Hynes Family/Alois/Downtime/RP11

They sat in the stands, sandwhiched between two skinny peasants, watching as Nobles of various rank and position took their turns showing off their individual style's. They moved with grace, practiced purpose, careful well-timed strikes that moved back into a quick defensive stance, putting their shields between themselves and their wooden and immobile enemies.

Yet, their movements seemed too rigid, over practiced. A few seemed to have the training, yet lacked the experience gained from actual battle, while others had the experience of hard battle but not the perfected styles of swordsmanship, the perfect balance between attack and defence, that only years of training gave.

Most, however, seemed competent and well-rounded swordsmen.

"More skill here than there would usually be," Alois observed as the latest participant left the field. It seemed that most nobles had taken the time of unprecedented Peace to improve upon their swordskill. "Aye, more sport here than could be found in the Isles."

Pate giggled and sucked down another mouthful of wine, tearing away a hunk of flesh from the leg of mutton in his hand. Alois berated himself silently for not watching the boy closer; The crimson streak running along Pate's cheeks and nose told him that the Squire was, indeed, drunk.

The next man entered the ring, sword at his side, the familiar crest of his family emblazoned onto the material of his doublet over his left breast.

"Pull yourself from your cups and take heed, Boy, for that is Robert, Duke of Semall!"

Pate looked down at the man in the center of the ring, preparing to demonstrate his skill to all present.

"He's almost as good as you, Ser," Pate slurred as the demonstration began.

"Better," Alois whispered back, "He fought for years in the Great War, in some of the greatest battles on the whole Island, and sometimes experience can make up for being almost as good."

Next came Ser Matthew of Ibladesh, Count of Oc Lu Pesh. The peasants cheered the Count as he entered.

"That's Ser Matthew, Husband of the Pontifax Sorcha, or lover, I can't recall. A true Master," Alois said half in awe at the display, "There's at least two Master's here that we've seen."

"As good as Ser San?"

"Nowhere as good, but Masters nonetheless."

Alois reached over and tore a hunk from Pate's mutton, chewing slowly as Matthew left the field, the crowd cheering his back. "Oak and Iron guard me well," Alois muttered, invoking the old soldiers Shield Prayer, as Servants entered and cleaned up the remains of the practice targets, "Lest I'm dead, and doomed to hell."