Fantasy Drums of War [IC][Closed]

[Emperor Sagan]

It was with some interest that Lady Valentova watched the victorious Ser Faralt make his approach to their seating box. Froste's booth was well situated near the ground that anyone could practically leap inside, whether to escape the arena or the boredom of conversation. When it became apparent that the knight was indeed approaching their box directly, her eyes widened in interest and her pulse double-stepped. Was he coming here for her? She was, after all, the only proper lady here. Stunning in beauty as well as mind, a venerable woman who commanded a vast territory, economy, and military might. She may as well be an Empress herself. Vallachia was, after all, a place of great splendor in all things. To bestow a rose upon her was less of an honor to herself and more of one for the bestower. Then she considered perhaps it was for Froste. That made sense as well, though perhaps unexpected, but a champion trying to gain favor - or subtle romance - from a lord was not surprising, either.

And then the rose was being handed away, not to her or even Froste... but to Enya. Valentova laughed, a polite little courtly tittering that was easily lost in the roar of the crowds approval and enthusiasm. She covered her mouth with her hand as her eyes twinkled.

She could taste blood. It was hard not to draw her lips back in a sneer that would spread the blood about her mouth like a monster as her bitten lip quivered. Instead, she licked it clean, hidden beneath her hand and the appearance of a content laugh that was driven not by mirth but by an astounded fury. It was like awaking from a surreal dream and not knowing where to direct her ire, only to realize there was no reason to do so for whatever demented thoughts which had visited her were just that - thoughts. Except here it was all real. Very real, in fact, and real enough that Ser Friar quietly leaned in beside her with a small handkerchief. She snatched it away and stuck it to her mouth as if she were crying in joy, and indeed, she allowed a few tears to fall to further the image.

"How beautiful," Valentova hissed, her voice emerging partly muffled by the cloth but with the depth of an abyssal creature discovering a stray mortal approaching them with a meager match. "I'm just so... moved by such a pure action. What a delightful favor to be given."

She had half the mind to jump from the box and slap that damn knight herself, helmet and all. She would put a hundred men through duels just to wear Faralt down until he couldn't swing a sword any longer. Who did he think he was? That just because he was so good at swinging metal he could insult her like this?

After a moment, Valentova lowered her handkerchief. She licked her lips once again and affixed her stare on Enya, who was wise enough to not look her way. Instead, Valentova placed one hand on Froste's arm again. Just as her rage drove her, she worked through the reality of it and what it could do to benefit her. "It seems our good friend here is now favored by a champion. What a delightful future for her. To spurn such an honor after being seen by everyone... that would be very rude, would it not?" Valentova then giggled to herself again, slightly. "Not that one has no choice in their affections, but it can be a matter of manners."

Another bead of blood swelled on her lip as she smiled at Froste, then she licked it away again, eyes sparkling.

---

Desmond nodded sagely as Rutu spoke, taking in her words with a mixture of stately interested and youthful awe. "I think that makes sense," he said. "There are some that can kill you for thinking about them." He paused for a second, his face going red, before he quickly looked to Marina as if realizing his thoughts were putting him at risk to spirits. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Chamberlain. You should meet my sister, I think she will like you."

Some motion beside them brought Desmond's attention to Tamos and Ser Harald, and the young prince turned about, the tassels of his bicorne swinging. "Are you two making a friendship already?" he asked, laughing in a way that was very similar to his sister, but to those who knew her, it lacked the fire and bite within it. "Knights should always be good friends. It helps stop bad wars."

Tamos only nodded curtly as he clutched at his arms as if cold, though it was to stop his trembling. What in the gods is with that wretched man? he thought to himself as Caldar turned away. It was like a flash of lightening, a burst of heat and then gone in an instant.

After a little longer, Desmond turned towards Caldar when a moment was afforded and said, "You should also meet my sister, ser knight. She likes to meet people. Maybe she will invite you to our home and you can have as many treats as you would like."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Siert rolled his head, uncaring about the Lion's thoughts. Not the first time someone has made a threat against him, verbal or otherwise. The sellsword leaned back in his chair, arm draping over the backrest. There was still time before their bout, still time before their weapons crossed. Siert exhaled sharply. Cooling the wrath in his heart, he had ill-need of wanton emotions now. Let the emotions flow like a rushing river, but do not let them spill onto the banks. Coen inclined his head slightly, flapping his wings once, twice. Siert turned his idling attention to his feathered companion, giving the raptor a questioning look. The mercenary has long since learned to put faith in Coen's keen senses; this display is no exception. He outstretched an arm, clinking the gauntlet digits against the wooden table, a perfect display of their improvised cant. He does not know who Coen sensed, but through his intimations, Siert knew someone approached. The chatter of the resting area loud to his ears, he ignored it, walling out the small-talk and the rumour-sharing from the quiet of his mind. Eyes focused.

Until a familiar voice chimed in his ear. The low, whispering voice of his employer, Lord Jomier Kalfas. Siert nodded slightly, saying nothing. Indeed, not even turning to match his gaze, instead dark eyes scanning across the resting area's vicinity. "Bets." Siert said. It was not a question. That must've been his payment sum or a bonus, if Kalfas' words rang true. He hummed aloud, letting the Lordling know that he'll speak. "Compensating." The ghost of a devilish smirk parted his features, before subsuming. "He will be no trifle, I expect there will be... Ample resistance." Siert said, a hard coldness in his voice. "I suspect he won't be as arrogant as I initially assumed. Confident, certainly. That may be the play here. However, I think he'll underestimate me. It would certainly be unwise for him." He trailed off letting the words hang in the air. He flicked his gauntlet, metal digits clicking. "Is there anything prohibited under the rules?" Siert asked.

joshuadim

 

[K0mori]

Calder, eager to move on beyond this unnecessary demolition of a young knight's pride, shook his head and muttered a half-hearted apology into the wind before turning to Rutu. "If you would entertain my curiosity... how does your people's mythos work? Your spirits and all? My people have their own beliefs, though merged with the Old Gods that the North worship, in terms of our ancestoral worship and our folklore. I have not met a Glyrran 'till today... I'd like to bring some stories with me for when I return home."

Rutu swallowed a final bite of fish and gave Calder a smile, as he was asking her a question that she had answered many times before, bringing her back to safe and solid ground. "Ah, stories," she began. "There are few things in this world that feed the soul, and stories, being one, are precious. I endeavor to keep as many as I can carry, so I can give them as alms to the hungering. But I digress- you asked of our 'mythos.' That is quite simple. We glyrrans have five gods, representing the Hunt, the Earth, the Sky, the Fight, and the Wilds," she explained, gesturing about in wide, gentle sweeps as if to suggest the epic size of these gods' domains. "You may ask, 'but what of their names?' I offer this response: I may call them Ka'gan, Orgus, Shal, Vash'ha, and Mik'oho, as did my elders, but you would do us no unkindness to use other names, as the tribes of the Redlands have many different monikers for the same five."

Reaching into a pocket on her billowing garb, she retrieved a small journal and thumbed through the pages, allowing the others, minus Marina, to crowd in for a better look. Numerous glyphs were recorded on the well-worn pages. "These sigils are symbolic of the gods, and when one wishes to appeal to them, one may paint themselves or their spaces with these symbols to seek favor. But beyond the gods, whom are entrusted with great power, are the innumerable voices of the ancestors who breathe with the wind, and wander with the sun and moon. Their song is the one to which life dances. Like the gods, we are beholden to their will... It is the elders who walk on that line between life and death who most easily hear that sacred song. It is by their hand that ritual should be guided.

"But, I am young, as you see," she said, lifting her chin and staring into the middle distance as if facing a long and difficult road ahead. "I am unusual, as I have always felt their will through the pads of my feet, felt their song tug on my ears... I wish to do all I can to bring my people into a state of harmony with the natural world and the Empire alike."

 

[Infab]

"How beautiful," Valentova hissed, her voice emerging partly muffled by the cloth but with the depth of an abyssal creature discovering a stray mortal approaching them with a meager match. "I'm just so... moved by such a pure action. What a delightful favor to be given."

Oliver's father, as well as Titus and Maria, had taught Oliver over the years that knights and those seeking knighthood never did things truly out of purity. Only clerics, monks, and saints bore such purity in their actions. Knights always sought something. Often, it was status. To be separated from the likes of the poor serfs, and bask in wealth and prestige among the counts, barons, and lords of the realms. Other times, it was love. Be it from a lone individual or the love or spouse of another.

This knight had power and prestige already. He could have anyone he wanted simply due to that. What else could he want, as he bee-lined over to a Lord's box and handed Enya, Oliver's guest, a flower?

It was brave, particularly rude, and certainly questionable.

"It seems our good friend here is now favored by a champion. What a delightful future for her. To spurn such an honor after being seen by everyone... that would be very rude, would it not?" Valentova then giggled to herself again, slightly. "Not that one has no choice in their affections, but it can be a matter of manners."

"Manners were discarded the moment Ser Faralt offered the flower." said Oliver, sighing as he glanced towards Valentova. "However, it would be an insult to the Emperor if anything was done in response. The tournament is a celebration, and we should enjoy things while we can."

He then looked to Enya and forced a smile. "It's a beautiful rose, regardless. Hopefully the intent was as pure as Lady Valentova states."

 

[joshuadim]

House Kragh's Viewing Box - The Grand Tournament
Infab [Maria]
​

"Better to know the devil hiding in the shadows than the one in your face." Uchtred concurred with Maria, giving a nod. He spared a glance towards the fight below, which had concluded just as quickly as it began and in spectacular fashion. Ser Faralt bathed in glory and wallowed in the adoration of the masses as he proved yet again his mettle and skill in the ring of honor. "Yet that is what worries me with Landon. He is so brazen about it that I can't help but wonder if there's anything truly restraining him from carrying out whatever plots he might have. Something a more shadow-minded individual like Davin would be wary of." He then let out a sigh before giving another nod: "But, at least with it in the open I can keep tabs on it. Davin's schemes have yet to be unearthed, whatever they may be, and thus represents a threat that must be accounted for."

