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Aug 11 13 1:26 AM
Aug 16 13 7:37 PM
Krita Rodsvard VS Bayl Sennick
Anyone who watched Krita ride onto the list could probably tell she was not comfortable in the full plate that she wore. In the North leather was moreprominentt, augmented with a plate here and there. The nobility like Krita’s father and brother wore chain. Since the Red Zenith she had mostly worn her revealing wolf armor, which was more for looks than protection. That is until she started her training in Tsukimatsu. There she wore what they told her, mostly comfortable leathers. The full plate was only something she tackled in the week since deciding she would try the joust to make Arthion proud.
As uncomfortable as the rider seemed, the horse didn’t seem to have problems with the added weight. The horse she was riding was a powerful horse, a warhorse of the same breed as the rest of those that came from South Port. It wasn’t Oblekt, Krita had listened to Idril and Arthion’s advice when she heard a victor could take her horse in certain situations. The absence of Oblekt made Krita wish that she had fought harder to have Megwan come North with them, instead she was left with some young guard to handle her lances.
“Lords and Ladies, the combatants of this bout.” The herald motioned over to Krita where she nervously looked on through the visor of her non-descript helmet. “The Champion from Kronnborg, daughter of Lord Ammon, Krita Rodsvard.”
Holding onto the reins of her horse stood Lord Arthion Tsukimatsu. In his other arm was their son giggling and cooing as he tried to reach over his father’s shoulder to pet the horses snout “No matter what happens. Krita.” The wolf prince looked up to smile at her “I am proud of you. Just standing here is very brave.”
Krita grinned not even realizing that Arthion would not see it behind her helmet. She was not used to having her face covered after all. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said as she waited for her opponent to be announced. “I don’t have a very good feeling about my victory, but life isn’t all about victories is it now?”
Arthion smirked “I was unhorsed on my very first run. Followed by a tongue lashing by my father and a swat against the back of my head still dizzy from the fall and headshot the other opponent dropped on me.” He smiled up at her and chuckled “The point is to learn not win.”
Krita laughed, “I’ve been doing a lot of learning this last week, but not enough that more lessons won’t help me get better. All I’ve really got is ride fast, hold the blunt end in the cradle of your arm and put the pointy end into your opponent. Hope that’s enough to get me through this bout. You’ll still love me if this Raven mutilates me right?”
“Depends.” Arthion laughed “I might be too busy mutilating the raven back.” Just then the harold stepped out with the flag “Lance!” Arthion called to one of the servants who handed her the lance “Do your best.” He told her
“Doo Best!” The little boy repeated with a playful giggle
“How could I do any less for my two boys?” Krita asked proudly. “And mutilating my opponent for beating me fairly would prove your love Arthion. Of course Kol and I would have to visit you in a Raven’s cage for the rest of your life, but we’ll just hope my best will avoid such a situation.”
Arthions laughter could be heard as he let the reins go and slapped the flank of her horse to send her forward just as the flag dropped
“Krita Rodsvard...” The herald said, introducing Bayl’s opponent. The wildling woman sat atop her horse as if she were straddling a hog, clearly not used to the armor she wore. Bayl on the other hand looked quite the part of a noble knight of the north clad in his black armor, his squires standing at his side dutifully as they held his banner and gear. The young Sennick lordling brushed a gauntleted hand through his chestnut hair, taking in a deep, confident breath as the herald introduced him: “And Bayl Sennick, nephew of Lord Rael Sennick, of Raven’s Watch!”
The crowd could have been louder, a few cheers rising through the stands at his name. A small grimace crossed his face as it was abundantly clear the crowd probably couldn’t care less about this match. If only he were facing someone of more... renown, like Ser Andrik or Hayden Reynolt. He was definitely on even ground with them, quite above competing against barbarian scum.
“I suppose everyone must start somewhere...” He said dismissively as his squires placed his helmet atop his head, another handing him his lance. He pulled his visor down to cover his face with his free hand, his light blue eyes focused on the flag hanging limp between him and Krita. As soon as the flag dropped, he kicked his heels into his horse, his squires adding their cries as the horse bounded toward Krita, his lance remaining upright until coming down level in a semi-practiced motion.
The slap the hindquarters of her horse sent it into motion. It was not Oblekt she sat on, but getting a horse moving in the right direction at the right pace was second nature to the Northwoman, or wildling as she had heard herself called here in Raven’s Watch, where the silly locals considered to be North. As the horse charged Krita’s lance lowered. She tried to remember all that Idril and the others had taught her over the last week, it wasn’t a very promising making a real try at tournament one week after picking up a lance for the first time, as she told Arthion she only knew the basics. So she made sure that the handle was tucked properly as Idril had shown her, and pointed the tip at her opponent, not even aiming it at a specific body part, just hoping for the best.
As the combatants drew closer, Krita clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes in concentration. She still chose no real target for the tip of her lance except the armored form of her opponent. As the two crossed paths Krita heard to cracks, and closed her eyes for a moment as she saw splinters of the broken lances spray in front of her. She felt the tug against her arm and then solid contact against her side closest to the rail. Her legs clamped tightly to the saddle of her horse to avoid being thrown to the ground. When she reached the far side of the lists she was breathing heavily, aching in her side, and proud of her first run.
