be said, then this Council is concluded for the time being." the Emperor then spoke, looking towards the other Exarchs who all nodded in agreement. Though their own faces displayed varying emotions relating to the crisis in the far north, but ultimately were reassured by the words of the wall's Highlord. Everyone stood up from their seats, the Emperor receiving some help from Ser Eren as he slowly walked towards the doors. Before leaving himself, Vigot was approached by the Count Viselic who planted a hand on his shoulder with a grim look on his face.

"I'll do what more I can to aid the reinforcement of Rainor's Wall from here." he said before nodding, "Safe travels back north when you depart." The Exarch of Whispers then left, with Vigot departing shortly thereafter, relieved from his current duties for the time being.

---

The Imperial Garden
Infab [Oliver and Maria]​

"Ah, my Lady." Enya spoke once Maria approached, before standing up and giving a polite curtsy. "My apologies once more for my clumsiness earlier. I will not keep your liege occupied any longer for the time being." She turned to Oliver with a smile, "Perhaps we will see each other tomorrow? At the tournament? It is supposed to be a grand spectacle, I hear. The gallant knights and other aspirants of the realm coming together to compete for glory. I'll be in the stands to watch, along with the other nobles." She then gave a curtsy towards Oliver before taking her leave as she wandered off into the garden beyond, disappearing among its flowers and hedges.

---

Later that Evening, Uchtred's Quarters
Uchtred Kragh
​

Time passed as the sun waned and the skies darkened, bringing forth the silver veil of night to blanket Ifosea and its denizens. The city, once bustling, grew tired and resigned to their beds and cots across various walks of life. The Palace too grew still as many ventured to their dreams, save for the guards on duty, but for Uchtred Kragh he would remain seated in his assigned chambers. Sleep eluded his grasp, as he could not help but replay the 'conversation' he held with Lord Kalfas earlier in the day. The man had demanded the neutrality of House Kragh and the North in the coming quarrel between the Emperor's sons. He had refused to answer before out of spite, but remained adamant in his unwillingness to get involved with these southern concerns.

His family had already suffered enough from the machinations and incompetence of Ifosea's politicians and rulers. He would not endanger his precious kin towards the very real dangers that lurked within the intrigue of the court. But would inaction also bring about conflict? None of Verus' sons had come to either stake their claim nor probe their intentions towards him, but that was only a matter of time.

A sudden knock on his door broke him out of his train of thought, causing him to jump in his seat next to the candlelight of his writing table. A moment passed before he stood up and approached the door, only to find that the Emperor stood with Ser Eren on the other side. "Might I enter?" Verus asked with a wary tone.

Wordlessly, Uchtred stepped aside to allow the sovereign of the Empire into his chambers - which left Eren outside to guard the door once it shut shortly thereafter. "To what do I owe this pleasure, old friend?" Uchtred asked.

"I needed someplace quiet to talk." the Emperor spoke as he slowly walked over to the side of Uchtred's bed and sat on its covers. "Away from prying eyes and ears..."

Uchtred raised an eyebrow out of concern.

"It is about the late Lord Froste... his death was no accident, that much I know. Whomever caused his death remains a mystery to me, but I do know this: it was because of my charge to him."

"...what do you mean?" Uchtred asked, moving his chair so as to sit and face the Emperor.

"Someone went out of their way to murder my Hand to prevent a necessary reform that I believe will save the Empire." Verus explained, "I had tasked him for some time now to scour the lexicons of laws and to develop a new way to select Emperors... bloodlines are too fickle, and dynasties too quarrelsome. Time and time again throughout the Empire's history has it created conflicts and headaches. And so I intend to create an election process among the nobles of the land who, by popular choice, would choose their next ruler."

Uchtred was silent for a moment as he digested the revelations, before his eyes widened. "Your sons-"

"They will hate me for it. They will curse my name. And it is why any one of them could have commanded Lord Froste's death."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Uchtred asked.

"Because you are the only one I can trust outside this den of vipers." Verus spoke bluntly, "And I can only trust you alone to see this through. As my Hand-"

"No." Uchtred spoke through gritted teeth, "I will not accept this position. My responsibilities lay to my people."

"Is the Empire not your people too?" Verus asked with a frown, "I beg you, I can only confide in you this duty."

The air stilled with tension as Uchtred stared into the Emperor's ailing eyes. For a moment he considered, again, refuting the Emperor's pleas and forgetting the entire matter. However, he realized just how desperate Verus was with the whole matter. The Empire was on the verge of calamity, led on by the short-sighted ambitions of frivolous young men, and in turn would spell disaster for the northern lordships. It was not simply a southron matter, but one that would directly impact his own desire for peace. To be uninvolved, he would have to - ironically - become involved within the whole matter. It was a corner from which he could not escape, but rather confront, as the old bear relented and let out a sigh.

"What would the Emperor have me do?" Uchtred asked, shaking his head slowly.

---

The Grand Tournament
K0mori Breadman Worthlessplebian Vexumin Infab Emperor Sagan
​

As the sun rose the next day, the beating heart of the Empire stirred once more to life as many of its denizens travelled to the immediate outskirts of the city and into the established tournament grounds. Crowd stands had been erected alongside the various competitions for archery, jousting, melee, and javelin throws as well as additional fairgrounds attractions for various games and festivities to coincide with the spectacle. For the Lords and Ladies of the realm, there were stands separate from those inhabited by the commons so as to be grouped together with peers of their own social standings.

As for Kyraug and Siert, they would find themselves in preparation for the melee as they gathered with other contenders in a staging area. Siert, at first, was denied entry as the guards were suspicious of his attendance. Shortly thereafter, the issue was rectified once his name came up on the roll and was let inside. Many of the fighters were knights, few were like the two as outsiders to this world of prestige and honour. who above all else fielded excellent martial skills. Any fight they would have to come across would be a challenge in of itself, especially for Siert against his quarry who - by all accounts - was a menace in close quarters.

"Please make yourselves comfortable, we're still waiting for one more to arrive." the quartermaster announced to the participating fighters, "Warm up and practice with the dummy weapons provided at your leisure. Wouldn't want to make fools of yourselves out in the open in front of the realm."