Both Riseig and Reimar cheered on the spectacle nearby, having watched the Blade of the Southron Wind in action before their very eyes. But their moods quickly dampened and then soured; Uchtred took note of this and followed their gaze to where Ser Faralt was at now. He had offered a flower to Enya, brazenly so, and thought nothing more of it as he departed for the staging ground again.

"...what did he do that for?" Reimer asked with confusion.

Riseig turned to Uchtred with a scowl: "Embarrassing her like that, who does he think he is?"

Uchtred wordlessly turned his gaze back to where Lord Kalfas' box was at, and saw the man giving yet another smug look once more. Uchtred kept a cold stare towards the man, realizing now that this went beyond a simple message. It was a threat. He and the others in their box would also see how flustered Enya became, and saw her quickly excuse herself and leave shortly thereafter. An undignified exit after such a public display drew little attention, thankfully, as Reimar quickly got up. "I'll go to her." he said, leaving the box to find his sister. Risieg, in the meantime, scowled as he looked at Ser Faralt's exit. "I'd have a word with that bastard if I could."

---

House Froste's Viewing Box - The Grand Tournament
Emperor Sagan [Annaliese], Infab [Oliver, Titus]​

Enya remained silent as both Oliver and Annaliese made their remarks towards what had transpired known. She didn't want any of this attention, least of all when wanting to talk to someone she considered a new friend. Now embarrassed to such a degree in front of not only him and a woman who - for some reason - despises her, but also in front of the crowds, it became very difficult to hold back tears. Her eyes began to water as she tried her best to compose herself, only to realize that it was a fruitless effort ultimately. "I... I'm sorry. Please excuse me." she managed to get out, her voice quivering before getting out of the seat and making her way out briskly.

What she wanted more than anything out of the world right now was to crawl into her bed back in Dragonpeak and curl up into a ball. There she would be able to forget about everything else and just be able to forget everything here. Unfortunately, she was stuck here in this city for the time being. But, at the very least, Reimar had quickly come up to the task as he had also walked out the viewing box and joined her in between the rafters of the stadium. Wordlessly the two embraced as the brother tried to comfort his sibling, and she let out muted sobs. "I didn't want this... and now I'm a fool in front of others."

"You're nobody's fool, alright?" Reimar said, "Most people won't remember this even tomorrow." He tried his best to comfort her by then changing the topic: "Do you want to go see the fairgrounds?"

"Anywhere but here, please..." Enya stated, wiping her eyes with her hands.

---

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

And, indeed, Ser Triest looked baffled as Goldbert gave his recounting. He couldn't tell if the watchman was messing with him, but he almost treated it as such until he took a greater measure of the tone of his words as well as the demeanor from which it sprouted. Slowly, he gave a wordless nod as he came around to the truth revealed before giving a short bow. "I'll... I'll be off then. I suppose." the knight muttered, stumbling away to process what matter of horrors lay outside the empire's borders. Indeed, the trolls that lived in the frozen wastes beyond Rainor's protection were of menacing reputation - both in their physical strength as well as their penchant for roasting humans and eating them off the bone. Goldbert had witnessed it firsthand before already.

Jendrick let out a chuckle when Kyraug mentioned interference or tampering, though he did not show any offense to the remark if there was any. In fact, he looked towards the Vayeen with a grin plastered on his face: "All things considered, I would rather you fight at your strongest. How else am I to prove my mettle to the crowds? Especially for a commoner like myself, mixed in with the noble knights and hardened warriors from across the realm. Not to mention, there's no fun in the fight when someone is not at their peak. It's like..." he then said, pondering what analogy would best describe what he meant by this sentiment. "It would be like kicking a cripple after they've fallen. There's no sport or rush in that... it's just laziness on behalf of the fighter." He then turned towards some of the other fighters nearby, some of whom continued to sparingly give glances over to Kyraug, and frowned. "Though, I'm sure many of them don't see you as worthy of that. However fickle that distinction might be.

"Well, I suppose it's the usual." Jomier confided to Siert in the meantime, "You can't strike the groin area... no knight would wish to be deprived of the means of continuing their bloodline. You can't strike to kill... but kicks and punches are allowed..." He then stopped to think for a moment, wondering what Siert was planning for the coming bout. "I suppose this means you're exploring every option available to you. I look forward to seeing the end result all the same." It was then that the triumphant horns sounded, signalling the next round of the competition. Only 32 contestants remained now, which would then be whittled down to 16 after these next fights. And Jomier let out a soft chuckle: "I'll be off now. See you soon." And with that, the lordling slinked back into the shadows to make his way back to the spectacle outside.

Jendrick also bade Kyraug farewell for the time being when the horns sounded, giving the Vadyeen a two-finger salute as he walked off. "I look forward to more conversations!"

---

The Fairgrounds - The Grand Tournament
K0mori [Rutu], Emperor Sagan [Desmond]​

Calder listened intently to Rutu's explanation of her people's mythos, nodding along to her words that any Glyrran could practically say by heart. Some of the details stood out to him as he committed them to memory, making sure to remember them in order to honor such traditions. He held no desire to offend these foreign gods by giving an improper recounting for once he returned home with the rest of House Kragh. He and Ser Harald both leaned in closer to look at the presentation given by Rutu, though the latter wasn't as particularly enthralled as the Wulpine was. Ser Harald said nothing of the matter, but he could tell a charlatan when he met one. Whatever the reasoning for this performance went over his head, but he saw no harm in it apart from some foreign esoteric knowledge being disseminated.

Calder however, was much more inclined on these matters as he himself had participated in a few rituals back with Clan Blackfang. And it was he who had the most to say afterwards: "It's all very fascinating. Thank you for sharing this knowledge." the Wulpine retainer said, his ears flicking to indicate his appreciation. "My people have their own gods, as I said. Though we share many with the Northmen, we also have a few unique to ourselves. We have Scylla, the Moon Goddess. Also known as the Great White Wolf as she runs across the sky at night in pursuit of her endless hunt. We worship her for boons towards our hunts, as well as our feasts, for our bellies would not be full without the instinct she gives us. To this end, we burn effigies and herbs. Then there's also Larios the Direwolf, who gives blessings for battle and death. He takes tributes in the form of blood paintings and animal sacrifices, usually on altars in front of the old eldtrees. And also war paints from said sacrifices... painting stripes and symbols upon our furs."

He then shifted for a moment, as if to signal some mild discomfort towards what he was about to say next. "Then there's also the Black Wolf, Ferris... a dark and fickle god that thrives in the shadows. I wouldn't know much about that worship... it's shunned. And there are already so few who do practice those rituals."

"Because we execute them on sight." Ser Harald then chimed in, crossing his arms as he explained to Rutu. "In mutual agreement between us and the Wulpine clans in our lands. Those worshippers bring nothing but trouble."

"Yes, that." Calder straightened himself and recomposed his stature after that brief lapse. He then turned to Desmond as he saw a chance to mess with the old man. "Would you like to hear the gods of the Northmen? He knows all about them because he's old." Calder motioned to the man-at-arms with a chuckle.

Ser Harald shot an annoyed look towards the Wulpine, giving off a scoff. His gaze signaled: I'll get you back for this.

 

[Breadman]

"Do come visit." Goldbert waved as the young man stepped away. He smiled under the mask as he did so. Slightly unnerving the poor boy was surely unnerved by their exchange, but if he were to ever venture north, he would find that there was very little left out, but now the scoutmaster needed to focus on his next opponent. The horns sounded again announcing the next set of contests.

From where he stood in the arena, Goldbert noticed where his lord stood. Hard to miss the big intimidating man that looked like he was part of the wall he defended, but even among the colorful crowd he could get lost. His gaze shifted towards his opponent. The criers announced him as Kazimir, no titles, only that he hails from the Southron Realms. An opponent that unlike the last one, didn't sound like he'd have a grand goal beyond glory and the winner's purse. Something Goldbert would appreciate. What little he knew about the people of that land was that they were fierce horseback riders, bringing one of the deadliest cavalries known to the empire. Goldbert thanked whatever pushed fate for them to meet on foot.

Before they could exchange words, Kazimir threw a javelin straight towards Goldberd. The scoutmaster sidestepped the deadly weapon and glanced back to where it had landed. Had he been a little bit slower, he would have been skewered. As he turned again he noticed the other man charging against him with another spear in hand. Goldbert managed to deflect the blow with his sword, but was already on the backfoot.

Strike after strike, forced him back further than he liked. He could feel the bounds of their space in the arena getting closer. He needed to take control and he needed to do it now. The temptation to use his gift was strong, but he had to resist for now. Instead he had to use his common skills. Goldbert deflected another strike from the spear and found an oppening to press his attack. He swung his sword downards in an arc that was met with Kazimir's leather shield. A useful piece of equipment for the light cavalry his people are renown for, but in a mellee, it was a whole different world. The blow pushed the Southronian back. Goldbert pressed his attack again and as the shield was raised again to meet his sword, the resistance was lower.

The scoutmaster was nearly impaled again by the spear as he underestimated his opponent, but this made him rethink his assault. He had landed a series of strikes on the shield and had managed to recover the ground he had given up earlier, but this couldn't last. This battle needed a decisive strike. Kazimir lunged again with the spear and Goldberd rolled out of the way. He quicky turned to meet his opponent and charged. Breakthrough. The sword hacked its way through the shield and stopped inches away from the man's neck. Goldbert looked down and he noticed that the spear was ever so close to piercing his body. Again, had he been slower, he would have been impaled. Kazim in turn only smiled.

