Isolde makes her way in, looking around for a good spot, indecisive.
"Just send it already," Deva is in the middle of passing off a message to a poor courier. "Go on, you can do it. I have faith in you." She waves the boy off with a gesture of her wrist and a smirk, before turning to face the benches and head that way. "Good evening," she greets those already seated with a jaunty wave, before settling into an empty spot.
Deva has joined the General Seating.
Tehom is leaving Arx - Ward of the Compact - Tournament Grounds, heading for Island of Lost Toys.
Talen strides down the main entranceway carved between the audience seating, the Sword of Lenosia travelling with his usual aid, a young Lycene male dressed in the royal purple of the Velenosa. Upon arriving at the arena, he steps along the sidelines to register that he's shown with the appropriate officials and then, once given permission to do so, moves across and finds his place to prepare. Stormy eyes of dark gunmetal watch Alrec from across the way before he finds his way forward on the edges of the field, wordlessly readying himself, adjusting the straps of his vest with sharp tugs to keep the armour clinging to his frame with minimal slack. "Admiral," he calls eventually, "are you prepared?" Minimal greeting beyond that comes, his interest to get on with it clear.
Acacia trails a respectable distance behind Niccolo, more so upon the exterior of his guards than with the man himself. But her lips move in subdued form, words issued even if they're not formally addressed. Even while it's ongoing, her gaze scans over those present within the stands and then attends towards the fields with a bit of a broadening and slightly roguish grin.
"If you've no other need for me." Preston says towards Ailith, "I should excuse myself and go tend to some other matters that require my attention. Will you be remaining to watch the next bought?"
Alrec stands from the stool and walks over to the fighting circle with his scimitar in hand. He twirls the blade using his wrists finishing his warm-up. The Admiral's gaze raises to the seating, stuck there for a moment before turning to greet Talen with a silent nod, "Yeah, arm yourself." He says making his way toward Talen in a slow charge.
Marcas enters into the tournament grounds, walking briskyly with a turkey leg in one hand, tankard in the other. Looking seven shades of excited for a change as he makes his way into the General Seating. Standing behind a line of other people trying to find their seat. A glance over his shoulder has him double taking. Raising his turkey leg to wave with it at Acacia. "Oi!" he hoots, "Gonna find some good fookin' seats." he lets her know as the crowd and by proxy him moves further into the general seating.
Talen wields a wicked, sanguine schiavona-style rubicund broadsword with an elaborately wrought basket-hilt.
Marcas has joined the General Seating.
"They're not even asking anyone for a favor." Viviana notes with a scowl, "This is the problem with men, no sense of romance. I should organize a class." She decides from her spot next to Edain.
Niccolo enters the grounds, with his usual retinue of guards and Acacia walking along with them. He man is engaged in quiet conversation with the young woman, speaking over his shoulder. With a wave, he allows his guards leave to do as they please, before he continues on towards the general seating area.
“I must return to my other duties, thank you for the assistance though Sir Preston.” Ailith adjusts her medical satchel over her shoulder, a look toward the stands, then makes her way on out of the tournament grounds.
Talen rolls 24 to attack, Alrec rolls 57 to defend.
Niccolo has joined the General Seating.
(OOC) Ailith has to sleep. Stupid early start.
(OOC) Ailith says: Thanks for the RP!
Acacia has joined the General Seating.
Alrec rolls 21 to attack, Talen rolls 59 to defend.
Preston is leaving Arx - Ward of the Compact - Tournament Grounds, heading for Arx - Ward of the Compact - Honor Place.
Ailith has left the game.
Talen rolls 41 to attack, Alrec rolls 51 to defend.
Talen rolled 61 damage against Alrec's 28 mitigation.
Monique arrives.
Alrec rolls 29 to attack, Talen rolls 30 to defend.
Alrec rolled 59 damage against Talen's 38 mitigation.
Monique makes her way into the tourney grounds, heading quickly towards the general seating and finding herself a seat to watch the bought.
Monique has joined the General Seating.
Talen clenches his prime hand, the fist he forms a gradual movement of cracking knuckles and creaking leather before he slides it almost lovingly along the basket-hilt of his yet undrawn war rapier. As he advances in carefully measured steps, the walk is one of contrast to Alrec's charge. It isn't until he judges his opponent is almost upon him that the sword is drawn with deft and swift movement. The collision of blades it sudden and starts the match with a sharp drag of vicious sparks as red steel from the broadsword meets the plainer blend of the hooked scimitar. In prompt reply, they soon lead each other into a further move and even as Talen punctures with a thrust, he receives a gash upon his own form and backs off with immediacy.
