Dodgy, a brown rat have been dismissed.

Audgrim wields Risk, a diamondplate and cupridium shortsword.

Direhorn Jeffers, a barded Templar wargoat have been dismissed.

Kyda wields Blackened Alaricite Sword with the Sigil Of Gloria.

Balian, a Templar squire have been dismissed.

Ripley has joined the line.

1 Templar Knight guards have been dismissed.

Guy, a hunting kestrel have been dismissed.

Winter, A Highhill Puppy, Angeline arrive, following Kiera.

The snow has not let up, and today is particularly chilly with the swirling of white flakes. And yet, here she is again - that woman who strode into Arx so many weeks ago and took up residence outside of Gloria's shrine. She has been relentless in her quest, taking challenger after challenger, felling most, being bested in contest by a few. This first step of her quest is coming to an end, time pressing on her to remind that a decision must be made. And so she waits once more outside of the shrine, statue-like in her pose, chin ticked upward, broad arms held in front of her so that the blackened alaricite sword she wields can rest with its point in the snow. There's no sign of fatigue to her, no hint that she might be crumbling beneath the weight of her charge.

Raven wear coat

Preston has joined the line.

Ian arrived early for this event, because of course he's here, and of course he did. There's still ice all over the roads, and Ian is still at constant risk of slipping on it, but it'd take a lot more than the threat of falling on his ass to keep him from getting to watch a bunch of people fight. He stands near a light pole, with one gloved hand resting against it both to keep himself stable and for something easy to grab onto should he start to slip. He's probably not moving from that spot.

Michael has joined the line.

Fortunato arrives, wrapped in leathers and a pink cloak, and takes a rough perch on the edge of one of Gloria's gardens. Although he has a staff strapped to his back, he does not /seem/ likely to try the woman with the blackened alaricite.

Mabelle has made her way earlier to the Sanctum so she can find a place safe from the actual sword swinging. She heard about those challenges but has yet to witness them. In hopes to learn more of their nature, she appears and stands by the familiar entry to Jayus' shrine, wiggling her fingers to familiar faces as she braces herself against the cold.

Turn in line: Amund

Sydney checks stamina at normal. Sydney is successful.

Snow is Amund's element. And Amund has accepted a challenge, so here he is, steps taking him close to the Sanctum of Genesis, a place that holds some particular memories. Particular, in that he was found out cold and a giant tree cracked the floor of the Shrine of Gloria a few years ago. With Ophne walking alongside him to his left, he exchanges some words with her in a quiet tone before making his way to the statue-like knight with the greatsword and the alaricite armor.

Tipping his head in a nod, he wonders, "Dame Kyda, I presume?"

It might be a surprise of some nature that Patrizio is in attendance, given how winter normally drives him well indoors and away from hints of the swirling winds that come with it. On the other hand, there's a mindful gaze towards the space set aside for the challenge, as if he's waiting to see what it is that's about to take place, though his jade eyes slide over the crowd, with brief dips of his head to the familiar figures amongst it.

Azova seeks not to fight, but instead to be here for those who are injured so that they can be patched up right away. An assessing gaze is already cast over both Kyda and all of those lining up to accept her challenge before she steps back near where Mabelle is. Out of the way of the sharp things.

Raven arrives bundled up anf her guards and her walking partner style as the gaggle of southern islanders try not to fall and break their ass on the ice. Raven spots Ian and makes her way towards him-boots shuffling carefully. Once near enough she leans over and mutters to the Kennex Lord.

Audgrim is standing still nearby, watching Kyda and her attire, from under his cowl. He makes no move to walk up yet, perhaps wanting to see if someone else does first. He nods to familiar faces, but otherwise draws no attention to himself.

Ripley's come with purpose this time around, having lingered about and watched at some of the bigger expositions and attempts by others with regards to Kyda. Wrapped up in layers, he has mitted hands in pockets and is watching who has come, who is challenging and participating while ginger hair pokes out under hats and layers of scarf.

Preston has come to the Sanctum of Genesis, which is not overly surprising given it is a place where he tends to reside. Having heard of the challenges, he comes and he waits at the edge, letting Balian and the others go on to the shrine itself. The Carnifex reaches up to pull the hood of his cloak down, apparently with careless disregard for that really annoying stabby cold you get right on your ear lobes from the wind. "Well. Most interesting."

Ian angles his head towards Raven and replies to her with a note of dry amusement in his voice. He doesn't move from his spot, but takes in with interest the people who are gathering.

Raven blink-blink-blinks at Ian's answer and then her head tilts back and a startled honeyed alto laugh escapes from her.

Ophne follows abreast of Amund, wrapped in a large shawl and a long dress. Her dark hair is held back in a plait, cheeks rosy with the cold. She follows him quietly, up to Kyda. Others are noted out of the corner of her eye, but she still says little save to nod at Amund and share a word of assent.

The woman hears footsteps before her name, and her hazel eyes track Amund's progress until the man is close enough to speak. "You presume correctly," comes the clear response before her body turns to face him more fully. "Have you come to accept the challenge?" she doesn't go so far as to /presume/, but she does ask, as he is armored and armed and this is not the first time she has been approached by such. "Tell me your name, and tell me that you understand the rules of our bout here in the Sanctum of Genesis." She does not turn her gaze away from him, but a hand lifts from her sword to sweep toward the gathering crowd.

Simone has not arrived to participate, though the excitement of the challenges has drawn the woman out to watch. Spotting Mabelle among the gathered, she moves easily towards her patron. A smile warms her features as she rests beside the other woman, "will you be showcasing your abilities today, or simply watching others?"

Lyra's here, she arrived with Michael a little while ago, though abandoned him quickly after so that she could find herself somewhere where she'd be able to be out of the way, yet retain a good view of the fighting. Happily, it seems that her spot is close enough to Mabelle's that she's able to greet the other woman with a smile before pushing her hands up the opposing sleeves of her coat. "This should be interesting. I've not had the good fortune to be able to see any of the previous challenges." White breath fogs the air as she speaks, bright eyes trained upon Kyda and the first of her challengers as Amund steps up.

