Dubhaine Family/Brigdha/Roleplays/1019/December

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5th December

Summer Day -- Tournament in Ibladesh

Brigdha Dubhaine

"You could have asked Etain or Leopald to ride with you," Anagridh casually flicked the reins of her charger, a bay gelding from the distant plains of Ustimbar, "you know how these Southerners traditionally feel about my people."

"I could," Brigdha turned her head, a mischievous gleam in her eye, "but how then should we learn if this younger generation have changed their prejudices? And anyway, who's to say some wealthy lordling won't take a fancy to an Elven bride? You do have an impeccable lineage and a betrothal often makes for good diplomacy."

"I very much doubt that will happen," the princess coolly opined. As a captain of the Ghost Watch she was more than capable of discouraging unwanted attention.

"And is that how you feel when you think of your sister lying with my sweet Naevan?" the Ambassador slowed her piebald mare to a walk.

"Of course not," Anagridh responded testily, matching Brigdha's pace as they rode in silence for a short while, "he's an honourable man. These southerners have spilled so much of our blood! Good Elven blood, and fine men of the Southern Duchies too."

"Those Southern Duchies once had a different name as you well know Ana. Fontan. And if anyone has a right to claim blood it's those of us whose blood was spilt. But if I could forgive your father for turning his back on solemn promises and accept Erfrayj as my daughter-in-law then surely you can put this petty prejudice to one side? Even if only for a few days?"

"I suppose you're right," she offered begrudgingly , "just don't go playing matchmaker as I'd hate to ruin your diplomacy with a murder or three."

"Oh don't worry Ana, if a murder or three are necessary we'll be long past the point where diplomacy can make a difference."

Summer Evening -- Tournament in Ibladesh

Lindow Moonsun

The south of Moyale is famous for its large fields of wheat and barley. Unfortunately, those fields are bathed in the blood of their own population now.

Lindow rode with his men on these grounds, seeing the disastrous end of the people of this place.

" Knowing that they were going to lose and still they take up arms ... it seems even poetic " Lindow thought.

He turned his gaze to his men and ordered: - we come back to the camp! -

6th December

Summer Day -- Tournament in Ibladesh

Lindow Moonsun

Lindow was in the middle of the battlefield, seeing the field of dead between arrows and spears of cavalry. He looked at the hill where a Caligus banner was visible. The Division by Zero and its long-range projectiles undermined the morale of the enemy that then be razed by a cavalry charge of the Shadow King's custodians.

Lindow raised his fist looking at the hill giving thanks to his ally.

- Captain, put the wounded in the cars and climb Sir Mathew in another car, we will make a funeral before marching towards Domus-

Summer Evening -- Tournament in Ibladesh

Smiddich Fontaine

The ducal carriage rolled to a halt at the tourney grounds in Ibladesh. His men had gone ahead early to erect the massive pavillion tents that would form the centre of the Perdan presence here, making large dining spaces and room for presentation, dance and song.

The black-bladed Duke himself, Lord Smiddich Fontaine - affectionately known as the Pirate Lord - alighted the dark carriage and spied his own tent going up. It was a silk lined pavilion with a single tall post, with several squires wrangling the cords and pulling them taut. They installed a circular mat to keep pests and stray grass at bay, and began assembling a confounding array of travelling furniture. When it was done, it would form the quarters for the Duke of Perdan, whenever he decided to stagger home.

He surveyed the field and the attendants - sixteen nobles so far, but with four more days to go. Nothing to do until then except boast, drink and hone their skills.. and Smiddich intended to do at least two of the three. Of his own familiar knights, he saw the sigils and standards of Ladies and Sirs - Bo, Delphine, Elinor, Lucius, Rogos... he hoped many more would attend... and that he would not have to face them in the lists.

Kiera Cavendish

Kiera looked about the tournament grounds at all the unfamiliar crests and colors. "Quite an assembly," she thought to herself.

"Prepare my bath," she ordered her man-in-waiting. "I am too tired to face anyone tonight. Reserve some training time for me in the morning."

7th December

Summer Day -- Tournament in Ibladesh

Elinor Hensley

Elinor approached the tournament grounds with trepidation.

"Stop it."


"Stop trying to figure out what the downside is and then live in it. You belong here: these are your people."

Elinor cocked an eyebrow at Meraud, "I feel like *that* is quite the insult."

