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Tournament To Honour Pridehall Victory

    The Battle of Pridehall was only the first battle in what promises to be a brutal war, but it was a victory nonetheless and victors should be honoured. It was also a triumph over an inhuman new foe, the Bringers of Silence stronger and faster than anything natural. The battle had many heroes and all of them deserve all due respect, but in particular Mistress Julea Sanguine accounted for more than one of the beasts, using a blade she forged with her own hand.

    House Laurent will be hosting a tournament to honour those who fought and won the recent battle, with mounted jousting and a grand foot melee, not to mention music, food and mead, all are welcome to attend either as guests or as competitors.

    OOC: If you plan to compete at the event, please to contact me so that I can start to put together initial brackets for the jousting.

    The grand foot melee will be just that, everyone will fight at once with alliances, betrayals and plotting all encouraged, only one victor emerging at the end to claim the title and prize.

    Please keep in mind that the tournament grounds are -NOT- a safe area, combat will be using blunted training weapons represented as 'Low Quality' equipment, you can bring your own or take one from the pile that will be provided (No, Cristoph will not be spending money refining the provided practise weaponry). There are no restrictions on armour, yielding before you are brought down is highly recommended for safety but there is the option of taking risks.


Feb. 25, 2017, 6 p.m.

Hosted By

Julea Cristoph


Owain Jael Monique Valerius Alistair Gilbert Tikva Sophie Merek Silas Teagan Darrow(RIP) Dagon Selene Sylvie Harmon Roland Killian(RIP) Sparte Maude Tristram Luca(RIP) Asha Caelis Reese Arcelia(RIP) Haati Garza(RIP) Tristan Acacia Marian Inigo



Arx - Ward of the Compact - Tournament Grounds

Largesse Level


Comments and Log

An Unremarkable Associate arrives, following Acacia.

The tournament grounds have been decorated and readied, there are concessions, music, banners and likely also crowds of people each to watch brightly dressed and rich individuals push each other into the frozen ground. The lists have been set up with literal bushels of tourney lances ready at each end whilst there are trumpeteers and announcers standing by as the first exchange draws near.

6 Thrax Guards arrives, following Dagon.

6 Thrax Guards have been dismissed.

Duchess Sylvie Zaffria arrives clad in black velvet, though the amber stone at her throat and the cascade of silver feathers and chains down her bare back certainly give the commoners enough to look over, as well as the black diamond on her finger that always seems to catch the best light. She arrives alone, only a number of guards which clearly, do not count. Her gaze sweeps the tourney grounds at the trumpets, looking for who is approaching. On catching sight of Luca, she moves to the fence keeping the jousting area clear, leaning there first rather than trying to find a seat at the moment.

Cristoph has joined the Judges Booth.

Silas awaits at the lists, casually leaning against a post and feeding his warhorse a ripe green apple and simply observing the going-ons. Said warhorse snorts at the peasant horses around him.

At any event held at the tournament grounds, expect some Mercies of Lagoma, who themselves expect some injuries to befall some of the participants. Standing at the sidelines with a few of her fellows, all clad in distinct vestments of pristine white, is Princess Sophie. Amiable smiles and polite nods are offered to those passing, whether familiar or unfamiliar.

Tikva arrives at the lists in a bounce of bright energy and a flare of her brown riding skirts. She pins back her hair with a couple of glass-beaded pins as she lopes about, watching the other prospective competitors with bright blue eyes and a wide smile.

Jael has been waiting for the competition to start, and though she's been near the lists, admiring the mounts, she doesn't look like she's planning on competing today. In fact, she's actually gotten dressed up in a fine silk gown - probably to make sure she doesn't have any last-second thoughts about joining in the melee.

Tristan reports into the judges booth and relaxes at the edge of the arena as he watches the early match-ups. His horse, a coppery chestnut with a flaxen mane and tail and lots of white, eyes the other horses suspiciously. Tristan scratches at the horse's withers and murmurs to him softly. The stallion turns his head to nuzzle at the stablemaster's ear.

Meandering through the beverage tent, Acacia enters through one side and leaves with a red wine clasped idly between her fingers and turned some in the light. Her dark eyes fix to Silas for a time and then venture towards the stands as she idly heads that way. Padding in casually behind Sylvie, she absently states, "Is it just me or does Sir Silas' horse have an ego? I think it has an ego. -- And hello Duchess.

Ceol, the old raven arrives, following Maude.

Dagon arrives atop a lean-looking Oathlander charger, fully clad in armor except for the helm, which is tucked under his arm. His armor is pretty much a monstrosity, making the noble-looking prince look, for a moment, like any other Thraxian Reaver might. But the soft smile he wears on his face kills that notion straight away.

He does look rather reserved though, and is quiet as he navigates his horse over to the (presumably) other jousters waiting for their turn. The smile fades only a little as he retreats into his own thoughts.

Inigo steps lighty into the tournament grounds, the lord looking somewhat dashing in his leather armor, half cape billowing behind him in a -very- heroic manner. He moves to the far stands, azure eyes flicking from one area to the next a moment given to the combatants as they manuever their horses into the list. He slides onto a free seat, automatically adjusting the sword belted to his side to allow for more comfortable resting.

Killian drifts into the tournament grounds in full arms and armor, with two swords belted at his waist. One of which looks like the proverbial shined turd. Poor quality steel worked by one of the finest craftsmen in the city, it is superbly balanced and looks like a coal mine took a crap on an anvil and then someone pounded it into a sword. But hey, thems the rules. The Knight heads towards the lists to check in..on foot..and gives Silas a grin and offers an apple to one of those 'peasant horses' his horse was so disdaining. "This won't end know, being from Ashford we didn't really ride much.." he explains to the Lord Commander..

Inigo has joined the Far Stands.

Sophie has joined the Field.

"Mistress Acacia, I am sad to say I know very little of horses. Just enough to keep my seat elegantly while on a morning ride, but no more," greets Sylvie in turn, drawing her attention away from the lists for a moment to slide a look to the woman. She greets her with a smile, warm but somewhat tired, and tips a chin in a gesture of invitation to the fence beside her. "It seems that Prince Luca is jousting first. I had thought to find him and offer him my favor beforehand, yet--." She lifts her fingers lightly in a gesture.

Onto the field beside a large intimidating black warhorse strides a figure worthy of his Champion designation. Luca the Lazy, mourning prince of Velenosa, clad only in gleaming scales of a blue and dark purple dire snake, cloak a shimmery thing around him like dragon wings, his helmet a gleaming mirror surface with rubicund faceplate. He bears no jacket or shirt, just the segmented assymmetric pauldrons that cover one arm and shoulders, his bronzed muscles gleaming in the chill autumn air and a sabre blade sheathed at his hip of plain, low quality steel. He bears a shield with the bloody-winged bird that is his symbol and a large narrow lance, his mighty steed drawn by reins. They make a fitting show as they go to their end of the field. That is, until said mighty steed, Gluefoot, first of his name, decides to be a stubborn bastard. The warhorse decides it's gone far enough today Leaving Luca suddenly jerked by the reins going taught, turning to quite clearly swear at the great hulking beast, tugging on it and actually dragging the thing a few steps, before giving up, growling out, and moving to jump up atop it. So much for good entry. With him astride and kicking the lazy horse, it's spurred on, and Luca's able to pass along the stands, briefly pausing at before the Duchess Sylvie Zaffria, lowering his lance towards her, apparently begging a token in favor of the idiocy he's about to commence on.

Cristoph is standing in the booth with the best view, given that he has paid for the event, not armoured and so it seems not planning to compete. He straightens as the first pass is about to start, takes a deep breath, then pitches his voice to be clearly audible, something he seems rather good at.

    "Nobles and citizens of Arx! We come together here today in order to honour all of those who fought in the recent victory at Pride Hall. As you all well know, fresh armies march upon us, but the first of the foe who faced the Compact were defeated utterly despite their unnatural leaders. There is a long list of names of those who slew one of the 'Bringers of Silence', many of those brave champions are here today, but I would like to give particular honour to Mistress Julea, no knight or noble, who netherless slew two of the creatures with a blade of her own forging."

He does pause a moment, then brandishes a sheathed dagger, alacirite gleaming in the sun.

"I would also like to give thanks to Princess Lark of House Grayson, who has comissioend and provided the alacirite dagger The Silence's Lament to be presented to the victor of the joust. An unparalleled act of generosity and nobility. Let the tournament commence!"

Cristoph is overheard praising Lark for: Unparalleled generosity.

Cristoph is overheard praising Julea for: She slew two of the Bringers of Silence, using a weapon of her own forging.

"I'm a peasant riding a peasant horse," observes Tristan dryly from his corner. "Flame and I have consulted and have decided to not take it personally." It is true his chestnut stallion is no warhorse; he's smaller and lighter in statue, but still elegantly built, all compact, racy lines. Tristan quiets as the tournament begins.

Silas spots Acacia as he gazes at the crowd - the red hair was a giveaway - and looks over to offer her a friendly wave from where he stood. He peers at Killian when he ventures past the commoner Grayson knight. "Oh? It is because of the trees?" Silas inquires with a hint of curiosity in his tone. "Well who knows? You could still pull it off, even if by sheer luck."

Luca checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 10, resulting in 22, 12 higher than the difficulty.

Killian checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 40, 25 higher than the difficulty.

"... Yet?" Acacia prompted towards Sylvie, though she ended up merely twitching her mouth in mirth as she eyed the lance so dedicatedly already angled her way. "... Yet, you've found that you have no excuse to either way?" Unable to fully conceal that grin, she placates, "It could've been far worse, I imagine, your Highness." But her dark eyes dart over towards Cristoph upon the announcement and she relinquishes an appreciative whistle, "... With a prize like that, I should've learned jousting." Upticking her chin, she calls towards Silas, "... Hey Lord Commander-- Win that dagger and then place it very carelessly in an unguarded place, kay?"

Sparte shows up all dressed up in his guard armor, doing his best to stand out of the way of things. He is having a nervous sort of enthusiasm for watching the proceedings.

Luca checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 28, resulting in 71, 43 higher than the difficulty.

Killian checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 66, 51 higher than the difficulty.

Cristoph calls the tournament to begin, the speeches given attention even as Sylvie's gaze gets pulled away. But then! Luca is there before her, and for a moment, stress and strain lifts with a bright breath of laughter as she says to Acacia, "It seems I do not. Very well, your highness. Ride well." She ties her favor around the lance, sapphire embroidered with a feather in white. Her gaze slides back to Acacia, murmuring quieter, "Did you just threaten to steal from the Lord Commander of the Iron Guard? -- I knew I always liked you for a reason."

Garza enters the grounds, walking with his thumbs hooked on the belt of his trousers. His teps take him to the stands and the sellsword looks for a place to plop down at. Finding a hand-rolled cigarillo in a pouch, along with flint and a striker, he lights it up and takes a long drag from it.

Silas chortles when he overhears Acacia's shout. "It's going to my brother! Hope he's careless!" That is, of course, if he wins. But judging from his demeanor he looks confident in his chances.

Killian checked stamina + ride against difficulty 33, resulting in 33, 0 higher than the difficulty.

Luca checked stamina + ride against difficulty 41, resulting in 29, 12 lower than the difficulty.

Maude arrives at the tournament in a dress, though it is fit for riding and belted with a sword at her side. But it does not seem as if she's here to compete. As she walks along in her crisp stride marred only slightly by a limp, she happens to click her tongue right behind Killian. Perhaps she was following her nephew. She does that sort of thing. "Nonsense. I'm a fine rider." she remarks dryly, though the corner of her mouth twitches into a thin grin. "Good luck." she offers, before turning her attention to the seating.

Garza has joined the General Seating.

Maude has joined the General Seating.

Called to the lists first, Killian must cut his conversation short, and swings up upon a peasant charger that is amongst the 'loaner' horses. Retrieving a lance, he heads to the lists and waits for the signal to proceed, adjusting his shield. When the signal comes, he gives the horse a light spur and charges thunderously forward, his shield at the ready and his lance dropping as he gallops towards Luca. At the last moment he raises up in his stirrups, leaning forward just a bit but keeping his lance aimed at the shield of his foe, the pair impacting in a resounding crash and a sudden storm of splintering wood and thundering hoof. As he rides past, he just manages to stay his seat upon the massive charger, wheeling around at the end of the lists and discarding his stump of a lance.

The tournament grounds have been decorated and readied, there are concessions, music, banners and likely also crowds of people each to watch brightly dressed and rich individuals push each other into the frozen ground. The lists have been set up with literal bushels of tourney lances ready at each end whilst there are trumpeteers and announcers standing by, at the moment, Luca and Killian are carrying out the first pass of lances.

"It wasn't /really/ threatening to steal it. It was more like-- requesting very pleasantly to be there at the place when he turns away, so that said dagger could be in my possession shortly after. That's like-- convenience, don't you think, your Highness?" Acacia flashes a cheery smile towards Sylvie, even as she sighs with deep resignation towards Silas. "... I suppose that's his married brother? Or another one? Maybe I should ask his brother to leave it carelessly in an unguarded place." Her lips purse in a thoughtful horizontal, before she queries towards Sylvie, "Oh yes-- what /was/ the yet for Prince Luca?" She speaks even as she applauds for the two jousting.

"Careless is not a word I would use to describe your brother," Sophie points out, with some humor, to Silas from where she stands on the sidelines. "Speaking of, I hope he and your sister are well. You, too, for the matter." Amiably, she smiles at him before looking back to the field.

"You're dashing all my dreams, your Highness, and I just started them," Acacia laments, dramatically, towards Sophie.