Bayl gritted his teeth as Krita’s lance struck him hard against his side, although he took some solace when his own lance did the same. His squires hastily tended to his needs, raising his visor and dabbing his brow, then filling his empty hand with a fresh lance. He gave the wildling woman a venomous glance, as if she transgressed for even touching his armor, and lowered his visor over his face before charging onward, the herald just barely signaling for the start of the next pass.
Krita gave a look to the other side of the arena, but it was not to lock gaze with her opponent. She looked to Arthion and smiled, knowing that a first run ending in a tie was something to be happy with. The ‘wildling’ quickly regained focus, waited for the signal and spurred her horse into action once again. She hooked her arm around the lance and leaned towards her opponent just as she had in the first pass. This time she heard only one lance break and the pain she felt coursing through her head told her it was not hers. Slumped slightly in the saddle she made it to the far side and a most likely concerned Arthion.
“This lance seems quite intact, do I change it out for the last run? Or just keep riding with it?” she asked hoping her naivety to the rules would break any concern he had for her wellbeing.
Arthion snatched up the reins to the horse, his son had been handed off to the nursmaid who stood off to the side with the boy “Replace it.” Arthion said as he waved over a squire to make sure she was well and to switch out the lances. For the most part he didn’t sound worried at all, but then he was really good at hiding such emotions, the action of changing lances was to keep her motivated even if it was as new as before.
Krita smiled at the calmness coming from Arthion. She would ask Idril later if the lance really needed to be replaced, but for now she was happy for the action to fill the time. Her opponent would have to change out his broken lance, so if she kept the last one she would just be waiting for the next flag to be raised. She looked at the tally with disappointment. “Any suggestions on how to avoid getting hit?” she asked teasingly. “I doubt the lucky lance handed to me by my love will be enough to make up the points.”
Arthion chuckled “Just don’t think about it. Hold the lance stable and focus on something past it and your opponent.... A spider on his back or something. Try and squash that spider.”
Krita let out a soft chuckle, “Take a spider off a charging knight’s back with a lance?” she retorted. “Wouldn’t I be better served aiming for the Raven’s crotch, or eyeholes? Maybe I could pick a flea off his horse for him.”
“You could try” Arthion chuckled “The suggestion worked for Idril anyways. She truly hates spiders, the guy was taken to the healers after that run.”
Krita gave a genuine laugh imagining Idril striking a spider, “Have I ever cringed away from such a tiny creature? I’ll just pretend the charging Sennick is your father on one of his tirades. That should prove enough incentive.”
Arthion also laughed “Then go silence the angry Tsukimatsu.” he stepped back to allow her room to charge just as the flag dropped. Krita saw Arthion back and the flag signal her last charge. She rushed forward picturing the man who was her training captain and wishful father-in-law. In truth even in his angriest Krita didn’t wish the Lord harm, but delivering a blow and putting him on his back would be very satisfying, more inspiration than winning a tilt in front of a bunch of Ravens and other nobles. Teeth ground together, lance tucked tightly, and pointed directly and the imagined face of Lord Tsukimatsu atop the charging horse on the other side of the lists.
The two armored hulks road against each other again, Bayl locking his eyes upon his target with an uncharacteristic resolve. He aimed dead center, hoping to knock his opponent off her horse. As the two lances met, Bayl’s face erupted in pain, kicking his head back and nearly knocking him off balance. He was able to right himself though, his own lance burst in several pieces at it collided with Krita’s chest piece square in the center.
He missed his mark by a hairs breadth, but at least he wasn’t beaten as the herald announced the balance of strikes.
“Krita Rodsvard strikes the helm of Bayl, worth two points. Bayl strikes Lady Rodsvard in the midsection. Lord Bayl takes the victory, four points to three.”
A few cheers came from the stands, although not nearly of the octave Bayl had hoped. He rode his horse back around to his end, removing his helmet and cracking his neck. A squire raised a ladle of water to his lips, Bayl drinking deeply, then turning about to inspect the state of his opponent.
Krita waited for the result to be announced and then turned her horse and headed back to where Arthion waited for her. She tossed the broken lance to the side. As she rode giving her opponent a nod when they crossed paths. “Well, hit your dear Daddy in the head, but just wouldn’t go down...just like the real thing. One point loss isn’t that bad though, and I can give this horse back so Oblekt won’t get jealous.”
Arthion chuckled as he took the reins of the horse “You did great Krita! This was your first run after all. You did wonderful.” he praised as he moved the horse away from the lists so they could tend to her and free of the heavy armor.
Krita laughed, “Let’s go relax somewhere.”
Aug 17 13 1:27 AM
Aug 17 13 2:52 AM
Liel Sennick VS Cameron Kilkotte
The roars of the crowd rose to near hysteria as one of the premier knights of the event rode forth on his muscular black Destrier, a small smile on his face as the crowds stamped their feet in unison and called out as if with one voice: “Raven of Kaith! Raven of Kaith! Raven of Kaith!” Blue flags bearing the black Raven of House Sennick were waved vigorously by fanatical men and women in the stands, women leaning far over the wooden railings to get a glimpse of the famed Lord’s black hair draped over his silver crested black armor. He looked up at a series of young women, giving them a practiced smirk and wink, of which they grew even more excited and brazen in their affections, one rather large woman even pulling her top up revealing her very unappealing chest in all its glory.
