The Training Center isn't much different than it normally was at this time of day. The few notable differences include a weapon rack full of standard steel weapons and the presence of Sir Silas and his squire Arron, the latter of whom looks more like a street urchin in armor than a knight. The teenager is wielding a blunted blade, taking practice swings in the air, for what his observing knight promises to be an insightful training session. Silas stands nearby, casually leaning against the wall and waiting.

Kima, having an invested interest in both things martial and things educational, found her way to the training center. The lady-knight walked with a confident swagger, sword belted comfortably at her hip. Walking beside her is a lad nearly as tall as she, clad plainly. They speak in conversational tones and while on their way to the benches, her gaze roams over the young squire Arron. Kima points, noting this or that, and the lad at her side nods vigorously.

Lazarus has joined the Benches.

Kima has joined the Benches.

Silas has joined the fighting grounds.

Iona is not wearing skirts today, but has chosen a pair of breeches and tunic with a thickened cloth jacket. Her dark gold hair is braided and looped so it stays out of her way, and she wears thick-palmed gloves to go with her sturdy, unadorned leather boots. She is quite plain looking despite the wealth of the house she calls home. She walks with a stern commanding presense, no longer slowing her speed for the grace of Ladies, but instead walking with that wolfish gait that suggests a woman who knows a couple things about aggression -- something she often does well to mask when being more /noble/ is required. She smiles to the tall, dark-skinned man beside her, looking amused. "You've been avoiding a good spar with me for ages, husband... and here you are, willingly risking a chance of getting thumped by your wife." Her deep alto voice is laced with unabashed amusement. She then looks over to Silas, his grubby squire, and offers a gentle nod of both respect and greeting.

Lazarus is sitting on the benches, entertaining his brother's request to join him for combat training but clearly the merchant shows no interest in actually being involved. His clothing is more appropiate for an important trade deal than fighting or being in a training center. He fans himself with a paper fan and settles in his seat.

Mason has decided that fighting in his usual thobe agal wouldn't be very prudent. So he's decided to do soemthing else that the fighting men of Ahj'on are notorious for doing. It looks like he's wearing trousers of a sort, but rather it looks like he's taken a bedsheet or long piece of cloth and wrapped it around his waist and legs, which seems to create an almost 'poofy' kind of pants, billowing out a bit more by the boots he's wearing(Hammer don't hurt'em). A standard blouse covers his top. So basic, by Eursi standards. Lou is noticably absent from this, which is probably for the best, as the Ahj'oni man probably doesn't want his wife to see him make a spectacle of himself. He carries a wooden practice sword, or waster with him. For the moment, he seems to waiting, rather looking to Silas silently, because he's the teacher here, might as well look to the knight for guidance.

Gabriel is no squire, although he paces Iona at her side. "Oh, I hadn't planned on sparring today, my dear. I thought I might watch, and see the talent of the city." He nods over in Silas' direction, a single touch to Iona's elbow indicating that he is going to bend their steps in that direction, and as he approaches, he holds out a hand, "Sir Silas? Gabriel. And this is my wife, Iona." Oh, they both have titles, and he even uses them sometimes, just not today. "I wanted to thank you for putting this together. It may be that personal protection becomes far more important in the near future, although I certainly hope it does not."

    A few familiar faces draw his attention first. The corners of his lips tug upward in a small smile as he nods to Mason and Kima, the former he's spoken to and the latter he's seen in many a combat event. "Lady Kima, Lord Mason - it is nice to see you." His gaze flickers to Lazarus, too, in slight acknowledgement before his land inevitably lands on the Duke and Duchess. People he knows -of-, perhaps has seen in passing, but really not acquainted with. When they greet him, he returns the favor with a short bow. "Aye, Sir Silas Mercier. Pleased to finally meet your acquaintance, Duke and Duchess Bisland. I and the Iron Guard couldn't agree more." He glances around, counting in his head. "How many of you are willing to spar my young squire today?"

"My cousin once wore a sheet," Kima says to the man seated not too far away on the bench to her left. "Without going too much into detail regarding poverty and general carelessness, he inadvertently swept the Lyceum into a rage. I hadn't imagined such would have made it all the way to Arx." Kima then squints at Mason, and understanding floods into her eyes when Silas so names him. A foreigner.

