- 1 1st May
- 2 6th May
- 3 8th May
- 4 20th May
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- 11 29th May
Summer Evening - Lloringel
Ester Ester Cavendish
The buttons of merchant's velvet shirt strained to cover his hairy belly, and his hair was a greasy tangle. But his smile was genuine as he lead her down the narrow passage deep in the castle city.
"The faithful of Sandefur have longed for this day," he beamed. "It is dangerous, what we do, but we are proud to take the risk."
Checking behind him, he cut off down an even small alley that opened suddenly into a courtyard.
"There," he pointed.
A small shrine in the clearing, surrounding by a few dozen smiling citizens.
"You have done well," Ester Ester told them.
"I consecrate this shrine in the name of Daishi, to protect the Faithful against the Daimon Hordes..." she intoned...
Summer Evening - Tepmona
Brand made sure that the "special" servant would receive his letter, addressed to the Queen; added with a personal message to her.
Dear Servant of the Queen of Agyr,
I have to sail on..
But I will miss you and your ... let's say ... delicious butt.
Anyway, please tell your Queen that my mission had been completed ... well stopped.
Please thank her for her hospitality and trust.
As a return favor I only can tell her ...
The Ring had been vaporized.
My opinion :
1. The Netherworld claimed it back (possible needed it for a portal) 2. A Certain kind of mystical, monastic group (nearby) had been using the Netherworld' s magic in order to do whatever.
Thank you again and who knows.... till we meet again.
Summer Day - Tepmona
The Queen smiled as she read the letter, Brand's impertinent manner as bold on the page as she remembered from their brief meeting. There were none at her court who'd openly dare to discuss her merits as a woman and Aibhlidhn couldn't help but feel some affection towards the rootless traveller. In the eyes of feudal law he was burdened and disadvantaged yet it seemed to her that his freedom from responsibility was worth as much as all the riches which filled her treasury many times over.
"A pity you're off on your travels Brand, who knows what mischief we might have enjoyed together," she folded the parchment tenderly and locked it in a certain compartment of her campaign chest, alongside other mementoes of the life she might have lived were she not the daughter of a great and noble house, the Queen of the Five Duchies of Ar Agyr.
Summer Day - Fronepu
Aibhlidhn Dubhaine, Queen of Ar Agyr, Royal of Ar Agyr, Duchess of Havilmark, Countess of Tepmona has announced a Tournament of Joust and Swordfight to be held in Fronepu 9 days from now.
The winner will be rewarded with 500 gold in addition to the honour and prestige that his victory will earn him. There will also be a reward of 200 gold for the runner-up.
All nobles of the continent are welcome on the tournament grounds on the day of this event. Make sure you announce your participation in time.
Summer Day - Fronepu
The Foederati woman had earned a ride in the rumbling cart after saving the horse from a scyther. Hunched over a spear, her cloak pulled tight, she peers about the strange city of towers. Despite the crumbling remains of the outer walls the place was clean, cleaner than Mhed at least. Thought that was probably in preparation for the tournament.
A chill draws her attention to the looming stronghold, still marred by the wolf's paw after all these years, even as she hisses under her breath, “What now?”
Twisting about to consider the tournament grounds she nods to herself, before eyeing the repurposed militia barracks anew. She was here for a reason after all, and maybe she could get the proper vantage from a high perch… After all, scuttling into that old stronghold should be child's play.
Arriving the night before, the Priest arrived in the foreign city to the fanfare of celebration and tourney. With the sea breeze passing through the cobbled streets, Godfrey once again was stunned by the ancient infrastructure that was the Daishi faith across this part of the continent.
Godfrey would talk to these people and give them a a true calling in their life - Vordulism's goal to save humanity from its struggle. Yet, he was not inclined to do so without permission of the ducal lord.
Instead, he awaited for the letter of the Lord Eriol and quietly enjoyed the festivities.
Banners flew high in the breeze the morning the young diplomat came into the city. A city preparing for tournament. He could smell the various meats beginning their roasts, the breads being baked, and all-too familiar animal smell, from his farming youth. Eriol walks down the cobbled main road of the capital of Ar Agyr, that old nation founded again new; much the same way that the Empire did. From the grace of Thalmarkin... before the reign of the Mad King that threw the continent into war. In that, the Empire of Vordul Sanguinis and the new Kingdom of Ar Agyr are kindred spirits. Hopefully, the Count of Vale can use these good intentions as a bridge for his first assignment.