Inadequately dressed, but overdressed. Such is Sydney's burden, armored in bespoke items that have a great deal of protection and an emphasis on use in three out of four seasons of the year. If it's causing her any discomfort to be in thin layers of steelsilk with only flourishes of leather, she makes no great show of it. Her hands are understandably tucked deep into her coat pockets, even if it's an unseasonal coat. She cranes her head towards Preston as he speaks and offers a low chuckle. "...Interesting's a word." The commoner hangs back a bit from the crowd. "If you don't care for bloodstains on your clothing, I'd urge a healthy distance."

"Sir Amund Monrosa," the knight replies, nodding to Kyda. "To the first blood, we must be armed and armored. Engagement stops once someone draws that blood for the first time." He considers the woman quietly. "I don't know what happens after that, but I'm looking forward to the fight, not the victory, or loss. It has been awhile, after all." And he looks over at her armor, before nodding affirmatively. "We don't need to hold back, then."

Mabelle keeps her voice quiet as she attracts some of the finest ladies of the city in her direction, returning Azova's greeting with a silent nod before peeping quitely in the direction of Simone, "I have no ability to showcase, so the latter", some laughter accompanies that. "It is my first as well", she mutters to Lyra, "I'm intrigued".

Kiera comes in and makes her way to where Mabelle and Azova stand, mostly here because curiosity has gotten the better of her but likewise prepared to treat the injured. . Her posture is unusually stiff for the normaly easy-going wyvernheart who seems to take in the situation with seriousness and gravity'

Ophne?s eyes flick to Amund, listening to him addressing the woman. She doesn?t seem exactly pleased to be here, nor with Amund?s choice to do this. Tucking one strand of hair behind one ear, she frowns delicately and sighs.

Patrizio draws his cloak more fully about himself - it's hard to see if the Pravusi prince is shivering under that armour of his, but one might well get the suggestion of it from how he's watching amidst his entourage of soldiers. Though Amund's address and Kyda's response does draw his attention from his crowd watching, as he gets the impression that things are about to get interesting.

Preston is overheard praising Amund: Ah, the Sir understands Gloria's commands. The honour of a beginning, and of an end, the honour in each step - that is what brings us close to her. Victory or loss are mere details.

Raven spots Patrizio and offers him a wave, just her jade green eyes peering out but her guards make her more familiar.

Lyra scrunches her nose at Mabelle, a nose that's already turning a little pink at its tip, curtesy of the bitingly cold weather. "Intrigued. Yes. I should have thought to bring a flask of something with me. Alas, I did not." Kiera and Azova are both bestowed with a flash of a smile before one hand emerges from the warmth of a sleeve to pull the floofiness of the white fur hat that's anchored on her head, more firmly into place.

Fortunato glances between Amund and Preston, his eyes glittering with curiosity even before they dart back to Kyra herself. He can nestle in Gloria's gardens, but perhaps the goddess is not the easiest one for him.

"You'd think someone would have told me about this before last night." Michael murmurs to Lyra out of the way of the circle of challenge thats about to get put together. Then he'll traverse down towards the rest of the potential duelists.

Audgrim is now starting to move around a bit, to stay warm; rolling his shoulders, pacing about, waving his arms. But he keeps an eye on Kyda and Amund meanwhile.

Kyda listens to make certain the man understands what he confronts here, and as he speaks the rules back to her, she dips her chin. "You understand, then. And understand, too, that what we must do requires that we cannot hold back." She hefts the alaricite blade from the ground and steps past him with a surprising ease of movement. She cuts a path toward the crowd, but her goal is only to sweep in a circle that creates a space for the two fighters to see the challenge to its end. When she's satisfied, she steps into the 'ring' and lifts her blade fully. "May Gloria bless you, Sir Amund Monrosa," she passes to him the words she has passed to all of her challengers - that the goddess she honors look over them. "When you are ready." She leans back into her stance, her knees bending, her body taking the defensive.

The familiar flask is drawn out from beneath the cloak and unstopped as Patrizio's clearly doing something to keep himself warm from within since from without's not working so well. Though he notices Raven's wave and the guards make it more apparent who it is, before she gets a smile and a dip of his head in return. And then a good pull from his flask.

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

Ian stays where he is, hand on a lamp post, talking quietly with Raven. His eyes are ever moving, though, taking in the people who have come to fight, taking in the person who's about to fight.

Ophne puts one pale hand on the shoulder of her husband, hesitating. ?Amund,? she entreats, long enough to quietly steal his attention away. Should he turn she simply meets his eyes, her own of grave representation. ?Are you sure??

By the looks if it, she certainly is not.

"Good," Amund replies to Kyda, his sword drawn easily as he slips into a balanced stance. He circles around her, focusing solely on the knight in front of him. Doubt and anything else blurs away, like riding down an empty street in high speed. Nothing matters but this particular fight. They make their first pass against eachother, and Kyda manages to land a blow, but it doesn't bleed him. For his part, he tries to hit her, only to swish far.

He smiles.

Preston claps politely for Amund's statement, nodding his head in approval. Though his eyebrow lifts as he notices the blade that Kyda wields, and that conflict in Gloria's name is about to occur. Preston's hand falls to his hip and the pommel there. He slowly draws out a simple blade and drops to one knee. The blade's point is pressed to the ground and Preston's forehead to the blade as his lips move in silent prayer.

Preston wields Crusader, Blade of the Templars.

There's no indication from the commoner Sydney of lingering anywhere near the line. She finds a comfortable place to lean, eyes hawkish as Kyda lifts her blade. Her easygoing expression evaporates, discarded in favor of watching studiously. More than ought else, her eyes are on the combatants' feet. Watching. Waiting for the fight to break in earnest.

The second time she does swipe at him, though, she catches him on the shoulder as he tries to step to the side, which does draw some blood. A slight rivulet. A deal is a deal, though, and Amund holds up two fingers in a yield as he steps away. "Good luck, everyone."

Walking back to Ophne, he reaches out to pat her shoulder. "We can stay and watch or go home. It's up to you."

Michael has joined the line.

Fortunato watches the conflict, his arms folded around himself. He hums low and tuneless, then nods as blood is struck. "Is it," he asks no one, "that honor is most present in battle? When pain and excitement might urge us to slip?"