---

House Kragh sat at attention, sans their retainers, with many of the other greater and lesser Houses of the realm in anticipation of the melee tournament beginning. Reimar and Riseig chatted at length about the ladies nearby, remarking at their looks being so vastly different to northern women, while Uchtred remained silent. He was lost in thought for the time being, preoccupied with figuring out how to proceed with what the Emperor had tasked him with. He turned towards the luxurious box that housed the Imperial Family, seeing Verus seated at its head alongside Davin, Cabrus, Maril, and Lodric. Notably absent, however, was Landon which already caused a stir that many nearby could overhear.

"Where is your brother?" the Emperor asked Davin with a tinge of concern and annoyance, which brought out laughter from the claimant.

"Drunk still? Lying in a pool of his own piss in a tavern cot with some whores? The answer could be many things, father." Prince Davin spoke with clear disdain for the eldest brother.

Enya, in the meantime, looked around in hopes of being able to speak with Oliver more after yesterday. Though she too attracted attention from various noblemen nearby, those of whom quietly remarked to their peers towards her beauty. It made her feel uncomfortable with such gazes falling upon her in such a setting, but she felt safe with her family nearby and in turn was able to brush off such thoughts and doubts from her mind.

---

Ser Harald, Jomner and Calder all walked among the crowds as a single unit on the tournament grounds to sightsee the various games and other events that were occurring at the same time. The former led the other two as pack leader, making sure to sample various foods and pastries that had been freshly baked and cooked for people to enjoy en masse in the festivities. There too were the games available that caught his eyes, such as green bowling and boule throwing, that made the man-at-arms consider participating. However, his squire caught notice of his interest and laughed.

"Ser, I pray you won't hurt yourself."

Ser Harald was taken aback by the backhanded concern, which in turn caused Calder to snicker aloud. "I'll have you know, boy, that I'm still in fine shape." Ser Harald responded with gritted teeth, "Enough to give a boot up your arse."

"Come now Ser, you wouldn't want to sprain your leg as well!" Calder then said, laughing aloud.

"Oh I'll show you, runt." Ser Harald muttered under his breath as he approached the boule throwing and demanded to play.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

The sellsword, dressed in his knightly armour, was not in fact surprised to see himself be delayed at the door. He is not of reputable blood nor is he a part of a grand order or whatever other high society collection. It is good then that he managed to get proper rest and relaxation in his temporary lodgings. If he didn't, he'd be in a fouler mood now. Coen meanwhile rested sleepily on his shoulder, still drowsy from digesting vermin prey. In no time at all, Siert was allowed entrance. He breathed a sigh of relief that this wouldn't be a complication; he has enough to worry about, he didn't want to mince words with the guards.

Instead he feels the gazes of his peers, proper knights, who likely either demean his standing or insult his skillset. He feels it, but like a sharpened blade against metal plate, it bounces off without much hassle.

Coen though enjoyed the attention, the raptor was an addict to this. Flapping and flexing his wingspan like a bravado-tossing jouster. Siert flicked a metal finger onto Coen's chest feathers, figuratively and literally ruffling the feathers as the bird looked to his friend with an indignant look in his yellow eyes. "What? Don't hog all the attention." Siert flashed a smile before pulling down his metal visor.

He pulled a dummy arming sword from the weapon rack. He flourished the blade, recalling Lord Jomier's words about his opponent. A lion flowing with ferocity, its tail its weapon, a flail, and its mane its shield. He boasted to the Lord that he's taken down flail-wielders before, but only one of them ever approached the plateau of expertise that this lion occupied. He began practicing his slashes one by one as Coen watched from afar.

 

[K0mori]

With morning, the much-awaited tournament slowly lurched into activity as the crowds began to file in. Lazarus and his personal entourage arrived, taking their places among the nobles in the reserved seating above the riffraff. Dominik, now liberated from his heavy armor, still wore a layer of chainmail under his tunic as he sat beside his Lord. Having dined with Lazarus the previous evening, the knight had gleaned a combination of facts and allegations about the Lord's meeting with the emperor, enough to understand that the Redlands might soon face major upheaval, and that Lazarus has proposed a rather drastic solution to address it. However, Dominik did not wish to press him for any information which he did not volunteer on his own, as it was not his place to ask.

Rutu, again dressed in a ridiculous gown of many colors, sat in the row behind the two men. While there was plenty of idle talk about the tournament ahead and the general state of the empire, she found herself rather bored of it all, as there was nothing of substance to her own life. She quietly chewed on a root which soothed her mind and elevated her mood as she shuffled a deck of tarot cards, occasionally drawing a card turning it idly between her fingers. The specific cards didn't matter, really, as it was more of an exercise for her hands, deftly moving the paper slips about between her jewelry in a way which would impress the easily-impressed. However, she began to formulate a new routine, imagining herself drawing cards during the competitive events while focused on individual participants, and then nodding sagely at each event's conclusion. Fools would draw their own conclusions.

Just then, a young woman seated herself next to her, much to the glyrran's surprise, although she did her best to never appear so. Her crystal blue eyes darted to the edge of their range to catch a glimpse of her without the need for even the slightest turn of Rutu's head, and an involuntary smile curled at the corner of the cat's mouth upon realizing whom had entered the picture.

Marina, the Chamberlain of House von Holt, seemed almost as relaxed as the Lord himself, albeit for a far more-appropriate reason. She normally had a very stressful job, managing the servants and providing for the supply of Castle Marisporta using the budget set forth by the Steward, Marcellin, a job for which she lacked the experience to accomplish with any degree of competence. Lazarus had chosen Marina simply because he thought she was pretty, and wanted to grant her a role which would keep her close to him without causing any scandal. To anyone who asked, Lazarus would simply wave away any question about her qualification. "She will grow and learn as my family does around me," he stated, but there was still no indication that the Lord was planning to marry anytime soon.

That meant that the young Chamberlain didn't spend her days caring for the noble family, but rather for caring for the Lord's pantry and laundry. And with Rutu's numerous strange requests for ingredients, materials, and clothing items which seemed to defy any logical pattern or sense, Marina frequently felt like an anchor's chain, straining against the pull of the ocean. It was an odd choice, then, to seat herself next to the source of many of her fool's errands, until Rutu realized that Marina was sitting directly behind the Lord and was thus likely to avoid his attention and any flippant request that would take her away from her relaxation.

"Take a card," Rutu whispered, giving her a mischievous smile. "Take it and do not show me."