As if that explained everything.

A quick wink is given to Lazarus, then, and Kima gets to her feet in order to respond to Silas. "If it isn't too much trouble, and he survives the tender lessons others are no doubt sure to give before me, I'll go a round with your squire, sir Silas." Her smile is broad and vivacious, revealing straight and even white teeth.

The Duchess looks amused at her husband's dismissal of a possible spar, and she murmurs airily, "Another time." Then Iona looks to Silas as they are directed toward him, and she smiles that slightly too-broad smile, bowing her chin again slightly. "Well met." When he puts out the call, she laughs and nods. "Well, that's why I'm here... Gabriel will just be... observant." She smirks to her husband before she releases his arm, offering a nod. When Kima speaks, she also grins to the knightly woman, nodding in respect to her before she steps aside a bit. When her eyes shift to Mason, she offers the familiar -- but unacquainted man -- a nod of greeting.

When Salazar Argento, Voice of the Stormborn and Heir to the Nilanzan March, arrives, he shows no sign of looking worthy of his title. After all, titles are just words, and words are worthless. But if there's anything to be said about the pirate prince, there's this: one does not keep their reputation as a fearsome pirate or paragon of masculinity without shedding some blood. In full pirate regalia - epaulettes, woolen surcoat the color of sapphire blue, and the haphazard silk chemise underneath, with black otter-skin leggings and boots - Salazar wears his trusty blade at his side. A cutlass some two and a half feet long, it is a utilitarian straight blade with a slight curve at the tip to allow stabbing as well as slashing, one just as suited for hacking sea lines as it is for hacking flesh. He comes to a stop and lifts his chin up in defiance, looking straight across the room at one person: Lady Kima Saik.

In stark black leather and brilliant white aeterna, Rook arrives carrying a sheathed sword in one hand. The blade's cover is gleaming with gold filigree in as much as it does steel ornamentation of steel. No doubt a clue to what actually remains underneath, the leather and silk handle as yet unwielded. The courtier of Bastion looks left and right, surveying the crowd as he joins it. "So terribly sorry, Sir Silas, I was held up," he excuses himself-- looking only marginally abashed.

A foreigner Mason may be, but he's also a Prince of Grayson. "Greetings, Sir Silas." the man smiles brightly, ever the font of positivity. "I cannot promise I will look all that good while doing so, but I'm not afraid of jumping in and trying my hand. Would've been silly to ask for tutelage and then not partake." His accent, while thick, is at least understabable. Clearly Arvani is not his native language, but at least he seems the sort that gets a hang of languages decently. With a curious glance, he returns Iona's look. A smile and a nod is returned, having seen the woman on the Grayson grounds previously, though never actually speaking.

And enter the Blackheart. Another from the House of Argento, the lady Queen Pirate of the seas. In rare form, she arrives to this training arena and dressed in plain traveling clothes. The only adornment is her military-esque coat with crisp sharp buttons running the length of her left shoulder down to her right hip. Her amber golden eyes painted with blackened kohl draw over the small crowd this hour to assess the potential candidates to be fighting. The Sworn Sword of her House half hidden beneath the panels of her coat can be seen but her demeanor is calm at the moment. Shoulders are tense, but the Sea Captain is here to watch.

Gabriel nods at Iona first, smiling easily, "I'll hold you to it." Looking back to Silas, he nods again, "The pleasure is ours, Sir Silas. And as my Lady wife says, I think I will hold back. Your young squire looks a little too fierce for me." There is laughter behind the low, rich words. He nods as well to Mason and the others greeting Silas, offers his wife another pat on the arm, and steps back a touch to let the other knight see to things.

Silas smirks knowingly at Kima. "I suspect your skills reach far beyond his, Lady Saik. I don't wish to discourage him -too- much at the onset: Arron is rather new at this whole squire deal." He strides towards the weapon rack and plucks a blunted sword, then turns to toss it to Mason. "You've been nominated as the first challenger, Prince Mason. Show me your stance." Perhaps the prince will impress him and at least catch the blade going his way! Then Rook happens by at a timely moment. "Oh, no worries. We have just started, Master Rook." He notices the courtier brought his own blade. "Do you have experience in swordplay? I don't intend on having you spar right away, but after we see how Prince Mason fares, perhaps you and Duchess Iona can have a go? See if you learn anything from my relentless critique."