Mabelle wiggles her fingers to Kiera upon arrival, and she murmurs apologetically to Lyra, "I can offer sweets, I've no booze". Her eyes are focused on the battle which ended relatively fast, making her widen her eyes. She almost claps for Amund, but since she's the only one, she stops.

Ophne looks distracted until Amund shows up, then she nods and turns away - which could mean anything.

Raven pauses in her chatting to watch Amund anbd her eyes widen in surprise-as if somehow she thought there was a chance this could go another way.

Kiera lets out a breath of relief as amund ends his bout with only minor injury and honor apparently intact

Azova pulls a flask that was tucked into her belt when she snaps back to reality and hears Mabelle. "It's rum, of course. But I always carry some medicinal liquor." Like every good Darkwater healer, really.

Raven looks up and over to Azova. Head to toe. Noted and given an approving nod. Medicinal rum is a thing, see!

Patrizio chuckles when he's hearing Azova's comment about rum or medicinal liquor, and takes another pull from his flask, the faint flicker on his expression that speaks to what he has being perhaps a little more potent still, and something to ward off the cold. Probably Setarco Fire, knowing him. Though that gaze of his drifts forward once more towards the fighting ground to see who would be the next to step forward.

"A sweet? Oh yes, please. Thank you," Lyra says to Mabelle through a smile, though distracted somewhat by how quickly Kyda drew first blood. She stares at her for a moment, before murmuring to those she's with. "Goodness, she's fast." Cheeks inflate as through pursed lips she blows a breath away, and a glance is given towards Michael where he waits with the rest of the challengers. A small uptick of her chin is given when he glances her way, and she holds up one finger and points it his way. Though what that might mean is anyone's guess.

When Kyda steps into the bout, she is quick to learn Amund's strikes, able to deflect first one, then another, and on the second she seizes the opportunity to give him a small kiss of a wound - enough to make blood spring forth, but nothing that will set the man out of commission for longer than a day. She feels the vibration through her blade and immediately steps back, a flick of red to the snow as she dips her head to her opponent. "Well fought, Sir Amund." And she steps back, although not in full retreat to her previous place of repose. She waits in this circle for the next, if any more wish to stand against her.

Turn in line: Audgrim

Audgrim blinks slowly, seeing the fight. He eyes his sword, and then looks at Kyda with a squint. But, he nods respectfully at Amund and walks over as soon as the fighting area is left to Kyda again. "I'm Sir Audgrim Veilandir," he introduces himself quietly. "I accept your challenge. To first blood, and that is when the fight ends." He bows his head in respect.

Azova has an impish grin for Raven when she catches that look, and tips her head to Patrizio as well. It's nice to know there's an appreciation for her most thorough carrying of medicinal items. "If anyone would like their wounds tended after their challenge, please let one of us know. I know, I realize you are all strong and tough and whatnot, but I will dutifully pretend you've been mortally wounded if it helps."

Ian continues his soft conversation with Raven. He does tend to fall silent during the actual fighting, but always picks up after.

"Is it," Fortunato continues to muse, "in the weapon itself? To make a weapon is of Jayus. To use a weapon is of Gloria. At least if you're thoughtful about it."

Fighting, especially those done in honor of Gloria are an exciting event and Ripley's still there, having taken up a spot and occasionally lifts a mittened hand in greeting to others. Toad is absent, not with the man. Amund's bout is over and Audgrim's stepping forward. There's a flash of concern from the jeweler at that.

Mabelle quietly passes the flask between Lyra and Azova, nodding as the latter includes her in the healing efforts. She observes as Audgrim moves to challenge the Dame, asking her companions, hushedly, "Did anyone catch the objective behind this?"

Another voice speaks, and Kyda's attention is stolen by the man introducing himself. Her gaze sweeps over him and she repeats his name, committing it to memory with the others she has stood against, "Sir Audgrim Veilandir," she dips her chin as he already shows an understanding of what they do here. "Then I will stand against you. May Gloria bless you," he is afforded the same as the last, and the next, and any she fights. This time her stance is a bit looser, a rocking forward to pitch her body as a force of nature. Her sword is levied at the man across and she gives him the simple, "When you are ready," in invitation for the fight to begin.

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

Alberico, the Malespero aide, Louis, a Malespero Armsman, Mar, the Magpie arrive, following Pasquale.

Kiera gives smiles and nods to lyra, mabelle, azova, and raven "I came hoping to find out" she admits readily

Raven keeps her gaze on the combatants but turns her head a bit to offer a muffled but audible reply, "Some errand for Gloria I think. There should be a notice or proclamation around here somewhere if it survived the fucking wind."

Like a man not waiting to be trounced, perhaps, Michael is out of the way of the fights but watching. Upon one hand, he spins his helmet slowly upon its side, moving hand back and forth to keep it going between bouts.

Lyra shakes her head to Mabelle's question. "Honestly? I'm not entirely sure. I was told that she's looking for a few to stand with her, but to what purpose... " She tails off with an elegant lift of her shoulders to her ears, and she takes the opportunity to press the flask she's been passed to her lips. A wipe of the lip of it before she hands it back to Mabelle.

Raven watches raptly, green eyes following the motion of the blades, she goes statue still almost not even seeming to breath. Totally. Completely. Rapt.

Preston knack

Audgrim might've learned something from watching Kyda earlier. Also - his sword is small. So, so much smaller than Kyda's. So, Audgrim has to rely on two things; his armour, and looking for any tiny weakness she might have, favoring accuracy over trying to actually do much damage. It is, after all, to first blood. Even a little nick counts! Also, one thing is quite clear from his fighting style; he wasn't trained as a knight. His fighting style is sort of weasely, he's dogding a lot, jumping back, whirling around, feinting.

Ian watches the fight in silence, those electric blue eyes taking in details of stance, angle of attack, shifting of weight. He's mostly watching Kyda right now, dissecting her fighting style in the bits and pieces that the short spars make available to him. This longer one, however... Audgrim has his attention as well. Fortunately, Raven is also too focused on the fight to mind him just completely forgetting that she's there, because he may have forgotten she's there.

Pasquale arrives just in time to watch the exchange between Kyda and Audgrim. Like many there he seems to be completely absorbed by the flash of blades.