Marina looked at her, bitterly tired, but Rutu avoided the glare as she stared straight ahead at nothing in particular. The Chamberlain finally obliged, taking the card out of the fanned array the glyrran had presented, and turned it around to read it.

The Magician.

The Chamberlain set the card face-down on the empty seat next to her. "Now what?" she asked, irritably.

Rutu pushed the rest of her cards together, then crossed her arms so that her open palm crossed over her opposite forearm. "Place it in my hand," she instructed, again staring off into space and once Marina had obliged, she closed her eyes, pretending as if she were giving serious thought to something. "I see... that is... auspicious."

"What's 'auspicious!?' You don't know what I took."

The witch gave her a serene look which only bothered her further. "If I turn my hand, the Magician will appear," she replied with a twist of the wrists that swapped the positions of her arms. "That was certain before you ever drew your card," she answered. "Or, if you would prefer the mystery to remain afoot, take the card back yourself, and see what the spirits think of you."

Marina snatched the card away. "You planned this-" she started to say, until she turned the card around herself and found not the Magician, but rather the Fool. She turned red in the face, holding the card out for Rutu to take back. "Okay, you got me. Now leave me alone-"

Her voice having risen a few notes and grown in strength, Marina accidentally attracted the attention of their Lord, who turned in his seat and smiled at her. "Ah, Marina," Lazarus said. "Is my witch making trouble for you?"

"Well, yes," she answered honestly.

"Twas only a work of illusion, sir," Rutu replied, turning her arms around in the reverse of what she had done before, flicking the top card off the deck in the process and catching it in the palm of her open hand, which had just been freed as the fool fell up her sleeve. The Magician, being the top card, reappeared. She repeated the unwinding of her arms, flicking it back down onto the deck as the fool slid into place from her sleeve.

"Aha, good trick. Marina, Rutu is doing important work here," Lazarus replied, sleepily, as if it wasn't important whether anyone believed what he was about to say. "If she needs further props and implements, see to it that she has them."

"But sir," Marina replied, desperately, "this is not Marisporta. Can she not do her own shopping?"

"I have no money," Rutu replied, smugly, knowing that the Lord wouldn't grant her any.

Predictably, he volunteered Marina to accompany Rutu wherever she wished to travel in the market, instead.

 

[Vexumin]

Kyraug enters the staging area tailed by servants and other escorts as well as his lord, who takes a place beside him. Kyraug kept his head high, taking deep and calming breaths. He was not nervous. He was not afraid of pain. He has had to endure wounds before. This was just a competition after all, so it’s not as if he had to kill anyone, but he would hurt others for the glory of House Bralmeyer. However, his entrance into the competition, was it a demonstration of his skills or a showing of how well House Bralmeyer could train their Vadyeen pets.

Kyraug recoils from the thought almost immediately. When did he start to develop such an opinion of this family? It is true that they had laid siege to his home town in the past, but they did not put him to the blade. They kept him alive and fed, but it was as a servant. Should he thank the family for allowing him his life only to put him in their service for the duration of that life?

The vadyeen thought enough about it and he silently admonished himself for getting distracted. The time was now to prove himself, damned be what anyone else thing. He was going to get as far as he could, hurt whoever got in his way. He wanted to win so that he was a step closer to earning a life of freedom. If he won, he could ask for anything from his masters, per the agreement made between himself and the head of the house.

Once Kyraug and the others found a descent spot, they began to prepare. The preparations were really just the servants fitting and arming Kyraug in appropriate armors and fetching him his weapons.

Leather armors and some plate were set aside as well as the colors of the Bralmeyer family crest in the form of a tabard that would be draped across his chest. A helmet fashioned to fit the head of his particular species was also placed beside the armor. When it came to his weapons, there was a short sword and his good old sap. He didn’t feel the need to give the weapons a test just yet. For the time being, he allowed the escorts to fit him and strap him into his equipment.

As the leathers and bits of plate are locked into place, Kyraug takes a moment to look around. Glances from his fellow competitors. There is no doubt some ire had for one of his kind as well as displeasure that he would participate in the melee. Certainly there were some that wondered if he would even pose a challenge, perhaps even hoping they may have a little fun with him in the arena, but those hopes are dashed when they meet the vadyeen’s gaze.

Malice. Kyraug has no issue demonstrating his distaste for these people, and if they thought that he was going to go down with little trouble then they would sooner find themselves broken in the dirt. Any who underestimate him would be punished. Let it be a teaching moment for these overconfident buffoons. If anything he’d be doing these knights a favor if he shattered a wrist with a swing of his sap or gave someone a concussion.

The only person that he didn’t give such a look to was another participant who received equal, if not greater looks of disdain. Kyraug let it lie there and in any other circumstance he would have approached this man to talk, but now was the time to focus and prepare for the conflict ahead. After all, the two might have to fight eventually. Better not to create bond when they must quickly be dashed against the difficulties of competition.

Once completely fitted and ready to fight, Kyraug simply keeps to the side. He didn’t feel the need to take up a practice weapon and allow everyone present to see just what he was capable of. His abilities are more effective when they are kept secret.

 

[Infab]

"Let's not be late, my Lord. It's not a good look, especially in front of the Emperor himself and the other Lords and Ladies." stated Maria, walking ahead of Olvier as they lead the rest of House Froste into the stands where the members of higher status were seated.

Oliver, meanwhile, looked about. taking in the various sights and sounds. The tournaments held in Tarth were of a far smaller scale, with more simplistic sitting areas and smaller crowds. They still were pretty popular events, though, as knights and other warriors pitted themselves against one another in grand displays of martial prowess and marksmanship. Titus had even taken part in some of the tournaments back home, and proved to be quite remarkable when it came to longsword duels. Here, however, he would be in the stands; Taking part in the tourney would likely put him at risk of being exposed for what he was. Back in Tarth, he never needed to remove his helmet. Here, it was practically a must as a show of respect unless you had a particularly good reason.

Eventually, the group found their seats. The servants and such had a different area where they likely would spend their time untill called upon. House Froste's seating area wasn't far from House Kragh, Oliver taking notice of Enya looking about and waving at her with a smile.

Both Maria and Titus noticed as he waved, and looked towards the Kraghs. Titus chuckled softly, before leaning over and whispering to Maria. "Looks like our boy's found someone to talk to. Didn't take long, really."