As the delegation still tried to make its way into the city, Eriol took the time to walk around, and see the sights of the capital. “I see why the pottery of this land is so famed” Eriol thought to himself as he stood at an open stand watching a potter’s meticulous etching on his latest creation. His two apprentices stood beside him taking notes.
“Magnificent” he thought to himself.
“Sir?” he heard from behind him. Turning around, Eriol is met by a well-adorned soldier, possibly royal guard. “You are ambassador from Wudenkin, are you not?” the sound echoing from behind a full helm.
“I am. Before I meet with Her Majesty, I wanted to take a look around. I hope I have not caused offense”. Eriol replied.
“Not at all Lord Blackdagger... I do have a question sir.” The soldier then lifted his visor and a weather beaten rough face scarred from battle, rough from the elements, and a slightly greyed beard showing his age and experience met Eriol’s gaze. He leaned in and whispered, “I... is it true that your King is a... Vampire?”
Eriol smirked at the question and pointed east, “I take it the castle is that way?”
Hail Aibhlidhn, Queen of Ar Agyr, Duchess of Havilmark, Countess of Tepmona.
I bring greetings and admiration from my master Emperor Xlair Silverblade, Lord and absolute ruler of Vordul Sanguinis. I am Count Eriol Blackdagger of Vale, his servant, who has been honored to have been chosen to meet with your Royal Majesty. We would be most honored to be received by your court for a more formal introduction of our delegation, and enjoy the beauty of your realm which has benefitted from your wise rule.
May our meeting be blessed,
Count of Vale
Greetings Eriol, Count of Vale,
You are welcome at my Court and recognised as the Envoy of Emperor Xlair with all the protections of Law and Custom so accorded. Whilst I have not had the pleasure of meeting your master we have exchanged correspondence on several occasions since the Empire was established in Wudenkin and I am eager to learn more of his realm and people, the better to understand how we may jointly prosper.
Queen of Ar Agyr
Royal of Ar Agyr
Duchess of Havilmark
Countess of Tepmona
Summer Evening - Fronepu
Gustav arrived at the remnants of the gates to Old Fronepu, struck by the air of half-remembered history evident in the aging ruins. Having the captain of his Legion Archers go on ahead to find housing for the troops and suitable accomodations for one of the Sworn, Gustav stayed behind to study the crumbling walls. He sat on a rock outside the structure, sketching it silently as the moonlight struck the stone, creating an eerie, melancholic scene.
He would start as Captain Godlinda said "Milord, things are prepared for yourself."
"Thank you Captain, you're dismissed until sunrise, see to the troops." With that the soldier would head off as Gustav stood, stretching out his limbs after sitting for some time, before heading to where he would be staying the night.
Summer Day - Fronepu
Best laid plans...
Swinging around her spear to strike down the last rattler, Nerta sighs and inspects the dusty catacombs in flickering torch light. Did the Valentic Order burrow in every city they entered? First Mhed, then Agyr, and now here…
Turning toward the chill Nerta rolls her eyes, “Finally done? She couldn’t have been that great of a conversationalist. Well I’ve finished up so let’s head back upstairs where I can get some stew.”
Pulling her cloak back around her as she goes, the young Foederati makes her way back above ground toward one of those famed alehouses that everyone was hawking about.
Summer Evening - Fronepu
Oh great, it’s a party.
When she sat down to her victory stew, the cozy alehouse had only a few patrons, but that had changed quickly once the Patrician swaggered in.
Slapping down more money than she’d ever seen, this Achille de Medici had called for a round of drinks. That much beer sloshing around drew in quite the crowd of riotous revelers and within minutes a party was well under way.
A party that backed Nerta into a corner..
She’d been jostled by a cutesy couple looking to find a bit of space themselves, and at least one frothy flagon emblazoned with a dragon had been thunked down on her table. At this rate someone was going to ask her to dance or worse!
Puffing aside a stray hair and keeping her travel cloak pulled tight, the woman eyes her possible routes of escape: The front door was swamped with people, both coming and going; but she could head upstairs and maybe slip out of a window or something.
Taking a moment to eye the stuffed shirt, Nerta rises and makes her way for the stairs.
Summer Day - Fronepu
Nerta had to shove her way through the crowd and duck past a couple in the staircase, but she was able to make it to the top floor despite the calls and shouts of Achille for more beer and the roar that followed.
Wonder what he has to prove?
Slipping out with little trouble, the wandering woman makes her way into the city growing ever more festive as the tournament draws near.