Tikva cheers more or less indiscriminately as the competitors charge for each other. It's possible she's just cheering for action, or on general principles


As Christoph calls the match to start, Jael steps back from the lists, carefully lifting her skirts away from the mud. She was going to join her brother, but as she moves away, she catches sight of Tikva in the same area and changes her direction. "My lady," she grins as she approaches, turning to catch sight of the pass when the other woman cheers.

"Lady Jael," Tikva beams at the slightly taller Laurent with the little wiggled fingers of a wave. "Are you riding today? My ambition is to not wholly humiliate myself." Aim high, Tikva, aim high.

Luca flipped up his faceplate to give Sylvie a quick wink as she tied on her token, calling out to her. "I'll keep it for the melee where I'm more likely to not shame it!" And then, with some effort of a man clearly not fond of riding, Luca's turning his lazy horse with effort, prodding it into a canter down to his end, and setting up for the line. And as the flag goes, he tries to prod mighty Gluefoot into a fierce charge. But the best he gets is a rearing, angry beast at first. As such, the poor shirtless rider is delayed in his charge, and only after the rearing is controlled does he manage to get the beast moving. Luckily, it's moving at some immense speed, and Luca's rising up in stirrups, calling out at the last second. "I FUCKING HATE HORSES!!!!" He thrusts his lance out by brute muscular force alone, trying to get Killian first, and indeed, he strikes home and strikes home hard. But even so, his own shield is taking full flat brunt of the other's lance, and amidst a shower of shattered wood, one man is left astride, while the other is on the ground. Sure, Luca's technically still astride, but only because he latched his legs onto the horse and held on for dear life. And so toppled Gluefoot right on top of him rather than than fall from his horse. He's groaning out from the ground as the horse flails and tries to get up. "Did I win?" No Luca, no you didn't win.

A cheer rises up as both competitors break lances, that is a good sign! Then a sort of cheer/wince as Luca impacts the ground rather hard, a squire running desperately in the background to catch his horse. Cristoph calls out. "Lord Killian is the victor! Prince Luca faced him valiantly but has unfortunately been eliminated. Lord Killian shall proceed to the next bracket!"

"And yet, it wasn't as if I was going to lift my skirts and go running dramatically across the lists to give it to him," Sylvie offers lightly to Acacia, her gaze following her favor and thus the man who bears it as they make their first pass. "Perhaps your patron can buy you your own alaricite dagger. He has risen high, and surely, you have earn--." But then Luca's fallen, her fingers tightening at the rail as she stares, waiting.

Garza takes another long drag from his smoke, exhaling through the nose. He upods to Maude when she approaches the seating area. "M'lady," the sellsword offers in greeting, in his Lower Boroughs gravelly voice.

Owain wanders into the tournament grounds and then over to the seating. Instead of sitting though, he just leans against the side to watch the jousting.

"No, not I," Jael laughs to Tikva, shaking her head and gesturing to her skirts. "No, today I'm pretending to be a proper young lady. Also, I'm not much with a lance," she admits, amused. "Though when we start holding jousts where you can //shoot// at the other person while you ride toward them, then I'll be the first in line."

"You are an adaptable and industrious sort, Mistress," replies Sophie, as she glances back at Acacia, her expression good-natured. "I have no doubt that should you truly have all your dreams dashed, you will soon enough acquire more."

And then Luca is cursing, which draws the Mercy's attention, turning her good-natured expression to a vaguely amused one. When the Prince hits the ground, Sophie calls out, "A check-up, perhaps, Your Highness," in regard to any winnings. "Are you in need of aid?"

The Malvici blade master lifts fingers to lips to whistle loudly for the charge, shifting to applause when the two crash into each other near the middle of the list. Once the dust has cleared Inigo chuckles at the result, Killian moving on and Luca and Gluefoot needing help up.

    Julea quietly arrives without any fanfare, and the young smith makes her way over towards the seating, settling down on the end of the bench. There's a brief smile, as she hears the initial announcement, but she holds her tongue and doesn't announce her presence just yet.

Julea has joined the General Seating.

Silas offers a bright smile to Sophie and nods. "It wouldn't be what I call him, either. Nor would I call him married. That may be even -more- improbable," he muses outloud. He turns in time to see Luca's ungraceful unhorsing, emitting an impressed whistle. "It looks like Lord Killian's doubt was unfounded."

    Sensing he was up next, the Lord Commander moves to adjust his pretty warhorse's saddle and his own helmet before plucking up a lance and wooden shield.

Luca's kicking free the big lazy black beast that is Glue foot, testing his limbs for breaks, then rising up in a growling, irritable sort state, diresnake skin cloak flaring behind him like leathery wings. "Fine! Fine!" Luca calls out to the mercy, clearly moving well of his own accord, pulling free helmet to show unruly dark hair, latching it to his shield as he grabs his horse's reins and starts physically dragging the beast off the field. As he goes, he finds the piece of lance with Sylvie's token on, picks it up and calls out to her. "I'll make it up in the melee!" Then he's off the field, ignobly ended for lack of riding capability.

"I'm probably not either, but I'm a quality rider -- and shying from a challenge merely because I'm likely to be bad at it? Tch." Tikva laughs at her own hubris, probably, and then says lightly, "But I'd best get ready, my lady. Wish me luck. At not dying and so on." She winks, and then turns to head towards the horses at the lists, because she has no retainers.

Gluefoot, a large, lazy warhorse have been dismissed.

There's nothing hidden about how that wince peeled back Acacia's lips from her teeth when Luca struck the ground below. It deepened considerably when that horse toppled with him. "... He-- looked very valient doing so, though, don't you think, your Highness? If no favor was given him, he could've blamed it on being melancholy or something." There's a small smile aside towards the concept of the patron, but she shakes her head lightly and then sips from her darker vintage. "Hrm. Who should we root for next then?" Turning back to Sophie after her words, she brandishes a broader grin and then bows simply towards the Princess. "You're both kind and clever, your Highness." Straightening to toast her acquired wine in her direction, she offers, "To new dreams?"

Tristan calms his fretful stallion with a pat on his shoulder, and swings into the saddle with a graceful saddle. The stablemaster wears only simple leathers; he's not a habitual jouster by any means. He adjusts his shield and lance and murmurs to his mount as they head toward the lists.

6 Thrax Guards arrives, following Valerius.

Valerius has joined the General Seating.

"If not then, I will have you make it up later, your highness," calls out Sylvie as Luca drags his horse from the lists, her lips catching in another smile, before she finally pushes away from the fence. She nods to Acacia, a simple thing, before she offers the woman quietly, "I think I shall need to find a seat. You are welcome to join me in the search, if you will."

The tournament grounds have been decorated and readied, there are concessions, music, banners and likely also crowds of people each to watch brightly dressed and rich individuals push each other into the frozen ground. The lists have been set up with literal bushels of tourney lances ready at each end whilst there are trumpeters and announcers standing by, the first pass has just been completed, with Lord Killian standing victorious and Prince Luca bruised. Now Lord Commander Silas and Prince Tristram are taking up positions in the lists.

Killian looks, to be honest, entirely surprised by the result as he rides back over to the waiting area and dismounts from the large charger. He finds an apple from one of the attendants and feeds it to the horse, patting the beast as he says, "My thanks friend, I truly couldn't have done it without you.." before handing it back over to the grooms. He looks around and then goes to loiter back near the others who are awaiting their own passes at the lists.

Haati has joined the General Seating.

Tikva hastens to the side of the borrowed horse she'll be riding for the occasion, scaling lightly into the saddle with ready athleticism. Then she leans forward, murmuring to her steed's ear as though trying to persuade it to a better future performance by cajolery and blandishments. She hoists the lance, testing it for weight, and then settles in to weight, balanced easily in the saddle like somebody who spends rather a lot of time in saddles.

"Good luck!" Jael calls after Tikva, stepping back from the lists again to resume her path back toward her brother's box. If there are a few muttered curses about dresses and skirts on the way, well. Surely it's much too loud with cheering and the like for anyone to hear them.

Dagon waits quietly for his call, at the back of the jousting field. He's atop a lean Oathlands courser, fully clad in enough daunting spikes to make even the mightiest and most nightmarish Thraxian Warlord jealous. Luca's failure doesn't pull a smile from him -- he watches with the look of one not seeing. No, the rubicund-covered prince is far, far away, in his own world as he waits. His blackened armor reflects the light with a abyssal gleam that doesn't match up with the small onset of laugh lines about his face.

Tristan checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 65, 50 higher than the difficulty.

*Stable Master Tristan, not the prince of the similar name.

Silas frowns slightly when he notices his first opponent is the Grayson stablemaster! There is some concern now clearly etched in his expression, but he mounts his steed carefully. His horse carries him forward and he offers Tristan a friendly salute...

Maude climbs up onto the general seating, one leg moving somewhat stiffly after the other, and claims an empty space for herself. Though she does look entertained by the show, studying the horses and their riders, she sits with a rigid, straight-backed posture, hands folded over her lap. Turning from the joust, she looks Garza over for an impolite pair of seconds, then nods curtly. "Hello." she says, with her hands already coming up to clap as Killian is declared the winner of the first match. She smiles quietly, and waits for the next.

Silas checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 10, resulting in 28, 18 higher than the difficulty.

Luca has joined the Field.

Silas checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 47, resulting in 30, 17 lower than the difficulty.

Tristan checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 12, 3 lower than the difficulty.

Acacia shoves away from the fence alongside Sylvie then, inclining her head cordially, "Mmh. Thank you, your Highness. Searching for seats with you will likely be easier than searching for forgotten alaricite daggers." Her dark eyes dart back over her shoulder to watch the grounds, even as her boots clip through some of the iced grass in the process and threaten her steps a bit. The sloshed wine, however, is quite preserved. There's a rather respectful tip of her head in greeting towards Garza and Julea when she passes them, before she donates silver to a server to fetch Sylvie a wine herself. "I kind of have to root for Sir Silas-- but who would Tristan give the dagger to?"

Luca comes striding angrily up to the end of the field where Dagon rests atop his own, turning over Gluefoot to Velenosan stableboys along with his shield. Angrily stomping aside, the shirtless Lycene duelist growls something up to Dagon as he passes.

Sylvie has joined the Quiet Booth.

Acacia has joined the Quiet Booth.

It seems that it's only Luca's pride that may have suffered injury, and there is little Sophie can do for that. The horse, likewise, seems well enough. So it is that the Mercy settles back in for the next round. First, though, she calls out to Acacia, "To new dreams and those yet retained, I'd say, mistress."

Dagon jerks from his introversion as Luca speaks to him, and for a moment the prince's face is blank as he takes in Luca's words with a puzzled expression. But that puzzled expression soon turns into a glare. He leans sideways in his saddle, one hand on the pommel to keep him upright in all that armor, to murmur something back down to the man.

Aaand he's off! Silas can ride competently, by all appearances, but Tristan is clearly the better of the two. He spurs his stallion forward and nears the incoming Tristan in a thunder of hooves, but he doesn't lean far enough in to successfully nab his opponent with his lance. Tristan clips his shield as he passes, but also appears to whiff. Silas wheels his horse around for the next pass...

Tristan looks a little awkward with lance and shield, fumbling with them as he tries to adjust them comfortably. After a moment's thought, he just knots his reins to keep them out of the way, and lets them lie on the stallion's withers. He doesn't need them--his horse moves as if signalled by magic, responding to the subtlest cues of leg, the smallest shift of weight. Still, he fumbles with the lance and just clips Silas' shield in passing.

Darrow strides in, his stern glower seeming to dissuade most of those he passes, as he heads over for where Dagon waits atop the horse. Dressed for a funeral, he seems, but then again, the Lord of the Lament is always dressed to depress.

There is less of a cheer from the crowd this time as no lances explode dramatically into showers of sharp wood and nobody is send crashing to the hard ground, but both competitors are still in the saddle and that of course promises more passes.

Tikva watches the brief contretemps between Luca and Dagon with the flicker of a curious blink, but stays ahorse quietly without snooping beyond the linger of her glance. Anyway, that's could be attributable to Luca's not wearing a shirt. She's only human here.

Silas checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 10, resulting in 22, 12 higher than the difficulty.

Tristan checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 65, 50 higher than the difficulty.

Silas checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 53, resulting in 48, 5 lower than the difficulty.

Tristan checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 29, 14 higher than the difficulty.

For the most, Garza continues to watch the event taking place with idle interest. Every so often, the sellsword takes a drag from his cigarillo that leads to him exhaling the smoke through his nose. Catching Acacia's greeting, he returns an equally respect nod to the woman. Maude's reaction to his greeting causes him to offer a toothy grin, as well as a little wave.

Darrow has joined the General Seating.

Silas checked stamina + ride against difficulty 19, resulting in 27, 8 higher than the difficulty.

Inigo watches quietly from the far stands, every once in the while the lord will cheer when something of note occurs. Otherwise, the young Malvici seems to content himself with watching those in the crowd, idly shifting his gaze from one individual to another.

Luca seems mollified by whatever the glaring Dagon said, and goes off further aside to find somewhere to lean on or near the stands. Catching Tikva's looking his way, angry or not, the Lycene prince casts a quick playful wink her way, perhaps assuming the shirtlessness was reason for attention as well. Or else just the sort to do that either way. He's turning to watch the much better done jousting going on out there on the field then, waiting to see who might go down next.

Dagon's glare slips into a smile -- it comes easily to the noble Thraxian. Easier, maybe, than brooding; but he does a lot of that too. "Blessings of Gloria upon you. I'll see you in the melee," he bows his head to Luca, before he twists in his saddle to fix Darrow with a stare and a nod. Back to brooding. See! He's really good at it.