Lazarus lingers with the laziness of a cat with a servant hovering over him and the corner he had made for himself trying to keep him hydrated. He continues to fan himself with a simple paper fan as his blue eyes gaze over to those introducing themselves. When Silas looks back to him, he gives him a shrug. A sort of, 'Hey, I came at least.' Lazarus was never fond of violence especially when it came to proving one self.

"Oh yes," Rook says, "my brother is a budding knight of Bastion," says the young courtier. "I have plenty of experience watching and learning both. How hard can it be?" There's a certain smile for Silas and then he begins to slide out his sword, the gilt marvel one that lights up with the barest gleam of light. "Oh.... maybe I shouldn't have brought this one if we're actually to /spar/ however. It's not really meant to make contact with another sword, said the smith to me. I thought we were going through drills?" There's a sudden look in his eyes, as if he's made a big, big mistake.

Silas picks up A blunt metal shortsword.

Rook wields a resplendent gilt longsword of high quality steel forged in precious metals and silk.

Mason wields A blunt metal shortsword.

Mason has joined the fighting grounds.

Kima laughs in reply to Silas, and retakes her seat. Briefly catching a look from Iona, Kima inclines her head, though it hardly hides her smile. To the youth at her side, Kima says, "Make room, and you might just find yourself rubbing elbows with the likes of such fine people as that." By which of course, Kima referred to Gabriel and Iona.

About that time, however, the lady-knight takes note of Salazar, whose focus is so intense it reminded Kima of the skin prickling sensation of unseen arrows or a dagger to the back. She lifts her arm in a wave, inviting the pirate over. "Careful with that gaze, friend, don't you know there are cultures that initiate combat through mere posture alone - not to mention direct eye contact?" Her voice is colored by amusement.

As the grounds populate themselves with all matters of men and women, the Duchess starts to chuckle in her own amusement. "I find myself underdressed," she murmurs to Gabriel, noting her own simple breeches and tunic, paired with even simpler boots and gloves. Her eyes dance with amusement, and she gives her husband's arm a light squeeze. She then steps aside as Silas gives his words, and she moves toward the benches so she can watch the first spar match unfold. She takes note of Rook as he enters, and nods to the courtier in that same passing greeting. When he brandishes his sword, she smiles. "What is the point of a sword if it isn't meant to meet another sword, or be blooded?"

"There was a time in my youth, where my father wanted to me to be one of the famed desert riders of my people. There were a few lessons involved, but he could not pull me away from my books, much to his dismay." Mason muses, stepping forward, and catching the waster. "Well, considering my experience, I'm sure I'll make your squire look very good. I have few allusions to where my skill lay." That ssaid, he looks over the practice weapon. "I will never likely be used to how straight Arvani swords are. Eursi blades tend to be curved, heavier at the end. Designed more for chopping. Though they work very well on horseback."

A nod is given to the squire. "Don't make me look too poorly, yeah?" But the man does know how to be serious when he needs to be, turning Silas to produce said stance as instructed. He's remembered the lessons of his family, and then the few things he learned while in the wilds with Lou. He knows enough how to make his profile as thin as possible while facing someone. Elbows slightly bent, the pommel of waster is pointed near to where his belt would be, were he wearing one. The sword is held up. It's not...//horrible//. The right idea is there, at the very least.

"Ceremony, of course!" Rook says even before he's lit deep green eyes upon Iona. There's a bow for the duchess, a deep and respectful one that is a thorough tell in his knowledge of who she is exactly. "Do excuse me, your grace, I came terribly unprepared in truth. I heard there was this event on and so I snatched up the closest thing to me and ran as fast as I could. It isn't often I'm late," explains the Grayward gentleman.

"Don't we always, my dear?" Gabriel's words are amused as he moves over to the benches alongside Iona. As he settles down onto the bench, he chuckles at her words to the courier, "Looking pretty, of course. Although I do think that a more useful blade might be more... useful. Even if only for ceremony."