Summer Day - Fronepu
One could find a man studying scrolls and other iconography in a shaded corner of the marketplace, occasionally sending ravens across the continent. Some say he is the priest of blood, others say he preaches the saviour of humanity. Yet, no one would truly know unless they asked the prophet of Vordulism, which none of the peasants anyway dared to ask.
Message sent to everyone in Fronepu (23 recipients) - 3 hours, 53 minutes ago
Something was strange.
The market platz near Achille's party lacked the usual bustle. Maybe everyone was just in the alehouse but then…. The sudden chill set her hairs on edge, pulling her gaze toward the slender man shaded by the tree in the corner.
He was reading, so he was probably noble born, yet he did not look the part of a warrior especially in those robes. But despite all of that there was something else about him that seemed, familiar. Ignoring the chill, Nerta glances around the square and frowns in realization. The Plebeians were leaving the man well alone just like they did for her. How…. typical.
In a way it is surreal to feel a kinship with a stranger purely on the grounds that they are both excluded. Thoughts of home brought a familiar melody to her fingers as they drum on her spear, Gods she missed them. Stuck here in these alien lands on the outside just like this stranger. She knew nothing of the man really, and yet it looked as though no one else would take the time to learn of him.
Pushing aside the contemplation least the homesickness swells to despair, Nerta wavers. Could she afford a detour? The ache pulls her to at least try but…
Twisting again to glance toward the old stronghold, Nerta’s ears twitch. Something.. a trumpet perhaps? Had her quarry arrived?
Glancing from one to the other she scowls and stalks out of the square. The stranger didn’t look like he was going anywhere and if that was Bob, he probably wasn’t going to sit still for long.
Achille de Medici
It was high time for the drinks to continue pouring.
Once a man too mighty to hold his tongue, silence in the mountains taught restraint to the man known as Godfrey, speaking to groups when deemed correct to do so.
As a noble he did not truly know showered drinks for all, Godfrey humbly accepted the gesture and continued observing the crowds with a form of ale.
One stopped to stare, were they noble born? No... probably not as otherwise they would of approached? Yet, peasants and their ilk are needed for the great plan.
A turn of the observer's heel saw Godfrey continue to watch the market as the trumpets played in the distance.
So...this was the infamous Bob.
Gripping a windowsill of the old Stronghold in a few places, Nerta peers down from her perch at the unassuming procession. The grey beard riding a black charger was probably the leader of the roving band. Looked pretty comfortable in the saddle and there was a wariness about him that reminded her of a cat. Even relaxed, he seemed ready to ambush something. And play with it. Still he was certainly old though. I mean she’d thought the Old Man was just that, but next to this guy he seemed positively spry.
Shielding her eyes from the glare Nerta traces his path through town. At last Bob was out from his manor with only a token handful of, admittedly sturdy looking, guards. Not people to mess with but she wasn’t getting much of a choice if she wanted any sleep.
Climbing back down she sets her jaw and heads after the man.
Time to get this done.
Silenced by gracefully-donated ale her watchful eyes sweep across the assemblage of banners and oddities. Truly all manner and ilk, attendant nobles provide a bountiful glimpse at Belluaterra's rich cultural tapestry. Sturdy assistants collect last-minute orders for repairs while wenches saunter to and fro with a flowing flagon cupped in each hand. Smiles abound - fueled by the near-endless flood of alcohol - while others ponder in silent isolation.
Alone, Yxevarii watches a fellow watcher and wonders why the relic of a man interests her so. Ever the curious one, she drains the last drops of amber, leaves a gold coin upon the table, and takes her sweet time aimlessly wandering in the general direction of those too otherwise engage to preoccupy themselves with ale-drowned banter.
Summer Evening - Fronepu
Having heard of the tournament Bob and his men enter the city of Fronepu to attend the event as observers and representatives of Ar Agyr and the city of Agyr.
Seeing the festivities brings back memories of days when he was able to enter as a participant, although he'd be unlikely to keep up with all the younger knights these days.
He makes his way into the city to get settled before heading over to check out the grounds to welcome everybody to Ar Agyr, his men eager for a few days off from travelling the wilderness hunting down rogue forces to enjoy the festivities.
Summer Day - Evora
Trailing after the procession as it winds through the city, Nerta attempts more than once to reach the man and his stallion, but every time she has to break off the approach either due to a group or the guards.