"Thank you, Lord Darrow. Full sails." Darrow's words, or maybe his presence -- in the mourning black -- sombers Dagon suddenly.

Cristoph is, for his part, watching the jousting, which he seems pretty into, a mug of mead in one hand, grinning as people ride at each other on horses and aim pieces of wood with the entire weight of charging person and animal behind them.

The Lord Commander was -really- wishing he wasn't going up against the horse whisperer right about now. He repeats the motions of the first pass, only this time with even poorer results! His lance misses Tristan as he goes by, but the other man's lance hits him squarely in the torso. He emits a pained grunt, but takes ahold of his reigns and manages to stay on top of his horse as he gallops by. "Ow," he murmurs.

Tikva goes back to paying strict and studious attention to the dark tuft of mane between the flicking ears of her steed. Noooo that never happened and there's definitely no pink in her cheeks. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain, etc.

Tristan wheels his bright chestnut around. This time he takes a moment, eying his opponent and setting his lance firmly. The stallion breaks into a charge at the slightest cue, hooves thundering across the ground. This time the lance hits Silas' square, the other lance exploding into splinters, and then takes the Lord Commander square in the torso.

There is a roar from the crowd as a lance explodes, especially as Silas remains in the saddle when horses thunder past each other. A squire is already extending out a fresh lance for the Grayson stablemaster as he reaches the end of the lists.

Silas checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 10, resulting in 22, 12 higher than the difficulty.

Tristan checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 46, 31 higher than the difficulty.

Tristan checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 24, 9 higher than the difficulty.

Silas checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 34, resulting in 41, 7 higher than the difficulty.

Standing leaning against one of the tent poles of the beverage tent is Asha, green eyes following the tournament with some mild excitement, a smile on her lips as she drinks from wherever she got that mug from. It's surely delicious, regardless.

The tournament grounds have been decorated and readied, there are concessions, music, banners and likely also crowds of people each to watch brightly dressed and rich individuals push each other into the frozen ground. The lists have been set up with literal bushels of tourney lances ready at each end whilst there are trumpeters and announcers standing by, the first pass resulted in Prince Luca unhorsed by Lord Killian on the first pass, though he broke his lance on his opponent's shield. Now Lord Commander Silas is riding against Master of Horse Tristan, the knight's superior handling of his lance fairing poorly against the Grayson' retainers uncanny skill in the saddle, though they are on their final pass and both still in the saddle.

Silas does better for the last pass, but it isn't quite enough. Both jousters land hits upon the other, but Tristan comes out with more points, at the end. He makes a disappointed sound when he stops Damascus at the and of the lists, but he gives Tristan a respectful nod before he moves to dismount. Oh well!

Luca has left the Field.

Luca has joined the the Beverage Tent.

One last pass. Tristan thunders down the lists, and lands a touch on Silas' shield even as Silas lands a touch on his. He raises his lance in respectful salute to Silas as he slows his horse.

Asha has joined the the Beverage Tent.

"Stable Master Tristan takes the victory in the second round with four points, one lance broke and one touch, but Lord Commander Silas remained in the saddle despite being struck twice!" Cristoph provides a summary following another sip of mead, then. "Duke Dagon and Lady Tikva are next in the lists. May Gloria smile upon their contest."

Luca's grimacing as the current match up makes he and Killian's look like the toddler version skillwise when it comes to the horses. Though there's been a profound lack of spectacular exploding lances at least, so there's that. He turns from them when neither is felled, shaking head and turning to head towards the beverage tent, apparently intent on alcohol, even if it's just a nip. He may regret that later in the melee. It does however give him chance to come sidling up to a fellow Champion, oblivious to his shirtless state in the gleaming diresnake scales of the cloak, pants, boots, and pauldrons.

Tikva, in preparation for their joust, lifts her lance in a grave salute to Dagon across the lists, the solemnity of the moment appropriate to the disparity in their social rank. Then she lowers the lance and lets out a somewhat undignified WHOOP! of a joyous hellion, right on the verge of lunging into the fray. Whatever her acumen as rider or fighter, there is no doubt whatsoever about the power and energy behind Tikva's /lungs/.

The title seems to catch Dagon by surprise, and he turns in his saddle to tell a squire about making the correction -- before he realizes. That soon will be correct. A small grin hooks his lips upwards, and he rolls his shoulders back, plate scratching on plate as he does so. With a great jangle of armor he rides out to the far side of the field and brings his courser around to face his opponent.

He holds his helm, a nightmarish thing of blackened armor with a red sheen, out to his opponent and bows his head respectfully before donning that... thing. "Honor to Gloria," he calls across the field. His own lance lowers...

Tikva checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 30, 15 higher than the difficulty.

Dagon checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 52, 37 higher than the difficulty.

Tikva checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 37, resulting in 11, 26 lower than the difficulty.

Dagon checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 41, 26 higher than the difficulty.

Tikva checked stamina + ride against difficulty 31, resulting in 14, 17 lower than the difficulty.

Dagon launches forward on his horse, urging the courser faster and faster with his knees, while he keeps his lance pointed out for the moment. There's a great thundering of hooves -- the pair are almost met, and then Dagon leans back in his saddle instead of forward, twisting to take the brunt of Tikva's lance against his armor first before shattering his own into Tikva's shoulder. Dagon's lance splinters into pieces, sending shrapnel flying outwards over the field.

Jael makes it about half way up to the booth before she turns around to instead get a better view of the field and the crowd, marking faces she knows. And once she's selected a target, then she starts right back down, heading for the mercies at the sideline. "Your highness," she smiles swiftly to Sophie. "Nothing too deadly so far, I hope?"

Though there is an easy competency to the way Tikva Riven sits her horse as a matter of course, it is no match for Dagon's smooth horsemanship; the angle of his lance is perfect, shattering in a rain of splinters against Tikva's shield with just the right shift and twist to throw off her balance. Tikva teeters half out of the saddle for a moment in a perilous dangling and then kicks loose from her stirrups with a squeaky noise that /wholly/ lacks dignity, cracking hard into the earth shoulder first. She rolls for a moment while the sorrel prances and snorts away from her, disdaining her fallen rider in the dust. Tikva lies flat on her back, blowing dust out of her mouth and squinting into the sky in a moment's daze.

Jael has joined the Field.

Silas dismounts his horse and moves to spectate the rest of the joust. Sadly, the next match-up doesn't last very long, and Silas can be heard audibly wincing when Tikva is spectacularly dismounted.

Cristoph winces at that result, then raises his mead in salute before setting it down. "Duke Dagon is victorious on the first pass! And now a short delay before I face Sir Roland in the final match of the first round." He steps down rather quickly there before moving to a tent in order to have a team of squires speed lace him into armour.

Cristoph has left the Judges Booth.

6 Crimson Blades Sergeant leaves, following Cristoph.

Tristan watches the match-up with a thoughtful squint. He winces, too at the dismount, and, tethering his own stallion, moves to catch Tikva's mount. He checks the horse over for any injury, stooping to run his hands over each leg, and leads said horse over to the fallen rider.

6 Crimson Blades Sergeant arrives, following Cristoph.

Dagon deposits his broken lance with a squire, before trotting back over to where Tikva lays, dazed. He pulls up the visor of his helm, revealing the slightly breathless face underneath. "Bracing?" He wonders down to the woman with a grin, before dropping down from his horse and moving to assist her with a hand. One eye goes to Sophie, as the giver of medical help.

Tikva rolls over onto her elbows, pushes up onto her knees, and cackles. Raking her hand through the bright fluff of her hair, she claws splinters from amidst the red strands, and looks up at Tristan and Dagon from her knees, her nose crinkling at its bridge. "My lord, you hit like a battering ram," she says. Taking the lever he offers her, she springs to her feet with startling energy for somebody who just cracked into the earth with that impact. "I'm going to be feeling that one tomorrow," she says, sharing her smile evenly and democratically between them.

Roland has been lurking around where he's out of the way, but when Cristoph mentions his name, he sets about getting ready for his bout -- and once he and his horse are ready, he lowers his helm and walks his horse into position at his end of the list.

Jael's brows rise when Cristoph says he's going to ride, a flicker of concern in her features as she eyes the outcome of the last match. "Well that's new," she murmurs, though she applauds when the other riders move to help Tikva up.

Cristoph re-emerges in full plate, all lacquered dark blue and decorated with gold, his plumed helm upon his head though he keeps his visor open as he mounts and moves to the lists. Mounting, he raises his lance in salute to his opponent before lowering the visor and locking shut the cheek pieces of his armour, shield ready, positioning for the charge.

An up-nod is offered to the defeated Silas, along with a 'next time, surely' smile of encouragement before Sophie's attention is drawn to Jael. "Wounded pride has been known to fester, milady," she good-naturedly tell the Laurent before there is the familiar sound (she /is/ an Oathlander princess) of shattering lance. Attention drawn back to the field, she winces slightly as Tivka is so soundly dismounted. "Do you require aid, milady?" is asked of the Riven who seems to be a bit battered but otherwise ok.

Cristoph checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 28, 13 higher than the difficulty.

"Something to remember me by," Dagon tells Tikva, grin widening as he claps the woman on the shoulder and moves back to his own horse. "An honorable bout," he inclines his head again to Tikva before moving off and out of the way of the other jousters, preparing to run each other down.

Roland checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 29, 14 higher than the difficulty.

Cristoph checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 16, resulting in 33, 17 higher than the difficulty.

Roland checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 52, 37 higher than the difficulty.

Tristan offers Tikva her horse's reins. "He seems fine, but sometimes horses are a bit sore after an impact like that, too," he says. "I'd let him have a easy couple of days, with light exercise." He pauses. "Oh, yes. Well-ridden, and all that."

Maude has left the General Seating.

Ceol, the old raven have been dismissed.

Cristoph checked stamina + ride against difficulty 42, resulting in 33, 9 lower than the difficulty.

Roland checked stamina + ride against difficulty 23, resulting in 50, 27 higher than the difficulty.

Silas is neither a medic, nor a caretaker of horses, so he simply watches the others move to help the poor lady. The words of encouragement from Sophie seem to lighten him up, even if he was still too far from her position to really maintain a conversation. His blue eyes drift to the next pair of jousters...

Haati nods and sits back as it is over, "That clearly was a quick one... Not that I know the ins and outs, but I've been on my ass enough to know that hit was like a tone of armor slamming into you." He cheers a bit and goes back to drinking his rum.

Teagan makes her quiet way into the grounds, and turns promptly for the stands, moving to seat herself in there without much of a fuss as to where exactly she finds herself, gaze turning then towards events ongoing out in the field below.

Garza finishes his cigarillo and takes one final drag from it. He drops the butt of it on the ground, using his boot to put it out. "See you later, Spitfire," he says to Julea, siring and then making his way to step out of the grounds.

Garza has left the General Seating.

Teagan has joined the General Seating.

Cristoph looks to be Roland's match as they both ride toward each other, lances levelled, shields braced, positioning the point of his lance directly for his opponent's shield as they thunder down the lists. Then there is the crunch of impact as both lances explode into flying shards of wood and the duke's charcoal grey warhorse is carrying on without him, a crunch of steel as he is hammered out of the saddle and hits the ground.

Roland nudges his mount into a ride down the list, picking up speed as he drives toward Tristan. His mount looks a little nervous and takes some coaxing to line up right, but the knight stays steady as he lowers his lance to plow hard at Cristoph. With his helmet down it's hard to see his expression as his lance bursts into a shower of wood against the other Valardin's shield, but even with the force of the blow, he remains firmly seated -- a mounted lump of stubborn that refuses to budge.

For obvious reasons it is a herald who calls out the result of this pass. "Sir Roland is victorious! Three points to each competitor but Duke Cristoph is dismounted, Sir Roland continues to the next round!" The crowd also cheers, that was pretty damatic, also a duke got smooshed.

Jael winces as her brother goes flying, one hand rising to cover her eyes as she turns away from the landing. "Teach him to have three flagons of mead before he decides to ride a joust, maybe," she grumbles to Sophie before her fingers part to let her peek out between them. "He's still moving, right?"

Cristoph does for his part sort of wince after hitting the ground, then does indeed move, albeit painfully, he does not really finish getting up until squires rush out to retrieve him then limps off the field.

Tristan looks up from his ministrations to Tikva's horse to see Roland initially charging toward him. He frowns, and gestures toward Cristoph, with an expression of someone wondering if he has a new training prospect.

Roland slows his horse and lets her walk out the exertion of her sprint before dismounting and leading her over toward Cristoph. He lifts his visor and calls out, "You all right there, my lord? That was well-ridden." He thumps his shield with his fist in a salute. Once that's done, he clears out of the way of the activity to prepare for the next round.

Damascus, a regal steel gray warhorse have been dismissed.

Killian is approached by one of the squires, informing him he's next and nods, "Of course.." he agrees quietly as he moves to prepare, retrieving the loaner horse once again and heading to get mounted up. Once mounted he settles his shield in place and receives the lance brought to him, riding out towards the lists but waiting to approach when his name is called.

Cristoph raises a gauntlet clad hand to Roland, once his helmet is off. "Well ridden indeed Sir Roland! I thought I had you for a moment, but you hit like a tidal wave, I was ripped from the saddle with very little say in the matter." He grins, albeit painfully.

Tristan leaves the circle around Tikva to return to his horse. He has a quiet conversation with the stallion before he swings into the saddle, and rides him in a slow circle to stretch his legs while he waits for the announcement.

That does look painful, yes, Jael. Summer sky eyes follow Cristoph as he limps off the field. "Let us find out," Sophie tells his sister, as she makes her way to the Duke. "Well-ridden, indeed," she echoes Roland's words before asking, "Shall I take a look at you?" The man obviously is in pain.