Silas whistles when he catches the glint off the hilt of Rook's blade. "It looks very well-made. Are you sure? The duchess has the right of it: a blade doesn't do much good if it just looks pretty." His brows crawl up his forehead thoughtfully. "No drills today though, I'm afraid. That's more useful once you know what to do and on your downtime. I could teach you a few exercises when the sparring is done, though."

    Back to Mason and Arron, the youth takes what appears to be a -passable- stance, though it is clear the squire is nervous. Silas takes a long moment to inspect them both. "Oh, not bad, Your Highness. You've done this before?" The Grayson knight looks over to the others, to instruct them, complete with pointing. "It is important to use a stance that's both comfortable and minimizes your strike zone. Keep your knees slightly bent and put the weight of your body on the balls of your feet. Prince Mason is off to a good start."

"Maybe my body language bespoke too much danger for the Lord Argento," Kima remarks to no one in particular when Salazar turns and departs.

Gabriel is given his due in turn, bowed toward and presented with a disarming smile. "Yes, you're probably right, I should really and truly find my other blade," says the Bastion fellow. Silas' claims causes him to waver unsurely for a moment before he sheathes his blade, then he claims, "I'll watch then. At least until I get the right of how you're teaching to fight here," he says. "After all, my message I sent you? It was rather much for the same things as you're doing today, if I'm honest. I wanted to improve my knowledge of swordplay, lest I ever be called upon to defend."

Rook ^

When Rook recognizes her, the Duchess offers a warm laugh. "There is nothing to excuse, Master Rook... but it is good to know that you came unprepared. I do think Sir Silas will take care of that rightly." She sweeps her hands down her rear -- a needless gesture as she's not wearing skirts, but one out of habit. She gestures to Rook, aand whoever else may be hanging about to invite them to join the ducal pair to watch Mason and Arron. She settles, hands resting on her thighs and her gaze turning out to the yard.

"I had a lesson with a Master Tobias, but it seemed like the man was really too busy to for a more dedicated student. So I remember a bit from him and other very old lessons from my father, but I would not say that I know much other than a few very basic things." Mason explains. He bends his knees slightly, putting slightly a little more weight on his back foot.

And then is seems that the spare is on. Mason swings, cutting his waster across at Arron, who seems to parry it easily. And then the response, getting the Ahj'oni to put his sword, pushing the other practice sword away. It makes him take a half step back, as if getting used to it.

Gabriel gestures over to Rook, "You may be in luck," he hesitates, then picks up the name his wife used, "Master Rook. It appears that Sir Silas has brought all the necessities." He chuckles softly, glancing over to Kima, "Some men don't like strong women, My Lady." There's a pause for a moment and then he tries, "Or is it Sir?"

"Oh, truly?" Rook says, smiling a line upon his lips. "Let's hope then that this fight will fold in time." Wandering across to Gabriel and his wife, Iona, the courtier looks amongst the pair before he turns his focus instead to Mason and Silas. "The prince is no doubt without his own blade so who am I to judge being without my own?" Clearing his throat, he soon finds a home for his golden sword and sheathes it, sliding it away. "I always find it fascinating the gifts these men have," he says, watching the squire.

Silas seems pleased when his squire takes the initiative soon following the parry, though neither man lands a hit. "Good, good. I don't have to worry about the two of you falling on your swords," the knight jests as he circles the combatants. He does nod in reply to Gabriel's assertion. "The Iron Guard keeps the equipment well-stocked. No rust. Feel free to pick a blunted blade, Master Rook, if you don't wish to use what Mistress Ida made for you." He looks slightly disappointed, before continuing the lesson. "Standing still makes you a very easy target. Keep your feet moving, so you are always ready to react to an attack. Don't move too much to where you lose your balance though, keep your steps small and controlled. Now, attempt to hit each other again. If this goes on too long, we'll... improvise."

"I most often hear 'Lady,'" Kima replies to Gabriel. "But then there are those who use 'sir,' and I'll reply to that as well, as it seems disrespectful to shun it out of hand." Her gaze trails to the first few blows exchanged by Mason and Arron, and Kima makes sure that her own quasi-squire is paying close attention. She then directs her attention back to Gabriel and Iona.