"I think we can call this one over?"

"Glad you can see reason." Goldbert said with an exasperated breath. Unlike the last opponent, there was no need to bargain and deal. Kazim raised his hand to signal his surrender and got down to his knees. "You're a good sport about it." Goldbert continued "Good fight."

 

[Vexumin]

Kyraug listens as Jendrick speaks, talking about the disappointment that comes from gaining an advantage in equal combat. In that regard, Kyraug would agree. It's better when two fighters test their mettle on an even battleground. It shows who will come out on top based solely on their skills in combat. As Jendrick searches for his analogy, Kyraug finds the name of the individual he would be fighting in the next round and then promptly finds the fellow in the crowd, recognizing the crest he bears upon his surcoat.

Ser Rozet of Dragon's Fang Bay. The man was among a few other individuals. Acquaintances perhaps? He was a lean fellow, a short beard styled mustache adorning his face. His black hair is short and swept back. He seemed like an average fellow, but as Kyraug continued to examine him, the knights eyes shifted and caught the Vadyeen in his observation. His head turned and he stared directly at Kyraug.

Rozet didn't seem to look at him with anger or hate, just a sharp and focused gaze. It brought a chill over Kyraug, as if an arrow was flying his way and no matter where he tried to dodge it would curve towards him. This fellow might be his first true challenge. Rozet offered Kyraug a slow nod before he return his attention to the people around him. He seemed to be playing things quite respectfully. He was representing his home quite professionally.

"It would be like kicking a cripple after they've fallen. There's no sport or rush in that... it's just laziness on behalf of the fighter." He then turned towards some of the other fighters nearby, some of whom continued to sparingly give glances over to Kyraug, and frowned. "Though, I'm sure many of them don't see you as worthy of that. However fickle that distinction might be.

Kyraug laughs. "Well, let's just say that I have tricks I've yet to use so far, and I hold them rather close to my chest. I wouldn't blame these lads if they wanted an edge. I wouldn't make it easy for them nonetheless."

Before long it was time for the next fights. Kyraug turned to Jendrick and offered him a nod.

"Seems it's about time for me to return to the field. I hope to see you after all is said and done," The Vadyeen says as the other servants around him begin to reequip him with his armor and weapons. Kyraug looks to Jendrick again and offers a smile. "Keep an eye on this match. I think it might be interesting."

With that, Kyraug makes his way out into the arena. As he walks, Ser Rozet follows up on his right. The man had a plumed helmet on over his head, the visor raised so that he could look Kyraug in the eyes. He carried a spear with him.

"Vadyeen. You should withdraw," he says plainly and with no hesitation. "There are those that wish you death in the coming matches. Your participation is seen as a mockery of the tournament. I have been asked by associates to slay you in this match and claim that it had been an accident. I will not do so, but you have been warned."

With that, Rozet snaps the visor down and moves to his side of their space for the match. Kyraug wasn't quite phased by the admission of plotting in the background. He was sure that there were those who would try and kill him. It was nothing new. Even so, he had no intention of letting down his master or submitting to these dogs.

Kyraug draws his dueling blade and his sap, watching Rozet as the man flourishes his spear and thrusts the point towards him. Then the fight begins. Kyraug leaned forward to charge his opponent, but Rozet was... faster. The knight sped forward, light on his feet despite the armor he wears. The spear in his hands thrust forward as fast as an arrow. It took all of Kyraug's immediate focus just to pivot and dodge the blow to his midsection.

Kyraug began to sweat. He knew that his observation of this man was accurate, especially as the spear began to hunt him. When the thrust missed, that was not the end of the attack. Rozet then put all of his strength into swinging the spear back towards Kyraug. The Vadyeen manages to leap out of range, but not before the blade skirts across his chest piece, carving a scratch into the metal plate.

Kyraug felt at the scratch. The force behind the swing almost felt like the blade had cut through his armor. Rozet was a strong fellow despite his average looking build. The knight does not relent, despite scoring a blow, however small, on his target, and Kyraug was equally as quick to evade. The spear was relentless. No matter where Kyraug went, Rozet was quick to hunt him down and track his movements. Even when he tried to leap back and give himself a bit of space, the knight was just as quick to keep pace.

Seeing little way of gaining an advantage at a distance, Kyraug instead darts into range of Rozet, deflecting the spearhead with his dueling blade as it sought him while closing the space between them. Kyraug felt that he had the upper hand at close range, but what caught his eye was that the knights grip on the spear loosened and its length slid down his grip until the spear tip was held closer to his hand. He held the weapon almost like a knife.

Turns out that Kyraug didn't quite have the advantage he thought as he suddenly engaged in a close ranged duel of blades, striking and parrying blows between them. It was difficult to see past the visor in Rozet's helmet, so it was, in turn, difficult to tell if he was at all struggling with the fight. His technique flowed like water. An expert of his art.

It put Kyraug on edge, but he just had to steel himself. He would get through this if he just remained calm and fought on. Rozet is burdened by his heavy equipment, no matter how little it seemed to affect him. Eventually he would slow from his rapid pace.

And so that is how the fight lasted for a time. Blows taken and blows given. After a short while, it almost felt like the two would not be able to best each other. Rozet's armor was dented in many places and Kyraug showed off various nicks and cuts from narrowly dodged strikes. Some of them could have been quite bad as well. It was as if after all the fighting, Rozet was tired of trying to prevent any serious wounds and just started to go for the what his acquaintances wanted and kill the frog. Yet it did not happen.

After the fifth minute of back and forth strikes, the battle felt like it had gone on forever for the two. Neither was sure who would come out on top at this point. Rozet wasn't quite so confident anymore, but Kyraug's expression never changed. He was determined. From them moment this fight began, he was prepared to dedicate every ounce of his strength on achieving victory.

His moment came as Rozet made to charge forward, delivering another hefty blow... until a stumble. He stumbled over his feet, likely the result of exhaustion. It was such a small slip in his perfect stance that Kyraug couldn't help but lunge after it. Take advantage of the opportunity! He darts into Rozet's range and sweeps a leg out from under the knight. The man falls and Kyraug is quick to mount him, sap raised high above his head. Kyraug was so focused on this moment that he failed to hear the snap over the sound of his sap cracking against Rozet's helmet once, twice, then three times.

That was all that it took to rattle the man, putting him down for the time being.

Kyraug had claimed his victory, and it was a rough win to be sure, and as adrenaline began to fade, it only brought his attention to a pain in his side. Earlier in the fight, he managed to catch Rozet's spear with his blade, chipping the wood near the spear tip. It seems that when Rozet was pinned, he snapped the spear head and started stabbing, using it like a knife. Just as Kyraug had delivered three strikes, so had the knight. The Vadyeen was bleeding profusely. He clutched at his side as his fellow attendants rush into the field to drag him from the arena, just as Rozet's servants drag him away unconscious.

"Damn. Someone fetch me my tools, now!" Healer Illec shouts as they retreat into the shadows under the tournament colosseum.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

The mercenary stood within the centre of the arena, longsword in hand as the eclectic crowd of cheering peasants and jeering nobles roared their expectations. He shifted slightly, clenching and unclenching his fingers and toes, trying to work the feeling into them. Numbness had gripped his limbs as though preparation for the fever-pitched duel that was about to commence. But his heart remained steady, thumping its gracious tattoo in his breast. He checked his gauntlet, features inscrutable behind visor-slit of his helm, mind occupied with the advisement of Lord Jomier. In truth, he wondered the ubiquity of these constraints, this hadn't been his first tournament, the only difference is the sheer enormity of it, but he supposes that is a differentiating quality all on its own. He inclined his head, eyes searching for the sharp, circling shape of a brown raptor against the background of clear skies. Coen particularly invested, looking to wet his palate with blood — the barest portion would suffice.

Coen swooped down, describing perfect circular motions before settling down on a parapet to observe the battle from a vantage. Taking in the area with a twitch of hawkish interest. A smirk played on the corners of Siert's features. He clenched his gauntlet digits, metal clinking. His opponent would soon enter the arena. Siert hefted his longsword, sabatons grinding in the dry dirt. The applauding redoubled as the Lion made his way to their ring.

joshuadim

 

[K0mori]

Desmond nodded sagely as Rutu spoke, taking in her words with a mixture of stately interested and youthful awe. "I think that makes sense," he said. "There are some that can kill you for thinking about them." He paused for a second, his face going red, before he quickly looked to Marina as if realizing his thoughts were putting him at risk to spirits. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Chamberlain. You should meet my sister, I think she will like you."

Rutu had moved on so quickly from Desmond that Marina feared the boy would be offended. The chamberlain did her best to ignore the very disturbing notion of killer spirits summoned by thoughts alone, and instead focused on the invitation she had just been given. "Ah, ha..." she laughed nervously. "Of course it would be an honor to make your sister's acquaintance, but I am merely a courtier of Lord von Holt... He would not entrust such a meeting to someone as lowly as me," she explained, suddenly thankful for her position. A wicked thought crossed her mind, however: Rutu was clearly uncomfortable speaking with Desmond. To arrange a meeting with Lady Valentova would probably make the glyrran melt with dread. Marina realized just how much she would like to witness that.

"Perhaps if I were to accompany someone of a senior station, such as Rutu, I would not offend my Lord," she said.

He then shifted for a moment, as if to signal some mild discomfort towards what he was about to say next. "Then there's also the Black Wolf, Ferris... a dark and fickle god that thrives in the shadows. I wouldn't know much about that worship... it's shunned. And there are already so few who do practice those rituals."