Trumpets now, because this is getting important. "Lord Killian of House Ashford, facing the Honourable Tristan, Master of the Stables for House Grayson!" A drumroll starts as the two face off against each other down the lists.

Silas perks up. Another Grayson versus Grayson match-up.

Tristan checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 69, 54 higher than the difficulty.

Killian checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 23, 8 higher than the difficulty.

Tikva has by this time of course cleared out of the way of galloping horses and now stands to the side to cheer and whoop for the other competitors.

Tristan checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 25, 10 higher than the difficulty.

Killian checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 61, resulting in 65, 4 higher than the difficulty.

Jael follows after Sophie, though there's definitely a relieved breath there when Cristoph gets up. Good, he's alive and she doesn't have to balance the books on this whole affair. "Whatever happened to just being the host?" she half chides, half teases, even as she poking around his armor for any unanticipated holes.

Killian checked stamina + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 22, 7 higher than the difficulty.

Dagon leans forward in his saddle, arms crossing loosely along the fork of the saddle. He's taken his helmet off now, revealing a matted mess of sweaty black locks underneath that still manage to frame those sharp, courtly features with a decent amount of austerity. He watches the next bout with a rapt attention, his midnight blues invested in the jousting now that he's won his first one. No more does the introverted daydreams of his mind come to steal his attention away and into brooding.

The horse may be a loaner, but it's a fine steed and Killian comes around to the list and squares off with Tristan who gets a salute of his lance before the Knight launches forward at the sound of the signal. He's not the horseman that the stable master is, nor is he riding a horse trained to its rider..even so the Knight thunders forward with remarkable skill with the lance, and while Tristan's explodes in a shower of splinters against Killian's shield, the Knight still manages to score a touch with his own lance and still remains in the saddle as he reaches the end of the lists and wheels around for another pass, his lance still intact.

Cristoph does seem to be at the very least bruised as people come to join him, though not in bad spirits, a rather careful bow of his head given as Jael approaches, then a slight grin. "I know that I did not say I was going to ride Jael, but we had an uneven number of competitors. That said I was hoping to do rather better than being unhorsed on the first pass even if I did break my lance."

Tristan swings his mount around and lets the rein lie on his neck again so he can focus on his unfamiliar weapon. The stallion leaps forward with a loud neigh, enjoying his sprint down the lists. Tristan's eyes are on his opponent; he twists his lance sideways at the last minute, just enough to break it against Killian's shield.

The crowd cheers are both lances connect and one explodes, , the drumroll starting back up as fresh lances are handed to both competitors as they return to their ends of the list.

"May you rest assured, dear Duke, that there is no shame to be unseated by a knight as skilled and stalwart as Sir Roland," Sophie gently smiles. "You fared better than most." And then there is another run and the crowd cheers, and the Mercy's attention is drawn back to the field.

"That stablemaster is quick on that saddle," Dagon murmurs to nobody in particular, from his spot in the field, where he waits for his own bout with Roland. There's a boyish smile on his youthful features as he watches for the next pass.

Tristan checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 48, 33 higher than the difficulty.

Inigo glances at the lay of the sun to the horizon a slight grumble being given as the lord rises to his feet, settling his sword on his hip before striding down the benches and out of the tournament grounds, another affair unfortunately requiring his attention.

Inigo has left the Far Stands.

Killian checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 29, 14 higher than the difficulty.

Killian checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 34, resulting in 49, 15 higher than the difficulty.

Tristan checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 29, 14 higher than the difficulty.

Killian checked stamina + ride against difficulty 19, resulting in 14, 5 lower than the difficulty.

Tristan checked stamina + ride against difficulty 20, resulting in 39, 19 higher than the difficulty.

"Break all the lances you want," Jael rolls her eyes at her brother, though there's a good-natured smile to balance it out. "As long as that's all you break." She glances over her shoulder at the sound of more breaking lances and thundering hooves, pausing just long enough to give Cristoph and his filthy armor a hug. "Well done, all the same. Now you can enjoy some more mead."

Another pass. Thundering hooves and flickering tails. Tristan and Killian slam into each other, lances exploding into splinters--and only Tristan rides off.

Acacia leaned forward in her seat with a newfound interest in the jousting. Digits tapping upon her half-consumed wine glass, she'd promptly stood up at the splintering of lances and then poured herself back into her chair, groaning dramatically at the finish. "I'm telling you-- bloody whispers, your Highness," she complains amiably towards Sylvie, laughing despite herself.

"Fortunately I spent perhaps too much money on wrapping myself in steel, I am bruised but nothing else I think." Cristoph rather carefully hugs Jael back, a smile to Sophie. "You are right my lady, I am just slightly disappointed that I did not manage to remove him from his saddle in return, he was entirely immovable though." Then he looks back to the next charge, intent, then a low whistle as only one remains in the saddle. "Now that was spectacular."

Sylvie is leaning forward for the pass, interest peaked. And as they finish so dramatically, she offers to her companion, "Who could have seen that? Keep your coin; we'll go double or nothing on the next."

Silas almost feels Killian's pain, to his middle and to his pride. He squints at Tristan as he comes out victorious once more. "Say what you want about his lance skills, the guy knows how to ride..."

The second pass goes better for Killian, as he drops the lance and thunders forward, his horse and he working in more unison this time. Or perhaps it's just that Tristan is less in tune with his own horse. At the last moment the knight raises up in the stirrups, leaning forward and his lance impacts against Tristan's shield even as the stablemaster's slams against his own. Both lances explode in a shower of splinters and wood, but there's the slightest bit of give and flex in Tristan's lance before it detonates..and it's the undoing of the Knight. The force lifts him from his stirrups, hurling him backwards in a graceful arc as nine doves flutter by in slow motion..or probably not..but either way, Killian is hurled from the saddle as the horse thunders onward, and bounces against the turf loudly in that heavy armor of his..

"Master of Horse Tristan is victorious, Lord Killian scores four points in two passes but is unhorsed, Tristan proceeds to the final round!" The announcer continues to provide commentry as squires move out onto the field to retrieve the larger pieces of broken lance, errant horses, lords who are no longer on said horses. "The next contest shall be between Duke Dagon and Sir Roland!"

"Ah, but you're solid with your blows, Your Highness," Sophie amiably remarks to Dagon. Of course, then Killian goes flying so spectacularly, and the Valardin winces. "So it would seem is Master Tristan, as well. Pardon me." And so it is that the Mercy ambles over to inspect the Ashford.

Tristan turns his mount around, handing shield and lance to a nearby squire, and leans down from his stirrups to offer Killian an hand. "Well ridden," he says. "I thought you had me for a moment there."

There's a low groan from Killian as he's assisted up and seen to, muttering, "Ouch.." in an extremely eloquent summation of his life at the moment. He smiles at Tristan, "Well ridden Master Tristan," he says to the man and then hobbles off the field and out of the way with whatever aid is available, assuring Sophie he'll be fine..eventually..

Haati has left the General Seating.

Haati has joined the General Seating.

"And off we go..." Dagon murmurs, inspecting his opponent with a nervous little grin on his lips. I mean, who wouldn't be nervous, riding their horse into a brick wall? But the former prince seems more excited than nervous as he takes to the other side of the field, picking up shield first from a squire, and then going through much the same honorables he gave to Tikva.

"Grace to Gloria," he calls across the field, a Knight till the last, before he extends his helmet outwards in a hand, bows his head in tribute, and dons that blackened, reddish metal. His squire hands him a lance and then flees the field, along with the others.

Roland may've snuck his mount a little piece of carrot while he was watching the bout between Killian and Tristan, but he takes his time making sure all of his tack is properly fitted and tightened. Nothing like a loose saddle failing to make a man embarrassed to get knocked off a horse. "All right then, Fluff?" He murmurs to his mare, giving the horse an affectionate pat before he mounts up and retrieves his lance from the waiting assistant. He salutes Dagon from his end of the course, as is proper and traditional.

Dagon checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 26, 11 higher than the difficulty.

Roland checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 33, 18 higher than the difficulty.

Roland checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 51, 36 higher than the difficulty.

Dagon checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 23, resulting in 54, 31 higher than the difficulty.

Dagon checked stamina + ride against difficulty 41, resulting in 22, 19 lower than the difficulty.

Roland checked stamina + ride against difficulty 36, resulting in 68, 32 higher than the difficulty.

There is of course another trumphet call as the duke and the knight face off against each other, does Roland only fight dukes? Then a drum roll as the two thunder down the lists toward each other.

"By the Gods. I mean-- granted, Sir Roland is rather large. But I /swear/ that I've watched Prince Dagon do remarkably well in combat previous." Acacia's teeth lightly clench, before she carelessly polishes off her wine and hands off the glass with silver to pair for refills -- two of them. "You know, I've won knives and favors and banquets and all sorts of things at these Tournaments, your Highness. You bested me solidly. Whispers and Knights. Blessed be."

CRACK! After thundering down the course, Roland's lance shatters on Dagon's shield, splintering -- as it's supposed to -- and throwing shards of wood everywhere. That is what helmet visors are for, folks: always wear eye protection! Fluff blows out her breath noisily as her rider is knocked backward -- but not off -- by Dagon's strike, and Roland canters her the rest of the length of the list until she's able to walk out and start to cool down.

Once she's determined that her brother is in one piece, Jael steps back to let Cristoph get back to playing the part of master of ceremonies. And to watch the next match - the further along the competition goes, the more brutal the blows.

"The city has changed a lot. You will re-learn it all and come out on top again. I have faith in that, Mistress Acacia," replies Sylvie to her companion, despite the fact that her lips remain in a light smile. Her gaze sweeps the list, searching them.

Selene has joined the General Seating.

Cristoph does limp his way back to where he can get a good view, wincing ever so slightly as he takes a deep breath, then for an altogether different reason as Dagon clears his saddle. "Sir Roland is victorious and proceeds to the final round against Master of the Stables Tristan! Whomever wins will bring honour to Gloria, as well as being awarded with the The Silence's Lament, commissioned by Princes Lark of House Grayson! May the final round of the jousting begin!"

DOUBLE CRACK! Dagon's lance splinters against Roland's shield, but slightly off-center. The man doesn't sit as well in his saddle as his opponent, and it shows. Must be the Thraxian blood -- made for boats, not horses! Dagon's knees, previously gripped into his horse, are forcibly yanked away and he falls from his saddle, rolling onto the ground in a great clank of metal armor.

For a moment he just lays in the dirt, breathing heavily. Then, laughter rises up from that visor -- and when he stands and slips it back up, his face is gleaming with sweat and a breathless grin. He slips from the field, gesturing Sophie over wordlessly.

Her eyebrows arching as Roland unhorses Dagon, Teagan sits forward a little, the noblewoman drawing her gloved hands together to applaud, though the silk mutes the sound in any case.

Tristan remounts, to make his way toward the lists for the final match, still clad in his simple leathers. Flame drops his head and snorts, arching his neck and flagging his tail. The stallion does a little prance for Fluff's benefit, until Tristan tells him firmly, "_Behave_."

Silas raises his brows when the Thraxian prince takes a tumble. He wasn't expecting that result!

     Better late than never, they say. She was aiming for fashionably late, but it seems she over shot that and has found herself quietly slipping into the general seating area to over see the last of the jousting. She bows to those she finds there, with a beautiful grace and pulls her shawl over her shoulders to keep the chill from her bare skin. Quiet, Selene doesn't speak, but rather watches with large sapphire eyes, taking in the festivities with quiet curiosity.

Acacia applauds openly this time, audibly, and her call is uttered fearlessly to Roland, "For Gloria, Sir Roland! Might wins-- over--" There's a pause, before she glances aside at Sylvie, amused, "-- whispering? Blessed if I know." She leans back with a grin, before the server furnishes two new glasses of the wine and she partakes willingly.

"Well-fought, my lord," Roland calls to Dagon as he sidles Fluff away from Tristan's Flame, lest his mare get any ideas. She's a brawny and not especially lovely thing, with an utterly ridiculous poof of a mane (no doubt the origin of her name). "My shield will bear that mark for some time to come!" There is indeed a divot where the lance struck true.

There's a beaming smile for Roland's victory -- Oathlands pride, yo -- that turns into a sympathetic wince as Dagon goes thud. Being waved over, Sophie and her medical satchel go as beckoned. "More than wounded pride, Your Highness?"

Talking amongst the other Thrax, Darrow's frown deepens as Sir Roland unhorses the Prince, though the gauntleted clap of his hands for Dagon as he rises is loud. He then leans over to Haati.

Luca says, "p aleksei=:shakes. Help me decide!!! ;) eheh"

Luca says, "oc woops"

"And you, Sir Roland," Dagon grins back to Roland. It's a pained grin, and as the Thraxian knight unties his armor from his shoulder, it's soon apparent why. He wears only a sleeveless tunic under that rubicund metal, and so that gives a perfect view of the already-purpling swelling around his shoulder, the one that took the blow of the lance on his shield. It's cocked at an odd angle.

"Bit out of sorts," he admits to Sophie with a dry humor in his voice, offering his shoulder for her.

The tournament grounds have been decorated and readied, there are concessions, music, banners and likely also crowds of people each to watch brightly dressed and rich individuals push each other into the frozen ground. The lists have been set up with literal bushels of tourney lances ready at each end whilst there are trumpeters and announcers standing by, the lists are being cleared now for the final match, between Roland and Tristan, Cristoph is for his part down by the lists now, in somewhat battered looking if shiny armour, also visibly favouring one leg. Apparently his round did not go so well.