"Oh!" Fortunato says in sudden, sharp enthusiasm as the bout between Audgrim and Kyda continues. "What a dance!"

Patrizio grins back to Azova when there's the tip of the head, as he's briefly capping the flask for a few moments, though the sound of someone else challenging draws his attention over that way once again. And then he's moving off a little bit through the throng that watches the exchange of blows, the better to settle closer to Ian and Raven, with a wordless offer of that flask to them both, as if a salve against the wind and the chill and as if not willing to interrupt the enjoyment of the duel itself.

Sydney seems to be glancing occasionally towards Ian. She squints in thought, but for now continues to hang back, especially with Kyda's blade rising against Audgrim. It rather steals her attention, the clash and shear of blade and armor. She finds her brows lifting at the long - impressively long display unfolding before her. She goes utterly still, transfixed, a gradual smile working its way onto her features that grows more intense as the fight goes on. Giddy and barbaric at once, that show of teeth.

Fortunato calls it right - this is a dance joined by metal. Kyda sweeps in on the weasel-y knight, her large blade trying to make quick work of his even quicker movements. It finds armor and blade against and again, and the music they make rises to entertain the crowds. Throughout, her expression remains determined and focused. He manages to score a ringing sound from her own alaricite several times, and she adjusts quickly to erase that opportunity a second, a third, a fourth time. In a moment's pause, her hands loosen about the hilt of her sword, urging it to become a more fluid blade than it is, but soon one of them must crack... right?

Preston places a gentle devotional kiss on the crossguard of his blade as his prayers finish and he pushes himself back to his feet. The balanced blade is turned in his hand as his eyes begin to follow the to and fro of the combat, but even as he stares onward he answers Fortunato's query "Do not doubt that Gloria's hand can turn to the creation of blades when wished for - her hand is turned to all things of honour. Perhaps such a blade would not be the most fancy, but would it not reflect the dedication put into it, mm? There is honour too in doing something to help, even if it is imperfect."

Winter, A Highhill Puppy, Angeline leave, following Kiera.

Fortunato glances at Preston as he rises with his sword. "I cannot doubt it," he says. "I suppose if I were to grab a rock or a stick in desperation, make something makeshift of it to defends those I love, there would be honor in the making." He brightens slightly. "But a story, too! Perhaps Jayus touches our roughest works, as Gloria touches our every need in war?" It is barely a question, that light uplift very light. He keeps part of his attention, still, on the dance.

Audgrim is doing well, he's a focused whirlwind that is hard to hit, and if she does hit - his armour saves him from bloodshed. On and on, sometimes blades meeting, other times he's dogding, his vambraces take a hit with a thud - a mix of leather and metal, and if people pay attention those vambraces are of alaricite, and so are his pauldrons. Just covered up to not be bright and shiny. He's dancing on the edge constantly however, and doesn't seem to be able to penetrate her defenses - the most he did was a light graze against armor or so. There's something else too - there's pure joy in the fight itself, once he's gotten into it. He shoots Kyda a shit-eating grin, dodges another attack, stands up to meet the next; and the large dark alaricite sword slashes his arm on the inside as he has lifted it to attack her. A spray of blood heralds the end of the fight, and Audgrim holds his free hand up, taking a step back. "Dame Kyda - thanks for the fight, that was very enjoyable." He winces, lowering his arm, but grins at her. "I wouldn't want to be your enemy, that's for sure."

4 Redoubt Buccaneers, Orion, a healer's surly Assistant, Fernando, the pygmy bear leave, following Azova.

Mabelle cheers from where all the ladies are eating cookies and drinking to get warm. It seems like a comical scene really, but the dance was so impressive, "That was beautiful, very impressive", as if she would know if it wasnt.

Ian lets out a breath as the match comes to an end, and then, blinking, realizes that Patrizio is here now. He nods a greeting, but shakes his head to the offer of the flask. He probably has one of his own, somewhere.

Raven issues a low slow whistle when the fight ends, "Well that was worth coming to freeze my tits off."

It's not until the battle ends that Sydney seems to recall that breathing is an act that's typically encouraged. She takes a big steadying gasp, shaking her head back and forth, "...A wonderful dance. I have the utmost respect for those that can hold such a steadfast defense. My fights are usually... to the point. For better or ill. She shakes her hands a bit as if working off some excess energy in so doing, "...A privilege to watch. Truly."

Preston glances back towards Fortunato and gives a warm smile "I am sure such a thing would be most blessed, though let us hope that it does not come to that, mm?" As his attention returns to the bout area, Preston nods his head "Stories are important though. Of swords found in hours of need, of the last minute reinforcement that swings the day, and of those who pursued victory with zeal, and in so doing found themselves in strange and unfriendly places. All lessons for how we might be better." There is a small click of Preston's tongue "This knight is quite the impressive devotee of Gloria, I do not think I would last more than a moment against them. To stand vigil for so long taking challenges though, to honour Gloria. That has to be respected."

"Well done Sir Audgrim," Lyra calls from the sidelines, bringing her hands together in a quiet, restrained round of clapping. She turns to Mabelle, helping herself to another of the cookies she's so cleverly thought to bring. "He helped me with a matter at Cedar Vale. He's an exceptionally skilled fighter."

Patrizio does not, for his own part, seem concerned about the declining of the offer, and the smile lingers on his features as he helps himself to his own flask for a nip. Though the jade eyes are watching still, constantly so, first at the back and forth out there, and then the slow turn of it to see who might step forward next.

Chamberlain, a surly blood-stained lammergeier, Rodolf, a blue roan heavy warhorse arrive, following Razija.

Mabelle noticing the blood, Mabelle beckons Audgrim in her direction and begins to glove up already and pull out her healer's kit. "People never cease to surprise me", she murmurs to Lyra.

"I do most hope," Fortunato says fervently to Preston in turn, "as blessed by Gloria as I may be in such desperation, I would still be a terrible fighter." He pauses, briefly, still fervid, to clap as the bout comes to an end. "Ah! So well fought!" And back to Preston. "Stories are lessons, certainly. And hope. Hope for that final reinforcement, hope of crawling out of that accidental hole you found yourself in, haha! Do you mean to challenge her?" He tilts his head toward Kyda.