"Because we execute them on sight." Ser Harald then chimed in, crossing his arms as he explained to Rutu. "In mutual agreement between us and the Wulpine clans in our lands. Those worshippers bring nothing but trouble."

"Yes, that." Calder straightened himself and recomposed his stature after that brief lapse. He then turned to Desmond as he saw a chance to mess with the old man. "Would you like to hear the gods of the Northmen? He knows all about them because he's old." Calder motioned to the man-at-arms with a chuckle.

Ser Harald shot an annoyed look towards the Wulpine, giving off a scoff. His gaze signaled: I'll get you back for this.

Rutu, oblivious to the Chamberlains machinations, listened calmly and carefully to Calder. She knew that there might come a time when she would need this knowledge to deceive a Wulpine. She froze a moment when Calder and Ser Harald revealed what would happen to one exposed as a worshipper of Ferris. With a little careful research into the subject, she could have a card up her sleeve which was far more powerful than the Magician or the Fool. "The absence of light invites treachery, but who are we to begrudge those creatures which hunt and deceive in the shadow of night? 'Tis only for their survival.

"...But what you speak of- it carries an unnatural timber, unharmonious to the song of the ancestors," she added. "I do not blame you for doing what you must to retain peace and tranquility. As for the gods of the Northmen, I am always eager to hear a new saga. There is no harm which can come from better understanding thine fellows," she said.

Marina stood quietly and watched the people walking by, gritting her teeth as she listened to the endless ramblings of her unwanted companion. She hoped that Ser Harald was as tired of it as she was and would keep his explanation short.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

He then looked to Enya and forced a smile. "It's a beautiful rose, regardless. Hopefully the intent was as pure as Lady Valentova states."

Her eyes began to water as she tried her best to compose herself, only to realize that it was a fruitless effort ultimately. "I... I'm sorry. Please excuse me." she managed to get out, her voice quivering before getting out of the seat and making her way out briskly.

Annaliese watched from the corner of her eyes as tears slowly began to envelop Enya, all the while still clutching the slightly bloodied handkerchief to her mouth from where she had bit it some moments earlier. Seeing that woman cry turned the bitter copper flavor of blood into something sweet like sugared candies. Oh, how fortuitous it was that she held the cloth to her lips, for she was smiling beneath it.

"It seems our newfound friend is simply overwrought with emotion," Annaliese Valentova commented, tilting her head towards Oliver as Enya hurried away from their boxed seating. Her eyes twinkled as the other girl departed with haste. "Such a kind, pure-hearted soul that one is. She rather reminds me of a doe come hunting season. Graceful and beautiful to all who see...." Recalling the company she was in, her words trailed off, left to be more whimsical than finishing the statement with the words that stalled on the tip of her tongue - graceful and beautiful to all who see and bloody and tasty to all who eat.

For a moment, she wondered how she could capitalize further on the little darling running off, but she figured that she had already won this contest. Perhaps if Enya returned she could devise a proper social coup-de-grace; still, she couldn't entirely help herself. "She must feel rather embarrassed to be seen like that. I'm sure plenty will talk about it all over. To cry like that while courting... oh dear, such a sad thing for her."

---

Desmond's head swiveled back and forth between the interesting characters surrounding him and their likewise colorful stories. To be away from that dreadful arena and out here with kindly folk, he was starting to feel much better and happy that he had come down here today. He had almost played sick to stay back at the palace.

Calder's knowledge on the Wulpine's pantheon kept his attention as he blinked up at the knight, recalling much of it from his own teachings back home. The thought of the Black Wolf made him shiver - there had been issues of worshippers causing problems in Vallach before, in the dark woods and distant mountain tops. This by itself wasn't exactly uncommon, given the rather esoteric nature of the backwoods. He had seen little himself, shielded by the valiant efforts of his sister and their guardsmen, but he had seen enough. Animals pinned to trees with rusted iron stakes. Drawings in the damp morning earth. Faces peering out from behind shallow brush, only to disappear when confronted. Castle Valentova sat on a ridge that surrounded much of Hinzerhof city, with the rear of the castle looking out into the vast, wild depths of the forests where nearly no one lived and few dared to venture. It was only through descent down ancient stone steps that one could reach most of that land, and all of it belonged to his family, closely guarded for centuries.

His sister never let him see the garden down there, one that even she was uncomfortable with visiting. One day she promised to take him and as much as he wished to see it, he also wished to avoid it. It was where much of his ancestors had been laid to rest and he had heard, one night, of his sister speak of sullen earth around the mausoleums there as if the dead were restless. Her visitations down there always made her seem... less energetic, as if she went down a fresh candle and returned as but a burnt, twisted wick.

"Perhaps if I were to accompany someone of a senior station, such as Rutu, I would not offend my Lord," she said.

Desmond looked back around to Marina, an innocent smile on his face. "If my sister says it is okay, then it is okay," he said, naturally believing that Lord Holt would bow to Annaliese's demands given that everyone else did. "And I will tell her all about you and Mistress Rutu, she just so loves to make new friends, no matter if they are rich or poor. She says that everyone has their use." From another of older age his words would have seemed less kind, but innocent they remained. It seemed that he was as eager as his sister was, or claimed she was, to converse with new people. This was likely to be a known rarity for those familiar with the isolation of Vallach, and how House Valentova had strangled much of the higher aristocracy so that all who remained were the lesser nobles, town burghers, and orders of knights and their own archaic ways and bloodlines. For one such as Prince Desmond, he had few peers and no equals.

"Yes, that." Calder straightened himself and recomposed his stature after that brief lapse. He then turned to Desmond as he saw a chance to mess with the old man. "Would you like to hear the gods of the Northmen? He knows all about them because he's old." Calder motioned to the man-at-arms with a chuckle.

"...But what you speak of- it carries an unnatural timber, unharmonious to the song of the ancestors," she added. "I do not blame you for doing what you must to retain peace and tranquility. As for the gods of the Northmen, I am always eager to hear a new saga. There is no harm which can come from better understanding thine fellows," she said.

"That would be delightful!" Desmond remarked. "I've read a lot about them, too. I learn a lot about the gods and spirits and demons, my family are masters of this knowledge, so says my sister. We have entire books on them, enough to fill an entire library! But we don't read them often, the paper is old and sometimes it falls apart just by touching it."

As Rutu commented on also wanting to hear about the Northmen gods, Desmond glanced back around to Marina, grasped her hand, and mentioned in a quiet and excited voice, "Later I want to tell you all about the Skineaters and the Mist People!"

 

[Infab]

"She must feel rather embarrassed to be seen like that. I'm sure plenty will talk about it all over. To cry like that while courting... oh dear, such a sad thing for her."

Oliver's head swiveled around, his eyes moving quickly to Valentova's own. "Courting?" he said, his expression one of confusion. "We're not courting. We just met yesterday in the gardens, and struck up a conversation. I imagine she came over to spend time with a new friend."

Courting? He didn't have time for that! Not right now! He already had so much on his plate from his father's death that he was trying to find breathing room. Thankfully Titus and Maria were there, otherwise he'd have been overwhelmed by all of it.

Wait a minute... was that what the gift from Valentova was for? Is she actually interested in him? Why? Political gain?

His eyes drifted to the box that Valentova had given him, containing the bone flute. Giving her a return gift would further Valentova trying to court him, but giving her the bone flute back would be seen as an insult. House Froste didn't need another enemy right now. Too much was going on around them. Oliver was in quite the pickle now.

He really wanted to go see if Enya was alright. To be embarrassed like that in front of dozens of people? He couldn't leave, however. He'd have to send Titus to check on her, or Maria once she returned from Lord Kragh's box.

"...I do hope she's alright. Titus, once Maria returns, please go and check on her." he soon said.

Titus nodded behind him. "As you wish, my lord."

 

[joshuadim]

The Fairgrounds - The Grand Tournament
K0mori [Rutu], Emperor Sagan [Desmond]
​

Ser Harald let off an almost imperceptible scowl to Calder as both Rutu and Desmond made their desire for an esoteric lesson known, shooting a glance to the Wulpine after crossing his arms from discontent. He wasn't particularly pleased of being put into the spotlight, especially for matters that were better left towards elders and the fervent grove-priests that coalesced around the great trees and runestones. But it was when he noticed the young lordling's excitement over the matter that a small chip was put into his iron demeanour, and he finally relented with a heavy sigh. "I'm no sage, so I can't speak on everything." Ser Harald started to say, before continuing on.

"There's nine of our gods. The most important is Tarus, the Sky-Father. He is our chief deity and ruler of all he surveys, we often sacrifice lambs and goats in his name. Then there's Svara, the Earth-Mother and Lifegiver, who brings about harvests, seasons, and healthy children. Together, they form the foundations of the world... and lead to their children who are the rest of our pantheon." He wondered for a brief moment which ones to elaborate on more, which in turn meant which ones he favored; expectent eyes waited for him to continue on with the tale, which brought Harald to continue on with his brief recounting.

"There is Thyr, the God of War and Honor - as we traditionally have fought plenty in our past. War paints and blood sacrifices are in his domain when it comes to seeking blessings on those fronts. And then there's Farya, goddess of the hearth. Mani, the sun god. Tarog, god of the forge. Yara, goddess of the wilds... and Bragg, god of song and muse."

"You forgot one." Calder then spoke up, which made Harald roll his eyes.

"The last one has few worshippers. Particularly unimportant." Ser Harald spoke first to qualify his characterization of this particular deity before introducing the name at last, "Radegast, god of magic."

"How could magic be unimportant?" Calder then shot towards the man-at-arms with annoyance.