Liel merely averted his gaze, focusing more on the words his partner in crime had to say as they neared their position. Ser Stephan cast a weathered glance about, striding alongside. "Although I suppose more surprising things have happened.”
“Like a prince in disguise fighting Idril La Siene, beating her by drawing a dagger and pulling her in close for a passionate kiss? I’m sure.”
Stephan shook his head with a soft chuckle at Liel’s response: “Even still, i’m sure those pretty ladies are enough reason to impress?” The Knight cast a lustful glance up to the women in the stands, who clearly weren’t paying even the slightest of attention as they continued to fawn and roar at the Raven of Kaith.
“Perhaps.” Liel said casually: “But believe it or not, I’m not too interested in whoring myself out to every woman I please at the moment. One bastard is enough for me at the moment...”
Stephan’s grin curled into a snarl: “My boys love you, you know. They may be bastards but they’re good ‘uns.”
“They are, but I’m merely saying I’d like to have a trueborn heir for my new seat. Not another baseborn who would be looked upon with disdain.” He waved an iron clad hand at the crowds, cracking his neck: “But anyway, wish me luck. The last thing I want is to embarrass myself with happenstance.”
The procession finally made its way to their starting point, the herald of the match regarding the Raven of Kaith with a nod of respect. On the other side of him was Cameron Kilkotte in all his glory, Liel giving the young knight a nod before his squires placed his Raven shaped helm over his head. With a loud, penetrating cry, the herald began. “Introducing the premier match of the day! Cameron Kilkotte, of Harglen, facing off against Liel Sennick, the Raven of Kaith!”
As if the cheers couldn’t rise to an even higher level, they seemingly did as hardly anything else could be heard. The herald sighed, raising the flag indicating the start of the first tilt, Lord Rael locking eyes with his brother and giving the Raven a firm nod.
On the far end of the arena, a red-haired young man sat atop a chestnut mare. He was in the middle of checking over his white-outlined, green-enamelled steel armor when he looked up and noticed the arrival of the Raven of Kaith.
Cameron Kilkotte was an athletic young man of twenty-one name days, with the curly red hair and freckled cheeks that marked him as a citizen of Harglen. Knighted only three years ago, the man was used to being marked as a novice in most places in the world, and had often been forced to prove his worth as a knight before he would be taken seriously. As tense as this very moment was for him, being that he was jousting with the famed Raven of Kaith, the young man made himself wear a smile. The Kilkottes were not very notable in the history books of Ra’vain, and the reality that he would be representing his family against one of the most famed warriors of House Sennick filled Cameron with pride.
“A bit tall, ain’t he?” asked his older brother, Donnan. The thirty year-old wore a thick mustache that curled upward at both ends, and his short-cropped, brown hair seemed to glisten red in the sun.
“A bit,” Cameron agreed, as he looked down from his mare. “You think I have a chance, Donny?”
“I think you’re still a boyo, Cam, but I’m willin’ to bet some of the things they say about Liel are right blather,” answered Donnan. “He may have done one or two things to earn a name, but he’s all meat and metal, just like you or me, hey?”
“Yeah,” Cameron agreed. “I guess you’re right about that.”
“I bloody well am,” Donnan enthused, and gave his younger brother a knowing glance. Cameron was used to having to ascertain his other brother’s emotions by everything else that wasn’t hidden by the man’s mustache.
The young knight of Kilkotte gave a chuckle before his younger brother Brennan arrived, who held Cameron’s first lance in his hands. Donnan moved aside to allow the boy room to hand his brother the lance. Cameron smiled as he accepted the weapon, and gave his younger brother a nod as he tested the lance’s weight. A deep sigh escaped the young man’s lips, and after a moment of hesitation, he reached up and pulled down the visor of his full helm.
“Alright, boyo,” came Donnan’s voice. “Pull your socks up and show these gits that ‘Kilkotte’ means something, aye? Make our da proud.”
Cameron gave a firm nod, and readied his horse as Donnan gave him a pat on the thigh.
Liel returned the nod Rael had given him, taking a lance in his hand and checking its weight, his horse standing with a strange calm unlike most war horses thus exhibited in the tournament. He raised his lance indicating his being ready, and shortly after Cameron did the same, the flag dropped with a practiced flourish on the part of the herald. Liel charged forth with alarming speed, his locks of hair pinned in between his helmet and armor wafting in the wind, the Raven of Kaith soaring between himself and Cameron, his lance snapping down into the cradle with well honed precision.
Confusion and surprise slammed into Cameron’s conscience as both of the riders’ lances broke upon the other. A jolt of pain throbbed through his head as Liel’s lance splintered upon the young knight’s helm, and it was only by some miracle that Cameron recovered from the blow. Out of shock, the young man’s hand gripped tightly around his now broken lance, though he didn’t notice its state until he came to the end of his list.
“Bloody good form, lad!” came Donnan’s voice, through the steel wall of Cameron’s helmet.
The young knight gave no response as he wheeled his horse around to the starting position. His head throbbed, and he instinctively held onto his broken lance until he saw his younger brother holding a new one up to him.
“You ok, Cam?” asked Brennan.
A small grunt escaped Cameron’s lips as he dropped his broken lance, and took up the fresh one. He forced himself to focus, and tried holding the lance steady while he readied himself for the second tilt.