Meraud grinned, "You know what I mean" You have nothing to be ashamed of; just go out there and be yourself. Buy a round of drinks or something."

Elinor took a step back, "That doesn't really sound like me."

"Precisely," Meraud grinned at her, "So go do it."

Letter from Smiddich Fontaine

Our compliments to Dame Elinor, many thanks for the bottle.

I would like to invite friends and enemies alike to treat within our pavilion, which flies the rampant lions of Perdan overhead. We are roasting a goat, and I have reserved the first slice of succulent, charred meats for myself. Red wines and spirits pair well with the roast, and we shall fry vegetables and prepare a rich gravy in which to amplify the flavor of the meat. Bring your own trencher, and do not wear your best clothes.

Afterwards, poached pairs in wine served with clotted cream, sweet port and cigars for afterwards. Musicians welcome for a sultry afterwards,

Set sail!

Smiddich Fontaine

Duke of Perdan

Margrave of Perdan

Delphine de Montigny

Lady Delphine is quite exited to receive Smddich's invitation, she had not yet had the chance to meet him in person since raising to the ranks of nobility, despitie being in the same places a few times.

She helps herself to the fine meal offered, waiting for her chance to approach the old family friend in a moment where he is not overwhelmed by patrons or cought up in the festivities.

Finally she spots an opportunity where he is alone.

As she make her way to him, their eyes lock. A smile builds on her face and she runs to hug him, loosing her lady like composure leaving way to the child she once was, reminiscent of the times Smiddich would come trade with her father and tell her tales of his adventures.

-"I'm so happy to see you again! This is a great feast, thank you."

Delphine backs of a bit regaining composure.

-"I mean many thanks my lord for a such an exquisite meal."

She bows in respect then bursts out laughing, unable to keep a straight face and hugs him again.

They continue to catch up as they eat their piar of pears and acquiring any insight or tips for her first tournament.

Summer Evening -- Tournament in Ibladesh

Titus Foote

Adorned in red and gold, Titus entered the tavern. It was a crowded room with many different groups conversing at their own tables. Calmly Titus walked to the bar, keeping his gaze straight ahead at the barkeep. Every step earnestly intoned discipline, as if one were marching out to command soldiers. With a clank the two gold coins were pressed to the wooden bar.

"A round of drinks for all," Titus tersely stated to the barkeep.

8th December

Summer Day -- Tournament in Ibladesh

Apollyon Daubeny

Apollyon was dressed in his armour, he walked into the pavilion of this Smiddich guy, he looked around to see if there was anyone who he recognised or he could sit with

Daeron Vurkow

We are roasting a goat, and I have reserved the first slice of succulent, charred meats for myself. Red wines and spirits pair well with the roast, and we shall fry vegetables and prepare a rich gravy in which to amplify the flavor of the meat. Bring your own trencher, and do not wear your best clothes.

After all his time visiting Perdan he still had not gotten anywhere close to figuring out how he was going to brooch the subject of Dimwood to the king of Perdan. Ingratiating oneself with its nobility would be a good start. Course it would help if he had some tableware. He lost most of his property during the Yssrgard merger so while he had all the necessitates finery fit for a noble feast. A tragedy. For his time on the road had not given him the chance to at getting at a bit of meat. Not since the last tournament had he the time or resources available and was locked in a trance at the offering before him.

"Can't use your hands, can't use a wooden fork, I'm not a beggar." Daeron muttered under his breath looking over the steaming morsels. "Still its not like I have any choice. I can frame it as some great struggle and change the way we think of fingers forever. What am I talking about?" He subtly picked up a piece of meat and began tearing at the slab. The thing was surprisingly sturdy. Sturdy and slippery. Like Igor but he still would rather be trying to tear at bird meat than Igor meat. "There's no custom against teeth is there? Can't eat without teeth, or a mouth at least." He stood there holding the slab under the table. "No. That's going beyond reason. I am going to need to call in an ally."

Giving a nudge to The Captain at his side he motioned over to the piece of meat.

"Ah I know this one. That is some type of bird sir." He slapped his armour with the meat. Leaving a juicy smear.

"Not what it is fool! Help me rip it." With the two of them combined they were able to make progress in this great task. However subtly had to be sacrificed, heralded by the gasps and stunned looks of shock on a group of ladies down the table. And Sevis couldn't understand why I never found a suitor.