"Because few can actually wield it." Ser Harald spoke to Calder with annoyance before returning his attention to Desmond and Rutu. "I suppose that concludes my brief overview of the old ways, then."

---

House Kragh's Viewing Box - The Grand Tournament
Infab [Maria]​

Uchtred returned his attention to Maria, though his mind still brimmed with anger towards Lord Kalfas for his impudence and impropriety. The next round of the tournament had advanced rather smoothly, as there were many decisive victories displayed on the field much to the crowd's pleasure. The cheers of the masses continued to ride the air as the Old Bear let out a sigh: "There is another matter I will need you for." he then spoke to Maria while she was still within his reach. "The situation of the Redlands grows particularly more precarious by the day, which in turn requires greater attention from other crises our Empire currently faces."

He turned his head and nodded across the rafters to where House von Holt's viewing box was at. "I will need you to speak with Lord von Holt, relay a message for me that I would wish to speak with him regarding the Redlands following the tournament's end."

---

The Staging Grounds - The Grand Tournament
Vexumin [Kyraug] Breadman [Goldbert]​

Once Kyraug and Goldbert returned to the Staging Grounds after this round's bouts, they were welcomed with the same rest as they had been prior. For the former, he was greeted again with the sight of Jendrick as he waved to the Vadyeen from a distance with a grin; having made it to the next round, the two grew ever closer to meeting one another should their luck allow for it. But for the time being, Kyraug's own wounds needed tending to as he had been grievously wounded in the process of felling his opponent on the field. It was as if the knight was trying to kill him, given how viciously he had been stabbed. The healer worked and did his best to tend to Kyraug's wounds, but was fortunately relieved of his duty when an official maester came to look to Kyraug's predicament.

The wizened man looked through old and narrow eyes, before putting his hands onto the Vadyeen's side and began to murmur under his breath. His eyes closed, and a faint blue light emanated from under his grasp; a soothing feeling washed over the pain that once befell Kyraug, and soon felt as though he had never been stabbed in the first place. When the old man's hands removed themselves from Kyraug, the wounds that had been there prior were no more as flesh mended back to its original state. A small display of magic, not uncommon amongst those from the Porcelain Tower, but nothing like one would read stories about.

"Blades are unhealthy for you." the healer then stated rather bluntly, though it became evident that it was a dry joke. "Do try to avoid it for the future."

---

The Melee - The Grand Tournament
Worthlessplebian [Siert]​

Siert's bout had come, and the crowd eagerly awaited the battle between The Silver Lion and his opponent, an up and coming throughout his bracket group that had surprised expectations thus far. But it remained to be seen if he could fell such a great opponent as Ser Locke. He greeted the crowd as they let known their own praises, though to a lesser extent than Ser Faralt's own bouts thus far. He was still the favored, given his status and his reputation compared to other fighters - especially the likes of Siert, a relative unknown within the great equation that was the tournament - and the crowd made it well known as he strode onto the battlefield.

Ser Locke had plenty reason to be confident on his approach, as he was a formidable fighter and was well armoured. An inherent disadvantage existed between him and those that were not knights in the first place. But little did he know that there was a plot underway to ensure his downfall, as Siert was not a conventional fighter. Jomier knew that hubris would be the Silver Lion's downfall as he watched from under his hood amongst the masses. Ser Locke could prevail, and thus ruin his own machinations against the man in the first place. It would be tragic to have to lose the fairly expensive bets he had placed against the Silver Lion, but he hoped his confidence placed in Siert was not misplaced.

He would have to wait and see as both Ser Locke and Siert took their positions opposing one another.

The Silver Lion lowered his helmet's visor with his shield hand as the trumpet sounded, signalling the start of their bout. No words were exchanged as he almost immediately pounced to have the initiative. He pushed forward aggresively, sauntering ahead as he twirled his flail. The movement made it seem as though he would go for a horizontal attack, but when he swung he brough his arm above his head and struck out from the right in a lateral direction!

 

[Vexumin]

Kyraug didn't seem to panic over the pain that was radiating along his ribs as he was being dragged away. If anything he was oddly patient, simply focusing until either Illec or another healer had come to close the injury. It was certainly an attempt on his life. He had thought Rozet was a man of honor, but it could be that when the fight was reaching its conclusion, the man decided to throw honor to the win and agree to the deals made to him in the end. Kyraug couldn't blame the fellow. It is possible that he fell into old habits. When you've fought in true combat, you'd want to win no matter the cost. If Kyraug hadn't brought him down as soon as he had, Rozet likely would have kept stabbing until the Vadyeen was ultimately dead.

If anything, it was a bitter realization for Kyraug, but he didn't let it bother him for too much longer. It was normal. He simply had to keep fighting. It's not like he was in this competition to prove anything either. He is a servant, and he was to win for the sake of his master. Nothing more, nothing less. As easily as hurting others came to him, Kyraug did not like it. Each blow to Rozet pained him until he realized that the knight would break his own weapon in order to win.

The Vadyeen clutched at his side as the shadows of the colosseum consumed him and he was suddenly among other fighters again. His dripping blood left a trail in his wake. Illec was preparing his tools until another healer, likely one who was hired for the sake of the event, came and rested his hands upon the wound. This man had talent for the wound to close without tools. Even Illec, as he approached with tools in hand, gazed enviously at the glow of magic as the injury is healed.

Kyraug offered the man a respectful, and thankful, nod of his head and a polite chuckle at the joke as he was rising to go on his way. Potentially to see other injured participants. Kyraug sat up, feeling at the quickly knit flesh that had been in taters but a moment ago. He breathed a sigh as he looked at his weapons. The sap was mostly find, but the blade had certainly seen better days. Rozet was something else when it came to using the spear. Judging from the soreness in his arms, Kyraug compared it to parrying the bolt of a ballista. This was an exaggeration of course, as he would never in his wildest dreams attempt such a thing. Still, it felt like that. For the time being, he would take the time to catch his breath. Who knew how long it would be until the next bought.

For the time being, Kyraug turned his attention to Jendrick. The young man had made it so far. The Vadyeen smirked at him.

"Either you're simply extremely humble, or you're trying to keep my expectations of you nice and low until the right moment. Whatever the case, I mourn not being able to see your own fight because of my own."

 

[K0mori]

"That would be delightful!" Desmond remarked. "I've read a lot about them, too. I learn a lot about the gods and spirits and demons, my family are masters of this knowledge, so says my sister. We have entire books on them, enough to fill an entire library! But we don't read them often, the paper is old and sometimes it falls apart just by touching it."

Rutu's ear twitched at Desmond's ongoing vocal admiration for his sister, and his tendency to base his worldview on her assertions. She turned her attention back to him, and slowly realized that Marina had just suggested a meeting between Rutu herself and Annaliese Valentova. She felt a knot forming in her stomach - if she was as much an expert as Desmond suggested, then she would doubtlessly be exposed as a fraud, and all of the uncomfortable fallout that would result from such a thing would fall on her head. Instantly, Rutu considered the prospect of coming clean to the woman - perhaps she would be intelligent enough to employ Rutu as a double-agent, but her recent experiences with the Empire's noble class gave her little reason to be so optimistic.

She couldn't care less about their library, but perhaps getting closer to the Vallachians' court by feigning interest in their spiritual matters was the best way to get her Lord some leverage over the creepy, isolated lot. Playing with secrets on both ends could make Rutu dangerous in a way which she had never actually been while working for Lazarus, but it was a double-edged sword. The worst possible outcome would be to make herself a naissance for both him and Lady Valentova. With Desmond's eagerness to please on full display, however, Rutu couldn't help but exploit it by suggesting that she recognized some greater, spiritual role was in store for his sister. "Words lost upon crumbling pages are due to be forgotten, lest someone commit them to memory, and be charitable to the future by speaking them," she remarked, a bit of sadness in her expression. "Your sister sounds very wise, and it would be an honor to meet with her," she said as her sagely smile returned.

The conversation returned to the subject of pantheons: namely, the gods of the Northmen. Again, Rutu listened patiently, but this time she kept an ear open for Desmond and Marina to ensure that the conversation wouldn't escape her clutches again.

Desmond glanced back around to Marina, grasped her hand, and mentioned in a quiet and excited voice, "Later I want to tell you all about the Skineaters and the Mist People!"

"The... the wha?" Marina replied, her face a bit pale as she maintained, against all odds, a smile. She looked to Rutu, who looked knowingly back at her with the slightest hint of a smirk. They were now in a game of chicken to determine which would run from whatever nightmarish Pandora's box they were opening. Neither would back down yet.

"The last one has few worshippers. Particularly unimportant." Ser Harald spoke first to qualify his characterization of this particular deity before introducing the name at last, "Radegast, god of magic."

"How could magic be unimportant?" Calder then shot towards the man-at-arms with annoyance.

"Because few can actually wield it." Ser Harald spoke to Calder with annoyance before returning his attention to Desmond and Rutu. "I suppose that concludes my brief overview of the old ways, then."

Rutu bowed slightly, and, putting on her best 'humble' face, spoke again: "Ser, I cannot thank you enough for your time. But I must disagree that rarity should make anyone or anything less worthy of our appreciation. After all, you have a God of the Sun, and we in the Redlands are ever-grateful that there is only one of those." She studied him a moment as he processed the joke. "We are all subject to a great turmoil of circumstances: that which we value, and that which we fear, appear and disappear of their own choosing. One may experience a true love, a great triumph, or a stroke of divine genius but once in their life, and these are no less indispensable milestones in our journey. Likewise," she said, her voice falling to nearly a whisper, "a strange and terrible disease may take you, and the weather may crash in upon your home, and you will be woeful that you did not revere them in their rarity."