Liel bristled a bit from the strike against his torso, tossing his splintered stump of wood off to the side as he rounded back to his starting point. He said little as he raised his visor up, taking in a deep breath whilst sizing up his opponent. The lad from Harglen seemed a bit unnerved, although most men were when a huge wooden beam crushed against their head. He glanced down at one of his squires who dabbed his brow with a damp cloth, Ser Stephan’s voice echoing through his ears: “It seems this boy has a pair, eh?”
Liel shook his head slightly with a slight grin, snapping the visor shut as the squire finished his work, then accepting the fresh lance from the other squire at his right. The Raven of Kaith focused on his target in silence, from the drop of the flag initiating the second pass, to his horse’s lightning quick jump start down the lane, down through his lance again striking his opponent square in the helm. Hardly a moment later, his own head kicked back violently as Cameron’s lance shattered against Liel’s helm as well, dead across the Raven’s left cheek. His experience as a horseman and soldier had thankfully kept Liel from rocking off his horse and down to the dirt, but he had to admit the boy could hit pretty hard.
He lifted his visor, shaking his head as he rode back to his starting point, squinting as his squires fussed over his bruised cheek. One of them raised a ladle of water up to his liege’s lips, of which Liel graciously took in a mouthful and spit it out in front of him, blood speckled throughout the spittle that came out. Stephan’s boisterous laughter could be heard at his side, the crusty knight obviously enjoying Liel’s match immensely. ‘Time to finish this...’
Cameron had barely held onto his mare’s reigns as the horse instinctively galloped to the end of the knight’s line. When the horse slowed down to a halt, Cameron exhaled a deep breath to relieve his tension, but only succeeded in blowing hot air back in his face. A painful groan escaped the young man’s lips as his broken lance slipped from his hands, and he slouched in his saddle as he took a moment to recover his strength.
“Y’alright, Cam?” came a muffled voice.
Light filled the young knight’s vision as his helmet was removed. He blinked as his eyes attempted to reclaim perspective, and soon his brother Donnan was visible to his left.
“Bollocks, he got you good then,” the older brother continued.
Donnan allowed his younger brother a moment, and stepped to the side as Brennan approached and lifted a bucket of water toward Cameron. The young knight reached down and grabbed a rag that hung on the side, shoved it into the bucket, and slapped it onto his face.
“Alright, that’s good enough now, boyo,” Donnan urged. “This is the last tilt. You’ve done better than most so far, just don’t get gone in the head now. Keep focus.”
Cameron dropped the rag, and took up his last lance. He allowed his full helm to tumble onto the ground, and shook his head in apathy. Regardless of whether or not the Raven would go for the same strike three times in a row, Cameron refused to let it connect again.
Alright, Cam, he thought. This is the last bridge to cross. Keep form, hold steady, and watch your target.
The young knight exhaled a deep breath, and rolled his shoulders. His long red hair was matted with sweat, and stuck to the green and white steel chestpiece that armored his torso. With his last bit of renewed strength, he raised his lance toward Liel.
“Killkotte!” Cameron shouted, before urging his horse forward.
Echoes of ‘Kilkotte’ were but a murmur from behind him, but Cameron knew his brothers were raising their fists. A smirk eased its way onto the young man’s face as the image of his opponent got larger and larger. He held the lance as steadily as he could, and though his heart pumped louder and more quickly in his chest, he gritted his teeth and raised his lance at the last possible moment.
A great force slammed suddenly into Cameron’s chest, and for a moment, his legs were in the air. He couldn’t yet grasp what had just happened, but when his head hit the ground, the new pain clouded out all other thought. His eyes closed only briefly before they shot wide open, and he crawled onto all fours as he gasped in an attempt to get his breath back. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and after a moment, he was finally able to breath steadily enough to get back onto his feet. He looked down and saw his shattered lance, then turned to search the arena for a sign of his opponent.
Liel, for one moment, thought his head was in the clouds. Separate from the rest of his body naturally, although within a few moments he was pleasantly surprised. If his elegant Raven’s helm wasn’t already beat to crap, well the huge dent that caved in the hooked beak did it in nicely. Liel gave a grunt of pain, ripping his helm off his head whilst riding back to his side, his squires cheering along with the crowds and Ser Stephan sulking, although a small smile appeared on his lips. Before completing his journey back, Liel stopped at the mid section where his opponent stood dazed. “Well fought, ser. Although not quite there yet.”
Cameron narrowed his eyes as the image of Liel Sennick came into view. He raised a gauntlet above his eyes, to shield them from the sun long enough to shake off the daze. Suddenly, the realization of his loss sunk in, and he lowered his arm to his side defeatedly.
“I didn’t get the chance before we started, but ah...it’s an honor, Lord Liel Sennick,” Cameron stated. “I guess everything that’s said about you was true, after all.”
A small smirk eased its way onto the young knight’s face, but he lifted a fist to his heart in a salute.
“A few things, yes. Although I don’t like copulating with birds and I don’t have actual talons. But yes, it was an honor.” Liel raised his visor, revealing his bruised grin. He placed a fist on his chest as well, bowing slightly. “Enjoy the rest of the tournament good ser. Hopefully you and yours will enjoy your stay, perhaps enjoy the festivities. There’s a small tavern my kin frequent during times like these, if you’d care to join us tonight.”
“Aye, my lord. I believe I’ll need to get a shade knockered after that,” the young knight japed. “Good on you, Liel of Sennick. I hope we’ll see each other again.”