Tehom arrives.
Acacia's gaze tracks after Marcas through the crowds, a huff of amusement expressed as she eyes that turkey leg for a longer moment. Niccolo's words, however, have her resolutely attentive though, her head tilting briefly, before she acknowledges the ring of blades upon the field. After hushed words are spoken towards the Duke, she inclines her head once and then shifts into the main of the stands themselves, boldly intending to smack Marcas with a bit of familiarity on the shoulder-- and then only partially inspect her palm. "Is this where you chose then? You have good energy today, Captain. Tell me you won a bet or ten?" However, the seat she ends up claiming is nearer Niccolo, though still a respectable distance away.
Ailith has entered the game.
Ailith is leaving Arx - Ward of the Compact - Tournament Grounds, heading for Arx - Ward of the Compact - Honor Place.
Alrec comes at Talen with a tight march that quickens in pace before coming up on the man as Alrec swings his sword from below. It meets steel and the two enter a dance testing each other's attack until Talen connects with a thrust that forces Alrec to step out only to come back with the blade in Talen's open defense.
Alrec rolls 40 to attack, Talen rolls 57 to defend.
Talen rolls 40 to attack, Alrec rolls 79 to defend.
Talen rolls 49 to attack, Alrec rolls 37 to defend.
Talen rolled 70 damage against Alrec's 29 mitigation.
Alrec rolls 31 to attack, Talen rolls 50 to defend.
Jaenelle arrives.
Jaenelle has joined the General Seating.
The space that Alrec provides the Sword of Lenosia is a familiar distance. With the length of a sword to disconnect them, Talen's moment to survey his opponent is one of sub-second analysis, sharp steely eyes whipping the length of the fellow. When Talen strikes, an arm is lifted for balance and he extends himself with not only the lunge but an added push of his foot. The reach permits Alrec an easy dismissal by smacking it away, but that seems to be exactly what Talen is looking for. A prompt, punishing twist to the side is given before he whips his wounding blade into the upper-torso and parries the reply.
Marcas chuckles at Acacia, chewing a large mouthful of smoked turkey leg. Offering it out to her, strands of meat jiggling and wiggling for it. "Aye. Been a good day. Wan' some?" he asks, mouth full of meat, smiling around it. So classy!
Acacia double-takes on Niccolo's words, her eyes widening briefly. Clearing her throat a bit, she tears her gaze back to the field, shouting, bemused, "Admiral Alrec. Show him your true skill!" Settling back down, her lips quirking, she sways away from that turkey leg from Marcas with another ejected bit of laughter, "I would if I didn't just eat, I assure you. Don't make me prod at your face again, love. I will. Glad to see you like that though-- It does good on you, yeah? What made it so good?"
Jaenelle is late, but thats ok! She slips quietly into the tournament grounds and towards the benches reserved for spectators, smiling to those she knows as she sits gracefully.
Alrec barks at Talen, twirling in response to the stabbing. He takes a couple steps back and tosses his blade between his hands, giving Talen a stare-down. He again charges at the man, switching sides to test a weakness.
Alrec rolls 22 to attack, Talen rolls 55 to defend.
Talen rolls 48 to attack, Alrec rolls 28 to defend.
Talen rolled 39 damage against Alrec's 21 mitigation.
Talen wields a villainous, blood-crimson rubicund stiletto with a warped and twisted leather-bound handgrip.
Talen rolls 22 to attack, Alrec rolls 14 to defend.
Talen rolled 31 damage against Alrec's 26 mitigation.
Alrec rolls 14 to attack, Talen rolls 5 to defend.
Alrec rolled 48 damage against Talen's 38 mitigation.
Marcas seems to actually smile broader for Acacia's dodging the turkey leg. He must of been a rather cruel older brother to someone, possibly. "Well, I got off early. I found a few pieces of silver in an old pair of trousers." he holds up his leg and tankard to show the spoils of that victory. "Managed to make it here in time for the match. Good day, aye?" he chuckles, about to take another bite but he notices Jaenelle at that time. He raises his turkey leg to wave it back and forth in greeting. Causing a bit of meat to slip off the bone, it goes flying.
Talen's weakness isn't in his stance, it isn't in his swordplay and it isn't in the fact he's been minorly wounded. No, it's in his hubris of being a predator of this moment. When Alrec advances, Talen's grabs the admiral's shoulder and pulls Alrec even harder in his own direction while sliding his blade up to knock aside the incoming attack.