Maria nodded. "Yes, I found Oliver and Enya talking in the garden yesterday. They seem to get along quite well." she replied.

Titus went quiet for a moment, before speaking again. "...Probably too early to ask, but think we should start talking to the young lord about seeking out a wife?"

Maria cut Titus a look, before speaking again. "...It is a little early, especially with his father's death being so recent. Still, its something we do need to speak with him about soon." she said.

"...Honestly, I wish his mother was still around. It seems like a conversation she should be having with him, not us." said Titus, straightening up.

"She's still around, Titus. Remember that." said Maria, whispering the statement in the knight's direction.

 

[Breadman]

The morning before the tournament

The morning sun rose and the Watchmen were there to greet it. Being up before sunrise was routine for them, even when they were off duty. Still the High lord and his lieutenants met to discuss what to do for the rest of the day.

"The mission didn't seem to bear fruit." Pila spoke as she looked at the table. "We have promises of dungeon rabble and stockade vermin. Nothing more than that."

"Not entirely true, dear Pila." Goldbert spoke from his seat "We have excuses and cowardice." His typical sarcasm now laced with bitterness. "Months of travel for this. Why did we even try."

"They're ignorant of what we face." Pila answered. "What do we do, High lord?"

"We were never going to win the initial round of support." Vigot answered coldly "But the court knows were are here and that we are serious about the threat we face."

"So do we stay at their doors and beg for more until they relent?"

"No, Goldbert, we adopt a different stance." He looked at his lieutenant. "If we are to secure even the very minimum of support, then we have to be more bold. Look for opportunities."

"So we're staying, lord?" Pila looked up

"Aye. We can't give up just yet. There is too much at stake."

"Then the tournament might be a good place to start." Pila nodded to Goldbert's suggestion. "Its too late to sign up for the competition, but there will be many glory seekers."

"My my, I thought I was the one who was supposed to be underhanded."

"We learn from each other to make the chain strong." Goldbert nodded in agreement.

Later at the tournament

The crowds shuffled in to the grounds. The excitement for the tournament was palpable. Nothing like the anxiety from the brink of war to make an audience excited and hungry for entertainment. The Watchmen walked among, them. The retinue escorted the High-lord in. Despite his surprise arrival, he was given entry to the lord seats as he was still an honored guest. Pila was next to him, while Goldbert was off somewhere else.

In truth, the scoutmaster was taking advantage of some subterfuge he couldn't do for years. Once he was through the gated area, he disengaged with the group and moved to the are where the competitors preparing themselves. He found one of the tournament organizers. The shadiest one he could possibly identify and began a conversation about the nature of competitions. At one point a small, but hefty bag of coins found itself in the organizers hand. Goldbert, not being a man to question how someone amasses wealth on short notice, asked instead if there was room for another competitor. A toothy grin revealed the ill-kept teeth as the man gladly added Goldbert's name to the list of competitions. He was going for the full program.

Once the paperwork was taken care of, he went to pick out the chosen equipment. His scoutmaster's armor would work as he took pride in keeping it in order. Goldbert would however need to pick out his weapons. Nothing wrong with those he brought, but they weren't exactly tournament legal.

 

[joshuadim]

The Staging Grounds - The Grand Tournament
Vexumin [Kyraug, Damik] Worthlessplebian [Siert] Breadman [Goldbert]​

Among the staging area behind the stands in their preparation, many of the knights and fighters in participation would continue to give looks towards Siert and Kyraug's way - albeit for differing reasons - as they awaited the show to start. Things seemed to be alright on the surface as squires tended to their knight-lords needs, strapping armour and preparing the dulled blades and weapons they would be wielding, but a commition stirred among some of the nearby organizers who spoke in hushed tones to one another. Their overseer seemed rather annoyed over something that had stirred their collective attention, as he pushed onto a piece of registry with one of his digits furiously.

Siert would notice Jomier slink into view nearby, wearing a hood, and waving him over with a hurried look. Towards the edge of the staging ground, Siert would be pulled into a whispered conversation with the lordling: "Good that you're here, but we have a problem. Something unexpected came up." he said, with no uncertain terms as his gaze side-eyed the overseer of games nearby and his rising concerns. "The last one you are all waiting for was not supposed to be here. In fact, it's entirely a last-second substitution. Who it is, I'm sure we'll find out soon but I have no certain idea."

It was clear that Jomier was rather annoyed by this sudden turn of events: "Your mission stays the same but... damn it, this thing might just throw a wrench into our plans." he then muttered towards the sellsword, before pointing towards a familiar armored figure, clad in green upon his cloth with silver trimmings and bearing a proud lion upon his tabard, nearby with his signature flail. "There he is. The Silver Lion. I can't help but notice that the back of his greaves are exposed... do what you will with that."

---​

Kyraug in the meantime found himself among those less than inclined towards his presence, save for Lord Bralmeyer himself, as he continued to be the subject of unpleasant words under mutters and grunts between the coming competitors. Considering that the Vadyeen was the only non-human participating as far as he could tell, this left him the odd one out. Likely the crowd would treat him the same way given the way things were here, but he did at least have one respite that he saw in the corner of his vision that took the form of a familiar face. Prince Lodric, who had managed to sneak away from his duties for the time being, had approached with four guards of House Kalfas towards the two and gave a wave.

"Greetings, Lord Bralmeyer. Ser Kyraug." Lodric spoke, with a playfulness towards the Vadyeen. "I did not think you would be in this, but I do look forward to watching from the stands. Speaking of which..." he spoke, before noticing the overseer of the tournament approaching and prostrating himself before him.

"Ah, your grace!" the slightly overweight man spoke as he bowed, "Come to take stock of the great participants, I see?"

"I suppose... when will it start?"

"We are waiting on one more arrival. They certainly are taking their time, but fear not! We are on schedule still."

Prince Lodric gave a nod, dismissing the man back to his duties before looking towards the others in the staging grounds, taking note of their identities. "One more... I'm not sure, but for some reason I have an idea on who it might be."