"When I introduce myself, I say, I am Lady Kima Saik. And if you're officious and stuffy enough, then I won't begrudge you the use of the honorific. However, I always find it refreshing when two or more people can simply speak to one another while making use of their gods-given names." She winks, a very devil-may-care attitude surrounding her.

Mason inflicts minor damage to Squire Arron.

Squire Arron inflicts minor damage to Mason.

Iona watches, expression studious as she does. She doesn't wince or cheer, but merely looks as though she is trying to follow the fight -- blade by blade and stance by stance. Her gaze flickers to Kima in passing, and she nods agreeably. "There is a time and a place... here, I do not adhere to titles and birthrights... in the Assembly, I am more concerned." Because power is power there. She then smiles to Rook, looking amused. "Or the gifts they wish they had," she quips idly. "So far, the Prince does seem to showing well, but so is the squire... the squire has more to prove though."

Gabriel nods to Kima, although his attention goes back to the sparring as the pair clash blades, "Sir Kima, or just Kima then. Sir Gabriel Bisland, and my wife Iona." He chuckles softly, nodding, "You would be the sister of Lord Eos Saik then. I've been working with him -- at a distance, admittedly -- on the military exercises that he organized." Looking back to Iona, he chuckles again, "Indeed. The Prince will be a Prince no matter how he does, but the Squire must prove himself a knight."

"Fantastic!" Rook says with such enthusiasm it nearly rocks his top hat right off. There's a hand for it, to steady it, then he wanders in the direction of the racks. "Do excuse me," he tells Gabriel and Iona, treading the ground promptly. The leather boots disturb dust and when he comes to stand before the weaponry he considers it for the longest of times, as if he was inspecting it for every detail. Perfectionist.

There's a certain amount of joy when Mason strikes with a cut to Arron's arm, which is only short-lived as the squire returns the favor. There's a grunt of surprise, looking at his arm, shaking it out, and starting to circle in strafing motion, almost keeping his front and the tip of his waster pointed at the other young man. At least he seems to be listening to Silas' instruction. He is nothing if not a good student. But at least there is no fear or hesitation. Can't say that about him.

Silas can't help but snicker at Rook's enthusiasm. "We'll have you and the Duchess spar next. I don't intend to leave the two of you idle for long," Silas promises. He stops in his circling to inspect Mason more closely; he has more familarity with how his squire fights. The pair seems evenly matched, which was a point for both: this may be the first time the prince has truly sparred, while the squire is merely fifteen years old. "Many fighters give "tells" before they are about to strike. By observing your opponent you will begin to notice patterns in their movement which will give you an early warning about what they are going to do. Many fighters will try and make distractions to break your concentration, don't fall for them. Always keep your eyes on your opponent." Then a wry smirk. "Arron likes to sniffle when he's about to attack."

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

Mason inflicts minor damage to Squire Arron.

"My brother," Kima says, though she watches the squire and prince all the while. "He of the strategic mind." The knight turns a brilliant smile to Iona and Gabriel. "It is my great pleasure to meet the pair of you." They were, after all, rather storied individuals! Gabriel had the appellation of 'Lion,' far earlier than Kima alongside her young and merry band had earned similar leo-centric titles down in the Lyceum.

"And how wonderful it is, too, that we should meet here, and not while at the mercy of the propriety, power, and authority of the Assembly."

"Oh," Rook says after receiving a missive from a man of Grayson colours, the letter studied closely. "Unfortunately," he tells Silas and Iona, "I have to make for another appointment I haven't had a chance to see to previously. Can we..." he begins, looking around, "perhaps we'll see each other another time? Your highness, your graces, Sir Silas -- thank you for having me."

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

    Silas frowns, but he nods to Rook. "Very well. Take care, Master Rook. I'll be in touch."

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

Rook says, "I'm coming, I'm coming!"

Gabriel chuckles at Kima's description of her brother, shaking his head as Rook makes his excuses and darts off, then looks back to Kima, "The stuffiness, self-importance, and grandiosity of the Assembly?" Says the man who has not been a member, although he certainly had to deal with them as Regent. Looking back to his wife, he adds, "It looks like you scared off the man with the pretty sword, my dear."