Aug 17 13 3:21 AM
Aug 17 13 3:23 AM
Petward followed a step behind Rune Varless as he left the spots set forth by the Sennicks for honored guests. They were on their way to check on Theratra in the infirmary when Rune caught sight of a face he was quite sure was familiar though he had not seen the young woman in some time, seven years if he remembered correctly. She was a young teen at the time, now she was a woman grown. Petward gave a grumble when Rune changed direction unannounced, but followed obediantly. “Ryanne!?” Rune called when he judged himself close enough to be heard clearly.
Ryanne’s hold on Ash’s arm tightened as she heard her name being called out. She looked towards the voice that she didn’t quite recognize. By the time her eyes caught sight of Rune, he was standing in front of her. “Rune?” she asked straining. The last she had heard he was on some self-finding trip around the world. “It’s been forever,” she said with a smile as Rune confirmed his identification with a nod. “It’s good to see you. Have you met Lord Ash La Seine?”
Rune smiled and gave a short bow to Ryanne, “I have been away since just after...well that bad day. I arrived here in Raven’s Watch just prior to the announcement of the tournament. It has been a while since the name Varless has been relevant in Ra’vain, I have decided to tour the major Houses, I thought Sennick would be a good start.” He turned to Ash and gave a bit of a deeper bow to him, “I have not had the pleasure of meeting the young Lord. Which of Lord Ashtar’s brother is your father again? I forget who was born to who except your cousin the heir who is easier to remember.”
“Lord Auroran the last of the Gold Dragons, my Lord. Second son of La Seine. My uncle Lord Ashtar being the first.” Ash answered dutifully, his arm tightening around Ryanne and pulling her closer to him as if protecting his princess from strangers.
Rune gave a soft sigh, he might not have been up to date on modern events in Ra’vain but prior to that he was very interested in the comings and goings. “I know it has been some time, but I offer my condolences on your father’s passing.” He noticed the two become closer as Ash spoke and he smiled, “La Seine and Arandil have come together again?”
Ryanne smiled bashfully, and leaned into Ash a bit, “I live in South Port for a while now...with Ash, but it is hard to proceed further than that with both our fathers passed and what happens to South Port in the near future.”
Rune gave a weak smile and looked to Ash, “Surely you won’t let politics stop from joining with such a wonderful young Lady?” He held his hands up to show his palms and smiled, “Don’t worry about me stepping in though. Ryanne and my siblings played together as children from time to time, I was a bit older. And I doubt Lord Ammon would be happy with the Varless heir marrying an Arandil.”
Ash smirked “Politics is only a small part of it, my Lord. As you say, Ryanne is indeed wonderful. Though most don’t really care what the Lord Ammon thinks.”
Rune laughed, “And I would be one of them, were Lord Ammon not the closest Lord to Jord’s Pyre and with quite a sizable army should the Varless upset him. I am glad however that you see what others have in Lady Ryanne, and hope that through politics and whatever else will arise you find happiness.”
Ryanne smiled and cuddled into Ash, “Thank you Rune. You’re quite different than I remember you. When last we saw each other you barely took your nose out of a book, while Hallas and I played with your brothers and sisters.”
“Yes I have decided it is time for me to open up, take in the world, and hopefully prepare to make Jord’s Pyre into a true city when it becomes my charge,” Rune answered with a smile. “I’ve spent much time in Callia. Wonderful place, even if I’m not allow in the capital because some distant uncle claimed to have fathered some former Queen.”
Ryanne chuckled, “That sounds about right...didn’t your people claim the second Lord Varless was fathered by the previous Lord Arandil?”
Rune’s face lit up in echoing laughter, “That was the claim, but the first Lord Varless was quite the liar, and a coward. Instead of facing justice in Callia he fled to Ra’vain. His brother was beheaded quite publicly. Seems lies and promiscuity are the great traits of the House I hope to inherit.” The large cloaked man behind him cleared his throat hoping to get Rune moving again, but the young Lord would have none of it.
“Is there something wrong with your friend Rune?” Ryanne asked politely of the stern man who stood behind the young Varless. “Does he need to visit the infirmary?”
Rune laughed and shook his head, “Forgive my manners I was so happy to see a familiar face in the crowd I forgot.” He waved to the warrior who stood at his back, “This is my Sworn Sword, one of two actually. Ser Petward Tomikas, I call him Pete, though I would suggest Ser Petward until he tells you otherwise. And he has need to visit the infirmary, but not for the throat malady he is falsifying. He is worried for his cohort, she won her joust, but was injured in the process. Might have taken note of Theratra Taletreader? Though it seems there are more and more knightesses these days,” he nodded towards Ash, “Probably following your cousin’s footpaths. Tough luck drawing the Prince in her first bout, she put on a good showing however.”
“Hm” Ash nodded “The fact that it resorted to blades shows the talent of both Knightess and Prince. Unfortunately Idril’s is not as skilled in sword as she is in horse combats.”
Rune gave a shrug, “I know not what constitutes good form in either case, as Ryanne pointed out I’ve grown up with a book attached to my hands, not caring in the least about sword, or horse, or lance. Though I’ve come to admire how a horse can get one around. My brother was the combatant in the family, a rare knight in House Varless, usually we care about less lethal endeavors. My new found love is architecture, Hopefully someday I will make my home into more than just a wooden palace. But as I say, the people seemed rather impressed by both your cousin and the Prince. That kiss was quite unexpected, and if I’m not mistaken there was a bit of feeling there.”