---
​

Goldbert also stood out in comparison to the more regal knights and well-equipped fighters that constituted the competitors, however he was not so out of place given his status among the Watchers. In fact, it made others eager at the prospect of facing one of the fabled defenders of the absolute frontier. One of whom was a bearded man, donning a kettle helm and some light chain-armour alongside a blunted spear, approached Goldbert with a grin. "Greetings, my good man. I see we are honoured by the one of Rainor's sentinels here. Should we fight, I look forward to it." he said in no uncertain terms, but with a jovial spirit of competition.

"Say... you wouldn't know who this last fellow we're waiting on might be?" he then asked of the scoutmaster, "I'm already anxious enough to get out there. Keeping us delayed in here for one man's sake makes it worse for me."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

The swordsman for hire went in high, right to left with the practice sword. Its dulled edge bit into the practice dummy instead of sliding smoothly off. Siert's shoulders sagged, head raised as he took in the scene of his last sword slash. The fingers in his gauntlets clinked as they flexed and unflexed away from the hilt. Dirty-brown eyes scrutinizing the target, before the familiar flap of feathered wings reached his ears. The raptor-avian, Coen, rested atop the target's head, wicked talons finding purchase into the hard-wooden pole. Siert's lungs filled the cavern of his breastplate before exhaling wet breaths. Dirty-brown met maize-yellow as man and bird cocked their heads to the side. "What?" Asked Siert of the bird, unsure of Coen's sudden fascination. Coen remained unmoving, sometimes it was difficult to distinguish if it was a living animal or a damnable statue. Then it clicked its beak and began grooming its fine, rich-brown feathers. The gesture did not go unnoticed, especially how Coen focused on the right side. The helmet rolled by the neck with Siert's eyes along for the ride. He drove the blade into the earth near his foot. He placed a palm on the pommel to lean. "Yes, yes. A fault—a mistake, I am aware. That is why we ready ourselves before a fight." If any detractor had been close by, they'd think the sellsword was practically mad talking to his avian, they could be right after all.

The raptor's hooked beak, black at the tip, pointed down as the bird studied its master, edged with incredulity. Siert bristled wordlessly. Coen shuffled its talons in a nervous manner. It knows when its prodding, poking, and teasing can overstep boundaries. He dismissed his partner with a gesture of his steel-ribbed gauntlet. Coen's mighty wings spread out then swooped to propel itself into the sky in search of a buttress to land.

Now the sellsword was left to survey his fellows who'd be partaking in the competition. Each individual prouder than the last. The former farmhand would do well not to underestimate them, and they him if they think a lordless blade would be easy pickings. He found one individual particularly standout, primarily because of the eccentricities of his features. In fact, Siert could not believe his eyes, thinking that they were playing tricks on him, or worse, failing him. He'd have to meet that odd person after this competition though.

Siert Bruinsma spotted his benefactor and current employer, hooded, on the edge of the staging area. He shuffled his way over to him in an aimless manner to throw off any potential onlookers. Just looking to inspect something here or there. Without turning to the lordling, Siert took in his whispers. A last minute, substitution? And with how Siert figured it, based on Jomier's words, this replacement could either be a barrier for him OR an obstacle for his target, the Silver Lion, who Kalfas would then point out.

The unguarded greaves would've been spotted by Siert during the battle, but Siert preempted why Jomier pointed them out. They were a target, except a difficult one. You don't go for an opponent's legs, leaves you too open... But if... Yes, the sellsword nodded to himself, that could work. Beneath the featureless plate of steel that rested on his head, Siert grinned with devilish intentions. He clenched and unclenched the hilt of his sword in anticipation. "Very well," He spoke furtively to Jomier before displacing himself paces away.

joshuadim

 

[Vexumin]

Kyraug takes some time to breathe. To concentrate. His lord paces around him, observing the other competitors. Damik was nervous for his head servant. It honestly got a bit on Kyraug's nerves. However, a break from the pacing would come in the form of one of the princes. Prince Lodric no less. The Vadyeen grimaces a bit. Did he mention that he was going to be in the tournament today? Well, he probably didn't. Kyraug had a poor habit of forgetting to mention things that he didn't deem very important. What usually didn't fall under importance was anything involving Kyraug. News and information pertinent to his lord would be more worth bringing up in his mind.

"Greetings, Lord Bralmeyer. Ser Kyraug." Lodric spoke, with a playfulness towards the Vadyeen.

Damik and Kyraug fall to a knee before the prince, Kyraug more so than his lord, as was appropriate. Where Kyraug had a hand on one knee and the other at his side, Damik bowed in a far more simple and elegant manner. One arm draped across his chest and the other at rest behind his back. "Prince Lodric! A surprise visit from you is always a cherished one," Damik says before he looks to Kyraug with a raised brow. Clearly the "Ser" was not lost on the young lord and confusion was clear upon his face, but he didn't make a fuss over it for the time being. Kyraug just remains silent until he is addressed. He was a mere servant after all.

"I did not think you would be in this, but I do look forward to watching from the stands. Speaking of which..."

Kyraug raises his head slightly. "Forgive me, my prince. I'm afraid I did not consider it all too important. I am just another competitor, but in the name of House Bralmeyer. Let the tournament demonstrate my capabilities, for I do not boast of my talents openly."

Once he finishes speaking, he leaves the prince to address the tournament overseer. Damik once again gives Kyraug a look as the Prince turns his back on the two. "Well, Ser Kyraug, you'll have to tell me what that was all about. Later though. For now, you must remain focused."

The Prince spoke as Damik just gave Kyraug that same look. Just observing his head servant questioningly. However, there was a glint in his eyes as he did observe Kyraug. A sadness. A disappointment in the legacy that led to Kyraug's servitude. The young lord couldn't help but think back to the seer back in the market. The fortunes told with Damik as the subject of cruel prophecy or a madman's lunacy.

"We are waiting on one more arrival. They certainly are taking their time, but fear not! We are on schedule still."

Prince Lodric gave a nod, dismissing the man back to his duties before looking towards the others in the staging grounds, taking note of their identities. "One more... I'm not sure, but for some reason I have an idea on who it might be."

The conversation brought both Kyraug and Damik's attention back to the prince and the conversation being had. A missing or late participant in the tournament? Damik spoke up as the prince seemed to have an idea about just who was expected to arrive sooner or later.

"An idea, my prince? Perhaps you could share with my head servant who you suspect will be arriving? Never hurts to know a little about who you may be fighting against."

 

[Breadman]

Greetings, my good man. I see we are honoured by the one of Rainor's sentinels here. Should we fight, I look forward to it."