Finally there was a window; his tour of the fairgrounds had only a token force and someone needed to fetch things, so when he called for water for his horse Nerta happily obliged.
The sloshing pail was actually fairly large, but she had a solid grip, or three, letting her slide up to the small group at a brisk waddle. Frowning at the final approach the woman wonders how to even begin, it’d been months of work getting to this moment, how to even…
An errant splash of water soaks into her cloak causing her to glance down and curse only to turn into a light chuckle at the irritated reflection staring back up at her. Shifting to nod at the empty air, Nerta makes a quick gesture with her head before finally reaching her goal.
“Pardon me Patrician, I have your water, and a message from an old friend. Strangely they are one and the same, if you would just take a look...”
“Father! I did it! I have an estate!”
Father sat in his study.
Mielba bounded towards him, holding the deed.
From across the hall she heard her mother’s voice, “Are you certain it is in Ar Agyr this time?”
“Yes! Yes! Come see!”
Mielba placed the document on her father’s desk as mother ushered in to stand besides him.
Father began scrutinizing the paperwork in detail; mother needed only a glance to check the realm and name of the estate.
BEYTZIRA, AR AGYR
“Bay... tzeera?” she asked.
“Y-yes. Chancellor Bob let me name it. He said we could always change it. What do you think?”
Lady Cordenata looked outward with a faraway gaze. Eyes closed she moved her head slowly from side to side.
She looked back at Mielba and deigned a small nod.
Father looked up, “This is a sizeable parcel of land! The Chancellor must have taken a liking to you!”
“I daresay so, though mayhaps this is a token of goodwill in light of the embarrassment?” offered mother cautiously.
“Oh! Um, neither,” replied Mielba bashfully. “Chancellor Bob explained that giving me this estate would bring in more gold for the realm.”
“The Gods have seen to bless you, child,” whispered Father. He carefully made the effort to stand. He was beaming, standing tall and proud, appearing for a moment as he had when she was a child. “Now you are truly a proper noblewoman!”
Mother smiled wanly.
Stopping his horse to go touring the tournament grounds, Bob barely pays the slip of a girl any mind as she staggers over with the pail, and even less when she starts talking but then there comes an eerily familiar voice.....
"It is good to see you again old friend. But I must say, the years have not been kind to you, and coming from me that is saying something."
Bob casts a sideways glance over at the reflection on the water in the pail. It looks oddly familiar... And so he leans in for a good, long, look.
Smiling up from the water is more than Bob's reflection, there is another man with a neatly trimmed beard and somewhat dishevelled hair. His eyes seem to sparkle with violet light so akin to the flame that warmed Bob's city, and when he spoke his voice echoed through the wind.
In response Bob lets out a simple harrumph and retorts, "You'll not fool me with the same old illusions, go entertain someone else for your coin."
The specter chuckles, "Age took your vigor and sense of humour did it? This sour tone is a far cry from the man who catapulted some zombies into Fallan's party just because things were getting dull."
"Oh really, and where have you been? I didn't give you permission to die. That was my job."
The reflection laughs, "No it wasn't, unless you're Morgan in which case I take back what I said, you look great for that old bureaucrat."
A faint smile seems to creep up on Bob, "Well he had the money, I had the army. So really who was going to overthrow you in a bloody revolt?"
"Why neither one of you. Only a fool would want my job, and though you were eccentric, you were never a fool."
Nerta mutters and sags under the weight of the bucket, setting the reflection to waver, "Gods... old men won't shut up..."
Letting out a sigh, or the ethereal equivalent, the reflection slowly returns to focus, "Don't mind the girl, she tries but...." Trailing off he presses on, "Yes Bob, it's me. Turns out when you steal from the Gods they notice, even if they wait a bit to collect their due."
Summer Evening - Fronepu
The city was in full swing with the tournament atmosphere, even able to reach the palace where Gustav had been assisting Sworn Elios. Taking advantage of a momentary break in the talks, he set out to explore the old city and see what remained of the ancient realm of Fronen.
As he walked through the outer city, Gustav noticed a small shack, clearly rundown and seemingly abandoned for years. What drew his eyes was not the shack itself, but the golden feather above it's entrance, aged but still intact. He sat down for a time, sketching the shack as he had the outer walls for around ten minutes. Finishing the main lines of the drawing, he put the journal away. Carefully he would enter, praying that the whole edifice wouldn't come down on him. Inside, he saw iconography of a dragon, along with that of an eagle, hawk, and crow. The shack seemed to be barren otherwise, with nothing of value or note. As the place seemed nothing more than a curiosity, he began to make his way out when a glint of something shining beneath the rubble brought his attention. Picking it up, he was surprised to find a necklace with two amulets, that of a golden dragon, and that of a golden feather.