Ash laughed “That’s Idril for you. She’s the more passionate one of La Seine. She’s lusted after the princes more than once, looks like this year she gets a bit more than distant peeping.”
Rune looked at Ash with curiosity, “It appears so, though, from what I remember hearing about the brave, brash Lady Idril I’m surprised she contented herself at peeping. I guess a Prince can be daunting figure even for someone like her...you said Princes?”
“Its not the prince that is daunting, but the expectations of that blood. If the affection wasn’t reciprocated Idril would’ve been in some serious trouble, drawing a blade or lance on a prince like that. “ Ash frowned slightly “As a general rule it's best to stay away. But yes. Prince’s. I believe the Prince Xan’ros was another of her lusts”
Rune gave a chuckle, “That Prince would have been fine game for your cousin. She need not worry about advances being turned down, this I know from closer second hand knowledge than most of my knowledge of the nobility. I believe he is present at the tournament as well. Perhaps your cousin will be doubly lucky...” He looked up to see Ryanne’s sour expression. “Oh I’m sorry, I assume that everyone lives as freely as the Varless, I’m sure Idril will contain herself to one Prince.”
Ash laughed “I'm sure the issue would be amongst the Princes and not Idril who would be pleased with two if allowed.”
Rune considered the suggestion and then shrugged, “I do not have knowledge of the Princes fighting, but Prince Xir’khai is quite competitive, I’m not sure how he will take to sharing with Prince Xan’ros, though the latter can be sneaky with his encounter. If the Knightess is seeking something more permanent I would suggest nudging her towards Xir’khai.”
“For now. We shall see...” Ash nodded “I just hope she keeps her head and remembers the danger. Anger any one of them and things could get messy quick.”
“Is that why we’re so careful?” Ryanne teased snuggling close to Ash. “I know that she needs to be careful, but don’t Princes like to have fun too?”
“Of course. Until they stop liking you and send you to the dungeons....or worse. Besides.” he gave a coy grin and leaned down towards her “Maybe I’m just being careful with you, Princess, so that I might treasure your sweet beggings.”
Ryanne gave a slight giggle and blush, “Begging has always gotten a good response,” she said with a smirk as she ran her fingers along the top of his hand.
The group was soon joined by another, “Pete!” came the harsh feminine voice, “All the concern after the bout, and now you don’t even come check on me?” The female warrior approached with bandages on the side of her head. Rune laughed knowing that Theratra was not truly mad, but Petward looked panicked.
“I...Rune...we...we were coming to check on you, but the young Lord wished to greet some acquaintances, and after the tongue-lashing I got for leaving him in the seats to check on you. I thought I should stay with him,” Petward stammered.
Theratra smiled, “You thought rightly for once,” she answered with a laugh. Petward nodded and shrugged away.
Rune gave a gesture calling the woman in blue and silver armor forward, “My second Sworn Sword, Theratra Taletreader.”
“First Sworn Sword,” Theratra corrected with a grin and a bow of her head towards Ash and Ryanne.
Ash gave his own half bow “M’lady. Good show in the Joust.”
Rune gave a chuckle, “Lord Ash La Seine, and his...well Lady Ryanne Arandil.”
Theratra gave a appreciative nod, “A lucky blow my Lord, though I look forward to testing my luck against Lord Liel in the next round. You are in the next grouping in the competition no?”
“I am.” Ash nodded “Though I should say you are in luck to be against Lord Liel. You have our support”
Rune laughed, “Yes, it seems that anyone from outside of Raven’s Watch, and her vassal cities in the North is quite hoping for a fall to the good Lord Liel.”
Theratra looked from Rune to Ash with a questioning expression, “Does Lord Liel do something dishonorable? He seemed to win his bout with fair play.”
Ash chuckled "No my lady. Lord Liel won the joust of the capitols Red Zenith three years ago and somehow garnered much fame out of it. Many feel the old knight should let some of the younger meat taste fame, some of the knights in competition are here seeking their knights title. His presence lessens their chance of success due to experience."
The Sworn Sword smiled, “So the youngsters wish to break the spirit of their hero? Not you of course my Lord, I can tell you are here on your own merits and don’t require the knocking down of a local legend to garner more fame. It is mere victory you are after, and you think Lord Liel clings too tightly to his former glory, admirable. But please Theratra or Thera, it has been since my sister took our family name, I am forbidden to say since someone has called me Lady, and rightfully so.”
Ash shook his head slowly "No my lady, I join these tournaments for the experience, winning would only make my future standings more accepted amongst the people, a champion garners much prestige and favor of the locals. Otherwise, win or lose, it just feels good to hold a lance or sword and meet new challenges."
Theratra gave a slow nod, “That is a good philosophy to have my Lord, you never know when some foreign archer will ride by and catch a lucky blow, if your purpose is to feed your ego, that will take quite some time to recover from.”
Ryanne gave a giggle, “Who knows what Lord Liel’s motivations are, but I would like to see how long it would take him should some foreigner get lucky and put him on his back. I believe it is about time for the midday meal,” she gave Ash a look, “Would you mind terribly if Rune and his swords joined us."
"Not at all Princess. If that is your desire." Ash smirked "Where would you like to dine?"
