Dreadlords The Tournament of Turin

[Wilhelm Anireth]

Wil's mind was still reeling from the idea the man's servant was a Dreadlord. He knew the revolution had loosened some things up but just letting one strike up some sort of job contract with some nobody lord? Unless of course, Ildren was lying to him. For some reason that made him even more uncomfortable; he'd been rather coming to like his new buddy. He felt like he could handle his liquor and that was a rare quality among people these days. He sighed.

The horses were off and the cheers made the ground feel like thunder.

Someone was selling ale along the stands and Wil stood up to flag her down when the two lances connected against shields. Shards of wood went flying and as they bounced off his jacket he understood why these seats were the best seats. The woman smiled sweetly down at him as he brought around - for the Dreadlord too, he couldn't be rude now - and give her a charming smile in return.

With a promise to meet her later he settled back down with a tray of steins.

"Drinks?" he asked as Edric and the Saint returned to get new lances. The match had been a draw.

 

[Elspeth Sirl]

The laugh that left her lips was quite loud and unlady like at what was really just a silly little remark, luckily for her the cheering of the crowd caught the sound as the two Knights rode at one another again. She watched with excitement and trepidation coloring her cheeks and widening her eyes, flinching with a quick grimace as each man's lance shattered upon the other's shield. A draw.

"Oh," Elsi smiled into her hand as her eyes wandered after the nearest rider, "it's awful what you men do to each other for sport. I'd make more of a fuss if it didn't give me so much work to do."