Kuriga stared in admiration at the workmanship of the necklace and amulets, before putting them in a pocket. He would have time to study it later, but for now he still had diplomacy to perform. He would much rather be studying the history of this city, but that was fine with him.
The burly sandy-haired knight dismounted just outside the tournament ground, admiring the banners and pennants caught high in the coastal breezes of Fronepu. It was comfortably warm here, the air smelled sweet and salted off the eastern sea. Stout was in fine spirits despite the long ride; the chestnut mare tossed her head and gave him a sidelong glance as though to say, "I know there's a stable in there with oats for me, get a move on!"
Elios led Stout through the gate on foot, presented his admission fee for the tournament to a clerk, and then stepped away confidently and looked about for a stablehand.
"You'll be wanting the stable boarding for your mount then, Sir?" came the reedy voice of the clerk just behind him.
Elios reddened, then straightened his shoulders and turned. "Why yes, of course."
The clerk stood by his small podium, and there was a finely-liveried stablehand in attendance. Elios didn't know how he could have missed the girl, and he stared at her for several moments.
"Cinda will be honoured to see your mount and tack well cared for, Sir." the clerk prompted.
"Ah, yes..." the blush of embarrassment was hot under his beard, and Elios handed--nearly threw--the reins to the girl. She caught them deftly and stood at attention, waiting for any instruction. The blonde knight's brows furrowed together at her silent behaviour and his eyes cast about, thinking hard. A tip? He shoved a hand into his pocket and retrieved a silver piece, and flipped it to her as well. The girl caught it without comment and maintained her stance calmly.
"There is no boarding charge nor tip requirement for tournament competitors, Sir," came the reedy voice again, this time with a tone of long trained patience and a hint of patronization. "She waits for the mount's name, and any instruction as to her care."
His mouth felt hot and dry, contrasting the palms sweaty with nerves.
"S-Stout. She eats whatever. Oats." The knight whirled on his heel and began to depart quickly. He'd gone several steps when another thought occurred. He stopped abruptly and called over his shoulder, "Uh, Thanks," then continued away at a brisk walk to find the nearest tavern.
If he hadn't felt the weight of thousands of imagined eyes on him, he would have run.
Glaring off to what seemed empty air rather than the reflection Nerta drops the bucket, spilling the water across the parade grounds before biting out, "I tried but; it was pretty heavy."
Turning back to Bob, she ignores the chilly silent retort, "Look I get that you two are having a grand old time catching up but I'm not his Crystal-Maiden-damned chauffeur."
Nerta's voice climbs as she continues, talking over the unseen, "I want him gone, I want my life back and I was told you could help me. So: if you two want to talk, take him; and if it was a lie, tell me so I can get on with it."
Summer Day - Fronepu
Elios sat at the end of the bar, back against the wall, mug of ale in both hands, and watched the busy tavern. It was packed with knights, ambassadors, nobles, and Royals, their retinues and many servants. He was glad he'd bought a round earlier when there were only half as many here, most still out practicing at the grounds.
This is twice as big as any of the feasts we've ever had at home, and there are Royals here! he thought, as he took another long swig of ale. He scanned the room looking for any familiar faces or tabards. There were two he thought he recognized... and then he abruptly wondered if that had been at the other end of his infantry's slings. His eyes widened and he looked into his mug, cheeks puffed out as he let out a slow breath. Hoo boy...
"A round on the house, courtesy of the generous Lady Mielba!" came a loud call from the head barkeep, to a raucous cheer.
His head snapped up to see who this lady was, and he found he could not spot her through the thronging crowd. Royals in taverns, and wealthy Dames buying rounds?
Anyone who looked at the young bearded knight would see a man with eyes unfocused, deep in thought, as though his world had just been turned on its head.
Silence grows after the outburst as he studies the woman with an unreadable expression. Eventually the man lets out a short barking laugh, "All that knowledge and you want to throw it away? Interesting...."
Casually reining in his horse, Bob pats his neck and continues, "Well I can certainly help though my methods are usually quite, abrupt. And Fatal."
"However there might be other options but first... Where did you find the," pausing his lips in a smile, "Old Man anyways?"