There's a exchange of blows traded between the two, and looks like Mason has taken a better share in terms of giving than receiving. There's a certain 'knack' that Ahj'oni seems to have. If only he had a proper scimitar in his hand, he might be able to do more. Becuse it's clear the shape and weight of the waster in his hand he's not exactly comfortable with. Not what he's handled in the past. "You picked a good squire, Sir Silas. Because he's certainly putting me through my paces." he pants. And he perhaps took the knight up on that whole 'tells' thing. Because the times that Arron does indeed sniffle, the Prince seems a bit more ready to defend himself before countering.

Squire Arron have been dismissed.

"I tend to do that," Iona says dryly. "Why do you think we had a blind betrothal? By then, I had frightened off too my suitors, Father couldn't risk another." Then she offers Kima a wry smile. "I have never personally felt at the mercy of those things... they can be commanded, controlled... but so many allow them to be commanded by and controlled by things such as propriety, power, and authority." She chides the unseen mildly. When the fight is done, she tilts her head curiously to see how both fared.

    Arron seems marginally worse for wear now, and eager to continue his fight with the foreign prince, but Silas lifts his hand to stop him. "Alright, that's enough. Or else you two will be at it all day." He smiles to Mason, clearly impressed by how well the prince did. "You have promise, Prince Mason. Arron has grit. But grit is important, too." Arron huffs but Silas steps forward to pat the boy on the shoulder. "Sit and rest, Arron. I'll take it from here. You do likewise, Your Highness," he directs to Mason before turning to Iona. "You'll be facing off against me, Your Grace."

"Too many are not quite so adept at navigating those waters as others," Kima replies to Iona. "And learning how is a far more difficult task than determining how best to slay a man." She shakes her head, expression rueful. "I understand why some are intimidated, while yet others are woefully ignorant. Yet can one excuse either of those things?" Asked of both the duke and his wife with genuine curiosity regarding their thoughts and feelings.

...Until sir Silas calls Iona to the fore! Kima snickers, just a touch.

"Yes, because we lions are so well-known for our cowardice." A chuckle shakes his shoulders, and he looks over to Silas, "Don't bruise the poor knight too badly, my dear." And then he raises his voice slightly, "And don't bruise my wife too badly, Sir Silas." He looks back to Kima, shrugging slightly, "Intimidation is part of life, as is ignorance. You deal with it in yourself or others."

The Duchess brings her hands together in a light appreciation of being a spectator. She is turning to say something to Gabriel, and then Silas is calling to her and naming himself her challenger. She shakes her head, her smile returned in full bloom. She looks to her husband, leaning in to silently ask for a good luck kiss to her cheek before she stands. She offers a self-deprecating look to Kima. "I think I am being punished..." She laughs before she steps forward, adjusting the fall of her braid and giving her jacket a firm little tug. "As you wish, Sir Silas," she says.

Mason gives Arron a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Well done, thank you very much for that. Your next drink, or perhaps series of them, are on me." the Ahj'oni offers happily, and then rolling his shoulder, wincing a little. "Your squire, Sir Silas, knows how to hit, I will say that much." To Mason, it doesn't seem like winning or losing was the priority, learning was and he looks and feels a bit more confident about himself. Wiping seat off his brow, he moves out of his way. "Well, I think Lou will be pleasantly pleased with that. Though, I wouldn't dare sparring her just yet."

Silas clicks his tongue, but gives Gabriel a reassuring smile. "I'll be adding a few handicaps. A few bruises is all she should receive." He unsheathes his own blade - a longsword of darkened steel and carmine leather - but hands it to Iona. "You'll be using this. And I'll be using my gauntlets. I'm not much of a brawler, and you'll have reach, so..." Evidently this was his idea of evening the odds. "You -should- spar with her," he asides to Mason offhandedly. "It'd be good practice for you both!"

Iona wields silver hued steel long sword wrapped in carmine leather.

Gabriel kisses Iona's cheek dutifully, patting her back, "Remember your footwork. Everything comes from the feet." Not that she needs the reminder. He settles back onto the bench, nodding to Silas at his assurances. For now, he will simply watch in silence.