Straightening out (as she had been leaning so far into her mannerisms that she was practically hunched over), she gave a warm and jovial smile. "Expect everything, Ser. The ancestors have seen it all, and cannot wait to show you."

Marina began to suspect that Rutu was trying to issue some sort of veiled threat, and decided to intervene. "Rutu," she said nervously, "should we not return to the games? We have been gone an awful long while."

Rutu nodded, her demeanor ever placid. "Yes, I believe we have strayed a bit out of tune. It was truly delightful to make your acquaintance."

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Oliver's head swiveled around, his eyes moving quickly to Valentova's own. "Courting?" he said, his expression one of confusion. "We're not courting. We just met yesterday in the gardens, and struck up a conversation. I imagine she came over to spend time with a new friend."

"...I do hope she's alright. Titus, once Maria returns, please go and check on her." he soon said.

"Oh, yes, I do believe she had intended to court you, good Lord," Valentova purred. "A failed attempt at that, too, it seems. Consider it the intuition of a fine, stately woman such as myself. I have seen such things before. I suspect she intended to capitalize on her previous, if brief, visitation with yourself. It does seem rather dreadful when you think about it, to take advantage of another's good nature like that, like a fly stealing away into the bakery."

She smiled once again and leaned towards Oliver, reaching out to gently touch his arm. "Of course, I do hope that I haven't startled you. I am simply enthralled. The day has been so full of energy and... surprises," she explained. It was evident that the young nobleman was finally catching on to her intentions, and she knew that now was the moment to at last step away so as not to overwhelm him. The seed had been planted, both the one of her ultimate goal and the one to poison his image of that piggish woman who had intruded so rudely.

Lady Valentova rose gracefully. "I have been away for too long from my own kin, and I do not wish to overstay my welcome here in your good company. But I do wish to bestow upon you one last gift that I hope you will cherish." Reaching up one of her sleeves, she removed a silken handkerchief, brand new and shining, with a golden "V" embroidered upon it in lace and likewise frilled in the same gilt coloring. "A token of my affections," she intoned as she held it over, followed by a low curtsy. The item was, naturally, well doused in her perfume, an exotic blend of foreign spice and the scent of the Vallachian forests. "For now, I must bid farewell."

She gestured at her knights and for Ser Friar to join her as her party departed in good order. Still, even as she walked away, she sent one last smile over her shoulder towards Oliver.

When she looked forwards again, the smile dropped, her eyes blazing with their usual intensity. Her once soft and whimsical gaze shifted over to her chamberlain. "I can't believe that bitch intruded like that. It could have gone perfectly if there was no competition, and now he wants to have one of his damned knights check on her? Fuck. I hate that fucking cow. Now he'll be thinking about her and not me and only me. I hate this ridiculous imperial-style courting in this godforsaken city. Back home I merely snap!" she said viciously, snapping her fingers as if she were striking an anvil, "and whatever pretty face I fancy will crawl - crawl! - to my feet and thank me for it."

"I think you performed admirably, your grace," Ser Friar intoned politely.

"Not good enough. I need to escalate, perhaps send him a portrait of myself. Or perhaps invite him to a walk in the countryside, perhaps along the river. I could fall in and he could undress me. My beauty in bare would be more than enough to solidify his desire for me and not some barn-born maid that just so happens to play a pretty damsel."

"Because few can actually wield it." Ser Harald spoke to Calder with annoyance before returning his attention to Desmond and Rutu. "I suppose that concludes my brief overview of the old ways, then."

"Words lost upon crumbling pages are due to be forgotten, lest someone commit them to memory, and be charitable to the future by speaking them," she remarked, a bit of sadness in her expression. "Your sister sounds very wise, and it would be an honor to meet with her," she said as her sagely smile returned.

Rutu nodded, her demeanor ever placid. "Yes, I believe we have strayed a bit out of tune. It was truly delightful to make your acquaintance."

Desmond happily smiled at the conclusion of the little theology lesson from Ser Herald, eager as the boy was for learning, even if the elder knight seemed somewhat grouchy. He tipped his tasseled bicorne in thanks.

Looking back around at Rutu, his expression shifted to one of slight confusion as she spoke of words lost on crumbling pages. He liked books, so any words becoming forgotten made him feel sad, especially those of the family library. Some of the letters and words he couldn't even remember if he tried really hard to, but he figured Rutu already knew all about such things. Instead, a smile rocketed back onto his face when the woman spoke of his sister. "Oh, yes, she is very wise and smart! She would love to meet you - all of you!" he said, looking between Rutu, Marina, and Ser Herald and his knights. "I'm very good at writing letters, so I shall write the official invitations on her behalf. Maybe we could have a gathering later today at dinner! Or midnight when the moon is really bright! Though, I must speak with my sister first on when exactly since that is her decision. It could even be tomorrow," he said glumly, his youthful eagerness demanding immediate engagement.

With farewells being exchanged, Prince Desmond added his own with a courtly bow. "It was a pleasure to speak with everyone! Please be mindful of my invitations, they will have my family seal upon them," he said, raising his hand to show off the ring upon his hand. It was a bronze signet as was common with many nobles. His in particular was a stylized V with a rabbit's head between the lines, which was his nickname as given by his sister, who had a horned stag's skull upon hers. His was newly made and granted not long after his tenth birthday, while Annaleise's ring always belonged to the family head and had been that way for many generations.

The young prince smiled once again to his new apparent friends before departing with his paired knights, both of which sharing much less enthuisiasm than their ward did over the impromptu meeting. He had also been gone long enough, and his sister had already made it clear to him how dangerous the city was no matter where they were. He would only be safe where she could see him, she always said.

 

[Infab]

"There is another matter I will need you for." he then spoke to Maria while she was still within his reach. "The situation of the Redlands grows particularly more precarious by the day, which in turn requires greater attention from other crises our Empire currently faces."

He turned his head and nodded across the rafters to where House von Holt's viewing box was at. "I will need you to speak with Lord von Holt, relay a message for me that I would wish to speak with him regarding the Redlands following the tournament's end."

"Of course, my lord." responded Maria with a slight bow of her head. "It shall be done."

Maria glanced back towards the Froste box, and noticed that Lady Valentova was departing. "Ah, it seems the young Lord has finished entertaining his surprise guest. I do hope it went well." she stated, mostly to herself, before looking to Uchtred. "If I learn of anything new, my Lord, I'll shall return and inform you of such. That, or write to you."

After she stood, she bowed again. "Hopefully the rest of the tournament proceeds smoothly. A pleasure speaking with you, my Lord." she said, giving Uchtred a faint smile. She then turned about, and proceeded out of the box. However, instead of heading back to House Froste's box, she proceeded directly towards where von Holt was seated. She had a message to pass along, after all.

Once she arrived near one of his guards, she spoke. "Lord Kragh wished for me to deliver a message to Lord von Holt, before I made my way back to my own Lord's side." she stated, looking to the guards, then past them to her intended target.


Yep. She's courting me. Oh boy.

Oliver smiled politely, listening as Valentova spoke. As she offered the silken handkerchief, he gently took it. it was rather remarkable in its details; Apparently a lot of focus and thought went into its look. It also smelled strongly of perfume, but not overwhelmingly so, at least. As she curtsied, Oliver quickly stood and gave a returning bow. He had no idea what the hell he was doing. This wasn't something he learned from his father, or from Titus and Maria. He was running blind into this.

"It was a pleasure, Lady Valentova." he said. Titus also gave his own bow, though it was more of just a downward tilt of his head. Once Valentova and her entourage were gone, Oliver sank back into his seat and sighed.

Titus chuckled. "That all could have gone better. Probably would have, had 'the Blade of the Southron Wind' decided not to play the part of jackass." stated the knight, glancing down to Oliver. He noticed the look on Oliver's face, before speaking again. "My lord, it was going to happen regardless as to if you were prepared or not. You're a young man now. You need to start looking for potential wives... or concubines. You know how you're father felt about that sort of thing, though."

"...I know, Titus." responded Oliver, "...I could have used at least a little heads-up on what to do, though."

"Apologies, my lord. Maria and I were preoccupied with... far too many other things. As was your father."

"Yes, I know... What should we send to her in response to this bone flute? And the... uh... handkerchief?"

"That would be a question for Maria. I'm not exactly the courting type, with all this armor on."

The response earned a chuckle from Oliver. "You're right. Maybe one day, you can be seen outside of it without anyone caring."

Titus nodded. "Maybe one day, my lord."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

He sees his opponent saunter onto the arena, hefting a shield and flail, carried forwards by the crowd's titillating cheers. The very air itself was electric with their roaring praise. However, unlike with the Southron Wind, the sellsword felt no blasphemous envy of the man's status. While he cloaked himself in the confidence, Siert stood there with a singular focus. Keen. Single-minded. The thunderous exclamations of the crowd had been subdued into a lowly hiss to Siert's ear. The only sounds were the trumpet. And the groaning wind.

No words were bandied. The Silver Lion darted, pouncing as though he were predator and warrior alike. He swung his flail wide, dulled spikes scraping Siert's chestplate, metal screeching, as the sellsword stepped backwards to avoid it. His breath had caught in his throat, but Siert did not freeze. He moved into his guard, hoping to limit the space for his flail, instead of raising his sword however, he turned the blade towards himself, gripping it with both hands. The sword's crossguard went high to low, from top left to bottom right. This strike could not end their duel, but it was the opening move in their bout, something to unbalance him, to give him pause at best.

joshuadim

 

[joshuadim]

The Fairgrounds - The Grand Tournament
K0mori [Rutu]. Emperor Sagan [Desmond]​

Ser Harald could not help but let out a slight scoff towards Rutu's remark towards the sun, but otherwise remain stone-faced as he observed the Glyrran without moving a single muscle. It was hard to tell what the iron man was feeling, but in his thoughts he came to a conclusion after having listened to her ramblings and words for some time and studied her demeanour: For what reason does Lord von Holt need a fraud in his midst? he wondered to himself. He wasn't one to question such things publicly, as it was not his place, but he could not help but recognize just how hard Rutu was trying to fit into this role that she found herself in. He spared a quick, knowing glance to Marina, but otherwise remained silent on the matter as Desmond let his enthusiasm be known again.