Arjan de Zueww
Arjan's squire came into the Golden Dragon for a third time to attempt to get him back to his tent. "Remember what Emperor Ehrich said about conducting yourself with dignity and representing the Vales with honour?"
Arjan stumbled down the steps supported by two burly guards, dribbling vomit from his mouth into his bushy beard, he muttered, "Sure I do," before shaking free of his support and running down the street...
"WE COME FROM THE VALES AND WE LIVE IN MUD HUTS! COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YOU'RE HARD ENOUGH!"
I speak in name of the Great Nation of Ar Agyr and welcome everyone to our marvelous tournament, provided by our generous Queen Aibhlidhn.
The goal of the tournament is not only to see who is the best swordsman and jouster in the continent, but to provide for the great nobles of this continent to meet one another. Make sure to have a drink before going into the arena and enjoy the festivities.
Harald Metanoia Knight of Fronepu
Marcus Daubeny, Royal of Obia'Syela, Knight of Rines has accepted your challenge. Meet him in the same city with an academy and the training match will be resolved at the next sunrise or sunset.
Lips compressed in a thin line, Nerta fidgets with her cloak, “He was foisted on me at an; awkward time in my coming of age by a… shadow.”
Hissing sharply at her silent companion, nose wrinkling, “Yes, a shadow which claimed to be the Dark Mistress and who also said he was being punished.”
Snapping out between clenched teeth, “However since that day I’ve been the one stuck in the Abyss with an ancient wren twittering on for every hour of the day.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Nerta lets out a sigh and eventually looks up at the ancient warrior, “Can you help me, please? I just want to go home.”
The shade on the stone front steps of the Long Trough Inn was cool. Peaceful. Wren heard the bustle of the tournament several blocks away, across the square, and she was glad to be far away from it. It made her nervous. Too many highborn. Too many people! She couldn't watch them all! She was staying away, relaxed after paying for a safe sleep in the Inn, and considering maybe even paying an extravagant couple of silver to a street food peddler. Smells good.
Then she heard her name.
"...wren twittering on for every hour of the day.”
She started, and was on her feet at over to the corner of the building so fast, it was as though she hadn't touched the ground at all.
Around the corner, a very old nobleman conversed with a heavily cloaked figure. There was a large bucket on the ground, and a puddle. The cloaked one--a female?--spoke.
Nerta lets out a sigh and eventually looks up at the ancient warrior, “Can you help me, please? I just want to go home.”
Wren looked curiously at the cloaked one, double-blinked, and double-blinked again. That one moved differently. Familiar somehow. Curious as her namesake, Wren took little hesitant steps out from the building, vaguely in the direction of the pair. Nobody notice Wren. Listening. Watching.
Today, she would taste her first mead, one of the drinks of choice among the brave heroes of now and yore.
Unfortunately, she entered the tavern just in time to be served a round of ale, on the house.
She took her first sip, making sure to do so when the handsome knight who ordered the rounds looked in her direction.
Fronepu‘s famous ale had always been too bitter for her tastes. However, it was considered an insult to refuse Fronenite ale from an Ar Agyrian or anyone within the realm. Within the capital itself, a refusal of the ale might be considered treason. She had never seen anyone refuse.
Pouted slightly at the fading foam, she considered her options, then took another strategic sip of ale. A barmaid walking by became the perfect opportunity to shyly ask about the protocol for ordering a round of drinks. Specifically mead, if possible, she added hopefully.
Surely if it was made with honey, it could not be too bitter?
Feeling safe amongst the many nobles in the tavern, she indulged in a fantasy that she could be a renowned knight or even adventurer- rather than a foolish young dame who sent men to perish in battle and did not even save the town.
Stealing another glance at the young knight, she wondered if he, too, had regrets from the battlefield.
"Aldo my old friend. For a wise man you can certainly play the fool... And angering the Gods no less." Bob said laughing to himself, "He always did have a way with the unusual."
"For whatever reason the Gods have chosen to bestow his ghost upon you, after the tournament you are welcome to study the records of the Old Gods still remaining in the Agyrian Academy in my city. The Followers may not be as predominant as they once were but they are still out there in the wilderness, ever watchful for the return of the Children."
"Perhaps there you shall find the information you seek," he calls before riding past a twitchy man off to visit the guests at the tournament as the preparations for the big day draw near.
Training Match Cancelled
The training match between Aibhlidhn Dubhaine, Queen of Ar Agyr, Royal of Ar Agyr, Duchess of Havilmark, Countess of Tepmona and Marcus Daubeny, Royal of Obia'Syela, Knight of Rines is cancelled because Marcus is not fit to fight.