"Punished? Nonsense! You are being the chance to be glorified!" And there is nothing within Kima's tone to suggest she was being anything other than exceptionally honest. "I should think," she remarks to Gabriel. "That it must be a very good feeling to watch ones spouse prove their prowess." She gestures to the field, where Iona and Silas now stand. "Of course, if all that I hear about the woman is true, she's formidable with or without a weapon - but you know what I mean! Here, in the training center amongst your fellow countrymen, just watching a physical display." Kima leaned back a touch, and folded her arms across her chest. From beside her Athas could be heard to muble, "Lycenes have a strange notion of what makes up ro-man-ticks, m'lord."

Squire Arron have been dismissed.

Iona is surprised a bit when the knight gives her his sword. She holds it steadily in her grip, looking over it. Its weight is quite pleasant to the tall, strong woman, and she then looks to mason in a nod of agreement to Silas's words on Mason and Lou. "Yes... it would." Then she looks back to Silas, offering a wry smile. "Alright, Sir... sword to gauntlets. You do realize that I //am// a bit of a brawler, and not much of a swordsman... not anymore at least. Too many years out of practice." Then she shifts a bit, finding an old and familiar stance that does seem a bit unbalanced, but sometimes muscle memory takes time, too.

Catching his breath, Mason seems to chuckle a bit. "Perhaps I should. But I have a certain inclination that my dear wife would not go easy in me in the slightest. You either do something, or you do not. There is little inbetween with her." Getting back up, he sets the waster away into the rack where it had been previously before moving back to watch Silas and Iona take their turns. But he does come up next to Kima. "My Lady. I don't believe we've met?"

Kima gets to her feet when Mason approaches her, her smile open and welcoming. "We have not, your highness. I am Lady Kima Saik. I have heard tell of you, from friends that attended your recent dinner. It was my ill-luck that I was unable to attend."

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

Silas smirks knowingly at the stance Iona takes. "Ah, as I suspected. You've done this before. This will be interesting!" Iona advances and swings, but the blade bounces uselessly off his cuirass. The guardsman steps back and takes his own swing at the duchess, but the woman turns out to be much more spry than she appears! "Are you sure you need me to teach you?" He doesn't care to mask how impressed he was. "But... Don't swing too hard. Not only is it dangerous, but it also will put you off balance. Try not to over swing either, as it takes too long to recover. Make sure you control your swings."

Iona Bisland proves that she hasn't forgotten /everything/. There is a certain predictability to her attacks, but at least she holds the sword right and does attempt to meet the blade's edge to some part of Silas's being. She does sweep back, avoiding the possible strike from the Knight, ducking low and quick. She laughs. "Yes, Sir Silas... give me credit to not be a beginner, but know that there is much you can still teach me." She listens to his advice, adjusting her grip. "Understood."

"You have?" Mason seems a little surprised. "I didn't think I was spoken about all that often, to be truthful." Using a towel to dab at his forehead, he glances at the other pair, rotates his shoulder again. "Oh, if Lady Dawn and Princess Natalia have their way, there will be another one. I am to help describe and take 'the best aspects of Eursus' and help create a gala of some kind. So I think you will be getting a second chance." There's a look over of the woman. "I take it from what Sir Silas spoke to you that you are a swordswoman yourself?"

    The duchess's next attack strikes true again, and while the Grayson knight is still unscathed, he could feel the renewed strength behind her swings. He stumbles himself, losing his balance and making his own counter swing whiff air. "I think you could teach -me- a few things," he retorts amusedly. "You seem to have the routine down - drills may be the better course for your talents."

"Most certainly," Kima answers Mason with a cheery laugh. "The stories, and the food, were very well-received. It is only natural that folk should talk of it." When he speaks of there being a second dinner on the horizon, Kima nods her head while still wearing a smile. "Then I shall look forward to it. Oh - do you intend to participate in prince Darren's event later this evening?" Her eyes tick over to Iona and Silas, and Kima then says, "My, Iona is as impressive as they say, no? And ah, yes, I am a sworn knight in the service of House Malvici. I've been earning a modest income as an arms instructor since taking up residence in Arx, however."

Lazarus has always been here but strangely enough he has kept to himself, probably because of the heat. He watches the fight with little interest but follows the playful conversation at the sidelines. He removes a layer and pouts, requesting a cool drink from the Mercier servant.

