Difference between revisions of "Old Gods/Practices/Vernal Equinox"
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The smell was, unique. But despite his slurred words, the man was able to keep up and after a few bars Nerta was even smiling. | The smell was, unique. But despite his slurred words, the man was able to keep up and after a few bars Nerta was even smiling. | ||
|Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | |Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
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+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Soren Navaar | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=It had been some time since Soren had stepped foot in a tournament ground. He’d only been to one since his first win and that hadn’t gone so well. After that he took up trading in earnest and between that and caring for Seven Rivers he rarely left Ar Agyr these days, so he took full advantage of the tournament close to home. | ||
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+ | The busy streets and smells of food and smoke filled the air. Colors adorned every surface driving back the bleak white of winter. Everywhere he looked, it was hard to tell which color dominated right down to the people. In the city, purple had become popular due to the Incindia Flame, but there was no want for competition. Soren paused to examine a bonfire burning green into the sky, already swarmed with revelry and children attempting to burn sticks for their own amusement. He held back a smile as he watched a mother pull a burning branch from her child’s hand before tossing it to the inferno as she dragged the boy away. | ||
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+ | Stepping around a dancer, Soren slowly made his way over to a practice ground, clearly in a courtyard marked by a clearing, several men and women with menacing glares, and four almost equidistant bonfires burning in a myriad of colors. What would he challenge today? Signaling for one of the masters, he gets a few chuckles. A trader often seen with a lute, these were clearly locals who had no idea what they would soon witness. “Though I am hardly the best, allow me to be the first to teach you all what it means to be a master of the martial realm,” he boasts as one of the local academy masters comes to the makeshift arena. | ||
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+ | The two men circle each other for a time as Soren draws a sword. His usual method to fighting was a weapon for every situation. Carrying knives, and a spear, and daggers, the man was a small armory in battle. Forced to use just a sword though, it was curious how he would fare. Growing impatient at Soren’s lack of movement, the master moved in. The dance with death is swift as the pair moved quickly, in a flurry of exchanged blows. Without the extra equipment, Soren was faster, sharper, his blade and movements more flexible as he snaked around defenses and drove the master back. | ||
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+ | The pair, seeing they could push each other seemed to have the same idea, maintained the stalemate. They drew eyes and cheers from the surroundings as they weaved a complicated dance that could falter lesser skilled warriors. | ||
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+ | A sudden push sent Soren back a few steps as the master regained his ground, and the young noble began circling. A wolf hunting its prey, he shifted his stance almost to a point of fencing, protecting his open side. Neither dared blink, but eyes shifted to watch the edge as they slowly moved towards the edge of the arena and that was all they needed. | ||
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+ | Soren moved in first this time, a thrust became a feint as he shifted to a two-handed sweep, then, using the momentum to drop into a low kick sending the man stumbling back until he held up a hand as Soren started to charge forward. | ||
+ | “Master swordsman,” the man declared. “It’s been an honor for my first spar of the tournament.” | ||
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+ | Ever the performer, Soren reached out and clasped the man’s hand in friendship before taking a bow around the courtyard arena for those who watched his performance. | ||
+ | |Title=Count of Seven Rivers | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
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+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Arsene Solicix | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=The journey to Agyr was drole and weary, consisting of several endless days of nonstop travel and the gradually depressing mood of her squire, whose usually sharp tongue and attentive gaze dulled significantly. When they finally arrived in the city, Arsene was more relieved to see the light return to Vivien's eyes than consider the chance of long-awaited rest. | ||
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+ | Now, refreshed and rested a day later, the Baroness was able to fully admire the city for it's worth on the way to the tournament grounds. While she had traveled around most of the upper continent during her ventures through three different realms, she had never made it down to Ar Argyr, and she found herself in awe of cultural splendors she was unused to, with the vibrantly colored fires and mentions of a festival whispered through the crowds. | ||
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+ | After a few hours of visiting the merchants and tasting some rare foods, Arsene decided she had tortured Vivien enough. Her squire was following along sullenly behind her, cheeks puffed out in barely restrained impatience while her brow furrowed, and she fidgeted with the twin knives strapped to her legs, a gift for her last birthday. Arsene chuckled, relenting as she motioned for her squire to lead the way to the grounds, feeling as though Vivien acted more like a spoiled little sister than a proper knight in training. | ||
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+ | ***** | ||
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+ | "Tsk, how arrogant!" Vivien looked down upon the men sparring below, wrinkling her nose in disgust as the victor turned to bow to the spectators. "Men think that waving around swords make them knights and expect to be praised for it. Well, the only sword they have that's worth a damn is the one in their-" | ||
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+ | "Vivien!" Arsene chided sharply, unsure whether to laugh or cry. One day, that vulgar language of hers was going to anger the wrong noble and she'd end up dead! "Have some respect. It's rude to judge people you've never even met, much less group them together with the kind you are used to." Her squire bared her teeth, looking away, but thankfully listened and remained silent. | ||
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+ | Leaning heavily on her cane, she sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. The Baroness had dressed in the usual furs of the north, with her bracers and shin guards and breastplate engraved with the flag symbol of Irondale in its center, so if any other nobles had heard Vivien's less then polite statement it would most definitely not represent their realm very well. Arsene glanced to either side of the pair, her gaze catching on a rather strangely dressed man kissing the knuckles of an elderly woman, and she watched them for a moment, mildly curious, before returning her attention to the arena. | ||
+ | |Title=Baroness of Lezzel | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
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+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Aibhlidhn Dubhaine | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=Good Nobles and Loyal Commons, | ||
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+ | I see the tournament grounds are buzzing with anticipation as storied banners from across the human realms rise proudly above the tents of our noble competitors. Three days remain before the heralds sound their trumpets and the Grand Melee begins. Three days in which to feast and practice and make great display of swordsmanship. Three days in which to renew the ties of friendship upon which our race depends to hold the darkness at bay. | ||
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+ | This is the first time I've had the privilege of hosting a tournament and I extend my heartfelt thanks to Duke Bob for preparing these magnificant tournament grounds. Duke Bob is himself the very paragon of Chivalry, feared by humanities enemies for his wrath in battle and blessed by the Higher Powers as Guardian of the Eternal Flame of Agyr. All know his name and his legend. | ||
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+ | I also extend my thanks to Lady Nerta, Priestess of the Old Gods, at whose request these festivities have been organised to celebrate the peculiar Vernal Equinox of the Gregorian Great Year. May this be a joyous occasion for all who worship the Old Gods and for those of all faiths who stand firm in the defence of mankind. Let us never forget that no matter how dark times may seem there are powers who strive for our survival. | ||
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+ | We hold these festivities against the backdrop of war. The Necromancer of the Sunken Lands has swept all before him and many here gathered have suffered loss at his hands, whether that be to battle upon the fields of the South or to those secret battles fought in the shadows. Hope has been stretched thin and yet still it endures. Let us never lose sight of that hope. | ||
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+ | It is my fervent prayer that when the time comes to defend the North the bonds of friendship created here before the Eternal Flame will outweigh all disputes which divide mankind as in previous ages our ancestors stood together against the Invasions which threatened their existence. | ||
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+ | |Title=Queen of Ar Agyr | ||
}}</center> | }}</center> | ||
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Revision as of 04:41, 25 March 2022
Preparing (March 2022) | ||||||
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Tournament Announced
Aibhlidhn Dubhaine, Queen of Ar Agyr, Royal of Ar Agyr, Duchess of Havilmark has announced a Tournament of Swordfighting to be held in Agyr 9 days from now. | ||||||
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Tyler Thrice-Blessed | ||||||
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Festival of Lights | ||||||
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