Coming in quick behind Alrec, however, he realses the grapple and pulls from some recess a sharp, twisted spike of metal-- a stiletto, which he prompted drives into the lower-back of his opponent before giving him a kick forward. The weapon doesn't lodge deep enough to keep it in, however. Not quite quick enough to bring up his defenses of the dirty, close-quarters combat, Talen receives a cut of his own in prompt admonishment. A hiss is heard, barely, upon the air.
Talen wields a wicked, sanguine schiavona-style rubicund broadsword with an elaborately wrought basket-hilt.
releases* / promptly*. Werds.
Jaenelle laughs as she notes Marcas' greeting and waves in return. "You are in good spirits, it seems. I am glad to see you when you are not scowling on a bar stool or beneath, for that matter."
Alrec enters Talen's hook with a brave charge, the fight already taking its toll early on. He barks and attacks wildly, trying to come at the man from all sides. It is this recklessness that puts a blade in himself which forces a serious groan from the Admiral. Inside he tightens his muscles and spins, bringing a punch into Talen's temple before slashing with his blade.
Alrec rolls 14 to attack, Talen rolls 54 to defend.
Talen rolls 44 to attack, Alrec rolls 11 to defend.
Talen rolled 34 damage against Alrec's 16 mitigation.
Alrec rolls 15 to attack, Talen rolls 63 to defend.
Talen rolls 20 to attack, Alrec rolls 13 to defend.
Talen rolled 39 damage against Alrec's 35 mitigation.
Fatima arrives.
Gareth has been here.. always here... the scarred inquisitor is just another face in the crowd, watching the fight with a curious expression. Yup
The bump to Talen's unarmoured head requires a brief shake of it, clearing the confusion with the brisk movement. When they square off again, the schiavona Talen's wielding dips low, puncturing the layered hides over Alrec's thigh and spearing it with a brief lance of red. When he tugs free, it's to raise it fast enough to bat aside the incoming, slowing attacks from Alrec; fatigue and wounds both starting to accrue. The Lenosian's lips turn inward and when they are revealed again, they're moister than before, consideration of his next move taking its toll. A simplistic snap of his weapon lands another brief spike of rapier into the body of his opponent and then he's side-stepping, running a faithful crescent in order to keep Alrec turning.
Monique has left the General Seating.
Monique has left the game.
Alrec keeps twisting to catch Talen unaware but the man is quick to respond to his attack. So he stops and faces Talen's broadsword head on. The aggressiveness from before might have cost him the fight as the toll of his wound begin to add up. He nods to Talen but steps back in trying to use Talen's reach against him.
Arriving fashionably late, Fatima slips into the tournament grounds, followed closely behind by a handmaiden and a guard like dark shadows in her wake. She moves quickly to the seating area and slips onto a bench, folding her hands into her lap to watch.
Fatima has joined the General Seating.
Alrec rolls 5 to attack, Talen rolls 48 to defend.
Talen rolls 25 to attack, Alrec rolls 5 to defend.
Talen rolled 34 damage against Alrec's 35 mitigation.
Alrec rolls 8 to attack, Talen rolls 18 to defend.
Alrec rolled 23 damage against Talen's 28 mitigation.
Talen rolls 33 to attack, Alrec rolls -4 to defend.
Talen rolled 46 damage against Alrec's 11 mitigation.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Isolde before departing.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Isolde before departing.
Talen's subsequent strike is a glancing blow, the armour that Alrec wears layered so well it causes the sanguine steel blade to briefly flex before it's withdrawn, ineffective. As if to combat this problem from ever happening again, Talen opts to flick his wrist and send his strike higher now. Two arcs of red, the first a weapon flying high to catch Alrec's face and then the subsequent streak of blood that spills when it cuts him from eyebrow to nose, scraping the man's eyelid but missing his eye. Upon sighting the kind of wound, Talen's own eyes narrow and his guard is lifted, careful to defend himself as he queries the man with, "Do you yield, Admiral Alrec Magaldi? I /won't/ ask again. This is your one chance."
Alrec gives out a bellowing laugh as he swipes the blood from his face and rubs it off his tunic. He motions to Talen and growls, "We have just begun." He says coughing and stretching his back before moving into the fight.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Edain before departing.
Talen rolls 17 to attack, Alrec rolls 4 to defend.
Talen rolled 53 damage against Alrec's 32 mitigation.