Elinor Hensley

Elinor slipped quietly into the Duke's party and looked for a quiet corner from where she could watch the comings and goings of the other nobles. The food smells were incredibly enticing and she wondered if she could find a servant to bring her a plate without having to wander too far from the security of her nook.

Around her was the constant murmur of voices punctuated with the occasional loud guffaw or exclamation, the clatter of bottles against goblets, the strumming of a lute as the player strolled amongst the throng. She saw His Grace greeting his guests--some quite effusively-but, she couldn't seem to catch the eye of any of the servants as they brought in heaping trays or left with empty ones.

It looked as though Elinor might have to sally forth from her corner if she wished to dine.

Isabel Vorn

"Cheers to all of you who can put the war aside for a moment to enjoy this competition. Many friend and soon to be friends arrive as we hope to see our friends from the last time. Now for those that can not be here with us at this tournament let us remember them fondly not for what side they fought or how valiantly, but the good times at events like these. May your lances strike true and your sword dig deep. Cheers!"

Smiddich Fontaine

Lady Delphine

Smiddich sits at the centre of a long set of tables, adorned with cloth runners and eatingware of brass and pewter. His knights are spread out in no particular order on either side, and both enemy and allied knights find themselves welcome.

The duke welcomes all with few words as the goat is sliced (charred to perfection!), taking a slab of dark, salty meat to his platter with an eating knife. There is a cheer and a charge with wine and ale as the carvery staff serve meat and vegetables, leek soup (better with salt) and plenty of savory gravy.

"I'm so happy to see you again! This is a great feast, thank you", says the Lady he has known since she was a child, and his broad arms encloses her heartily.

"This? This is a trifling nothing!", he gestures, "We are a bold and plentiful people now, moreso than in many years; we can afford to be generous!", says the black bladed Duke.

"As for the tournament, there is little to do but try your best and let it happen. Skill, yes, and luck, certainly!", he grins, beholding the Lady.

"Don't waste your time showing off! Hone your skills with every second; it might be the difference. Even a seasoned swordsman can be laid low early...in fact, I'm counting on it!"

He grins and returns to her hug, and his many guests.

Lady Elinor

A wooden platter made its way to her table, quite unbidden; it wasn't her platter and must have been a spare. It was layered with fall-apart roast meat, seasoned gravy and root vegetables, "Courtesy of the Duke, milady!", said the cheery but clearly busy server.

A glance, and there was the Black Bladed Duke, mug in hand and acknowledging her with a draught from the vessel.

He had preened the rigors of the road from his attire, freshly groomed with blade and wax; he moved easily in this circle. A shirt and long jacket, shined boots and tight, flattering trousers. Did darkly inked tattoos show at the neck and wrist of his fine shirt?

In any case, there went the last of her excuses to sit this one out ....

Brigdha Dubhaine

Ambassador Brigdha and her companion Princess Anagridh had taken a suite of rooms in The Golden Perch with stunning views over the lake shore. The upmarket coaching inn was an ancient institution much beloved of wealthy merchants and their young mistresses both for its discretion and for its tasteful luxuries. For a few silvers guests could enjoy the heated baths and sauna rooms whilst the restaurant's reputation for fine seafood extended as far north as Kazakh where it was hotly contested by the proprietor of The Oyster Bay. Somehow The Golden Perch had survived the devastation wrought by both man and glacier and the innkeeper Harriman, son of Harriman, grandson of Harriman differed mainly from his sire and grandsire in his particular choice of facial hair, the vanity of men never failing to find a new and pointless outlet.

Back in her blockade runner days Brigdha rarely stayed anywhere else, the soft goosedown mattresses a blessing after long weeks on the road, guiding her caravan of stocky mountain ponies and grizzled veterans past the many dangers of enemy occupied territory. At the end of it a good night's sleep, a hot bath, the soft body of a tender lover - of whom in her youth she had many - were all a pleasing distraction whilst her bales of northern luxuries were auctioned and the much-needed food of the south stowed in their place. There was little cause now for nobles to run such risks when a trade could be agreed by messenger and all the danger kept at arms length, and few tales now remained of the great Merchant Adventurers...