Fluff prances as prettily as she can as Roland rides her over to her position in the lists. She looks as though she's in good condition, and isn't too tired from her first two rides. Her rider gives her a gentle pat of reassurance on the shoulder, muttering, "Ah, you're a good lass, Fluff. Just one more ride and we'll get you a nice rub down and a blanket." He reaches up and lowers his visor one last time, accepting the lance from the field attendant and saluting Tristan at the other end of the field. As he prepares to ride, he calls, "For Valardin!"

Tristan's stallion droops momentarily, pouting at being rebuked for showing off for the mare, but he gathers himself up as they approach their position. Tristan collects his lance, setting it into position, and calls back, "For the king!"

Tristan checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 82, 67 higher than the difficulty.

Gaius, a Thraxian Confessor, Balanar, a shadowy Confessor arrive, following Alistair.

Roland checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 30, 15 higher than the difficulty.

Caelis wanders in to the Tournament with red ribbons braided into her hair and a red dress with a cloak over it to keep off the chill. She gathers it around her and her way over to the stands looking towards the joust as she walks.

Tristan checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 14, 1 lower than the difficulty.

Roland checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 67, resulting in 46, 21 lower than the difficulty.

Luca has been spending entirely too much time down in the beverages tent talking with his fellow Champion. Maybe he's spent that entire time drinking, for as he starts off from the tent, he's heading towards the quiet stands Sylvie is at. And as he's going, he's starting to strip out from the armor he was wearing. Unstrapping the pauldrons as he goes, starting up into the stands near the Lycene Duchess and unlatching his boots and kicking them off. Apparently the Naked Prince is making a return for the grand melee and all that pretty diresnake scale armor is going to go to waste.

Luca has left the the Beverage Tent.

Luca has joined the Quiet Booth.

"I can see that," Sophie remarks to Dagon about his shoulder, equally dry. "Let us see to getting you properly sorted out." Which she starts to do with gingerly touch as practiced skill.

Unlike his previous runs, Rolan's bout against Tristan isn't so clearly settled -- down the list Fluff thunders, but Roland just can't quite manage a solid hit against the other man's shield. A glancing blow, his balance off, he can do nothing more than canter past to the end of the list to make another attempt.

Tristan does not appear to move a muscle, but Flame springs into a sprint, straight and true, his hooves barely seeming to touch the ground, the man moving with him, almost part of it. However, his lance bounces harmlessly off Roland's shoulder. Perhaps they were going too fast.

Roland checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 49, 34 higher than the difficulty.

There's an easy smile to Asha as she watches Luca walk away, the woman still leaning against the tent and watching the bout with some excitement. With a shrug she slips away from the tent to mingle with the crowd.

Asha has left the the Beverage Tent.

Tristan checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 54, 39 higher than the difficulty.

"It's just a bit... skewed," Dagon tells Sophie. Because a Thraxian noble must know loads about medicine, right? "Just give it a good pop, your highness. I have a melee to compete in." He takes a seat at the end of a nearby bench while Sophie goes about her ministrations. Meanwhile, one of Dagon's men-at-arms supplies the prince with a canteen to drink from as he rests and looks towards the bout with a furrowed brow.

The bookies and the degenerate gamblers likely go scattering when a cadre of Hoods appear on the Tournament grounds. Alistair and his Confessors easily make their way through the various crowds, people parting to each side as they move about. A few whispers follow them, likely from those of the Lower Boroughs or merchants who generally find the unwanted attentions of the Crown's Inquisitorial Order on their books. Alistair pauses a moment to watch the jousting match go on, his sharp eyes following the point of the lances as they are lowered and driven to a point.

There is a dramatic drum roll as the two competitors rush each other, building to a crescendo as... Well no dramatic explosion of lances or people thrown from the saddle, no cheer, though the crowd is intent.

Selene has left the General Seating.

Tristan checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 28, 13 higher than the difficulty.

Dagon has joined the General Seating.

Roland checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 19, resulting in 52, 33 higher than the difficulty.

Tristan checked stamina + ride against difficulty 38, resulting in 56, 18 higher than the difficulty.

Roland checked stamina + ride against difficulty 18, resulting in 41, 23 higher than the difficulty.

"Lord Darrow," Dagon calls suddenly, looking about and up into the seating. "Are you joining in the melee?"

Harmon has joined the General Seating.

Harmon makes his way into the seats, attempting to learn about combat via osmosis from a distance.

Looking towards Luca, Caelis arches a brow at the stripping Prince as he walks and the Malvici makes her way over to the seating with hurried steps to see if they'll dislodge one another the next run.

Caelis has joined the General Seating.

CRACK! Roland's lance shatters against Tristan's shield as he thunders past -- he takes the blow he is dealt, rocking back with the impact, but stays on his horse as Fluff barrels past and begins to slow. Poor horse.

Another pass. Tristan sets his lance more firmly, eying Roland's statue as he adjusts how he holds it. This time both riders meet with a loud thwack, splinters flying as both lances break--but both stay seated. Tristan barely moves in the saddle.

There is a roar from the crowd this time as, in contract to the previous pass, both lances dramatically explode. Flying shards of sharp wood again illustrate the importance of good face protection, then it is time for the third and final pass that will decide the victor of the tournament.

If that shoulder is dislocated, it's gonna hella hurt when popped back into place. To add insult to injury, Dagon would be strongly advised to go easy on it and wear a sling for the immediate future. Regardless of if it really is /that/ bad or not, Sophie sees the Thrax sorted.

Arcelia has joined the General Seating.

Arcelia makes her way into the grounds wearing a brown and red silk dress and a brown fur-lined cloak overtop. As soon as her eyes find Caelis she heads up towards the woman.

Tristan checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 79, 64 higher than the difficulty.

Roland brings Fluff around for the third and final pass, taking a moment to pull off his helmet and shake loose his hair before putting it back on again. His final lance is passed to him by the field attendant and he lifts it in salute to Tristan -- in honor of a mighty opponent.

Roland checked dexterity + ride against difficulty 15, resulting in 29, 14 higher than the difficulty.

Dagon checked willpower against difficulty 20, resulting in 19, 1 lower than the difficulty.

Asha seems momentarily distracted looking away into some corner, before she blinks as lances shatter and she joins in with the cheers. Raising her fingers to lips for a sharp whistle. A wide smile on her as she moves closer.

Roland checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 65, resulting in 59, 6 lower than the difficulty.

Gilbert sneaks into the event far too late and slips into the crowd to mingle and watch as if he had been there the entire time.

Tristan checked strength + medium wpn against difficulty 15, resulting in 66, 51 higher than the difficulty.

Dagon gasps out as Sophie aligns his shoulder with an audible POP, and the young noble's eyes screw up with the pain. Silently, and frantically, he gestures again for that canteen from his man. It's provided, and then drained. The contents obviously aren't water, and for a moment Dagon just pants, a pained smile on his face.

"Thank you," he murmurs weakly to Sophie, nodding as much to her. "Luckily, I won't be using a shield." He attempts a more reassuring face, but it fails.

Roland checked stamina + ride against difficulty 56, resulting in 44, 12 lower than the difficulty.

Valerius, for his part, gets a small smile and a dizzy look from Dagon. "Not staying for the melee, cousin?"

"No, unfortunately," Valerius states aside to Dagon as he moves past, his smile lingering on his cousin from beneath his helm, "Think I'll go work off this drink, relax for a bit. Enjoy yourself." With that, he gathers up his guards and is off.

Valerius has left the General Seating.

6 Thrax Guards leaves, following Valerius.

Tikva slips through the crowds, having managed to divest her dress of almost all of the dust of impact. She works her hand at the back of her neck, working at her slightly stiffened muscles even as she prowls among the seats. She pauses, hand lifted to scrub the back of her hand over her brow, and tips a curious smile towards Sylvie, whom she recalls from an earlier meeting; dropping a curtsey, she says, "My lady Duchess Whisper, may I join you?" with a sunny little smile that is only mildly hampered by the fall she took earlier.

RESOUNDING LACK OF CRACK! Roland's lance lowers in his final pass but Tristan simply -- isn't where he's supposed to be. His lance veers sideways and when Tristan hits him, it's solid enough (and surprising enough!) that the knight upon the poor tired Fluff is knocked free, sailing off his horse to thump solidly onto the ground in a shower of dirt and clanking armor.

Tikva has joined the Quiet Booth.

Darrow stands and lifts his hand to respond to Dagon, starting down the seating into the general grounds. "Aye, my Prince. I will be." He brushes off his hands and moves to stand next to Dagon. "Though I will need to go pick up my weapon for it." Noting the tournament grounds, he tells Dagon. "You tilted well, Dagon - of all in the islands you seem born to sit a stallion. I think you would have had Sir Roland, had not your horse stumbled a touch upon its first canter."

Alistair checked composure against difficulty 15, resulting in 15, 0 higher than the difficulty.

Silas is overheard praising Tristan for: Horsey whisperer!

Cristoph is overheard praising Tristan for: The tournament champion!

Cristoph is overheard praising Roland for: The mighty almost tournament champion!

Despite the forse of Tristan's blow, which makes more then a few in the crowd give a little once as Roland is dehorsed and launched from his saddle. Alistair is a rock! Though there is a tug at his eyes. That did look like it hurt. His Confessors provide plenty of reaction though, grumbling as they exchange money between each other.

Up in the stands near to Sylvie, Luca the Naked Prince has stripped down to nothing but diresnake scaled cloak and dark linen breech cloth for modesty. All that bronze flesh mostly exposed, the man has _got_ to be freezing his bits off!!! But taking up his sword in sheath, fixing her token to his bicep, he bows to the Duchess and starts down towards the field again, pausing to grin at a few on the way. And as he's reaching the field, barefoot and graceful, he catches sight of the final blows, wincing a bit and then joining cheering at the underdog victory.

"This is the part where I tell you that I strongly advise against your participating in the melee, as you run the risk of serious injury," Sophie starts, lambent voice a touch dry in tone. "Now, is the the part where you wave off the sling, Prince Dagon." The faint way the Mercy smiles suggests it probably is.

Tristan and Flame fly down the list, straight and true--until they approach Roland. Tristan is making minute adjustments, the stallion shifting a little to avoid Roland's lance. His own strikes true, with all the force of the sprinting stallion, and sending the knight flying. As Tristan slows the stallion, he blinks at Roland in disbelief--and laughs. It's not a mean laugh; it's a laugh of sudden disbelief and wonder at the absurdity of life. "Well done, Sir Roland," he calls out warmly, trotting over to him.

The crowd cheers as the final pass is made, Roland unhorsed in the most dramatic of fashions after a context previously completely even. Cristoph calls out. "Master of Horse Tristan, sworn to House Grayson, is the victor!" Then. "Please come forward to receive your prize, The Silence's Lament is an alacirite blade forged to commemorate the recent victory at Pridehall, donated by Princess Lark Grayson. Mistress Julea Sanguine , this event has been held in your honour as the champion of that battle, will you please carry out the honours?"

Cristoph is overheard praising Julea for: The champion of the battle of Pridehall

Acacia is overheard praising Julea for: She's bloody skilled in a number of departments.

Luca is overheard praising Tristan for: Well done win, showing it's not all in one's birthright!

Roland pulls off his helmet and spits out a mouthful of dirt before laughing and waving off assistance in rising. He clambers to his feet, pulling off a bent pauldron, and calls back to Tristan, "Good gods, man, you ride like you're part horse yourself -- very well-done!" He puts his fist to his chest and bows to the stablemaster, deeply, then winces a bit and begins to lead his poor Fluff off the field. "C'mon, girl, you've earned your pampering."

Caelis rises in the general seating to clap for the jousters and cheer. She looks over the crowd with a pleased smile and sits again, linking her arm in Arcelia's lightly.

Luca is overheard praising Cristoph for: For hosting a grand display honoring the battle and skill of some of the city's best.

Silas quietly applauds Tristan with a warm smile. It was heartening to see unexpected victors.

"Mangata's blessings, your highness," Dagon's thin-lipped smile meets Sophie's reproachful tone with a bit of a sheepish look. He does indeed wave, with his other hand, the sling that Sophie's assistant Mercy comes to offer him. "I've been through worse." That arm lays limp at his side, unmoving.

When Darrow approaches, Dagon's eyes linger on the man with a squint. "Born to sit a stallion, hm? I doubt that. Most born to be knocked off it, perhaps -- Sir Roland is a wall of brick..." he trails off and looks back to the field, "That just got knocked down. That commoner is a professional at this; glory to him."

Gilbert is overheard praising Cristoph for: Definitely knows how to throw a tournament from start to finish, yep.

    There's a bit of colour on Julea's cheeks as more than a few people's attention lands squarely on her. It takes a moment and then she's on her feet and starting to make her way over towards Tristan, an object wrapped in cloth held in her hands. On reaching the winner of the tournament, she dips her head to him, and then calls out to the crowd. "I was just one person, and the battle of Pridehall was won with lots of one persons, every single one of them fought just as hard as I did. There was no sole winner there, but there is here, and this goes to Tristan. Well done." And with that, she unwraps the blade and offers it out to Tristan hilt first.

Dagon is overheard praising Cristoph for: A good, honorable tournament in praise of Gloria. Compliments to the host.

Roland is overheard praising Cristoph for: A gallant host!

Tristan hands off lance and shield, and runs a hand through rumpled auburn hair. He trots Flame up to the edge of the field, before swinging off the stallion and petting his neck. He bows his head to Cristoph. "Thank you, my lord, for holding such a splendid tourament," with uncharacteristic politeness. He accepts the dagger from Julea, wrapping his fingers around the hilt. "Thank you," he murmurs to her. For a moment, in the middle of the cheering crowd, the stablemaster looks almost embarrassed. He clears his throat.