The shit-eating grin is not returned, but that should not be taken as a sign of anything more than Kyda doesn't seem like the type to grin. She's very serious in all aspects of the life she has shown the people of Arx, and so when he gets cheeky with her, she simply continues down the path of seeking out weakness in her challenger. She fingers it, an opportunity not to be missed, and when he tries to gain the advantage a quick step inward and a grunted slice of blackened alaricite has the blood falling. Her blade drops with equal swiftness, and she exhales a breath. She's not winded, but that bout was longer than most, and so she takes a chance to pause. "Thank you, Sir Audgrim. You fought well." And he did! She can still feel the buzzing of her armor from his hits. Another step back, and another, has her turning to retrieve a small cloth from her supplies, and she swipes it over the blade to wipe away the blood as she waits for the next.

Turn in line: Ripley

Raven tilts her head and watches the knight in all that pretty, pretty armor, "Still curious what she's looking for. I know the enigmatic answer but those are never /actual/ answers."

"It would be poor form to refuse to honour Gloria for the sake of my pride, hmm?" Preston answers to Fortunato with a wry smile "I have never been the greatest swordsman in truth. I am where I am because of dedication, rather than skill. And from time to time pride is best dealt with by ending up salving a wound taken in honourable combat. Though, I will admit I could have done without the Eurusi arrow in my shoulder." Preston gestures towards the great sword wielding knight "Hopefully a not quite so set on my end."

Razija is late, but she didn't seem to notice or be bothered at all. Approaching the ringside, she flops down to have a gawk at the fighting going on.

"Perhaps she herself doesn't know what the answer is that she's seeking." Patrizio's contemplation of the armoured figure there, taking the challenges, gets a mindful inclination of his head, as he's speaking to Raven's comment. "Sometimes, the journey is as important as the destination, but that's just me having perhaps listened to too much high-speaking about these things." He smiles, but while he's watching Kyda tend to her gear between bouts, the flask disappears once more beneath his cloak.

Audgrim bows his head respectfully at Kyda, and steps backwards before turning to leave room for the next challenger. "Don't give me TOO much credit here. My armour did a lot of the work," he insists, looking a little uncomfortable about the attention. He's truthful - she hit him a lot, but he is geared to the teeth, even if some of that gear is cheap materials. He's just got a LOT of it. He upnods to Lyra and grins at her, and then sidles over towards Mabelle as he spots her ready with healing work. "Lady Mabelle, can I ask your help? I'm not hurt much but it's probably best to bandage it up at least."

There's a measure of looking impressed at his friend who is striking swords with Kyda. There's times where sights like this just take the breath away. The two of them working at odds with each other and in time with each other. Till Audgrim gets a hit and Ripley shoots up, about to clap but stops himself before hands can meet. Hands awkwardly stuff down into his jacket pockets to keep from doing that. "Good show Audgrim!"

And maybe Audgrim's act has spurred the lean jewler forward and he makes his way past people to the woman wiping her blade. His hand closing around a little velvet bag in his pocket and he draws it out, offering it forward. "I'm not good at honoring Gloria with a sword. How I stayed on the horse in the joust the other day was just, pure dumb luck I think. But I can swing a hammer. I don't know how much longer you're here so-" And it seems he's not here to fight. Just to offer up a gift. "If you don't care for it, you can place it inside the shrine as a gift to Her."

"I suppose that if the challenger were of Jayus or Lagoma or, perhaps, of Skald," Fortunato pauses. "Well, of /any/ god whose focus is less martial, I would be there." He pauses again. He considers Preston. "Perhaps I should honor Gloria, too, do you think? Even if I am not a doughty, dedicated warrior like yourself. Or at all. Are you still healing, then?" He glances at Preston's shoulder.

Sydney flits her focus to Raven, and listens to what Patrizio has to say, "...Hmph. Answers. Can't say I've ever found a large one that I've been seeking that's to my satisfaction. The more we tend to want an answer to a profound question, the more that we build it up, the less satisfying the truth is when it arrives." She rolls her shoulders in a shrug, "...Gloria is honored, regardless of your arms, armor, or experience. Got the nasty axe-scar to prove that."

Raven's eyes crinkle as if she's grinning beneath her scarf, "If wishes were horses, eh?"

Sydney nods, "Then no one'd go hungry."

Mabelle collects some water and ice with a clean cloth and begins working on Audgrim's slash. Its not too grave, but some stitches are required, which is something she knows how to do everywhere. Her work is meticulous and Audgrim is bandaged and free to keep on watching a few moments later.

Ian seems a lot more interested in the process of the fights than in why they're taking place, and doesn't engage with the subject of what Kyda is looking for. He watches Ripley approach with the velvet bag and, judging that this is a good time for it, unbuttons his coat enough to reach into an inner pocket and draw out a flask.

2 Laurent trained guards, Cupcake, a cookie girl, 1 Laurent veteran guards leave, following Mabelle.

Another set of footfalls, another challenger. Kyda looks up to spy Ripley joining her, and she is ready to hear the words of acceptance spoken, her shoulders rolling back in preparation. Instead, the crafter speaks of his own weakness in honoring in this way and extends the hand that holds a pendant. She looks at it for a long moment, unmoving, and then sets her sword aside to lean against a bench. It looks so stark against the white snow, but she steps forward now unarmed. One hand goes to the pendant, the other to Ripley's shoulder. Her voice drops, for once her words not carrying beyond the pair of them, and there's a firm shake given to the man as she brings the pendant away, enclosed in her armored hand. She releases him after a time and returns to place it inside a pouch, the decision she makes regarding its fate unclear.

Pasquale watches Ripley's bag with curious interest, pausing only to muffle a few restrained coughs into his scarf.

Patrizio makes a soft sound when he's hearing Sydney's retort, and the smile lingers. "The best answers lead you to simply more questions. Though satisfaction..." He shrugs a little - a gesture that's perhaps not as obvious when he's bundled in that cloak of his and in armour - but there's a chuckle and a dip of his head. "Agreed about the matter of honouring Gloria, though." And he's quiet again, as he's watching the goings-on.

Raven relaxes when it becomes apparent Patrizio doesn't feel the need to engage. She does shuffle over and murmur lowly to the Prince.