Alrec rolls 22 to attack, Talen rolls 28 to defend.
Alrec rolled 45 damage against Talen's 33 mitigation.
Alrec rolls 20 to attack, Talen rolls 14 to defend.
Alrec rolled 33 damage against Talen's 44 mitigation.
Talen rolls 15 to attack, Alrec rolls -7 to defend.
Talen rolled 53 damage against Alrec's 14 mitigation.
"No, we have not," Talen says in short retort, stepping forward and greeting Alrec with another strike, barely registering the retaliation given as it only partially gets through the obsidian of his rich leather. Alrec's body soon becomes riddled with another couple of wounds that the average foot soldier would balk at and when the damiral remains standing, Talen's only praise is that he sticks true to his word and, rather than considering the man a novice, he deploys a full offensive of brutal attacks, the onslaught a steady stream of fluid motion.
Gareth has left the game.
Gareth has entered the game.
Alrec buckles down for the attack. He strengthens with the memory of his youth and the countless stabbings he received from other children. The Admiral groans with each brutal attack, it forces him back but Alrec attempts a push to keep him standing.
Alrec rolls 11 to attack, Talen rolls 13 to defend.
Alrec rolled 21 damage against Talen's 23 mitigation.
Talen rolls 24 to attack, Alrec rolls -26 to defend.
Talen rolled 22 damage against Alrec's 0 mitigation.
Alrec falls unconscious.
Viviana is leaving Arx - Ward of the Compact - Tournament Grounds, heading for Arx - Ward of the Compact - Honor Place.
Viviana has left the General Seating.
A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Isolde before departing.
(OOC) Alrec says: wow
No change of tactic comes, no show given that a Champion might normally capitalise on for a finale. No, the Sword of Lenosia is in it to win it purely because there's a man in front of him with a sword. Deftly darting forward, Talen drives his rapier inward to the man's torso and then gives a rough shove, designed to force him over and stun the man long enough to make it clear he has the upper hand. A point of red steel to the neck of Alrec is a promise of death that never comes, the referee soon calling it and the healers sent across to attend the admiral. Talen lingers over his opponent until he's given the clear and then steps back, tapping the boot of the fallen foe twice. "Well done," is all that's said before he turns, striding for his own attendants.
Isolde makes her way to the field, with a bag of medicine tricks. Nope, that doesn't look eerie.
(OOC) Alrec says: did wake
Gareth is leaving Arx - Ward of the Compact - Tournament Grounds, heading for Arx - Ward of the Compact - Honor Place.
Alrec wakes up.
Edain is overheard praising Alrec for: He fought hard and well! Gloria be praised.
Edain is overheard praising Talen for: He was relentless in his persuit of victory, and and showed his quality.
Edain has left the General Seating.
Edain is leaving Arx - Ward of the Compact - Tournament Grounds, heading for Arx - Ward of the Compact - Honor Place.
Isolde spreads a small cloth to kneel upon as she starts to bind wounds and get out some smelling salts, giving Talen a Look. "Really, darling. Really?" She laughs and shakes her head, attending to Alrec. "Well fought, the both of you. That was rather exciting."
Alrec pushes too hard and falls into Talen's trap where he is snagged over and over until he collapses on the ground, face first. His officers stand, as if to continue the fight but are dispersuaded by their master-at-arms. It is after Isolde's aid that Alrec manages to awake, facing up. He groans and tries to stand up holding on to his gut. The Admiral gives Talen a silent nod. His nose crunches and his lips curl, "Yeah, yeah." He says to Isolde waving at her. Then shakes his head, "Thank you." He spits out with a grunt, "Excuse me." And attempts to walk over to the seating.
Isolde motions to her guard, to help Alrec over to the seats, if he needs it, while she stands, dusting herself off meticulously.
"I asked," Talen does reply in the mildest of defenses to the Mirrormask, wiping Alrec's gore from his weapons and discarding the rag without a care. When he resheathes his blade, the Lycene male's left with the small dagger in hand, the item considered carefully before he tucks it away into a sheathe, slower now, along the line of one of his ribs on the outside of his vest. As he hears the initial response from Alrec to Isolde, however, his eyes cut right back on the man with ferocious attention. Shortly afterward it wanders toward his aid, "Go get the script," he insists, chin lifted in the direction of the Pravus referee before he himself walks toward Isolde, meeting her on the sidelines. Murmured words are given, even as the organisers indicate the event has come to a close and thank the audience.