Teagan is overheard praising Cristoph for: Hosting a fine and well-organised tournament.

Tristan is overheard praising Cristoph for: For organizing such an opportunity to allow riders show their skills!

Darrow remarks to Dagon, shrugging a shoulder loosely. "The Crown's master of horse, is he not? I suppose he lives, breathes, and slee...." His brow furrows, and he amends, clearing his throat, "...sleeps near the horses."

Dagon is overheard praising Tristan for: More horse than man. The hero Arx deserves, but not the one it needs right now.

Luca has left the Quiet Booth.

Luca has joined the Field.

Caelis is overheard praising Tristan for: A fine jouster! So humble in victory!

Cristoph smiles, a bow of his head given to Julea and Tristan as the prize is awarded. "Indeed, tens of thousands fought in the battle, this is to honour all who did, not to mention all who will face our foes through the rest of this war, but today, one has triumphed in the joust. Though we should applaud all who have demonstrated their skills. Now though we prepare for the final event, the Grand Melee! All are welcome to compete and sparring weapons have been provided for those who do not have their own."

Darrow has left the General Seating.

Roland gets Tournament longsword in Laurent colors from Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

Silas wields a thin iron blade with a large ricasso and a heavy hilt.

Julea gets Tournament dagger in Laurent colors from Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

Roland wields Tournament longsword in Laurent colors.

Julea has left the General Seating.

As the joust ends, Jael moves away from the field and toward the stands. Jousting is easy to see from any angle. The melee? That's going to work better with a higher view.

Jael has left the Field.

Dagon's features slip into a brooding frown at the mention of the battle. It's soon diminished, and cut over with a stony mask of stoicism as he rises up. A small wince accompanies him with every step as he moves over to the chest of practice weaponry to pick out his own low-quality blade. "This will be painful..." he murmurs lowly.

Roland has joined the Field.

Silas unsheathes the significantly less ornate training blade fastened to his sword belt. There was a good possibility he was never going to use it again after this.

Tristan takes his dagger and his stallion and fades into the edges of the crowd to watch. Combat without horses is not his forte.

Roland makes sure that his horse is taken care of and takes a bit of time to clean out his armor and replace the dented piece; then he returns to the chest and borrows a sword from it, taking a moment to acquaint himself with its weight before settling in to a waiting spot in the melee field.

Asha gets Tournament spear in Laurent colors from Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

Dagon gets Tournament sabre in Laurent colors from Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

Asha wields Tournament spear in Laurent colors.

Julea wields Tournament dagger in Laurent colors.

Dagon wields Tournament sabre in Laurent colors.

Sparte gets Tournament greatsword in Laurent colors from Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

Asha has joined the Field.

Alistair glances across the assembled crowd as the Grand Melee is called to order, the man's gaze falls upon the barely dressed Luca. His brow knits slightly as if the Inquisition Robot does not understand and cannot process what he sees. "Are you fighting like that?" he asks flatly and wholy disapprovingly.

Gilbert walks over to the stands to join Jael, coming to stand beside the woman as he watches the the competitors grab weapons from the chest, saying aside to her "Well this should be an interesting fight to behold, who do you think is going to win?"

Smooches Arcelia's cheek. "I think I may give it a whirl. Cheer for me." She says to the Saik and hops of the benches to walk to the field.

Killian wields an ugly implement of death.

Julea has joined the Field.

Sparte walks up a nervously, taking a large greatsword from the chest and holding it in his hands a few moments before backing up and giving others access. He isn't talkative today, can't say anything stupid if he doesn't talk, right?

Sparte wields Tournament greatsword in Laurent colors.

Caelis has left the General Seating.

Caelis has joined the Field.

"So, we will present a united front, as we discussed, yes?" Dagon asks of Julea, wandering up to her with a pained grin. His left arm hangs limply at his side, while his right one holds a loose grip onto a curved sabre.

Arcelia's cheeks flush a bit and she nods her head. "Of course Lady Caelis. I wish you the best of luck." She smiles to the woman as she goes down to join. She doesn't move from her seat, nope... no fighting for Arcelia.

Asha bounces lightly on her feet as she approaches the ring as they prepare for the grand melee, all green skirts flowing as she goes to collect a spear from the chest, testing it idly in her hands. A look to Luca as she spins it over her head.

As answer to Alistair, the Naked Prince Luca calls out. "Nope!" And proceeds to strip off his exotic diresnake cloak and hand it off to a squire he called over to keep hold of it, along with the sheath of the simple low quality blade he brought. There is an AWFUL lot of bronzed Lycene duelist flesh on display with only the dark breech cloth for covering, and while he's shifting a little foot to foot. He _isn't_ fighting like that though. He's fighting in even less, like this! Inquisition Judgement Ray Engaged!

    Julea reaches up to lightly press a hand to Dagon's side, giving him a quick grin that broadens enough to see dimples in her cheeks. "Of course, Your Highness."

Kit, Brigid the Genet arrive, following Monique.

The lightweight wooden barrier of the lists is being dismantled and carried away now, clearing the tournament field for the coming melee whilst practise weapons are handed out and people discuss partial nudity or teaming up.

Monique has joined the High Booth.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Cristoph before departing.

Now comes the event where the Mercies of Lagoma will earn their keep. Standing at the sideline, they keenly wait to be of service. As for Sophie, she's not the least bit surprised that Dagon has chosen to participate.

Caelis gets Tournament longsword in Laurent colors from Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

Silas moves towards Sparte and leans in to whisper to him.

Caelis wields Tournament longsword in Laurent colors.

Somehow the dour Inquisitor comes off evne more disapproving as Luca whips off the cloak and readies to stride into battle wearing nothing but breeches. He doesn't even offer a grunt or a snort as he turns away to regard the other fighters who he hopes are taking it a bit more seriously! Grump.

Killian strides out onto the field of battle, in armor and with shield in place. Someone was kind enough not only to dust him off but also to pick the bits of turf out of his armor. He walks to the field and draws a sword as he goes..not his usual, but a grim sort of weapon of poor quality steel and unfriendliness.

Silas has joined the Field.

Sparte quite literally jumps when Silas speaks to him, spinning in a half circle. Flipping up his visor he gives Silas a nervous grin before gulping and giving him a nod. Flip, down goes the visor.

    Julea brings up one of the weapons, testing the weight of it in her hand. She glances to the side towards Dagon, and then across the field at the various combatants, lips twitching ever so slightly.

Frostbite the Direwolf have been dismissed.

"That's... a little too wide a smile for comfort, Miss Sanguine. I'm injured. Surely you wouldn't turn on an injured noble?" Dagon jests with Julea. Unsurprising, it doesn't look like he actually expects her loyalty in this matter. It's a free-for-fall, and he might be the weakest link with his injured arm. He leans in a little to ask of her, "Who do you think, first?"

Caelis collects a longsword from the chest. Slipping away to strap on her leathers, the Malvici sailor strides out onto the field still wearing ribbons in her hair as she looks about and tests the weight on the blade she picked.

Darrow steps towards the melee grounds, returning with a Lament marine - in the dark blue and black of Darkwater, but with a tearful-eye embroidered on his surcoat. The Knight of Sorrow, though, is clad in leather and mixed steel of sober grey. He unbuckles his broadsword, and pulls the flail from his back, passing each to his man. He extends his hand, and the marine places a crute - but brutal-looking flail, much simpler in design than the still-dangerous one he passes. "Thank you, Henn." He rolls his wrists, staring out to the field.

Alistair leans slightly to the side as one of his Confessors whispers to him, perhaps reminding him of some meeting or Merchant shake down that needs to be performed. With another glance to the Grand Melee as it forms, he turns sharply and departs.

Gaius, a Thraxian Confessor, Balanar, a shadowy Confessor leave, following Alistair.

Kit have been dismissed.

Darrow wields a long-hafted iron flail with crude iron spikes.

Teagan eases quietly to her feet, and makes her way out from the tournament grounds.

Teagan has left the General Seating.

After providing a bow towards that booth, Acacia polishes off the rest of her wine and relieves herself of the glass. There's a longing look provided the field, but she slips out regardless, already rifling through a stack of papers handed off to her when she departs.

Acacia has left the Quiet Booth.

An Unremarkable Associate leaves, following Acacia.

Dagon gestures Darrow over to their little group of Thraxian ne'er-do-wells, and he leans in to whisper to the man. Plotting and schemes, no doubt.

Dagon has left the General Seating.

The time for the start of the melee draws closer, a few more minutes then it will begin.

Darrow has joined the Field.

Dagon has joined the Field.

Brigid the Genet have been dismissed.

Marian gets Tournament longsword in Laurent colors from Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

Marian wields Tournament longsword in Laurent colors.

Tristan has joined the the Beverage Tent.

Asha takes position by Luca, the woman bouncing lightly on her feet. Spear held by her side as she exchanges a few words with the Prince. Her hair gathered up behind her neck in a quick ponytail before the fighting begins.

Silas parts from Sparte after muttering at him some more. He begins to circle around... the near-naked guy.

    Julea takes up a position along side Dagon, and for those that might not of noticed, there's been a shift in allegiance for the young smith. No longer a Redrain, she clearly sides with the Thrax. She makes a point of eyeing up Luca for a moment, giving a low whistle.

Slipping her fingers between her lips from the high benches, Monique lets out a loud and approving wolf whistle for the sight of a mostly nude Luca. Hubba hubba.

Oathlanders stick together -- when the field begins to form up, Roland makes his way over to Marian and gives her a firm nod, his shield at the ready.

Marian walks into the Grand Melee, giving a nod to Roland as she goes to retrieve her tournament sword. She has her game face on and looks very calm as she takes a close stance to Roland. There's a quite, brief greeting given to the other man.

Sparte doesn't move for a few seconds, then starts moving like he is stalking Silas. Or at least intending to be in the same general area as he is. A few practice blows at the air are made to find the balance on his tournament weapon.

Comfortable with the grip, Caelis stands at the ready and looks to Luca and Asha moving to their side like she expects the ground to roll under them. The sailor frowns a little and scuffs at the ground with a look at it.

"Prince Velenosa!" Dagon's voice rings above the din of warriors getting ready. He's staring down Luca, from behind the serpentine mask of that helm. "Come forward with your allies and face the Leviathan on the field of battle!" His left arm held limply at his side, he bashes the hilt of his sword against his chest-piece, making a loud dinging noise.

Well, nobody can say the noble prince doesn't have the flair of a Thraxian warlord, at least.

Killian is, thus far, not near anyone in particular as he walks around the growing grouping for the melee..eyes scanning the crowd of fighters and his shoulders rolling as he limbers them.

Darrow stands with his Prince, Dagon, and near them a newly minted Thraxian vassal, Julea. With a roll of his wrist, the flail he bears sends its spiked head thudding into the ground. He yanks it up, and grimly flicks a dirt clod off one of the spikes. Blunted weapons, yes - but certain blunt weapons were designed to hurt.

Luca seems as unashamed as a babe, and about as clad. Though it's a body that's all masculine muscle, and as he's forming up beside Asha and Caelis, he's looking around for others who may want to join them, or else that are actively asking for it. Dagon's declaration earns a laughing grin and shake of head ruefully, before he consults with his people.

Tristan settles in beside the beverage tent, drink in one hand and his stallion's lead in the other, to watch the melee. He's unsaddled Flame as well as replaced the stallion's bridle with a halter, and is letting him pull at the grass beside the tent.

"For the Lyceum!" Duchess Sylvie Zaffria will call out dramatically from her booth, meeting flair for flair even as she flashes a crooked, bright smile towards Dagon.

(What, is that your line, Luca?)

Darrow inflicts serious damage to Caelis.

Killian inflicts minor damage to Dagon.

Julea inflicts minor damage to Caelis.

Silas inflicts minor damage to Asha.

Darrow inflicts minor damage to Caelis.

Silas inflicts moderate damage to Asha.

Caelis inflicts moderate damage to Dagon.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Dagon.

Julea inflicts minor damage to Asha.

Dagon inflicts minor damage to Caelis.

Silas inflicts minor damage to Asha.

Darrow inflicts minor damage to Caelis.

Monique has left the High Booth.

Monique has joined the the Beverage Tent.

Darrow inflicts minor damage to Caelis.

Sylvie is watching the melee, yes. Particularly, the one who bears her token. But a servant comes to her with a messenger and that is enough that the duchess starts to rise with a murmured apology to Tikva. Then she slips away, a regretful look lingering on the combat for a moment.

Tikva smiles with easy understanding to Sylvie as the Lycene Duchess takes her leave, though most of her attention is on the potential bloodbath below.

Arcelia sits there silently watching the brawl, her eyes on Caelis.

Sylvie has left the Quiet Booth.

Ariadne, 3 Rubino and Zaffria guards leave, following Sylvie.

    Julea is fast, and she uses that little blade of hers well, landing in a quick retaliation strike against Caelis, before she's stepping back and taking up a more defensive pose near Dagon, trying to intercept any attacks that come his way. When she gets the chance, she moves in on Luca and Asha both, dividing her quick jabs between the pair of them, looking for that break in their guard that will allow her to land a solid strike.

Killian really doesn't accomplish anything at all, mostly ignored and largely ignorable as he moves amongst the melee and tries to accomplish anything of merit..not that he does, his sword dinging the tiniest of scratches on Dagon's shiny armor in the opening press and then ruthlessly savaging the air the rest of the exchanges.