"I am looking forward to it as well." Goldbert responded with a jovial tone. "Fighting someone who isn't a rampaging wildman for a change of pace will be most welcome."

Say... you wouldn't know who this last fellow we're waiting on might be? I'm already anxious enough to get out there. Keeping us delayed in here for one man's sake makes it worse for me.

"Haven't got the foggiest, I'm afraid. I barely recognize the major tabards and sings of the big houses and their vassals." He looked at some of the other fighters. "I'm sure whoever they are is going to be a big deal."

 

[joshuadim]

The Staging Grounds - The Grand Tournament
Vexumin [Kryaug, Damik], Worthlessplebian [Siert]. Breadman [Goldbert]​

"Ah, well, I suppose the surprise makes it all the more better of a reveal." the lesser knight spoke to Goldbert, before giving a finger salute. "See you on the field, should we cross swords!" He departed with a slightly hobble before approached a few of his other peers nearby, discussing some other topics. By now, a few additional armoured guardsmen of House Kalfas had appeared to take stock of the area as well as to examine the contestants - as if they were under suspicion. This additional development made Prince Lodric scoff as he looked away with embarrassment: "Given that there are more bannermen here, my grandfather's doing, I can only imagine that he wants this to be a show of force for glory."

He then turned to both Damik and Kyraug to speak, but before he could the master of games shouted: "Come now! March to the field! Quickly!" he ushered with a hurried look, wanting to start the festivities on time. Prince Lodric nodded to those of House Bralmeyer, realizing his time is up. "I must return to ceremony. I wish you good fortunes out there." Prince Lodric then said to Kyraug before quickly being led out by his guard and back towards the stands. One by one, every contestant who had been within the staging grounds walked through their entrance and out into the main battleground itself.

---

The Melee - The Grand Tournament
Vexumin K0mori Infab Breadman Worthlessplebian Emperor Sagan
​

The crowd erupted into thunderous roars and applause as the contestants from all across the Empire strolled out one by one. Representatives from so many different regions and houses all appeared with their colourful tabards and well crafted armour, contrasting greatly with a few of the fighters that were without lords or title. Regardless of standing, the commoners and lords alike all shared in the spirit of the event. Kyraug, despite his stature, did not receive any visible hostility from the crowd as they continued to clap and cheer. The entire arena was packed to the brim and then some, with the very edges of the area's gates and fences surrounded by additional citizenry as they competed for a good spot to observe among one another.

Uchtred's grandchildren were also caught up in the festivities as they cheered, but he himself remained more reserved as he only clapped for the time being. Too much was on his mind to properly celebrate as he let out a deep breath. "Do you see the Vadyeen?" Reimer pointed out for his siblings, "The only one among them."

"He looks a bit frail though, no?" Riseig pondered aloud, "l think he'll get grounded by the first knight he comes across."

Having reciprocated a friendly wave towards Oliver, Enya returned her attention towards the event and to the conversation her brothers were having. Doubts were being aired towards Kyraug's abilities, to which she replied with a scowl: "He only just appeared, and you already write him off? Maybe wait until we see how he performs?"

It was then that the old bear chimed in as he turned his head towards his younger kin: "Indeed. Best to reserve judgment for later, otherwise you might end up making yourself look like a fool."

In the Imperial viewing box, the mood was more tense as the Emperor grew more agitated towards Prince Landon's conspicuous absence. One of his servants had tried, and failed, to find his eldest son and so it left him and the others wondering where exactly he might be. But his concerns were answered with embarassment as Prince Landon strolled onto the field upon a platform, drink in hand and a wreath of wine leaves adorning his head, as he waved to the crowd and played along with their cheers. "LORDS, LADIES, AND PEOPLE OF THE REALM!" the firstborn spoke with a booming voice, announcing to the crowd. "TODAY IS A DAY TO WITNESS!"

The commoners below cheered, while many of the lords looked with confusion as to the Prince's appearance. Uchtred looked on with his mouth slightly agape from shock, realizing just how embarrassing this was for the Imperial household. And he was right to assume so as the Emperor appeared to be close to blowing a gasket, straining his teeth and clutching at his chair's armrests. The other princes, Prince Davin in particular, looked annoyed as well while Prince Lodric sat quietly and tried to not raise a fuss. Relishing in the adoration of the commoners, however, Prince Landon was entirely unfazed and continued: "WARRIORS FROM ALL CORNERS OF THE EMPIRE WILL FIGHT, AND GLORY WILL BE HAD ON THIS DAY!"

"BY THE GRACE OF MY FATHER, WE CELEBRATE OUR IMPERIUM! BUT... THERE IS ALSO ONE MORE FIGHTER TO JOIN US." Landon then said, drawing the anticipation of the crowd to himself as he took a gulp of wine. "THE BLADE OF THE SOUTHRON WIND HIMSELF!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as a final figure arrived from the staging grounds, his golden hair shining in the sun along with his armour as he waved to the crowd. Ser Faralt de Befort, Blade of the Southron Wind. Hero of the Second Glyrran Revolt, and the pride of Ustonos himself. His fame was well known among the crowd, as well as his handsome appearance for many of the ladies that swooned over him. For the competitors, this was a terrifying revelation as his skill was unmatched and for anyone to face him it was practically guaranteed to be a loss. To participate here, would bring glory to House Kalfas - and Uchtred knew it as he turned his head towards the Lion of the South. The man appeared smug, relishing this moment as the glory would come to his house.

"He played the Prince for his ego. To bring about a greater crowd." the Old Bear muttered, "And now reaps the rewards for it."

---

The Fairgrounds - The Grand Tournament
K0mori [Rutu]
​

With the Grand Tournament and its visitors from across the realm, also came great opportunity for a number of merchants. On the grounds themselves sprouted an entirely new market, separate from the rest of Ifosea itself, as traders from not just across the Empire from the rest of the world as well established their goods for sale. Trinkets, spices, gemstones, silks, robes, cloth, foods, and more from so many differing cultures and peoples were for sale - to an almost overwhelming degree. There too were also the games for the children to play, such as playing with wooden toy swords; and for adults as well, there were smaller and friendlier competitions such as the one Ser Harald played at with boule throwing. Despite his older age, his years of strength provided him with an edge towards everyone else as he threw the small weights further.