“Anywhere but the Raven’s Roost,” Ryanne said with a chuckle. She had no aversion to simple taverns, but it seemed to be quite the meeting place, and after all the travel and the bustle of the tournament, the young Lady wished something more subdued. “You will come won’t you Rune?”
“If I were to refuse the Lady Arandil and Lord La Seine I think that my father would have me exiled permanently,” Rune answered with a laugh, “while that wouldn’t be such a terrible thing in itself, Logan would likely kill me for leaving him to rule our palace of splinters. Of course we will join. I’ve heard that The Black Feather serves a good meal.”
Aug 19 13 9:51 PM
Aug 22 13 8:08 PM
Aug 22 13 8:10 PM
----Second Match: Krita Rodsvard VS Ezven Farinthel----
Once Arthion was done congratulating Tahl, he returned to the railings to help and watch Krita with her own match. Krita was inside the arena now waiting on her opponent. She checked the fit of her chain, then strolled to the rail as she saw Arthion arrive, “Give Tahl your best did you? Must be hard to see him succeed,” she said with a teasing grin.
Arthion smirked “Believe it or not I do wish to see him succeed. Which is why I’m so hard on him. All my joking, teasing, jabbing and pressure is all meant to push him to be his best.” he leaned over the rail to kiss her cheek “You're too special to do that too however.”
Krita grinned but her eyes narrowed, “So because you have different feelings for me and I am a woman you treat me better than a long time cohort?” she giggled once more, “So long as you fight me with the same vigor you do Tahl should we meet in competition, I shall be glad that I am woman, and you are special too, special enough for me to overlook that you think I can’t handle the pressure.”
Arthion laughed and patted her back, “after two years of training with me, one would think you knew I don’t ever go easy” he continued to laugh in good fun.
Krita giggled, “Is good to hear that you think of me as more than just something special. That you will treat me the same as another knight. You are special because you know when to treat me as a lover and when to treat me as a knightess.” She reached across the railing and pulled Arthion close to her kissing him deeply.
On the other side of the ring Rikka was standing on the lower post of the rail and leaning over the top grinning excitedly at the enjoyment of the tournaments. “Krita is a cool person I hear, Idril talks about her all the time. She says that she’s not at all the barbarian most people think she is and that she is doing her hardest to learn our ways and traditions. Thats why she’s in this tournament.” Rikka was telling Ezvan “She fights with the big sword and Chain mail. You do your very best ok?” she looked over at Ezvan with a reassuring and cheerful smile. Standing at her feet was her very large dog, Snow. The dog stood to at least her waist level if not a bit larger and at the moment it wasn’t on all fours, but leaning up on the top rail with it’s huge front paws next to Rikka making the dog look even larger. Snow gave a few playful barks, sensing Rikka’s excitement and wishing their Knight, Ezvan luck as well.
“She seems the part.” Ezven replied to Rikka. He only had his chest and arms covered in plate unlike the joust, having long faulds of cloth and steel protecting his legs with only leather and mail underneath. Ezven didn’t want to sacrifice his leg movement, unlike in jousting, he would have a far easier time to get up if he did fall down. He had also switched out his helm and got an open burgonet with no antlers on it. On his right arm he held a shield with his family’s sigil and in his left he gripped his red Darksteel blade.
Unlike other lords or fighters, Ezven did not care for women fighting or not, either way it was important for survival to know how to defend oneself. He was surprised that Rikka was fighting in the sword, Ezven remembered the frail-like girl he saw his brother with at the Red Zenith that seemed like a lifetime ago. Hope she does well. He made a silent prayer to Taovar, spirit of the bear, for strength and swift victory before going out into the arena.
Krita stepped away from the rail holding her sword confidently in one hand as she strode out to meet her opponent. Her chain hauberk and coif hardly seemed like adequate protection. Krita however was not used to having weight on her head. The whole experience of the joust was new, so the helmet was not so noticeable in contrast to the other changes in her attire. At Arthion’s insistence she included the coif for minimal protection. She smiled to Ezven as they reached the middle, “It appears one of us is going to have a very bad day.” She nodded politely, “Good luck ser.”
“I am no knight, not yet.” Ezven replied as he readied his stance, placing his sword over his shield.
Krita chuckled, “Well then this is a good match, I’ve not passed my trials yet either. So I guess we’re just two fighters going at it...let the best win.” She nodded and waited for the signal to start. Once that came she was quick on the balls of her feet and rushing towards Ezven. She lunged for the shield that he carried, but swung her sword wide of that mark hoping to catch her opponent off guard and push him opening up his unprotected shoulder.
Ezven waited for Krita to get close and relaxed his muscles, within a quick instant his shield burst forth like a battering ram, breaking Krita’s lunge with great force. He followed up his attack with a swipe with his sword -his hand choked up on the blade- that slashed across her chest with the tip of the blade. Ezven skipped back and changed his stance, having his sword held up in front and having his shield placed closely to his side.
The was a burst of cheers for just the striking of the first hit of the match. The herald raised a small white flag indicating a point was earned. “Strike for Ezven Farinthel!” He cried over the crowd. The man then sat down and watched for the next hit to occur.