The walk from The Golden Perch to the tourney field was a pleasant one, down through the Old Town with its galleries and wine bars, onto the main road to Al Arab with its constant stream of ox carts and carriages, many of them bound for the many-hued city of tents rising from the verdant plain where Kris and Hrolf were tending her arms. Walking through the noise and bustle and bright coloured pennants brought back memories of another such day, a summer in drowned Shanandoah when Brigdha was still new to her spurs, naive and untutored in the ways of high politics and unaware of the battles of Elfhame.

In those days the Margravine viewed tournaments as gay idylls, exercises in chivalry between friend and foe, proud banners fluttering in the azure sky, brightly caparisoned chargers pawing the mottled grass in the lists, riders perched with lances couched, the signal to charge, the crash of wood against steel.

Not that the Ambassador had herself ever been a keen cavalrywoman. Oh she could sit a horse well enough when circumstances required and kept a string of hobbies for those occasions, whether it be pig-sticking with the hetmen of the northern plains or the reckless ride to hounds with the ruddy-cheeked magnates of the coastal towns. If there were gentry with respect for nobles who spurned their equine pursuits, Brigdha had yet to meet them and it was likely she'd travelled more widely than any other diplomat in the history of East Continent, from the roiling brimstone of the Obsidian Isles to the icy glaciers of far Priotness. Aye, to her mind horses were amongst the finest of creatures, sensing much to which their riders were blind and ever steadfast and loyal, but no, not a weapon of war save perhaps those marvellous steeds of the Vale of Sirion for whom battle was their favourite sport.

In truth it was many years since Brigdha had thought war in any sense a sport, and even when she had her weapon of choice had been the bow. A thoughtful weapon which rewarded patience and a clear perspective. Time wore heavy on the memories of men and few now lived of her Black Swans, or the Bloody Knives she raised from amongst their ranks, though without them there'd surely be no Ghost Watch today to guard the mountain passes and do those many odd jobs her duties inevitably seemed to demand.

"I feel foolish in all this finery," Anagridh spoke in her native tongue, breaking the Ambassador's revery, her irritation at for once reprising the role of royalty concealed beneath the complex grammar and melodic tones so natural to her people. It was a stark contrast to her use of the common tongues of men which was usually brief, pithy, and left little to the imagination. To be fair any child of the great Erik Eyolf had cause to seek their own distinctive path in life, and growing up in that sprawling fortress complex at Avamar which he laughingly called a harem, the princess was too glutted on life's sybaritic pleasures to retain much taste for them. Still, even the plainest maid of Elfhame could put fine silks and freshwater pearls to shame and Anagridh was far from plain. Simple though her gown was, its cunningly tailored samite and sable gave a life to her linen kirtle which set all the grandeur of the southern nobility to shame and perhaps explained the hatred which had once burned amongst them.

"A conceit you can well afford m'lady - especially if we're dining with a Duke," Brigdha knew what she meant, the once familiar weight of a sword at her own hip now little more than an unnecessary encumbrance. The Balancewalker had no need of weapons to defend herself and her presence here at the tournament was out of curiosity, to see how this new generation of southern chivalry comported themselves and gauge whether attitudes had changed with the rise of new realms. Where the threat of revolution had once seemed to engulf the continent now it had largely redrawn the map of the South leaving new questions to be answered? This new Empire in Perleone certainly had no taste for such things and the Vix seemed a spent force if reports from the front lines were to be believed, but what of Yssrgard and beleaguered Perdan? Might there yet be hope of a peaceful resolution?

"We'd be spared this ordeal if you'd let me put an arrow through his eye when I had the chance," the aroma of roasting goat grew unmistakable as they approached the Perdanese pavilions.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like me to find you a husband?" the jest had the desired effect and Anagridh's lips curled into the enigmatic smile expected of royalty.

9th December

Summer Day -- Tournament in Ibladesh

Free beer at the tavern

Baroness Brigdha Dubhaine invites everyone for a round of drinks at the local taverns, a great show of her lavishness and hospitality.

Free beer at the tavern

Baroness Brigdha Dubhaine invites everyone for a round of drinks at the local taverns, a great show of her lavishness and hospitality.

Free beer at the tavern

Baroness Brigdha Dubhaine invites everyone for a round of drinks at the local taverns, a great show of her lavishness and hospitality.

Free beer at the tavern

Baroness Brigdha Dubhaine invites everyone for a round of drinks at the local taverns, a great show of her lavishness and hospitality.