Iona's braid whips across her shoulder as she puts Silas's advice to practice, stepping forward quickly, but keeping the strength behind her attack controlled. She's a good student, always had been... as long as there's a promise she can wield some kind of weapon -- real or metaphoric. She flashes him another broad smile at his consideration, and she bows her head agreeably. "I'll accept whatever course you think is befitting, Sir Silas." Her boots scuff up the bit of dirt as she moves, not one for standing still.

Iona inflicts minor damage to Silas.

She's already dressed in adventuring-type gear. But Lou wasn't originally intending on coming to this. Her 'lunch' (liquid!) with Augustus, however, ended with enough time for her to swing by the training center. No skirts. Hair down. It's classic Princess Lou, really. She's caught, initially, by watching Silas and Iona. Not noticing her husband off to the side just yet.

"Well, that's good to know. It's has been a little trying to get used to life in Arvum. Arriving in a slighty unconventional way, following around Princess Lou and her expedition, I didn't even know Arx existed until I first saw it. So many new interesting things to learn about an entirely new culture." Mason replies easily, though pausing to receive a messenger. It's read. "Ah. I see Duke Niccolo is finally availible to speak to me." A sigh. "I didn't know but an event, though hopefully my meeting with the Duke will not run long, I'll try to make an apeparence." But he brightens a tad at her role. "Are you? Well, I may call upon you if Sir Silas finds himself overwhelmed with too many students looking to learn the sword. But it appears I must be moving on. I hope we can talk again, maybe next time at a longer length." A parting smile before he turns, seeing his wife. "You have unfortunate timing, love. I have a meeting to attend to. I'll come find you when I'm finished." he looks like he's been finighting. "I won a spar, Lou!" he almost glees, moving to kissing her cheek and finally moving off.

Mason has left the fighting grounds.

    The hits keep coming and Silas looks like he's having trouble anticipating Iona's movements and keeping up. The next slash doesn't hit armor: the blade skins his cheek, leaving a red line in it's wake. He quickly puts some distance between them to safely assess the damage, raising his hand to his face and smearing the blood with his thumb. "Huh. First blood goes to you." His blue eyes then narrow, and he advances on the older woman. "My turn!"

The slice of blood draws a small arch to her dark gold brows. Unexpected, to be sure, but the Duchess recovers her expression quickly. She allows him to step back, side-stepping herself a bit to widen the berth between them. She offers a wry smile. "We were both blooded before this moment, Sir Silas, /but/..." Then she brings up the sword quick, as if preparing for the attack and hoping to exchange the blow regardless of its success.

Silas inflicts serious damage to Iona.

She comes, he goes. Lou looks after Mason with a bit of surprise in her features. Well, then. The woman takes a few strides further in and flashes a brief -- but dimple-bearing -- smile in Iona's direction as she draws blood. There's no shouts to interrupt, nope.

Kima, having bade prince Mason farewell, returns to watching the match between Iona and Silas!

Kima has left the Benches.

    The knight's gauntlet meets its mark, and though it isn't a hard blow, Iona might find herself doubling over or having the wind knocked out of her when it lands in her gut. It was disguised with a feint; Silas anticipated the blade being raised. He quickly withdraws to give the duchess some time to recover...

And there's the flash of recklessness -- a familiar moment, but often it is Iona who is daring with aggression. She tries to strike out, using the reach to her benefit, but it merely deflects off the man's superior armor. The hit that comes catches her fully in the upper right side of her chest, and she takes it with a hard grunt. Her fingers tingle down to the nail beds, and she almost loses her grip on the weapon. She has staggered back several paces, reeling under the sheer strength of the hit. She starts to laugh -- something simmering like hot honey and wine. She seems genuinely contented and amused. "Now, /that/ is more like it, Sir Silas." She takes the invitation, her own stance shifting to at least make what might be their final pass entertaining for both.

Silas inflicts serious damage to Iona.

Silas seems to relax when it appears the duchess is out for the count. "Faking an attack is a great tool if your opponent is not aggressive. They will expect the attack, and try to block it, only to just get hit by your real attack. Don't bother trying to feint an aggressive fighter because they usually don't worry about blocking," he instructs as he recollects his weapon and returns it to its sheathe. "And that concludes todays lesson. I may have to go to you for brawling intruction, Your Grace."