In turn, he became the center of attention as people egged him on to throw further and further as well as to defeat any challengers in good spirit. His squire remained nearby to enjoy the sight of House Kragh's man-at-arms achieving such feats, but Calder walked off on his own elsewhere on the grounds. His stomach growled for a bit, and decided to find something to snack on. Despite being non-human, there were enough others like him so as to not draw that much attention to himself. Vadyeen from the marshes, Satyrs from the Free Cities, Wulpines like himself, even a few of the river and sea folk Utterkin having dragged their goods from their communal vessels to trade and sell among the land-dwellers.

There even were a few Glyrrans, as he spotted one extravagently dressed one accompanied by some woman walking through the market. To him she seemed knowledgeable as to what might be available, and so the Wulpine walked over to greet her. "Greetings. Do you know what are good snacks being sold here?" he asked Rutu and Marina,

 

[Vexumin]

It was finally time. The battles would soon commence. Damik stood aside as Kyraug readied to march with the rest of the contestants. The Vadyeen servant offered a bow to his master and then a bow of respect to the prince who would wish him luck during the tournament. He would aim to do his best for them. Honor only them this day. Go as far as he is capable of.

The people will make no mistake when they hear the first crack of his sap slamming against the metal of some poor unfortunates helmet. He was here to bring pain and take glory with his own two hands. He had nothing to do with any of the conflict between his people and the humans, but part of him hoped that there were Vadyeen in the crowd that would take joy in seeing an overconfident knight hit the ground before he even has time to wake from the impact delivered by Kyraugs own hand.

The head servant shakes his head after a moments thought. It would be wise for him to not grow too confident himself. However, the anticipation for the challenge ahead made him antsy.

It was time to go before he knew it. He walked with the other fighters, stepping through darkness and into the blooming light of day ahead. At first he was blind and then he was in the center of the arena, surrounded by gawkers and spectators, each viewing the contestants with a variety of differing reactions. There were even children scattered about here and there. Oh how they turned bloody combat into a spectacle for all to enjoy.

At the very least, hopefully this combat wouldn’t be too intense or comparable to actual warfare.

The people looked at him, curious, wondering. What good would a Vadyeen do in the upcoming tournament? What styles might he bring? Will he entertain us? In response, as the crowds cheered for the competitors, Kyraug raised a hand, curling his fingers in a fist that he holds high above his head. It is a simple gesture, but it was also a promise. A demand of the crowd.

“Watch me,” it says. “I won’t disappoint.”

When he lowers his fist, the lineup of contestants comes to a halt near the center of the arena. There a familiar face appears. The Scoundrel Prince, as Kyraug is starting to prefer thinking of Prince Landon, for all the man seems to drown in temptation. Or his drink, to be more precise. Nevertheless, there he was, and he sought to introduce the vaunted last minute entry. One ”Blade of the Southron Wind”.

Kyraug didn’t quite react to this revelation. In truth he didn’t quite care. If anything, even if he found himself facing the Blade of the Southron Wind, he was determined to mark the man by any means necessary. He would not even entertain the idea of defeat. To do so is to embrace any doubts lingering in his mind.

For now Kyraug waits. The action would begin soon enough. He just had to keep himself calm and ready for anything.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

It had been nearly time. Siert in the dim illumination of the staging grounds completed his final preparations. He tugged at his vambrace, rapped a knuckle against his shoulder plate, tested the weight of his weapon. The sellsword's helmet dangled at his hip, a leather strap wrapped through his open visor to keep it fastened, the dirty-haired man kept a watchful eye on his contestants. And those that came to inspect them; wondering just why would banner-totting guardsman of House Kalfas would come. Did they suspect him? Siert bit his lower lip, browns eyes glinting with a hint of anxiety, his sword hand spat sweat against the metal gauntlet. The metal digits clinked as Siert clenched a fist. They couldn't see through him, not on his worst day, or their best.

He chuckled at his own paranoia.

Siert paced with the contestants of this prized sport. Boots or sabatons crushing the dirt beneath them to the tattoo of commoners and nobility cheering at their unveiling. The darkness of the tunnel soon gave way to the warmth of the light. That sunlight bathed him, eyes flickering to adjust, but only momentarily. Hundreds lining the tiers above him, people with bright eyes and smooth faces, with dim orbs and worn features. Young and old reveled in the spirit of this event, it must mean a lot to them, Siert thought. He opened his arms, helmet in one fist, to take in their love. The arena resounded with their thunderous expectations.

Except, unlike his competitors, this sellsword eschewed honour. Glory. These were... Dead notions to him. He is here for one purpose; a job. The only binding applied to him were his word and the promise of payment.

The spectators and onlookers scarcely discerned him from the rest of the bannerless and titleless, but then the beat of wings sounded from the tunnel they had entered through, growing faster by the second.

Coen shot out of the tunnel like a bat from hell, immediately arching upwards towards the sky at an impossibly sharp angle. At the apex of this raptor's flight, its chords struck a tune, a shrieking warcry — triumphant and proud. Before the speaker's first words left his lips.

The bird dived at alarming speeds. Only to stretch its wings at the last moment and smooth out its descent. Crowd erupted into a clapping frenzy, enchanted by the bird's acrobatic display and seeming rehearsal. Coen landed on Siert's right shoulder as the replaced the helmet on his head. The raptor sought to amend his earlier attitude. A cold smile splitting Siert's angular features, although the audience wouldn't know that. It's a shame Coen is prohibited from the arena, he'll have to relish and be relegated in his duties as a mascot. The bird flew off then to find a suitable vantage to observe the arena.

He stopped now at the front with the rest, offsetting his stance with a hand on his hip, he waited for the announcer to reveal their mystery contestant.

And Siert was found wanting. Expression darkening as the Blade of the Southron Wind flaunted about the place. Facing an opponent as skilled as he? It meant that he would have to fight with all his fury, he would certainly be an obstacle to his goal, but need he defeat him in open combat?