Calder in the meantime listened as Desmond went on about his sister, the Lady Valentova, and blinked twice on the brief mention of her own knowledge. Just how many people are this well-read here? Calder wondered to himself, I didn't expect many nobles to be like this. He didn't have much time to ruminate on the idea as everyone began to depart to return to the tournament itself, which made Calder perk his ears up. "Come now, we ought to return to our Lord." Ser Harald began to say as he turned to leave, which made Calder's urgency all the more pressing as he cleared his throat.

"Rutu! Uh..." the Wulpine quickly managed to blurt out in time before she and her entourage left, "...if possible, could we speak more at a later time?"

---

The Staging Grounds - The Grand Tournament
Vexumin [Kyraug], Breadman [Golbert]​

"Hah!" Jendrick laughed aloud when Kyraug made light of potential deceit, "I wish I was as skilled as a knight, if that's what you mean." The young man grinned, motioning with the butt of his warhammerr to the Vadyeen as it rested upon his shoulder. "Truth be told, I simply fight the best that I can. I've got no style, no form... just my strength." And Kyraug could indeed see that, for the young man's age, he was exceptionally well built. His muscles bulged, almost threatening to tear out of his under attire from his leather armour that seemed to be the only thing he could have afforded for the event thus far. "I guess I'm just naturally like an ox, like my ma used to say. I'd help her carry the cart often when I was a lad still. And now the forge helps me with that too."

He wiped the sweat from his brow as he approached Kyraug, before peering down to where his wound had been. He observed the renewed flesh with some childlike awe before speaking up: "What did it feel like? Having magic used on you by the healer?" Jendrick then asked, "I've heard stories, folk tales, of the maester's work. But I'd never seen it for myself."

In the meantime, as Goldbert rested from his most recent bout, he saw two unexpected faces pass nearby; Enya and Reimar Kragh both walked to head from the tournament to the fairgrounds itself, but the latter managed to see the watcher and quickly changed direction much to the annoynace of his sister. "I promise, it won't be long... I simply need to ask a few things."

Enya sighed as she crossed her arms for some comfort, as she would have preferred to be as far away from the tournament as possible ever since Ser Faralt's gift made her the center of unwanted attention. On approach, Reimar gave the man a wave: "Hello... I remember you from the palace." Reimar stated, "I had some questions about the Watchers, if you don't mind answering them?"

---

The Melee - The Grand Tournament
Worthlessplebian [Siert]​

Siert's gambit worked at first, as his blade's guard caught the Silver Lion unexpectedly - believing himself to fight against a conventional foe - and forced him back to provide some breathing room for Siert. But Ser Locke recovered his stance as he planted his feet into the dirt below and steadied himself, quickly blocking a following strike that came from Siert and shoving him back roughly with enough force that nearly knocked the mercenary onto his ass. The Silver Lion was not finished however as he charged forth again, swinging his flail from upwards to try to strike a devastating blow onto SIert's helmet. A blow like that would have concussed and even perhaps knocked him out had it landed, but he only just managed to scramble away in time by using his stumbling to his advantage.

By rolling onto the ground, the Silver Lion's weapon thudded against the dirt and Siert escaped only dirtied and covered in dust as a result. The crowd cheered with every action taken, though only one among them remained silent. Jomier observed the bout with some concern as he watched the difficulties Siert faced thus far, thinking to himself: Wait for an opening. Don't try to break through his defenses through force. the lordling thought to himself, knowing that his advice would never be heard at this time. He could only hope that Siert held that same intuition as the two circled one another like jackals competing over a carcass.

No words were exchanged between the two of them as they studied one another, with the Silver Lion's own helmet obscuring his gaze. It was impossible to tell what the man was looking at, making any tells as to his next move difficult to discern. His plate creaked as he shifted his posture, before another onslaught came to Siert. The knight charged, first swinging with his flail; Siert sidestepped this with ease but was then struck with the man's shield, which sent him stumbling back with a twirl. Another swing from his flail then connected with Siert's chestplate, sending him to his knees and knocking the wind out of his lungs.

Ser Locke thus far held the advantage so long as he held the initiative, and thus carried himself in an aggressive manner that sought to overwhelm his opponent. In other instances, this worked as it crushed his enemy before they ever had a chance to put up a defence or a counterattack. But that was when dealing with a traditionally trained knight of the realms, which Siert was not. The man himself saw other opportunities that were often overlooked when dealing with fighting stances and armoured enemies. And in Ser Locke's supposed moment of triumph, he saw a gap in the Silver Lion's defenses as he swung from the outside with a long arc meant more for power than precision. One aimed towards a target he thought he had already defeated.

Jomier watched with abated breath, eager to see what his mercenary hiree would do.

 

[K0mori]

Having watched the entire drama play out between Lady Valentova and Lord Froste through a series of glances, as he did not want to be noticed staring at them, Lazarus turned back toward the games almost giddy with amusement at the entre embarrassing scene he had just witnessed. Dominik, of course, had been fixated on the battles the entire time, and left the Lord to whatever gossip that was consuming his attention.

Once she arrived near one of his guards, she spoke. "Lord Kragh wished for me to deliver a message to Lord von Holt, before I made my way back to my own Lord's side." she stated, looking to the guards, then past them to her intended target.

Von Holt's party was small enough that even with the noise of the crowd all about, the Lord was able to detect someone's approach and turned before lazily beckoning Maria to come closer. The guard moved out of the way immediately to allow her to pass.

"I heard you say you had a message from Lord Kragh. You're..." he said, struggling slightly to remember to which noble house she was subject, before Dominik turned to see what Lazarus was talking about.

"Oh, it's Maria - the stewardess from House Froste, sir," he explained. "We spoke in the gardens yesterday...?"

"Ah!" Lazarus chuckled, remembering the brief recap he had been given that morning from the guard captain of Dominik and Rutu's encounter with the Houses Valentova and Froste the previous day, despite the alcohol-induced fog that was settling over his senses. He put aside his wine goblet and bowed his head while shrugging. "I apologize for not recognizing you sooner. What message does the esteemed Lord have for me?"

---
​

"Rutu! Uh..." the Wulpine quickly managed to blurt out in time before she and her entourage left, "...if possible, could we speak more at a later time?"

Rutu's ear pivoted nearly a full 180-degrees as she halted in her tracks.

Marina looked to her tiredly. Please don't... Whatever you're tempted to do or say, just be normal...

The witch turned and smiled. "Should the winds not call me elsewhere, you will see me again," she promised. Marina breathed a sigh of relief and the two continued walking. It wasn't long before they entered the arena and climbed the steps back up to the nobles' viewing boxes, arriving to find Lazarus engaged in a conversation with Maria from House Froste.

 

[Infab]

"I heard you say you had a message from Lord Kragh. You're..." he said, struggling slightly to remember to which noble house she was subject, before Dominik turned to see what Lazarus was talking about.

"Oh, it's Maria - the stewardess from House Froste, sir," he explained. "We spoke in the gardens yesterday...?"

Maria gave a singular nod. "Yes, indeed we did. A pleasure to see you again." she responded, politely smiling as she stepped past the guard.

"I apologize for not recognizing you sooner. What message does the esteemed Lord have for me?"

"He wishes to speak with you, my Lord, in regards to the Redlands after the tournament's conclusion. What about in regards to the Redlands, he did not say." she responded. As she finished, she glanced past Lazarus and Dominik to see that Rutu was returning with someone from Lord von Holt's delegation. Maria smiled politely towards them, and gave another singular nod as a sort of bow.

As her gaze returned to Rutu, an idea manifested in her head. She found the glyrran rather interesting, really. Certainly entertaining, and certainly worth further study.

"I see Rutu has returned. It was a delight talking to her yesterday, and to you as well, Captain." she said, shifting her gaze before looking to the Lord among them. "I'm certain my young Lord would love to meet them as well. Perhaps we could oblige them with a stay in Tarth at some point in the near future? We don't have guests often, as far north as we are, save for ones related to the usual imperial business that my late Lord was involved with."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

As his blade's guard crashed into Ser Locke's form, the clang of metal against metal loud, Siert felt a rush of satisfaction. He was swiftly disabused of such a feeling. The Lion went back, giving himself enough room to recover his bearings. Siert pressed the Lion, striking again. But the Ser Locke flicked his shield up in time to divert the blow to one side, leaving the sellsword open for retaliation. Siert found himself thrown backwards, stumbling. His battle-honed reflexes kicked in, Siert tumbled away, metal plates clinking against the hard dirt. The Lion's flail thumped on the cold ground.

The sellsword scrambled to his feet, resisting the urge to spit. His breathing rasped, Siert could feel the moisture of his breaths. The grip on his sword tightened as the two men glared from opposite ends of the arena, circle round the arena like a pair of wolves. Siert knew, by virtue of his experience and intuition, that there was no prising this opponent from the fortress of his defense. He would have to rely on an opening, the barest slit to drive his sword and deliver the killing blow. The wind howled sharply as Ser Locke stormed forward, flail swinging fast and low. Siert, overzealous, jinked to one side immediately, sidestepping on instinct rather than a measured maneuver. This would cost him. At the end of his sidestep, Siert was met with his folly — the hard rim of Ser Locke's shield drove into him, spinning him back forcibly. The moment of collision left a dent in Siert's plate, bruising his left ribs.