In the mass and throng of the melee, Roland sets his sights on the duo of Dagon and Julea, who seem to be fighting in tandem. He checks to make sure Marian is ready before attempting to penetrate the other duo's defenses, without much luck, as it happens. His expression is grimly determined, beneath his visor.

It's a mess of steel clashing against steel as the melee begins, Asha sticking close to Luca as she swipes out with her spear, trying to keep reach on her side against the flurry of blows that come for her. The Iron Guard pair in particular manage to corner the Champion, Silas' striking true and leaving a mark that is sure to bloom into a bruise. And assailed by the Thrax.

Darrow strides forwards with the pair of other Thrax, his features grim and blue eyes intent past the nasal guard of his helm. It's apparent that the man's a warrior, and his unusual choice in weapon is difficult to block. And it's that very weapon that draws first blood of the melee, as it rains down on Caelis, striking the Malvici lady a blow before it's dragged up and again against the armor of the Malvici lady, relentless, driving.

Silas continues to encircle his desired prey, Luca, but Asha keeps consistently getting in the way in spite of many valiant attempts to get around her! After the third or so flanking attempt fails, the Lord Commander grits his teeth and decides to just hit her full force instead, in an attempt to just bring down Luca's shield. All the while, Sparte does an adequate job defending him when he's not paying attention to the rest of his environment, even if it's not necessary yet!

Marian fights at Roland's side, letting him chose their target and moving in to trade blows with both Dagon and Julea. While none of her blows hit hard enough to cause any damage, she does manage to hit them here and there. She gives a growl of frustration as her tournment sword fails to cut through the armor of her opponents.

1 Grayson Guardsmen arrives, following Reese.

Sparte continues following Silas around like a confused puppy, swinging his large blunt stick at Luca's general direction ineffectively. Mostly he is just adding to the chaos.

Luca never calls back out to that calling out by the Leviathan. In fact, winking to the Thraxian, he's actually leaning his little team on a first strike not at them but at the lone Killian. Apparently it's a friendly thing though, for Luca's winking at the man before turning the attacks out on Dagon. A fierce blow gets struck by Luca with a quipped. "From Velenosa, With Love!" But after that, the isleborn are closing up ranks and taking to attacking Luca's allies fiercely. And himself as well. But the Naked Prince moves like a demon. A blur of precise steps and grace, never wasting effort as he dodges various effects, parries some in turn, and tries to focus on the Thraxians. It seems they have a hate on for nudity, cause everyone seems to be against him and his people!

Arcelia sits forward, eyes wide with worry as Caelis is attacked by Darrow.

Reese arrives in the tournament grounds while adorned in all her steel plate. She has a ruby pink sword at one hip and a silvery pink sword at her other hip. The princess is late, so her smile of greeting is a bit sheepish. She glances toward the melee, seemingly quite curious about how that is going.

Caelis seems consistantly surprised by her lack of experiance on solid ground fighting, she quickly changes to defend against Darrow's drive. She doesn't seem to be as focused on following Luca's lead with Lord Darrow's attention on her.

At the start of the blows there, Dagon takes his fair share -- there are simply too many, coming from all over, for him to parry them all. They scrape along his armor and a few cut into the exposed crevices, leaving blunted bruises and some long, bleeding scratches over his arms and sides. One bleeds out freely, just above his hip. It seems his challenge did its job, at least -- he was the center of the attacks for a while there.

Breathing heavily, he parries another swipe with a lift of his sword, arm growing sluggish from the quick movements in such heavy armor. "Sir Roland, come now! Surely the Graysons don't want Velenosa to win this match?" Back to Julea, he levels a gesture with his sword at Asha, telling her: "Her and Luca are protecting each other. One first, then the other. Darrow! Darrow... just..." he doesn't have time to speak before he dodges another blow, letting it scrape on his armor. He upnods Caelis, telling them, "He looks a little worse for the wear." Then with a roar, he shouts out, "Death defy, sailors! What are you all doing attacking me and mine -- Prince Luca will win this bout easily if you don't turn your attentions to Velenosa!"

Monique has left the the Beverage Tent.

Dagon inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Silas inflicts serious damage to Asha.

Caelis inflicts minor damage to Darrow.

Breathless as he recovers from his lunge against Luca, Dagon backs up, his gaze ticking to Silas momentarily, then back. "Prince Luca -- truce," he calls out in a tired growl. He points his blade towards Silas instead, looking back to see if Luca will do the same.

Luca gives the Thraxian a big grin and simple nod. Though admittedly is keyed up ready for betrayel of course.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Sparte.

Dagon inflicts minor damage to Sparte.

Killian inflicts minor damage to Julea.

Darrow inflicts moderate damage to Sparte.

Reese looks toward combat still with intense interest. She winces as Sparte gets attacked thrice in a row. "Ouch." She murmurs.

Caelis inflicts minor damage to Sparte.

Marian inflicts minor damage to Julea.

Darrow inflicts minor damage to Roland.

Asha has left the Field.

Despite Dagon's urge to attack someone else -- the Velenosans, perhaps -- Roland stubbornly stays engaged in attempting to attack the pair of Julea and Dagon. "Apologies, m'lord, but tactics are what they are."

Dagon inflicts minor damage to Killian.

Silas halts his attack when Asha gives the signal to yield. He turns to regard the others when he overhears Dagon announcing his 'truce'. Then the hoard descends on poor Sparte. Silas moves closer to his guardsman, but Killian appears to have things covered on that end. Silas then concentrates on offense again, but everyone appears to get in his way of whoever he intends to attack! He emits an exasperated sigh. "If only I had my -good- blade..." He laments.

Marian sees a hit get through and hit Roland, swearing under her breath and taking a more defensive stance to get Roland's back as she continues to press her attack against the duo Dagon and Julea. While most of her blows bounce off the two, she does manage to make a glancing blow on Julea that does cause some damage.

It is a truly chaotic mess, but after Dagon's call of truce, Luca's attempts for Silas were viper swift blurs, but he never broke through Sparte's wall. And when shifting to Sparte, he had Killian to contend with! Luca's laughing joyeously as he continues to dance through other's attacks, taking finally a first small nick amidst it all, but declaring to Sparte and Killian. "You know I'm fond of you both, but I really wish you'd been on my side instead."

Killian is getting bored to be honest, bouncing around and attacking here and there, so when he sees one of the Iron Guardsmen being pressed like laundry then beaten like a red headed step child, he moves over to the rescue. Cutting in front of Sparte he just gets in the way. And then stays there. In the way. Of EVERYONE. The Knight is surprisingly fast on the movements, and he and his shield take blow after blow meant for Silas and Sparte, dancing about to guard the two Iron Guardsmen and absorbing a rain of blows in the process without seeming to wear from the attacks at first. He calls back to Luca, "I was afraid you'd take your clothes off again, and that just cramps my style!"

    There's a little bit of sweat blossuming on Julea's brow, but there's no attempt made to swipe it away. Darting, weaving and trying to stop all the attacks coming her way, and Dagon's way is hard work. Everyone is loving the Thraxian's today. She's pretty fast, and what she can't avoid, duck, or parry with that blade of hers, that armor of hers is weathering. There's a brief glancing blow from Miaran and someone else, but it doesn't slow her any.. yet.

Sparte is banged around the battlefield like a tin can with a pointy lid. "Gah! Woah! Yeeeeeee-" He doesn't so much evade the first barrage of attacks as deflect this - with his helmet, often enoguh. Killian imposing himself is welcome as Sparte starts, more or less at random, swinging his greatsword in big spirals at the people descending on him. Yeah, cool under pressure, this one.

Darrow swings a heavy blow, the balls of his feet firm but agile on the ground of the tournament. The strike of the brutal flail seems quite dangerous - the whirl from one of the strikes poses to strike, very unfortunately, the stumbling Asha as she comes under pressure from numerous opponents, slashed hard by Silas Mercier in particular, and at the press had found herself square within Darrow's swing. However, fortunately, Caelis manages to intercede - just saving the other woman from a telling blow. As the combat shifts, so does the rangy knight, battering first at Sparte, then at Roland, whatever's really within reach.

"You can always yield," Dagon growls out to Sparte and Killian, as the pair of them present an Iron wall against any of his attempts to break through to Silas. He delivers blow after blow to the pair, but they either lock blades, or it scrapes off armor. The clothes underneath the prince's armor are covered in sweat by now, and his armor is showing the wear of scratches and dents.

Killian calls back a jibe at Dagon, "I'll accept your yield whenever you want to attempt you can't get through the Iron Guard instead!"

Sparte takes another wind swing while answering Dagon, "Never give up! Never-aahh!" And there he goes, dancing around. He moves fast for a tin can, but the bar is low.

Caelis growls with frustration as she nicks armor again and again to no avail. "I should have considered the bow after all!" She pants and looks over at Darrow, noding to the man now that he's not beating on her or Asha.

"Iron Guard, woots, Iron Guard!" Reese says, cheering them or trying to. I might have been nice if she actually make it in time to help them, but secretly the princess mistakenly slept in.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Sparte.

Sparte inflicts minor damage to Caelis.

Silas inflicts moderate damage to Caelis.

Darrow inflicts minor damage to Marian.

Darrow inflicts minor damage to Marian.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Sparte.

Julea inflicts minor damage to Killian.

Darrow inflicts moderate damage to Killian.

Merek steps into the place and moves to find a seat at the benches to watch with curiosity, and settles in at it, observing from afar.

Reese is adorned in all her steel plate. She watches the combat with close atteion. When Killian is hit twice in a row, she sucks in a soft breath of concern.

Sparte waves Killian off of him towards Silas, squaring his shoulders and yelling at the top of his questionably past puberty lungs as he tries to hold the line. The line being made out of regret.

Silas inflicts moderate damage to Caelis.

Luca inflicts serious damage to Killian.

Killian inflicts very serious damage to Caelis.

Caelis falls unconscious.

Marian inflicts minor damage to Darrow.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Sparte.

Julea inflicts minor damage to Silas.

Marian inflicts minor damage to Darrow.

Luca inflicts minor damage to Silas.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Sparte.

When Darrow attacks Marian, Roland pivots and turns his attention to the Thraxian vassal; he seems, though, to be less comfortable with the borrowed tourney longsword than he might otherwise be with a different weapon, and presses the man as best he's able without making much progress.

Darrow maintains his ground, and the circumference of his iron maul-and-ball make approaching him a treacherous thing. However, as Sir Roland gets inside his guard he continues to swing, the blows starting to batter down on his armor seem hardly to faze him, if only he starts swinging with a more relentless intent.

Arcelia stands up heads off.

Arcelia has left the General Seating.

Dagon inflicts moderate damage to Killian.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Reese before departing.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Sparte.

Dagon inflicts moderate damage to Killian.

"You're brave kid, but you really should yield. And Killian, huffing and puffing a lot there, brother. Sure you don't want to be done?" Luca's words are light and playful, but by the gods is the Naked Prince focused. He's got eyes kind of zoned out looking at everyone around him, waiting for attacks from all angles, not just the trio he's facing. When Caelis finally goes down to a vicious hit, he's growling out. "Not nice Kill!"

Caelis starts to kneel and yeild. Seeing Luca in way of a blade, the Malvici lunges in hastily and drops with the force of the blow meant for the Velenosa prince.

Sparte inflicts minor damage to Julea.

Reese continues to watch the fight, the girl wincing as Sparte and Killian are hit.

Killian's helm can't hide that his face is streaming, and he's taken more hits than a groupie at a rock concert at this point. He dances back and calls back to Luca, "Not my fault, that sword was going for you!" he calls before he dives in to the fight again.

Marian inflicts moderate damage to Darrow.

Sparte continues to take blow after blow. But this is exactly what he has trained for.

Every day.

Getting his tin can handed back to himself in the training grounds.

At this point, he is too tired for the adrenaline to keep him going. Luca is dancing around like mad, so Sparte turns his attention to Dagon - only to have Julea get in the way. "Please stop that."

Julea inflicts minor damage to Killian.

Dagon takes a breather for but a moment, letting Julea take the forward position. The young Thraxian prince is covered in sweat, and his movements are sluggish, but by Mangata's good graces, the armor he wears still does a decent job of protecting him. And really, Julea is probably the one doing most of the protecting. She floats around him like a shield of weaponry, parrying attacks that would otherwise tear him apart. The noble takes the chance to loosen up his stance and unleash some hits.

Roland inflicts moderate damage to Darrow.

Marian inflicts moderate damage to Darrow.

Darrow inflicts moderate damage to Sparte.

Silas inflicts minor damage to Darrow.

Julea inflicts serious damage to Killian.

Killian falls unconscious.

Marian inflicts moderate damage to Darrow.

    Julea is fast, but no way near as fast as she was when the melee started. It shows, in her quick panting breathes, the flushed cheek and the copious amount of swear that falls from her brow. She briefly meets Dagon's eye, and then there's a grunt, and she surges forward, putting in what little remaining energy she has in that solid strike to poor Killian.

Sasha, a smoke-gray mountain lion arrives, following Tristram.

Roland inflicts moderate damage to Darrow.

Silas inflicts moderate damage to Darrow.

Tristram has joined the High Booth.

Roland plugs along determinedly, not the fastest, not the hardest hitting, but -- enduring, despite his heavy armor.

Darrow inflicts moderate damage to Marian.

Julea inflicts serious damage to Silas.

Tristram comes in and hops up into the stands to take a look at the end of the grand melee.

To be honest, there's possibly some question as to whether Killian is actually unconscious or not, when he hits the dirt. His armor is marred and dinged all over from countless strikes against it, and his shield looks like he's used it to attempt street surfing. The Knight lays back on the dirt breathing heavily, the crappy sword he brought with him (a work of divine art in crappy materials) laying beside him as he snoozes, either finally succumbing to all of the hits or just the fact that he's exhausted. Either way, he looks far too comfortable on the ground.