Not exactly.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Lady Annaliese Valentova stretched her legs out upon the bench before her, a rather unladylike position but one none dared to contradict. Their little booth reserved for them was diminutive, as to be expected, but it did not irritate her any less. Some of her servants had to stand in the back, hovering like the laborers of a lesser house. At least one knightly retainer leaned against a pole that held up the tall awning that bathed them in thin shadow as if he was little more than a tavern muscleman keeping an eye out on the drunks. There wasn't even enough space for her brother or advisors to have their own little islands of independence, so she sat elbow to elbow with Prince Desmond, who took to holding her hand as he was somewhat overwhelmed at seeing so many people and the immense volume of the arena - a rarity of a sight in Vallach - and likewise close to Ser Friar, who managed to grant only a mere few inches of space between himself and his mistress. Even her sitting cushion scarce had enough room, but it still served to comfortably raise her stature. Had this been an occasion anywhere else than such a packed grand tournament, she would have taken this as a slight against her. But with so many houses high and low in attendance... certain insults had to be tolerated, even if they were not purposeful. Few places other than battlefields had so many people packed into such a small space, and in some ways, this was a battlefield, too.

"Another beverage, my esteemed Lady?" a servant asked, leaning carefully over from above with a small glass. Annaliese had spent the best part of her attendance so-far waiting for the tournament to begin by sampling the local fare. This was a rare occasion to sup upon foods, drinks, and sweets from across the realm and beyond. If there was something she liked, she sought out the source of the ingredients so that she could potentially grow them in the botanical garden of her palace. Such as oranges. She had never heard nor tasted one before, and found the fruit to be quite palatable. Not as palatable as its juice, however, when mixed with hard spirits from the North. It created a peculiar liquor beverage that she was immediately fond of and had already consumed two of already. It would be troublesome growing such tropical fruits in Vallach, but her garden was a place of magic, in many senses, and the fruit would grow by her simple demand.

With a nod, the small chalice was placed on a smaller, almost comically miniature table between her and Ser Friar. It was smaller than even a bed table and was the smallest tea-table she could find, as everything she owned was already too large. It was little more than a painted clay tile upon spindly legs, just enough to hold a singular chalice or tray for indulging in the luxuries of a pipe. "I must admit, it is interesting to see all the people about," Annaliese said. From the Bralmeyers to the Kraghs, the von Holts and the Frostes, and all the others. It was a curious delight. She could see a Vadyeen upon the field, which was sure to be a spectacle, though she knew not in which fashion. Some of the other competitor knights looked like the wealthier cousins of brigands, and Annaliese wondered how many private fights had already erupted with their ilk around. At least such violent animals would keep the fights interesting today.

One of the knights that was striding onto the field amid the adoration of the cheering populace was a young Vallachain, the sole chapter knight she permitted to join, given the limited room of attendance. As such, the bulk of the chapter knights and their own parties were parading around the fairgrounds taking part in other games of skill and luck. Their painted armor was certainly an eye-catcher and she hoped this only furthered their reputation. But despite all of them, only a single one truly mattered, and it was Ser Senn down on the field below with the arriving competition. He fought in the name of the Order of the Bleeding Saint, a small chapter of knights that had seen little favor amid the more influential and larger knightly houses. It was wise, she felt, to ensure her favor was of a relatively rotational variety. The Knights of the Drowned Rose were already her household guard and historically favored by her family - choosing any more favorites would cause more trouble than it was worth. Still, this young knight, Ser Senn, was handsome in his beautiful armor. It was painted white as pure snow, with intricate lines and crimson dripping from the eyes, neck, and wrists to imitate the blood loss of their local patron saint and martyr.

So caught up in the admiration of her lone little champion, she almost missed Prince Landon appear on the field. She couldn't miss his boisterous voice, however, as he basked in the attention of the crowd. "Oh, goody," Annaliese giggled, leaning forwards in anticipation for some critical embarrassment to occur. "The Lord Drunkard has arrived. Gods, I hope he announces he is joining the fight." To her disappointment and equal surprise, he heralded forth the legendary Blade of the Southron Wind, a warrior known even in the foggy mountains of Vallach. Annaliese leaned back into her seated position with a slight pout. "Hmph. At least none of us were so foolish to bet on a victor. Somewhat spoils the show when we know that monster down there will win it all." She glanced around at her brother, Desmond, still holding her hand for comfort and eating a small pastry with his other in a delicate manner. "Take this as a lesson - never bet on anything unless you're the one fixing the game. Someone out there stands to gain a lot, I think, but not in the gambler's ring. A shame. They could have made a fortune had they rumored his appearance and bet upon it."

 

[K0mori]

Lazarus gave a chuckle as Prince Landon sauntered into view, making an ass of himself in the process. "This ought to be good," he said to Dominik over the edge of his goblet.

The Captain looked quickly to the Lord, having noticed a subtle change in his speech. Despite his outwardly calm demeanor, there was some intensity behind the man's eyes that betrayed his discomfort. As the great surprise of Ser Faralt de Befort's entrance played out, the game was given away. "A surprise entrant? House Kalfas is cheating," Dominik spoke, barely above a whisper.

"No," Lazarus said, setting his goblet down. His smile had gone away. "The rules of any contest are decided by the powerful. They are not violating the rules; they are remaking them. And if the Blade of the Southron Wind loses today, it will be a hellacious embarrassment to his benefactors."

Dominik looked back down at the golden-haired champion and sighed. "I don't see that happening, sir."

"Oh? If my life were in danger from such a man-"

"Sir, I could not stop him," Dominik interrupted, clenching his fists. "I could slow him down, aye, but that's all. That's all any of us could do."

Now, Lazarus gave another chuckle and sipped on his goblet. "You must not have been listening, before," he said, mysteriously.

---​

There even were a few Glyrrans, as he spotted one extravagantly dressed one accompanied by some woman walking through the market. To him she seemed knowledgeable as to what might be available, and so the Wulpine walked over to greet her. "Greetings. Do you know what are good snacks being sold here?" he asked Rutu and Marina.

"Ah, but I am merely a traveler myself," Rutu replied.

Marina blinked vacantly at the Wulpine, unsure what had given him the impression that the two of them were locals. "I- um... We're courtiers of House von Holt, ser. My name is Marina, Chamberlain, and this is Rutu, our lord's 'War Witch."

Rutu gave a deep bow. "These markets offer quite a range of curiosities," she explained as she straightened up. "I am here to witness the bounties brought in from across these many lands, and return with that which I am guided to find."

Marina added nothing, but from the way she rolled her eyes and glared at Rutu, Ser Harald could surmise their relationship.