Summer Day - Fronepu
Welcome to the tournament in Fronepu. 29 nobles from 8 realms paid their 0 gold entrance fee and visit the tournament grounds today to claim the winner's honours and 500 (gold) for swordfighting (200 for second place swordfighting) and 500 (gold) for jousting (200 for second place jousting).
This is a tournament of both, jousting and swordfight. Let's begin with the swords:
- Round 1, 29 participants
- Harald from Ar Agyr -beats- Mielba from Ar Agyr
- Amilcare Barca from Ar Agyr -beats- Ulrich from Obia'Syela
- Morton from Shattered Vales -beats- Parsidithous from Ar Agyr
- Arjan from Shattered Vales -beats- Rodderick from Shattered Vales
- Shebin from Nothoi -beats- Gunhilda from Vordul Sanguinis
- Nadia from Shattered Vales -beats- Rion from Obia'Syela
- Timsen from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Gigax from Vordul Sanguinis
- Divus from Obia'Syela -beats- Yxevarii from Obia'Syela
- Theodoric from Irondale -beats- Qoranxi from Nova
- Ardoen from Shattered Vales -beats- Astrid from Shattered Vales
- Alyn from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Seiðr from Vordul Sanguinis
- Elios from Thalmarkin -beats- Achille from Thalmarkin
- Ambrose from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Franklin from Ar Agyr
- Marcus from Obia'Syela -beats- Jecht from Shattered Vales
- Beomia - wildcard
- Round 2, 15 participants
- Theodoric from Irondale -beats- Ardoen from Shattered Vales
- Alyn from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Amilcare Barca from Ar Agyr
- Divus from Obia'Syela -beats- Marcus from Obia'Syela
- Timsen from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Arjan from Shattered Vales
- Harald from Ar Agyr -beats- Beomia from Ar Agyr
- Shebin from Nothoi -beats- Nadia from Shattered Vales
- Elios from Thalmarkin -beats- Morton from Shattered Vales
- Ambrose - wildcard
- Round 3, 8 participants
- Timsen from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Ambrose from Vordul Sanguinis
- Alyn from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Elios from Thalmarkin
- Theodoric from Irondale -beats- Divus from Obia'Syela
- Harald from Ar Agyr -beats- Shebin from Nothoi
- Semifinal round
- Harald from Ar Agyr -beats- Timsen from Vordul Sanguinis
- Alyn from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Theodoric from Irondale
- Final Round
- Alyn from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Harald from Ar Agyr
- Winner: Alyn
In the second part of the tournament, the traditional jousting contest is being held:
- Round 1, 29 participants
- Franklin from Ar Agyr -beats- Theodoric from Irondale 3 to 0
- Elios from Thalmarkin -beats- Morton from Shattered Vales 2 to 1
- Ulrich from Obia'Syela -beats- Divus from Obia'Syela 3 to 0
- Yxevarii from Obia'Syela -beats- Gigax from Vordul Sanguinis 2 to 1
- Shebin from Nothoi -beats- Rion from Obia'Syela 3 to 0
- Harald from Ar Agyr -beats- Qoranxi from Nova 2 to 1
- Seiðr from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Ardoen from Shattered Vales 3 to 0
- Jecht from Shattered Vales -beats- Gunhilda from Vordul Sanguinis 3 to 0
- Nadia from Shattered Vales -beats- Mielba from Ar Agyr 3 to 0
- Alyn from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Achille from Thalmarkin 3 to 0
- Timsen from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Astrid from Shattered Vales 3 to 0
- Ambrose from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Rodderick from Shattered Vales 3 to 0
- Arjan from Shattered Vales -beats- Amilcare Barca from Ar Agyr 3 to 0
- Marcus from Obia'Syela -beats- Beomia from Ar Agyr 2 to 1
- Parsidithous - wildcard
- Round 2, 15 participants
- Jecht from Shattered Vales -beats- Franklin from Ar Agyr 2 to 1
- Ambrose from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Yxevarii from Obia'Syela 3 to 0
- Alyn from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Nadia from Shattered Vales 3 to 0
- Timsen from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Ulrich from Obia'Syela 3 to 0
- Arjan from Shattered Vales -beats- Shebin from Nothoi 3 to 0
- Seiðr from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Elios from Thalmarkin 2 to 1
- Marcus from Obia'Syela -beats- Harald from Ar Agyr 2 to 1
- Parsidithous - wildcard
- Round 3, 8 participants
- Ambrose from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Marcus from Obia'Syela 3 to 0
- Timsen from Vordul Sanguinis -beats- Seiðr from Vordul Sanguinis 3 to 0
- Arjan from Shattered Vales -beats- Parsidithous from Ar Agyr 3 to 0
- Jecht from Shattered Vales -beats- Alyn from Vordul Sanguinis 2 to 1
- Semifinal round
- Arjan from Shattered Vales -beats- Timsen from Vordul Sanguinis 3 to 0
- Jecht from Shattered Vales -beats- Ambrose from Vordul Sanguinis 2 to 1
- Final Round
- Jecht from Shattered Vales -beats- Arjan from Shattered Vales 2 to 1
- Winner: Jecht
That was the tournament in Fronepu. Congratulations to the winners and to all participants.