"Oh, that wound healed long ago. It was taken at Sungreet. I have managed to get myself hurt a dozen times more since then, Fortunato." Preston explains, rotating his left shoulder to demonstrate "As for whether you wish to honour Gloria? Here in the open and beyond the controlled environment many occur it? It is a choice. Gloria only ever asks that we follow the honourable path, hold to that no matter what comes - or doesn't. We should never feel forced to honour her in this way, it is just how many of us can. You can honour her equally in a song, or poem. Or story. But I have never been much good at those, beyond the canticles." As Preston watches Ripley hand over the pendant, he straightens "I suppose it is time I entertained the crowd if but for a moment, and took more bruises and cuts for my God." But he is smiling never the less as he waits for the knight to be ready for challengers.

Turn in line: Preston

Audgrim thanks Mabelle, grits his teeth when he's being sewed up, and watches the next challenge - he grins at Ripley and waves to him, and then grins again seeing that gift given. "Nice," he murmurs. He nods to Mabelle again in thanks and steps up closer to keep watching, hovering around near Lyra there. He upnods at Razija, seeing her attending, looking happy to see her.

Ripley answers back in kind, words not making it past the two of them. At one point, he nervously scratches at his jaw and the beard before he nods and turns away, loping down to find a place to sit and watch the rest that is going on, burying his head and neck in his scarf layers like a turtle in it's shell.

"The life of a Carnifex, ah? Take care." Fortunato eases back against the garden to watch. "Perhaps one day I will piece together a canticle about this event. Go well. Fight for glory, honor, the ritual of dancing blades." He hums tunelessly, and subsides. Let Preston fight.

Razija catches a glimpse of Audgrim and, beaming waves over at him. She mouths "long time no see" and gestures around the place with a confused look and a shrug, going back to looking over the proceedings curiously. Especially when Preston steps up to bat, so to speak.

Sydney quietly murmurs, "...Some of us will never see a battlefield. Hardly means that there ain't fights going on everywhere. The formal opportunities to show faith are welcomed, when living a life oft-bereft of choices." She squints in Preston's direction again, appraisingly lifting a brow, "...I daresay she might say you have nothing left to prove, but life is a series of choices, some for the better, others for ill. How you choose to balance the scales is a personal decision."

1 Templar Knight guards arrives, following Oswyn.

The cold is beginning to creep through the thick soles of Lyra's boots, so she stamps her feet a few times to restore circulation whilst Mabelle patches up the wound to Audgrim's arm. "You did terribly well," she offers quietly to him, a smile hovering at the edges of her expression. There's little time to converse beyond that however, because her curiousity is piqued at Ripley's gift. "How lovely," she murmurs. "I bought the most curious ring at his shop a while ago." Her brow furrows, but only a little, something about that purchase perhaps, and then her eyes turn again towards the challengers. "I wonder who'll step forward next."

Oswyn makes his way toward the Sanctum. People talk, and Dame Kyda's here, and sometimes Dame Kyda makes people leak, like, a lot of blood. So Oswyn, while he isn't really much fo observing duels, sometimes ends up going to them just in case someone starts bleeding out. The templar at his side guides him through the crowd.

Preston stepping forward as new challengers are called for, Preston bows his head towards Kyda "I would challenge you, to honour Gloria with our deeds. I am Sir Preston, and I understand the rules you have set out. That it shall be to the first blood, and I am armoured" and Preston taps the breastplate with his gauntlet "And armed" and Preston holds Crusader out to demonstrate that as well "I wish you well."

Raven oooohs and her attention shifts from Patrizio to Preston.

Ian takes a drink and then puts the flask away again, but doesn't bother to button his coat back up. He watches Preston approach, and, at the sight of the blade he draws, the Islesman's eyebrows climb. The fight definitely has all of his attention, as the previous ones did.

Raven is standing next to Patrizio but not too far From Ian, watching Kyda fight. She gives a passing comment to Patrizio and then tirns her full attention to Preston and Kyda. As usual only her green eyes peek out from warm fuzzy hat and scarf.

Willen arrives, following Lou.

Audgrim rolls his arm carefully - it seems to be alright, though he should rest it for a few days. "Better than I thought, but it's cause I am actually an archer," he deadpans at Lyra - whatever that might mean. He nods, and makes a thumbs up over at Ripley there, then turns attention to Preston as he steps up.

Caspian enters the chamber, eyes darting around as he takes in the crowd. seems the fights were still going on, so he moved along the backside of the sanctum to find a good view

Lou had heard that this was the last of the duels and although she is late she makes her way into the busy streets to join the crowds watching the events going on. She goes to the corner of a building and leans against it to prop it up.

Patrizio lingers by Ian and Raven as he's conversing quietly with the latter, though those intent eyes of his linger on the matter taking place in the midst of the crowd without wandering afield.

When Preston steps forward, Kyda turns and her reaction is immediate. Her gaze drops to the Templar markers on his armor, the proof that this man is of her kind. Her fist comes to her chest, and she bows to the man. "Welcome, brother," she speaks as if this simple connection makes them so much more - and it does. To her, this is everything. "Sir Preston. I am honored to accept you as a challenger. May Gloria bless you," she gives him the same sentiment he passed to her, and she reclaims her sword. A little flick sends the snow away, and she strides to take place in the center of the makeshift ring once more. Her blade lifts, and she squares herself against another Templar. "When you are ready, Sir Preston."

Ripley juts his chin up in greeting to Audgrim, the jeweler seeming to want to remain sitting on a surface somewhere, hands tucked under his arms and watching as little puffs of air come out with every breath.

"If the sword isn't your weapon of choice, then I shall know whom to lay my bet upon come the archery tournaments," Lyra notes to Audgrim with the lift of one brow. The hint of a laugh warms her words an she hooks a stray length of hair back from the edge of her mouth from where it's escaped the constraint of her hat. "This should be an interesting match," she ventures, her attention drawn back to the templars now preparing to clash.

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

"As an archer, I don't like to be up close and get stabbed, so I cover everything up in the hopes I won't bleed, and do all I can to avoid being hit," Audgrim explains to Lyra. "BUt I have practiced with a blade the last year or so. Duke Michael has trained me a few times, and he's bloody brilliant." He spies around for the Duke in question. "He going to fight too?"

