Difference between revisions of "Dubhaine Family/Moira/Roleplays/2008/April"

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"Yes ma'am," Iraen resignedly picked up the second blade and a buckler, preparing herself for the battering to come. Much to her surprise the Countess adopted a reasonable guard, so apparently she learnt something from her many encounters with swordsmen. Now if only luck would favour her, perhaps she'd make it beyond the first round and everyone could breathe a sigh of relief...
 
"Yes ma'am," Iraen resignedly picked up the second blade and a buckler, preparing herself for the battering to come. Much to her surprise the Countess adopted a reasonable guard, so apparently she learnt something from her many encounters with swordsmen. Now if only luck would favour her, perhaps she'd make it beyond the first round and everyone could breathe a sigh of relief...
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== April 26th -- Tournament -- Perdora ==
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Moira stood in the central plaza, slightly uncomfortable now that she'd exchanged her black armour and sweat-stained jack for the dress tunic and britches she reserved for polite company. The unaccustomed weight of a broadsword still hung at her left hip where she was trying to build a rapport with the weapon, but she suspected it would be an uphill struggle.
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 +
Watching the toing and froing of knights and their squires she wondered how many of these gathered nobles had but a few days or weeks before faced each other as sworn enemies. The camp spread in all directions as far as her eye could see, a pepper-pot of white pavilions with their noble colours gaily displayed and the dark trampled earth of the practice grounds. The cream of the continent's chivalry gathered for a tournament of magnificent proportions. A glorious sight.
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Her mind wandered back to the matter at hand: she was due to meet with Duke Aeneas, the man who had held the County of Oporto before her, and hopefully good ale would ease some of the old tensions between them. There had been many a heated debate across the floor of the Fontanese Assembly, each equally as stubborn in defending their principles, and she knew for sure that the realm was much poorer since he joined the Sultanate - even if he rarely uttered a political opinion that didn't make her blood boil.

Revision as of 22:58, 26 April 2008

April 7th - Oporto

Moira sat by the roaring fire in the back pantry of her new Manor, with a glass of Alowcan brandy and a slice of freshly-made fruit cake. Her squire Iraen was sat opposite, looking slightly uncomfortable at having servants waiting on her for a change.

"Have another glass girl, you may not get a delicacy like this again for some time," Moira sipped the fiery vintage, cask-aged in the arid valleys of the Irdalni province, and continued reading the letter from her sister Aoifa. The situation in the Colonies sounded desperate, but that didn't worry Moira. Aoifa was more than capable of looking after herself.

No, what worried Moira was the revelation that her younger brother Cathal had followed her sister to that unruly land and was even now serving with the Alowcan field army as its second-in-command. She had a hard enough time squaring that knowledge with the enduring image of a reckless lad at war with his long-suffering tutors, but there was more.

Two months past she had helped to put down the insanity that was the Theocracy of Light of Fontan, now she learned that her own brother had not only embraced the indigenous cult of his adopted homeland but that he was becoming increasingly zealous in his beliefs. The letter spoke of disturbing dreams, imprisonment and of bloody battles deep behind enemy lines: it seemed her younger brother had been making quite a name for himself and she prayed he wouldn't end up dead for his pains.

"Is everything alright ma'am?" Iraen set her empty glass on the table beside her.

"Hmm? Oh yes. Just news from my sister Aoifa of her adventures in the Colonies."

"Is Milady Aoifa well?"

"I assume so. There's a war on so I'm sure she's in her element. Why do you ask?"

"It's just you seemed rather quiet ma'am."

There was a long pause.

"You remember my younger brother Cathal?" Moira set the letter to one side and sipped her brandy, stifling a smile at her squire's blushing cheeks.

"Yes ma'am. A fine young nobleman."

"Well, not so his tutors ever mentioned to me, but I can't say they were ever particularly complimentary about me either," she grinned at the memory. "Anyway, it seems young Cathal's run away from home in search of adventure and pitched up in the Colonies."

"I hope he's alright ma'am."

"I'm sure he is lass," and the two of them sat in silence, drinking their brandy.

April 25th -- Tournament -- Perdora

"A sword?" Moira took the blade from her squire Iraen, "What bloody use is a sword?" She tested the balance and studied the edge with a less than enthusiastic eye.

"Those are the rules milady. Swords in the melee and lance in the lists."

"So, genteel bloody fighting then," they both laughted, comparing these pathetic knives to the steel-hafted axes of the Imperial Cagilan Guard it was easy to see why so many elves had lost life and limb in recent months.

"I think you should at least practice with the damn thing milady, otherwise who knows what mishaps may occur?"

"You mean, who knows what poor sod may end up grappled to the ground?"

"Well there is that ma'am. It's not like you've made a virtue of courtly manners, and my understanding of the rules are that grappling and gouging are frowned upon."

"If you weren't my cousin Iraen you'd be on a ship back to Atamara right now. And don't think I'd give you a reference lass," Moira tried a few practice sweeps with the sword, self-conscious of her empty left hand, "The bloody thing barely weighs an ounce."

"Would you like to try the shield milady? It may balance things better."

"Why? If suppose if this puny pig-sticker doesn't do the job I could always use the shield to batter my opponent instead, but I doubt the high-minded courtiers of Perdan would count that an honourable victory."

"I really don't think you're getting into the spirit ma'am. The shield is for defence, the sword for offence. They take these matters very seriously."

"Lass, you worry too much. Now grab that damn sword over there and let's have some fun."

"Yes ma'am," Iraen resignedly picked up the second blade and a buckler, preparing herself for the battering to come. Much to her surprise the Countess adopted a reasonable guard, so apparently she learnt something from her many encounters with swordsmen. Now if only luck would favour her, perhaps she'd make it beyond the first round and everyone could breathe a sigh of relief...

April 26th -- Tournament -- Perdora

Moira stood in the central plaza, slightly uncomfortable now that she'd exchanged her black armour and sweat-stained jack for the dress tunic and britches she reserved for polite company. The unaccustomed weight of a broadsword still hung at her left hip where she was trying to build a rapport with the weapon, but she suspected it would be an uphill struggle.

Watching the toing and froing of knights and their squires she wondered how many of these gathered nobles had but a few days or weeks before faced each other as sworn enemies. The camp spread in all directions as far as her eye could see, a pepper-pot of white pavilions with their noble colours gaily displayed and the dark trampled earth of the practice grounds. The cream of the continent's chivalry gathered for a tournament of magnificent proportions. A glorious sight.

Her mind wandered back to the matter at hand: she was due to meet with Duke Aeneas, the man who had held the County of Oporto before her, and hopefully good ale would ease some of the old tensions between them. There had been many a heated debate across the floor of the Fontanese Assembly, each equally as stubborn in defending their principles, and she knew for sure that the realm was much poorer since he joined the Sultanate - even if he rarely uttered a political opinion that didn't make her blood boil.