Free beer at the tavern

Baroness Brigdha Dubhaine invites everyone for a round of drinks at the local taverns, a great show of her lavishness and hospitality.

His Majesty Shadow King Lindow cordially honours the generosity of Duke Smiddich with this gift of refreshments and sweetmeats from his personal larder. Let every competitor in tomorrow's Grand Melee eat and drink their fill.

Brigdha Dubhaine

Ambassador of Shadowdale

Baroness of Evora

Smiddich Fontaine

Calm before the Storm

The morning before a tourney was always a rushed and hurried affair, at least for most.

Knights were girding on their armor, squires polishing weapons and tending to horses. Banners were struck and the training grounds were full of knights honing their skills in the last-ditch efforts of a miracle maneuverer that might turn a loss into a victory.

The Perdan camp was already abustle with activity as knights were roused and the morning meal was prepared. Today was beans with sausages and eggs, slabs of sizzling bacon and dried fruit. Many took the whole lot atop a hearty bowl of porridge, flavored with sugar, syrup or honey.

The tent flap to the ducal pavilion was wrenched open with a flutter of waxed canvas. The bleary eyed Duke o' the Black Blade presented himself, stripped to the waist save for his long coat thrown across his shoulders. His broad chest and strong arms were inked in dark tattoo; there were sharks and octopi, bare chested mermaids and an anchor across his heart. For once, no boots.

He coughed, "Go on now", and two young maidens crept from the interior to scurry back to their tents. The Duke slammed a lit cigar into his mouth as he grimaced at the sun, defiant.

Kitchen activity ceased briefly. The Duke tilted his head, and a serving lady received that message; the Duke would take his breakfast in private. The pirate lord turned on his bare heels, snatching up a bottle of last night and returning to his tent in a plume of dark smoke.

Letter from Smiddich Fontaine

Tis my pleasure, Lady Brigdha, I shall take it gratefully with my breakfast and share among my countrymen. Good luck in the tournament should you compete; with luck we shall not face each other in the lists!

But, if you do prefer something face to face afterwards, I would like it very much if you would attend an aftertour soiree of music, dance and celebration. Namely, my victory at the swords, and not so much in the joust!

It strikes me that I've always thought your name were rather pretty,

Set sail,

Smiddich Fontaine

Duke of Perdan

Margrave of Perdan

Letter from Brigdha Dubhaine

That's very kind of you Your Grace. It will be my pleasure to attend your aftertour soiree and congratulate the champions for their honourable victories.

It's many years since I raised a weapon in anger but for form's sake I will surely be competing in both the lists and the melee tomorrow. I will be content if I avoid being knocked out in the first round of each event.

The main reason I'm here is to engage with the Southern nobility and see if there's much interest in broaching the divide which has kept North and South at war these long years passed. Whilst I am merely an emissary of His Majesty Shadow King Lindow I hope that whatever green shoots of friendship I may find will be looked upon favourably by all the Northern Realms. I also hope to hear news of my grandniece Glory Gabanus as I have not received a letter from her in some months but it seems so far there is none here who can assist with that.

Brigdha Dubhaine

Ambassador of Shadowdale

Baroness of Evora

Apollyon Daubeny

Apollyon's head sounded, he had gotten horribly drunk the night before, alone of course, Apollyon was far to awkward to just join in with another Noble.

He looked around, he saw a figure sitting in a chair, his back was turned to him, a lot of smoke filled the tent from a cigar the figure was smoking, Apollyon moaned in pain as he sat up.

The figure stood and turned, looking down at Apollyon "Son, Wake up, the Tourney is today"

Apollyon jumped up and reach for his sword, he stumbled and fell, the sword in its scabbard just was pushed lightly by his fingertips.

Apollyon turned to face his father "What are you doing here?" Gerald scoffed and tossed a large bit of cloth that was rolled up, Apollyon caught it and looked confused. "Unfurl it" ordered his father, Apollyon sighed and unfurled the piece of cloth, it was the Blackstone Daubeny Family flag, Apollyon looked once again confused at his Father "Why?"

Gerald then walked over and put a hand on Apollyon's shoulder "Because you are still my son, no matter how much you hate me"

Apollyon reached out to hug his father when he tripped and all went black, Apollyon woke up, it was later now, Apollyon looked around but his father was gone, all that was left was a letter saying "Beluaterra"

Understanding Apollyon put on his armour, he had a tourney to fight in and afterwards, he tossed a glance back at the letter, only the three know.