Oswyn watches the duel. Or, at least, he squints at it. He squints so hard his eyes are little slits above the fabric of his scarf. Then he yawns. It's a huge yawn that makes his scarf slip down, and... wow. His gloved hands come up to rub at his eyes.

As the fight begins, Preston gives a final bow of his head before he closes up his helm. Fighting without a shield he takes a hand and a half hold on Crusader and assumes a middle guard as they circle, preparing for a long and lengthy fight. As they come together, Preston swings his blade - the flat of Crusader's blade just touching Kyda's as it passes over it. There is the sound of metal skating on metal as it skitters along Kyda's arm armour before catching just in a spot on the joint, a glancing cut. Preston though is wincing not in empathy but in his own pain, as his right shoulder took the undeflected blow from Kyda, and the pauldron lifted to allow a score against the muscle beneath. The Templar pulls back, lifting his hand to acknowledge the strike.

Lou pushes away from the wall a moment when it looks like the fight is about to begin, preparing to watch it. However, it seems the bout is over in just the time it took for her to stand aright again. Frowning a bit, she leans back against the wall once more, giving both Preston and Kyda a curious look.

As with all the rest of the fights, Sydney turns to watch, bottle-green eyes subtly narrowed in concentration, muttering to herself, "Well, it's sure to be a showcase of lovely swords, and no mistake. I--" She really doesn't have time for much else, as the templars blood one another in an instant. She tilts her head, as though trying to discern which strike landed first, a puzzled expression on her features. "...Well. Damn." A low whistle, "...Can't rightly tell who got who, there."

Patrizio's still murmuring with Raven when Preston and Kyda are exchanging blows - that faint tensing of his features at the passes between them, the sound of metal on metal - though there's an appreciative look at the skill that's brought it to that point.

Raven spots OSwyn and her head tilts. She murmurs a brief, "Pradon me." To Patrizio and carefully makes her way over to Oswyn, "Archscholar." A mittened hand lifting to rest gently on his shoulder.

Ian nods appreciatively right as Preston and Kyda's swords come together and, from that point forward, doesn't seem surprised by the results. He's apparently seen enough of her fighting now that he can follow strikes forward to their logical conclusion even when that conclusion is bare moments later.

The meeting of Templars promises to be intense, if the way they stand before the actual swing is any promise. Kyda watches Preston move, and she darts forward too, blackened alaricite against Crusader. The spark of electricity between the blades ends with both fighters spilling blood, and the dual cuts bring an end to the honorable duel. He acknowledges his own injury, and she, too, turns her shoulder and tilts her neck to show the line of red. "Well fought, Sir Preston. Gloria honors us both today." She does not press for further - in her mind, the draw is clear and the bout is settled. "Thank you." She does not call for a healer or wipe her blade this time, instead turning to survey the crowd. There are faces becoming family to her and she nods to them - Sydney and Ian, in particular - but it is Oswyn her hazel eyes settle on for a brief, intense moment of inspection. And then she looks to the shrine, and waits for the next in this final stand outside the holy place.

Turn in line: Michael

Fortunato draws his hands together, /clearly/ pleased by the result of the fight. "Ah ah! Wonderful. A titanic clash with no clear victor."

Oswyn lowers his hands and smiles at Raven. "Hey, you," he greets, perhaps a little bleary.

"Yes. I believe he is, and quite soon too, I should imagine," Lyra says of Michael, her eyes drifting to where he stands waiting. "I suppose that he /is/ pretty decent with a sword, not that he doesn't me that often enough himself." A faint grin. "I should probably badger him to give me a little training myself. There's always something else that needs my attention /more/ than grabbing a sword and jabbing it at a straw-filled dummy. Especially when the weather's inclement." She watches the fight between the templars then, and exhales with a little whistle at the unexpected result.

Still standing next to a lamp post with one hand on it to keep himself steady, Ian nods in acknowledgement to Kyda when she looks his way. His flat expression is moved by no real emotion, but there's some kind of intensity making his eyes luminous.

Audgrim is excitedly shifting from foot to foot, as the two Templars collide. It is anticlimatic how it does end, but also so very fitting. He cracks a grin, and applauds the two fighters.

Preston reaches to unfasten his helm once more, letting the cheek guards open and he bows his head to Kyda "And yourself, Dame. An honour to have fought with you, and perhaps a fine lesson for others - a field with no winners, no losers and both sides content. Were we could have more of those amongst our own people, the Gods would weep for joy I am sure." Preston slides Crusader away with a murrmered prayer into its scabbard before he backs away and back into the ground to observe the next bout, rotating his shoulder and wincing. Once he gets to his spot again he removes his gauntlet to let him wedge a small cloth from his pouch up under the armour to just soften things agsint the cut.

Raven's eyebrows furrow and she slips her good arm around Oswyn, "You alright, Archscholar? Have you pulled another all nighter?"

Chamberlain, a surly blood-stained lammergeier have been dismissed.

Rodolf, a blue roan heavy warhorse have been dismissed.

Michael glances about to see if anybody else is stepping forward before he does so himself. His sword in sheath in the same hand that clutches the chin of his helmet as he makes his way down to the makeshift ring. "Hello. I've come to challenge you as well, with both sword and armor to the first blood." His gaze had watched several fights before this one and one might even wariness in his visage. "I'm Michael Bisland, Lieutenant of the Iron Guard and Duke of Pridehall."

Caspian watches the two fighters and blinks, the fight over so suddenly and with such precise blows. he shakes his head and grins, "i'd expect nothing less from these two fighters" he spies some familiar faces, and offers a warm smile and cheery wave

Oswyn shakes his head. "Mmm. Just... feels later than it is. Like I could take a nap, but then I'd be awake all night," he tells Raven, leaning against her briefly. He adds something more quietly.

Sydney draws a hand briefly up to cradle her jaw, murmuring, "It's the contentedness that's the trick of that. I can think of plenty - too many - times when there's no clear victor. Often, those are the most painful for both sides to accept." A soft little snort, "...Most times, in truth. To no one's benefit."