Krita cursed in the Northern tongue she’d grown up with. As she backed slowly her eyes remaining on her opponent. She was not expecting Ezven to lead with his shield and would have to vary her plan. The Northwoman circled to the side of the shield and struck directly for it, to try and break the opponent’s defense. The shield moved just enough for Krita to quickly flick her wrists and land a blow against her opponent’s arm. “Strike for Rodsvard, One point each,” yelled the herald. Krita didn’t wait for Ezven to reset thinking she had him off balance, she looked to press the advantage lunging at what she assumed would be a still exposed shoulder.
His tactics, while they can shift as the battle progresses, remained the same. Krita was not wasting time in her attacks and pauses, her movements fast and using much footwork. Ezven was capable of pressing his advance but he waited moment. He remembered how he fought the wolves off his city, Krita resembled them in a way, not as terrifying as Hoarfrost though. He sidestepped and pushed her blade away with his shield, after she passed a few steps his long blade smacked her head. Hard. Even he winced at the blow he made but he assumed that Krita was well prepared to take the blow to have herself at the best advantage.
“Strike for Farinthel, three to one!” The herald shouted.
Ezven didn’t pause now he went on the offensive like a unmoving storm. One planted leg after the other, he quickly used the range of his sword to make a long jab right into her back. His shield placed behind his back to gain maximum reach with his sword arm. Krita’s head rang as the sword impacted. She cursed herself for not listening to Arthion and wearing something sturdier than the coif, especially after taking a shot to the head in the joust. Though this was to the other side.
On instinct Krita quickly spun away from Ezven’s following lunge, and lashed out with her sword. She felt it hit broadside against Ezven’s forearm or elbow, whatever the case it would give her a bit of room to recover. She felt something leaking down her neck from her ear, but didn’t have time to check what it was. She assumed blood. She gave the cobwebs a quick shake and moved to strike again more cautiously this time, but just as quick.
Ezven let a rumbling and loud growl from his throat when the sword struck his forearm. The pain sharply raised and then settled into a throbbing ache that writhed up and down his arm. He heard the herald announce a point for Rodsvard and then went quiet from the roar of cheers from those supporting Krita. Ezven was not going to lose like he did in the joust, he will be victorious and be knighted. He advanced his attack, feinting to left then running hard up to her with his shield. Hoping get through her defenses, before the moment came, Ezven choked up on the sword, gripping the blade itself so he could run it under her arms and jab her in the belly again.
Krita spun again when she realized that Ezven had slipped inside her defenses. The move was too late and the sword slashed across the chain that protected her midsection. She knew that she had lost another point, but she wasn’t going to stop. She rolled through the strike, feeling a tug of pain in her stomach and lashed out wildly, striking at head and shoulders before the point could even be announced by the herald.
He gritted his teeth as she struck and pounded on his shield he managed to raise in time. Ezven jumped back for a moment to get out of the fray. Using the shield that kept him and her apart to his advantage, he pressed the shield against her arm and rolled to the side. He howled and swung his sword up madly. He felt it connect and the force left his arm. Ezven didn’t know what he scored yet so he backed away, far away to keep Krita from pressing on.
“Ezven Farinthel, Wolfsbane, wins!” The herald called out with six white flags standing shortly to his left.
Krita dropped her sword in the sand and fell to a knee her gloved hand tore the coif off her head, ripping a few hairs out as she did. Blood was oozing from her ear, bruising forming at her temple. It would match the one on the other side from the joust. “Good bout.” She gave a sigh and threw the coif to the ground. Leaving both sword and headgear on the sand she strode back towards Arthion at the rails. “I allowed myself to become the wild Krita again, and the gods have shown me what comes of that. It will not happen again,” she said guiltily to her tutor.
Arthion gave her a hard frown “What else did you learn?” He pressed in an attempt to remain the teacher before falling into the role of a lover.
Krita cringed in pain and raised a hand to her ear, “Proper headgear is very wise, and a shield does have it’s uses. Not going to change up my weapon of choice, but certainly give me something to think about.”
“We can work on sword and shield when we get back home.” Arthion nodded “And you will be wearing a helm a lot more as well.” he then smiled and held a hand out to her “You did very well though. It can be intimidating first time in a tournament ring, which is why we do the arena battles as practice. Are you ok? Let me check that for you.”
Krita smiled and leaned against him, “You are too good to me.” She pleasantly thought of home, Tsukimatsu and then frowned when she realized that was home for only so long. Not wanting to dwell on that when there was still so much more of this tournament to go she nodded. “I’m fine, it will heal, but I never refuse your healing touch.”
Arthion chuckled “Good, coz you shall get it. Come, let us go find something relaxing to do and get you out of that armor.”
“I hope she isn’t hurting too badly.” Ezven said to himself as he watched her walk off, he never meant to hurt her or even stain her honor if he did so. He gave a nod of respect to her and walked back to Rikka. Dropping his helm and shield by the rails, one could see he was drenched in sweat with his short black hair glistening brightly. “Your turn, Rikka.” He said with a rattled breath.
Rikka giggled and over the railing threw her arms around him “Good Job Ezven!! You did great!!” She cheered.
“Oh.. thanks Rikka!” He blushed when she hugged him unexpectantly. Ezven hoped that Y’silla was watching and wished she didn’t think of him as a poor fighter for hitting Krita in the head.
“You will watch me next, Right Ezven?” Rikka asked with excited smiles “I can’t wait to tell Mace and the others about your win! You were great!”
“Of course I will and I have the utmost confidence that you will win in your match.” He replied
Aug 22 13 8:12 PM
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