Kiera Cavendish

"What news, scribe?"

"Another young noble disembarked from The Good Ship Lollipop this morning, m'lady."

"Another? Isn't that four already?"

"Indeed, m'lady. Appear to be friends, and swear to fight together. Motto of 'All is One, and One is All'."

"Indeed. How droll."

Brigdha Dubhaine

"If you ask me these are bloody stupid blades," Hrolf tossed the broadsword to his armsman Seamus and tensed his knotted shoulders as he wiped his face with a fresh towel. The Chosen Man had been sparring with Brigdha all morning, stripped to his waist and glistening with sweat from his exertions, his compact frame densely packed with an archer's muscle. A skilled swordsman with smaller blades, he found the broadsword a cumbersome weapon.

"Stupid or not, I need the practice if I'm to avoid making an embarrassing spectacle of myself in the Grand Melee," the priestess was dressed in a plate corselet specially made for the tourney, and the restrictive armour was cramping her usually fluid fighting style. Even in her youth she'd never been that keen on melees, unlike her sisters Moira and Aoifa who'd passed many a happy, noisy hour pounding on each other's metal shells with axe and sword and hammer whilst she'd snuck off to the library to study.

Matriarch Sorcha had despaired of her pasty, saturnine daughter as a succession of highly regarded Cagilian weapons masters threw up their hands in despair and declared the bookish girl unteachable. It was only when no other would or could do the job that Carl, the Matriarch's dedicated guard captain who was as close to a father as the Dubhaine heirs ever knew, took it upon himself to teach the young Brigdha the art of toxophily. She'd taken to the discipline like a duck to water and proved a gifted pupil with shaft and stave alike, the skills which decades later would form the bedrock of her own instruction to the young recruits of the Ghost Watch.

Swords though... in her warrior days swords were at best a tool of necessity. Short, sharp, heavy stabbing blades designed for a quick kill when her black feathered shafts were exhausted. There wasn't any artistry in them. No spiritual dimension. Just steel for killing in bloody skirmishes, running the backwoods of Sirion and Caligus. Ironically it had only been after the priestess had taken her vows that she really started to experience them as something more real. More tangible.

In truth a balancewalker had no need for weapons so it seemed somehow natural that they should find new meaning in the rituals associated with them, new realities in the dance of blades, new and very personal routes to the moonspun roads of the High Firmament. But just as brutal killing would shatter the chivalric illusion of the tourney field, so too would the flowing moves and elegant steel of the monastery. No, what would happen on the morrow was a carefully wrought fantasy, a pantomime of battle enacted with all due seriousness.

"Let's try one more round," the Ambassador settled back into her guard position, grinning , "only this time come at me with the flail."

10th December

Summer Day -- Tournament in Ibladesh

Smiddich Fontaine

Aftertour Soiree

The knights of Perdan and assorted guests by invitation descend on their pavillion, already jumping with music, dance and games. No formal dinner, instead a potluck of sorts, being a range of leftover delicacies served in a flatbread or crepe. Sticky wine flows as a trio of musicians play. Courtly dances commence early in the evening with more raucous partnered dancing afterwards; lanterns are lit until the patrons beg off with bleary eyes and sore feet.

The Duke of Perdan, coming a disappointed fourth, laughs off the loss (yet nonetheless drinks heavily), and lays his shoulder to a voil in several jaunty numbers as the sun sets. He dances merrily, sings terribly, and gives instruction to his staff that he is to be woken late and with breakfast greasy and hot.

"My congratulations and thanks to the winners and to our fine hosts! Let us hope that future contests are as popular and fierce!"

Letter from Gaheris Camlann

Honoured guests,

Thank you to all for attending the tournament here in the White City - It was a pleasure to welcome you all here, feast and drink together, a happy respite from the continued war.

I am very pleased to present the winner's purse and trophy to Duke Edvard of Isadril - a true champion, a masterful display of swordsmanship- a great challenge for any future challenger to overcome.

As to the jousting, it was a sight to behold - my best compliments to Margravine Flavia for winning the day - as well as the winner's purse and trophy.

Congratulations as well to our runner's up - Sirs Marco and Daeron.