Your initial estimate of 25 proved to be wrong, and you pay 8 gold to quickly accommodate the additional visitors, putting you 8 gold into debt!
The tournament was not spectacular enough to gain you prestige, your honour rises by 1 points.
Left in the midst of the soggy field with a vague disquiet, Nerta can only watch as Bob rides off with his words ringing in her ears. She had answers, of a sort. Though like any true horror each minor victory became two more questions to wrestle with.
The sudden blare of trumpets leaves Nerta to jump, her head whipping around to try and see… Oh! The tournament must be about to begin. Heart racing she scuttles off to hide in the shadow of a low building.
Shrouded in relative safety as the parade of patricians begins, she rests her brow against the timber jam and closes her eyes. For once the chill was quiet. For once.
After a few more moments she straightens. Agyr it is then.
And promptly turns around to crash into Wren.
The old nobleman mounted a horse and rode off without another word to the cloaked one. Wren paused in her approach. Then trumpets sounded, and she fled back to the shade. Curled up against the bottom of the wall in her mottled brown cloak, she may as well have been a little burlap sack of flour.
The cloaked one scuttled to hide by the wall as well. They--she?--did not seem to notice the Wren. The little adventurer opened her round dark eyes to peer up at the oddly hunched stranger. Blink-blink. Such broad shoulders.
The figure stood up straight, and startled Wren, who also stood, leaning back away from the creature.
It whirled and crashed into her. Wren was thrown a step backward, she flung her arms out to the sides and flapped them to catch herself, then crouched defensively, looking at the woman with wide alert eyes. The face she saw was dusky, grumpy. Haunted.
"How you know my name?" Wren chirped in her thin, high-pitched voice.
Elios reclined on the bench at the edge of the tournament ground with several others. He was breathing heavily from the exertion of the joust, rolling his shoulder experimentally. Not a bad showing for his first tournament. Though after years of monopolizing the family swordfighting coach he's have thought he'd do better than fourth round.
He tossed his sandy brown hair back and ran both hands through it, then scratched his sweaty beard. Maybe there was time for one more round at the tavern. He stood and stretched, armor unbuckled and hanging carelessly halfway off his shoulders.
A face turned in his direction caught his eye. He looked sidelong to see who it was. The Dame who had bought a round the first night! Cordenata? ...was staring at him. He looked away from her and straight ahead pointedly, cleared his throat, and made as though to beat a hasty retreat.
A bit of a blur still in my eyes. The gentle kiss of a headache in my head. A wonderful tournament with a satisfying, yet frustrating, end.
I vaguely remember the swords. Arjan and I circled each other so many times we both got dizzy and then bashed away with our shields still spinning. I think he fell first. I'm pretty sure I vomited on Ambrose's helmet, and he couldn't see, so I disarmed him. I remember the announcement for the Semi-Finals, and then a series of quick blows and a muttered 'Drink some water, Duke.' from Harald. Point well taken, and I did, thank you.
Then came the horses, and two victories because my captain tied the lance to my hand and told me if I fell off early the fine folk of Vozzessdor would be disappointed. So out of sheer stubbornness I held on. Then came Arjan, with a wicked grin of revenge. Each time we clashed he distracted me with song. Lovely poetry that caught me off-caught not once, but thrice. Each verse more crass than the next. I could barely hear it over the crowd, and perhaps I leaned forward too much to get a better sound. Anyway, well played Arjan.
Good fighting, congratulations to the winners Alyn and Jecht.
See everyone next tournament.
Timsen Quasath Duke of Providence Margrave of Vozzessdor