With no hesitation, Ser Locke slammed the blunted flail against the sellsword's chest. An ear-splitting crack as metal embraced metal for the briefest moment. Unarmoured, the sellsword's sternum and ribs would've been pulverised, shards of bone would be sent into his lungs. However, as it was, the wind was driven from his lungs, he fell to his knees. He was still reeling, the pain spreading from his chest like a wildfire, one hand splayed over his chest. He inclined his head up, seeing Ser Locke spin his flail for the final strike.

If Siert tried to parry with his longsword, he would've been too slow. But he didn't use his longsword. With the weapon abandoned in the dirt, Siert surged to his feet and forwards, heart pumping, flooding his body with more adrenaline. He took the blow on his shoulder, weakened but still deadly, feeling a bone crack beneath the plate, he endured it, deadened to the sensation of pain. He slammed his helmet into Ser Locke's, one hand snatching the wrist of the flail arm immediately while Siert's free arm grabbed the edge of his breast plate, headbutting the noble again. The crowd roared with excitement at the unorthodox maneuver, their cheers matching the cracks of steel upon steel.

One arm kept the flail pinned to the side, while the other punched again and again into Ser Locke's head, the gauntlet ringing from the polished, grey helm. Then he began swinging as though his arm were a mace and his fist the head. He couldn't do this for long. The Lion, even dazed from the flurry of blows, tried to wedge his shield and separate the two. But then Siert lifted his foot and stomped on the back of the man's knee, forcing the noble to fall. The back of his gauntlet struck the Lion a final time, before Siert clambered to his longsword still laying on the ground. He spun around, Locke stunned momentarily, he saw the opportunity.

He lifted his sword above his head and drove the tip downwards, stabbing into the soft flesh beneath the hard greaves, its merciless tip crushing the noble's kneecap in its wake. But the Lion struck at Siert with his last breath, the flail embedded itself into the leather of his waist.

Siert managed to bite back his scream, pushing the Lion off and into the ground. The crowd had gone silent. The only sounds were the Lion's wails, interspersed with curses at the sellsword, as the mercenary limped away, ferried by the last ounces of his strength. Soon he would be accompanied by his avian, Coen, who seemed eerily pleased by the sellsword's bloodied results. "I need a drink. And a physician. The first then the other." Siert murmured, voice heavy with pain.

 

[Breadman]

Hello... I remember you from the palace. I had some questions about the Watchers, if you don't mind answering them?

"Ah, hello again." Goldberd looked up from his seat. After the last bout, the scoutmaster had hoped for some peace before he would have to go out into the arena once again. It looked as fate had other plans by bringing him the eager lordling to talk to. "As I recall you had asked the Highlord to join our ranks. I can only assume that our dear Pila failed to ward you off with her endearing hateful glare." His eye examined the young lord "She was very mean to you I think. I think she just doesn't like other noble blood if I am honest, so if she could scare you away, she'd do it. Nothing personal I assure you. She's just from a family that solved all their disputes with an axe to the forehead." He chuckled "Maybe if you run well and hide in the bushes, I can take you on an expedition. Ah, but I get ahead of myself. What wisdom can this crow share with you?"

 

[K0mori]

"He wishes to speak with you, my Lord, in regards to the Redlands after the tournament's conclusion. What about in regards to the Redlands, he did not say." she responded. As she finished, she glanced past Lazarus and Dominik to see that Rutu was returning with someone from Lord von Holt's delegation. Maria smiled politely towards them, and gave another singular nod as a sort of bow.

"Well," Lazarus said, his face a bit flush with pride, thanks to the alcohol in his system, "I will certainly see to Lord Kragh's concerns, thank you."

"I see Rutu has returned. It was a delight talking to her yesterday, and to you as well, Captain." she said, shifting her gaze before looking to the Lord among them. "I'm certain my young Lord would love to meet them as well. Perhaps we could oblige them with a stay in Tarth at some point in the near future? We don't have guests often, as far north as we are, save for ones related to the usual imperial business that my late Lord was involved with."

Lazarus' face lightened up, genuine surprise and amusement on his face. the latter of which he tried (somewhat poorly) to conceal as he worried it would give away the game. "I will... check into our mutual obligations. While I have plenty of need for my witch's consul, there will certainly be opportunities for her to travel abroad in the near future."

 

[Vexumin]

Kyraug was not surprised that it took little else than Jendrick's strength to guide him as far through the tournament as it had. The younger fellow was certainly stronger than most of those sharing the space below the arena. It was impressive, especially knowing that he'd pull carts when he was even younger than now. Kyraug would never be able to boast the same. He is capable of lightning fast movement, but anything requiring strength over reflexes, he is completely incapable.

He gets up from where he was settled, feeling at the length of flesh that had once been in tatters. It was just along where the flesh turned from rough green to the smooth off-white from his belly to his neck. It was the perfect place for an attempt at ending him. However, there wasn't even a scar in the place of the injury. He was completely fine. Even whatever wounded internals were untouched.

He had been healed plenty of times by Illec, but that usually requires a bit of pain in order to properly fix what is damaged. This was just... nothing.

When Jendrick asked about it, the Vadyeen puts his hands together and then brings them apart in a sort of "poof" gesture.

"I'll tell you true, Jendrick. With a man like that about, a soldier need not fear any blow. First the wound was there, then it was simply gone. Pain and all. Perhaps the memory stuck around for a moment, but it faded in an instant. Fight true and with all your strength. I think that this is the safest place to fight now. However, just do what you can that no one lands a killing blow."

Kyraug recalls Rozet's face. The look in the mans eyes as Kyraug's own weapon was hammering down on him. It was certainly the intent to kill in the end. When hope ran dry and all that was left was the determination to claim victory.

"I fear that this power, as magnificent as it is, may not be enough should someone try to push things to the very end. Relenting only when one or the other has perished. I believe my own opponent had resolved to do the same. I am glad I managed to spare him, despite being settle matters in death."

 

[joshuadim]

The Melee - The Grand Tournament
Worthlessplebian [Siert]
​

The Silver Lion yelled in pain as his knee was obliterated with a precise strike, leaving him crippled and incapable of fighting. The crowd went silent for a moment as this unfolded, a few even wincing and looking away from the spectacle as a brave warrior of the realm was reduced to a screaming mess as he clutched at his ruined leg. The entire legacy of such a proud man was now reduced to nothing, as Siert departed with cold gazes trailing his steps. Ser Locke would not compete, if not fight ever again, any longer as his two squires quickly rushed out onto the sands of the arena and quickly - with the help of a few others from his entourage - carried him out. While there certainly were cheers from the more bloodthirsty members of the crowd, many others jeered and shouted in anger.

They had been promised a spectacle, and instead were treated to a horrendous display of roguish deception and humiliation. Even the Emperor shifted uncomfortably in his seat to such a turn of events, as his gaze quickly darted to the Master of Tournaments who looked on with mouth agape in shock. But it was when he noticed the most powerful man on the continent's glare piercing through him that he regained his voice and quickly formed an answer: "M-my liege, I'll see him punished at once for this!" he managed to stammer out before quickly making his exit from House Brentor's viewing box.

"What in the Hells was that?" Prince Landon managed to get out, shaking a goblet in his hand as he sat in his seat with annoyance laced across his face. "He just ruined the whole scene! Now the mood is all fucked!"

"You really thought there wouldn't be intrigue with all the great houses here you oaf?" Prince Davin shot as a retort to his older brother. "Someone set this up."

"Enough." the Emperor then spoke sternly, pinching the bridge of his nose from frustration. "You can squabble all you want later. But we ought to keep appearances up for the sake of the realm."

His word was enough to quell rising tensions among the brothers, if only for now, as Cabrus stifled a snicker.

---

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

Reimar was somewhat taken aback by how open Goldbert was with his rhetoric, but cleared his throat to push on with his agenda. "I'm more used to being looked down at for being a bastard than anything." the young man responded with a nod, "I know my grandfather demanded that he speak to the Highlord later regarding all this but... I want my life to mean something. I want to be able to do something where I can say I made a difference." He sounded almost like a bright-eyed young boy thinking of knights slaying of dragons, except in this case it was about serving at the very fringes of civilization.

An unappetizing prospect for most, yet he seemed wholly undaunted by. "If... if you could put in a word for me to the Highlord. I would greatly appreciate it."

"Well, nobody wants a fight to last too long then eh?" Jendrick said to the Vadyeen with a smile, "Dunno if I would spare someone who tried to kill me like that... then again, never had anyone actually try." He then shifted his gaze to a now just arriving Siert, whose bout had quickly drawn the ire of many and the details of which were now spreading amongst the remaining contenders. Both he and Kyraug could overhear how the sellsword had just crippled a knight of the realm with what would be considered a dishonorable move of deception and intruige. It was then that he noticed the arrival of the Master of Tournaments with an entourage of guards, his face plastered with barely contained fury, and marched straight towards Siert. "Looks like we're about to find out what's happened."

Reimar noticed this as well as his attention quickly swerved from Golbert and towards the developing situation as he watched the sellsword intently. Siert would be confronted by this group as the man pointed a finger to him: "By my authority placed upon me by the Emperor, you are hereby disqualified!" he shouted, hand trembling as he barely managed to maintain his composure. "Gather your belongings and GET OUT!" In the near distance, he could spot Jomier's cloaked figure observing as he waved to him. It was as though he was beckoning him to come over to him once he had departed, and he could just make out a grin from the lordling's mouth from under the man's hood.