It was a contest worthy of great tales - As a champion himself, no doubt King Niall is smiling upon our assembly. My thanks to all for taking this moment to celebrate his life!

A toast to King Niall, to our winners, and to all the participants today! Until next we meet!

Strength and Honor,

Sir Gaheris Camlann

Ambassador of Perleone

Duke of the White City

Governor of Ibladesh

Flavia Arindal

Flavia joins in the courtly dances, but sits quietly reading some congratulatory missives as the younger nobles dance in pairs. She tries out most of the food, being interested in foreign cuisine, but limits herself to one sip of the sweet, sticky wine.

"I've enjoyed myself very much," she says to her hosts. "Riding in tournaments is always a pleasure for me, whether I win or not."

Raaka Repe Cosula

After matches RR sits on the table and takes a drink and raises a glass...

  • Hoooray!*

"Gonna miss you my King!"

drinks glass empty, picks up his sword..

"Time to go home i guess..."

Brigdha Dubhaine

Ambassador Brigdha and Princess Anagridh arrive fashionably late with their small entourage, gaily dressed and in high spirits, accompanied by a selection of fine wines and sweet delicacies to add to the festive mood. On the morrow war would once more divide them but for now knights of all nations could enjoy a brief respite and celebrate the highest virtues of chivalry.

Anagridh found no shortage of dance partners, her grace and beauty an exotic lure in a land where few had ever seen an Elven maid of quality save perhaps caparisoned for war, and loathe though she'd be to later admit it she'd found great pleasure in the Duke's nautical stylings, her partners barely able to keep pace with her. Before the night was through more than one heart had been broken.

Hrolf also found plenty to keep him amused, introducing young Seamus to the twin delights of strong liquor and loose women on their mistress's coin. The lad would one day be a Chosen Man, of that Hrolf was sure, but first he needed a little seasoning. A Ghost might spend months in the field enduring privations few soldiers could imagine so it was important to know how to handle pleasure when the opportunity arose.

And Brigdha? For her part she wondered what all these fine young gentlemen would think to find the Princess in her usual mottled drab, stalking them in the backwoods... still, as the Ambassador sat sipping her brandy in the first light of the false dawn she considered her masquerade a success. The question was whether the seeds she'd sown would bear fruit or would another generation be locked in the cycle of war and bloodshed?

12th December

Summer Day -- Aestus

Huge Battle Fought

Rumours spread and tales are sung about a huge battle in Eldoret:

(rogue), Perleone, Vix Tiramora vs. Caligus

Estimated strengths: 390 men vs. 360 men

Knight Adriel Shepard is spotted wielding the Wonderous Cane of Sirion.

Duke Barthogan Starck is spotted wearing the Mysterious Helmet of Westmoor.

The hero Garas Gabanus, Knight of Fontan was killed by Robin Shepherd's unit.

The hero Adriel Shepard, Knight of Fontan was killed by Nicolai Paxwax's unit.

Attacker Victory!

14th December

Summer Day -- Abadan

Legendary Hero Buried

The Gabanus family commemorates the dead hero Garas, a legend known all over the world. Admirers, friends and even enemies visit his grave.

Lindow Moonsun

The table was full of Domus's best delicacies, Lindow's favorite was a spiced deer baked in its own juice with apples and peppers.

Lindow threw a good piece of that deer on the plate along with some pieces of roasted apples and roasted peppers.

While he began to devour that delicacy, Lindow looked at Leonhard and after drinking a long sip of beer he spoke.

Three years of war ... I still remember when it started, at that time I was a newly crowned young king - Lindow paused to eat another piece of deer and continued - we were fighting in the long Siege of Oligarch with other northern kingdoms, while the southern kingdoms advanced along Caligus to threaten our borders. That and the public support to Oligarch were important factors that led us to enter in the war along with the rest of the northern kingdoms. - Lindow took a good sip of beer - even so the war is being advantageous for Shadowdale, we have incorporated important regions into the kingdom and many young nobles with desires of serving in this kingdom - said Lindow pointing to Leonhard.

Kiera Cavendish

Kiera read the reports. "So this is the last of them, then?"

"Yes, m'lady. They should go down easily."

"Very well. After we finish this group, march to Greatbridge via Kimml. Hopefully we'll get there before that group move."

The captain touched his brow and retreated from the tent.