Darrow inflicts moderate damage to Marian.

Cristoph is, for his part, watching, wearing rather battered looking armour but not participating, instead sipping mead, intent, a distracted nod of his head given over to Tristram.

Roland inflicts minor damage to Dagon.

With Caelis having been pulled aside and tended to, Sophie and the Mercies continue to watch for more injuries as they stand on the sidelines. A chance glance results in the Valardin espying her cousin, whom she offers a fond smile and finger wave hello.

Sparte inflicts minor damage to Julea.

Reese is watching the melee with intense interest. She is in her silver steel plate, but is also not in the melee. Reese heads over to Christoph, coming to stand by him. She then has a smile for Tristram.

Dagon inflicts serious damage to Marian.

Darrow inflicts minor damage to Marian.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Silas.

Silas inflicts serious damage to Julea.

Merek leans forward and continues to watch, running his fingers across his chin. He seems to be picking up combat tactics and such things as he watches.

Tristram rises, when he sees he's sitting alone, and then goes to stand by Cristoph and Reese.

Tristram has left the High Booth.

Jael has found herself a place about midway up the stands, all the better to watch the action from enough of a distance to see how the fight progresses.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Reese before departing.

Roland inflicts very serious damage to Dagon.

Sparte leans back on his weapon a moment when people stop swinging at him, just sort of gesturing at Luca. "No one?" He flips up his visor despite the scuffle. "Really?"

With the blow from Roland striking deep beneath his armor, Dagon gasps out. His left arm is limp from the joust. His movements are about as slow as syrup. All in all, the Thraxian is really beat up -- and so he retreats behind Julea and Darrow, holding up a hand to declare his yield.

"I'm trying, but your boss keeps getting in the way kid!" Luca quips back to Sparte, finally having a little sheen of sweat starting to form across the bronze flesh. He's STILL watching all angles, waiting for the inevitable.

Silas begins to finally hit people, at the expense of getting hit. Darrow gets hit, Julea gets hit, but his attempts to harm Luca still fail. He shrugs at the bruised Sparte. "Really. Every time."

Haati watches now intensely as the end of the match is beginning to come about. he nods to Reese and greets her though.

Marian inflicts minor damage to Darrow.

Darrow lifts his hand up and states similar, as the Prince Dagon withdraws, taking one further blow from Marian. "I yield."

Tristram winces.

Roland inflicts moderate damage to Julea.

Harmon has left the General Seating.

Reese looks toward Haati, giving him a somber smile of greeting. Her attention is quick to return to hte melee.

Darrow has left the Field.

Roland inflicts moderate damage to Julea.

Julea inflicts serious damage to Silas.

Dagon has left the Field.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Silas.

Silas inflicts moderate damage to Julea.

Sophie has left the Field.

Dagon limps back to the stands, and sits down so that Sophie and her Mercies can do their work. His man-at-arms begins to peel off his armor. The prince is far too bruised and battered, at this point, to do it himself.

Whisper the Snowy Owl have been dismissed.

Darrow pulls off his spangenhelm, clapping Dagon on the shoulder as he strides away from the field, battered and bloody but still standing. He strides to the tent with Thraxian livery, strips to the waist with the help of his marine, scars littering his body apparent. At Sophie's attention he sits stoically, grimacing at the salves and bandages applied.

Killian is pulled to the edge of the ring finally by someone decent, and the healers can descend upon the Knight to get him fixed up.

Reese looks over to Killian, seemingly relieved as the healers tend to him.

Marian has taken quite a number of blows but still manages to stay on the field at Roland's side. Now that Dagon and Darrow have left the field, her focus is on Julea.

Silas remains on his feet, sweaty and panting, but doing his best to protect Sparte in the midst of it all. Sure, it was likely still a losing battle, but he's stubborn and adamant about taking as many people down as he can before his body forces him to relent. His swings are slower, but heavier.

"Steady, my lady, steady," Roland grits out to Marian, doing what he can to intersperse himself between enemies who might come at her and his fellow Oathlander.

Gilbert eventually makes his way up to stand beside Cristoph to watch the late stages of the melee, the man yawning as he leans against his polearm, all but using it to prop himself up.

Reese looks upon Gilbert, having a gentle smile of greeting for the man. She doesn't seem to know him and so she looks quite curious. Her attention returns to the fight a moment later.

Caelis wakes up.

    Julea is clearly struggling, that speed that carried her through most of the fight has all but gone. Her cheeks are flushed, and there's copious amount of sweat spilling from her brow. When her attempt to come forward with an attack has her falling to her knees, she drops the blade she's wielding, letting it fall to the field alongside her.

Caelis is pulled aside to be seen to. She offers Sophie a ragged smile when her eyes crack open. "That naked madman still up?" She asks looking for all the world like she can't be bothered to move, miserable lounging is a Lycene art form-probably.

"Aye," Sophie grins at the now conscious Caelis. "Prince Luca still stands and still swings."

Silas inflicts moderate damage to Luca.

Marian inflicts moderate damage to Luca.

Roland inflicts minor damage to Luca.

    Julea manages to pull herself away from the combat, but doesn't get too far, putting a shoulder to one of the benches, she unstraps her helm and tugs it off. She's still breathing heavily, and there's a few rather horrid bruises and grazes marring her skin. While the healers attend to her, she turns to the side, spitting onto the ground, and struggling to keep her stomach contents where they belong.

Marian inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Marian.

Marian inflicts moderate damage to Luca.

Sparte inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Luca inflicts very serious damage to Marian.

Marian falls unconscious.

Caelis looks to Julea and offers her the same rough smile she gave to Sophie. "Well fought. You Thraxians drive a hard line."

Roland inflicts minor damage to Luca.

    "Got a point to prove. That I can fight and last as long and as good as any Thrax men." Julea says, when she has her breath, which takes a bit of time and even when she speaks, there's still gasps of air between words. She glances briefly over towards Darrow at this, and brings one of her hands up to push hair back from her face.

Luca inflicts serious damage to Silas.

Roland inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Haati heads down to where Julea is and sees how she is doing, "Going to be alright. Looks like you took a couple good hits there?" He then looks to everyone, "If you feel any pinching of armor oe it is tight, let someone know. You may need something adjusted or you'll hurt yourself more taking armor off."

Roland inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Luca inflicts minor damage to Sparte.

Silas inflicts moderate damage to Luca.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Sparte.

Sparte falls unconscious.

Roland inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Reese looks toward Sparte with grave concern. She draws tentatively close to him, but the princess is no healer, so she makes sure to stay out of Sophie's and the mercies way.

Roland inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Silas inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Silas.

Silas falls unconscious.

Roland inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Roland inflicts moderate damage to Luca.

    Julea starts to fumble with the straps on her vest, pulling it and loosening it and struggling to get out of the gear. Pulling it off, she tucks it into her pack and pulls out an old cloth, using it to mop up her brow and skin. She grunts towards Haati, acknowledging his words.

Darrow looks over to Julea, wiping a hand across his wan features. Gruff, he tells Julea flatly, "I am the one least concerned about that. Proving oneself is a futile expenditure of vanity. Duty is all that matters, and fulfilling it."

Roland inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Luca inflicts minor damage to Roland.

Roland inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Roland.

Luca inflicts minor damage to Roland.

Roland inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Luca inflicts moderate damage to Roland.

Roland inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Roland inflicts minor damage to Luca.

Luca falls unconscious.

Silas wakes up.

Cristoph is overheard praising Roland for: Second place in the tourney AND victor of the Grand Melee!

Marian wakes up.

Luca wakes up.

Haati spots Julea's trouble and moves to help, "Here lt me help you..." He runs his hands over the armor and starts unstrapping things slowly, "I don't think this is the way I imagined this would be." He laughs a deep soft laugh. "Careful. You are exhausted too."

"Lord Darrow, flail. Very brutal. Nice choice." Caelis grunts and nods to the Thraxian man. Looking to the fight she clicks her tongue with a wince. "That's too bad. I thought Luca had a shot."

Luca has left the Field.

    "Easy for you to say, you're probably born a Thrax. I'm new at this." Julea returns back to Darrow even as she mops up the sweat and pulls fingers back through her matted hair. "And I'm a Thrax women, figure it's going to take me a bit to be considered--" And her words fade there as Haati helps her out of the straps and buckles, her fumbling fingers given a break. There's a linen tunic beneath, so she's not entirely naked, but it's soaked with sweat."

So many of Roland's fights basically end the same way -- the man, not particularly fast or even as skilled as his competitors, just plugs away solidly and boringly until everyone else is too tired or too hurt to keep standing around him. It's victory by stubborn attrition. He pulls off his helmet at the end of the fight, sweat sticking his hair to his face. He salutes Silas, where the man is being tended to, before doing the same to Luca, and moves over to Marian to proclaim, "My lady! What a gallant display of skill -- thank you for your shield."

It is a long, gruelling fight, with more than a few people staying standing and fighting long after they have sustained enough damage to kill any normal person outright. As a final victor emerges though, Cristoph steps forward. "The champion of the Grand Melee is Sir Roland Bergere!" Then, ooh, a shiny thing, he gives a bow of his head to the knight. "Sir Roland, please accept this token of your victory and know that, in honour of your triumph and the prowess you wield against the enemies of the Compact, House Laurent owes you a Favour."

Silas finally falls to the naked Lycene, more or less teaming with Roland in an effort to take the nudist down. He will live in shame... for about fifteen minutes, as he lays there unconscious until the Mercies get to him. When he finally does come to, he replies to Roland with his own disoriented salute, but remains on the dusty floor for a bit longer...

Marian was dropped towards the end of the battle. However, her efforts to protect Roland left him in a position to do well after her body drops to the ground. She lays there are the last warriors take the final stand and finally once Roland finds victory against Luca, she finds herself waking to Roland giving her congrats as the healers attend to her body. She gives him a rueful smile, "I am glad my shield served you well."

Haati nods, "You did far better than I would have... I've never trained for close fighting. Not that I might not be bad at it with some practice, but that takes time from other things." He sets the leather armor, piece by piece beside Julea, "You need a drink... and the first one will be water." He snaps at a server with a tray to bring over a cup.

Tristan finishes his drink and applauds warmly for the victory of his jousting rival, before collecting his things and departing with his tired stallion.

Tristan has left the the Beverage Tent.

Marian drops Tournament longsword in Laurent colors.

Julea puts Tournament dagger in Laurent colors in Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

"Thank you, my lord," Roland accepts his award awkwardly, bowing, before answering Marian, "Frankly, my lady, I'd not have won if you hadn't been at my side. The prize is as much yours as mine."

Roland puts Tournament longsword in Laurent colors in Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

Cristoph picks up Tournament longsword in Laurent colors.

Cristoph puts Gold and Onyx decorated Rubicund Longsword in Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

Cristoph gets Gold and Onyx decorated Rubicund Longsword from Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

Cristoph puts Tournament longsword in Laurent colors in Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

Caelis puts Tournament longsword in Laurent colors in Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

Sparte puts Tournament greatsword in Laurent colors in Chest Labelled 'Practice Weapons Courtesy Of House Laurent'.

The battle is over and Reese sucks in a soft breath. She glances over all her injured friends, checking to see if they are alright.

Darrow Weary, @ focuses his reflecting-pool blue gaze on Caelis. Now that he's not swinging that flail like a man hell-bent on sweeping all before him away, he acknowledges Caelis with a curt nod, though his facial expression is still strict - there's little that's pleasant about the man, though injured, he doesn't seem hostile, just that same relentless drive that was visible in the melee. "Thank you. I favor them. Julea Sanguine..." a gesture is given to Julea, "Crafted my current one." To the one he gestures to, he states. "Perhaps, yes. Many are sold on appearances, or even the proof of actions, or concerned that only hairy hands hold hafts, or hold the helm." He shrugs, then presses his lips together. "Speaking of which - I have business with you." Strict, still, and not really revealing.

Weary, @ focuses his reflecting-pool blue gaze on Caelis. Now that he's not swinging that flail like a man hell-bent on sweeping all before him away, he acknowledges Caelis with a curt nod, though his facial expression is still strict - there's little that's pleasant about the man, though injured, he doesn't seem hostile, just that same relentless drive that was visible in the melee. "Thank you. I favor them. Julea Sanguine..." a gesture is given to Julea, "Crafted my current one." To the one he gestures to, he states. "Perhaps, yes. Many are sold on appearances, or even the proof of actions, or concerned that only hairy hands hold hafts, or hold the helm." He shrugs, then presses his lips together. "Speaking of which - I have business with you." Strict, still, and not really revealing.

Cristoph straightens to address the whole gathering now. "Thank you to everyone who competed, that was a tremendous battle and I am amazed not just at how well everyone fought but also for how long, we all owe the efforts of Princess Sophie and the others of her order."

Reese is overheard praising Sophie for: Keeping all the hotheads of Compact alive!

Reese is overheard praising Cristoph for: Great tournament and great prizes, We are lucky to have Duke Cristoph in Compact

    Julea takes that cup, and promptly guzzles the entire contents, and what few drops remains, she spills over her brow, in an attempt to try cool herself down. She's still quite a bit from being entirely her usual self, but she does give Haati a grateful nod at his aid. "Thanks." She states, before her eyes go to Darrow and she gives the Thraxian a quick nod. "Alright. Figure I'll see if I can stand, if you want, can get that out of the way now?"

Tristram is overheard praising Sophie for: Because she's the bestest awesomest healingest healer of all! And my cousin too!

Julea is overheard praising Cristoph for: Holding a tournament in honor of Pridehall, no better cause!

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