Raven straitens at whatever OSwyn says to her and her gaze narrows in ire, "What in the four winds were you thinking?!" She draws in a deep breath and forces her feathers to unruffle a bit before she grumbles "oooh, you're so lucky I don't have two hands right now." she lowers her voice and murmurs lowly.

Michael steps forward, and Kyda looks to him as he makes his introduction - his very lengthy introduction. "Duke Michael Bisland," she manages to gain his name, her head dipping in greeting. "You understand the parameters, and so we have our challenge." She rolls her shoulder, testing the strength of it with the most recent cut, but she would not stop even if the blood were pouring freely. "May Gloria bless you," she says with her usual strength before settling into her stance, a little more cautious now that she has been scratched. "When you are ready, Duke Michael."

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

Ian blinks as he looks over at Sydney. "A draw means a solid fight." His voice is puzzled, like it should somehow be self-evident, or at least it's self-evident to him, that 'a solid fight' is a desirable outcome. He looks like he might say more, but then Michael steps forward.

"Suppose it depends on the nature of the fight," Fortunato says, lightly. Generally. "This's a case where a draw is lovely. A display of skill. A dance, again a dance."

Oswyn gives Raven a, well, a tired look before replying.

Sydney lifts a brow skeptically to Ian, puffing a breath into the cold air. "...You can think of no instances where there was no clear winner, no clear loser, and yet a foul sentiment remained between those who fought?"

Michael wields a honed alaricite longsword with lion handguard.

A fight has broken out here. Use @spectate_combat to watch, or +fight to join.

Michael dips a nod in return to her readying herself, and moves to ready himself. First, the helmet is lofted onto his head and pulled snug by the chin of the helm before his head shakes to and fro to ensure a solid fit. The fight is...a strange fight, seemingly long lasting and swiftly ended depending upon how you were watching. Michael feels like the fight lasted not at all long enough before Dame Kyda's blade is quick enough to push the mid-point of his sword wider than he desired. It leaves himself open long enough for Dame Kyda to sweep the tip across his bicep and expose blood to air. He'll halt then, and step back two steps. "You're the Victor."

Raven rolls her eyes a bit and gives Oswyn a nod, Adjusting her grip and her stance so he can lean against her more comfortably and should he slip or the like her hand's under his armpit to hatch him and murmurs softly, dictating the fight as quickly as she can while it happens.

Ian doesn't reply to Sydney right away, not while the duel is happening. Once it's done, he looks over at her again. "I've seen a fight not solve something between two people that a fight can't solve," he allows to her. "Regardless of who wins or doesn't. There's a lot of that in the Isles."

Patrizio continues to watch the duels, the faint tightening of his features as he's watching the passes with those blades. His hand shifts to go once more for his flask, before there's a gentle tap upon his shoulder by one of his entourage of soldiers, and then... a nod, before he's gathering his cloaks and moving to depart.

3 First Legion Centurions, 3 Setarcan Royal Shields leave, following Patrizio.

Kyda's blade finds bicep, and the blood comes quickly, but it is far from a mortal wound. She is quick to retreat, and when he speaks of her victory she simply nods. "In this moment, yes. You fought well, thank you." She steps away from him, and her blade lowers to touch the bloodied tip to the snow. Her gaze scans the crowds once more, and it seems as if none are striding forward, all those who had wished to test themselves against this enigmatic Templar having done so already. She takes in a slow breath, nodding to some thought she has, some realization that the world is coming together, that the path forward clearer. "I have stood against so many of you, invited you all to accept my challenge, to honor Gloria. I must make my decision, and in doing so I will call on a few of you to make yours. What I do is not easy, is not safe, is not guaranteed victory. If I send you word and you refuse me, I will not consider you weak or dishonorable. This is my responsibility, and if I must return to face it alone I will." Return to where, she does not say. The manner of the responsibility? Oh yeah, she's also vague on that. Answers without giving answers. She waits a moment long before turning to stride up the steps and disappear into the depths of the shrine.

Raven watches wide-eyed, "Man, I hope she finally gets some rest."

Something about Kyda's final words get Ian's attention again. He angles his head slightly, and his features acquire a thoughtful cast. He watches her as she retreats into the shrine.

Caspian quirks an eyebrow at the woman's words, and offers a smile, "Well.. that would be a letter worth reading i am quite sure" there is a hopeful air in his voice as he watches kyda leave for the shrine.

Sydney, too, is silent whilst blows are still being traded. She bobs her head at its conclusion, respectfully murmuring, "Well fought." She skirts her focus back to Ian, and simply nods her assent as though to acknowledge that it's precisely what she was referring to. When Kyda speaks up, her attention is drawn back over toward her, and cranes her head quietly as the woman makes her statement and then departs into the shrine. She moves to leave as well, but not before stopping near Ian, turning her head to murmur to him.

Raven shuffles carefully over towards Ian, Oswyn is off elsewhere doing nerdy things.

Audgrim applauds again, but then quiets and squints at Kyda as she explains what comes next. He looks thoughtful about that, but he gathers up his cloak and bag and makes his way out as quietly as he arrived, after bowing to Lyra and murmuring a 'Nice to see you again, Countess.'

Georgette, 1 Greenmarch Guards, Trouble, the zippy ferret leave, following Simone.

Lou is more observant of Michael's battle with Kyda, taking in everything about the stalwart Duke and the Templar. The woman's final words leave her a bit perplexed, but she does not remark upon them.

Sydney offers a firm nod, and takes her leave.

Raven murmurs idly with Ian but spots Lou rather belatedly and offers a wave.

Lyra watches the last pairing, and there's a wince when Kyda draws first blood from Michael. "Ouch..." She's quick to nod to Audgrim however when he takes his leave. "You too, Sir Audgrim. It was good to see you fight today." With hands returned to the warmth of her coat sleeves, she then makes her way towards here Michael's sorting himself out in the wake of defeat. "Well fought," she congratulates, eyes glitching thereafter to the wound that he's taken.

Preston claps for Kyda as she announces her intent to now withdraw "Mm. One might ask, what need a Templar has of such enigma or assistance. We have never as an order shied away from helping out our brothers and sisters." Preston muses as the knight steps away "But. Also Gloria has known many, and many have walked her path so far they are no longer quite so connected to what things are, I suppose." Preston muses, watching "Still. The knight seems earnest."